There wasn't a lot going on this week in the world of pregnancy. Jesse is futher along, Cassie is kicking like crazy, and the due date is now officially less than 2 months away. The school year began this week so Jesse is back to teaching so there's been a bit of an adjustment there as far as her schedule goes. For the most part it's been steady as she goes.
I did realize something this week. You might even say I had a bit of an epiphany (or as Smee from "Hook" said "Lightning has struck my brain"). It all happened when having 3 different conversations this week that all had a similar footnote.
When talking to my friends Tommy and Kelly (both adults, mind you) I, also an adult - some may argue the opposite though - uttered the following sentence: "Did somebody toot?" I, a 32 year old "man" said the word TOOT! Who says a word like that? Only a parent to their young child. The problem is, I'm not a father yet. What's even worse is it was said as natural as any other word I might say on a regular basis. How did this happen? Why would I say "toot" when I'm not even a father yet? I'll give you the answer in a moment.
Sometime this past week Jesse was telling me about her pains from Cassie growing. I asked Jesse the following question - and again, I was being completely serious - "Does your tummy hurt?" TUMMY! I said "tummy." Who says that? I know who says that - parents of young children. BUT I'M NOT A FATHER YET. Before I know it I'm going to be combining the two and saying things like "Boy that burger isn't sitting right. My tummy hurts and I have the toots!" I mean, why not? And why stop there? Maybe next time I stub my toe on the coffee table I'll say I have a case of the "ow-ies." Or should I just go for broke and drop my r's and say "bettoo" instead of "better" and so on and so forth. Where will it end?
The 3rd and final straw that led to my great epiphany was the other night when I was looking for something to watch on TV. I went to see what was on Disney (which should've been my first clue) and saw that "Good Luck Charley" was on. YES! But wait, I had already seen it. Wait...I had already seen it? What was I doing? Granted, "Good Luck Charley" is one of the best shows on TV and if you don't watch it you're missing out ("Mama's havin' a baby child"). Why can I quote Disney shows? And why am I disappointed when I have ALREADY scene an episode? What.is.happening.to.me???
Then it hit me: for the past 4 years, Jesse has been grooming me for fatherhood. She has changed my vocabulary and my TV viewing habits BEFORE we have even had our first child. Genius. Pure genius. I didn't even know it was happening. All this time I just thought that Jesse was this incredibly cute and innocent girl because that's who she is. That may be true but she's also been calculating and cunning as well, all without me even knowing it. I mean, look at me. Even as I've been writing this, I've wondered if I had to toot. Not pass gas, not break wind, not flitter, or even farrrr, ugh I can't even say that last one anymore.
You know what, though? I'm happy she's done it. Nothing has made me more excited about having our daughter than being 100% certain that Jesse is going to be a great mother. And now, thanks to her, I'm on my way to being a father. Even if that means using some silly words and being force fed "Wizards of Waverly Place." Though I don't think that's on anymore. Ugh, there I go again. I'm happy to do it because it means I get to partner with the greatest mother-to-be on the planet. Bring on the toots.
(you like how I spun that right there?)
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Picture This
Jesse and I did something this week that I was trying to avoid with all my heart. But we got an offer from some good friends that was too good to pass up. So we did it. We took maternity pictures. I've never understood maternity pictures. You're doing a whole photo shoot of something that doesn't quite exist yet. The pictures are taken just a couple months before the baby is born and then you have to do it all over again. What's the point?
I've seen many pictures of butterflies. There are even butterfly catchers (which I think is a class taught in home-schools across the country). But I've never seen any pictures of cocoons, have you? That's basically what this equates to.
If I'm being honest though, the reason that I didn't want to do this has nothing to do with the fact that maternity pictures don't make sense to me. It more had to do with the fact that I may be one of the most unphotogenic people in the world. I started off strong as a kid. The problem is that I peaked way, WAY too early. The best picture I've ever taken was my class picture in the 5th grade. I mean it. To this day it is still my favorite picture of myself (pictures that don't have me in it I've never given much thought to). My hair was perfectly coiffed, I was wearing my favorite shirt, and my smile was more charming than Zach Morris.
I remember looking at this picture for the first time and thinking "I've officially arrived." The very next year, though, was a different story. I'm not sure what happened but I went from looking like the coolest kid in school to the nerdiest person you've ever seen in your life. In retrospect, I suppose my 6th grade picture was a better representation of who I really am, but still. (I don't have this picture but if you ask my sister, I'm pretty sure she carries it around in her wallet) Since then, every picture has been a downward spiral to complete and utter embarrassment.
There may be no worse picture than my 9th grade band picture. One could argue that just taking a band picture is asking for trouble and I suppose you'd be right. This picture is on a whole new level. Every once in a while my sisters will bring out this picture to remind me of my darkest days. It's a constant source of mockery for my family. And I'm defenseless to their attacks. There's nothing I can say to justify the picture whatsoever. Simply put: it's the worst picture ever, as you can see for yourself.
With good reason, I feared the aforementioned maternity photo shoot.
With much trepidation I agreed to the maternity photo shoot. As expected, Jesse looked beautiful in every picture. She's never taken a bad picture. I on the other hand looked like someone smiling while trying to keep their tongue from hitting the top OR bottom of their mouth. (try it and you'll know what I mean) As we did the photo shoot, I was sweating. People were staring. My inner monologue was telling me that I might as well be in my band uniform. But we made it through. Jesse had a blast and it wasn't exactly torture for me either. Once we got the pictures something completely unexpected happened - I loved them. This started out as something to do for Jesse and ended up being a complete blessing for both of us. Even though Cassie isn't here yet, seeing these pictures makes it seem as though she is. I'm so grateful to Logan and Brittany for taking these pictures for us. They did an amazing job. I can't wait 'til we have our first official "family" portrait.
On another note: for those of you who read the "nailed it" post, here is the finished rocket ship. It was worth shooting Dave in the hand for.
ALSO: any and everyone can leave comments on all posts now. So if you've tried before but couldn't, you should be able to now. Thanks for reading
I've seen many pictures of butterflies. There are even butterfly catchers (which I think is a class taught in home-schools across the country). But I've never seen any pictures of cocoons, have you? That's basically what this equates to.
If I'm being honest though, the reason that I didn't want to do this has nothing to do with the fact that maternity pictures don't make sense to me. It more had to do with the fact that I may be one of the most unphotogenic people in the world. I started off strong as a kid. The problem is that I peaked way, WAY too early. The best picture I've ever taken was my class picture in the 5th grade. I mean it. To this day it is still my favorite picture of myself (pictures that don't have me in it I've never given much thought to). My hair was perfectly coiffed, I was wearing my favorite shirt, and my smile was more charming than Zach Morris.
I remember looking at this picture for the first time and thinking "I've officially arrived." The very next year, though, was a different story. I'm not sure what happened but I went from looking like the coolest kid in school to the nerdiest person you've ever seen in your life. In retrospect, I suppose my 6th grade picture was a better representation of who I really am, but still. (I don't have this picture but if you ask my sister, I'm pretty sure she carries it around in her wallet) Since then, every picture has been a downward spiral to complete and utter embarrassment.
There may be no worse picture than my 9th grade band picture. One could argue that just taking a band picture is asking for trouble and I suppose you'd be right. This picture is on a whole new level. Every once in a while my sisters will bring out this picture to remind me of my darkest days. It's a constant source of mockery for my family. And I'm defenseless to their attacks. There's nothing I can say to justify the picture whatsoever. Simply put: it's the worst picture ever, as you can see for yourself.
With much trepidation I agreed to the maternity photo shoot. As expected, Jesse looked beautiful in every picture. She's never taken a bad picture. I on the other hand looked like someone smiling while trying to keep their tongue from hitting the top OR bottom of their mouth. (try it and you'll know what I mean) As we did the photo shoot, I was sweating. People were staring. My inner monologue was telling me that I might as well be in my band uniform. But we made it through. Jesse had a blast and it wasn't exactly torture for me either. Once we got the pictures something completely unexpected happened - I loved them. This started out as something to do for Jesse and ended up being a complete blessing for both of us. Even though Cassie isn't here yet, seeing these pictures makes it seem as though she is. I'm so grateful to Logan and Brittany for taking these pictures for us. They did an amazing job. I can't wait 'til we have our first official "family" portrait.
On another note: for those of you who read the "nailed it" post, here is the finished rocket ship. It was worth shooting Dave in the hand for.
ALSO: any and everyone can leave comments on all posts now. So if you've tried before but couldn't, you should be able to now. Thanks for reading
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Nailed It
Part of being a father is being able to build things. Whether it's for your kids school projects, or skateboard ramps, or the classic tree-house, eventually there are going to be things that your children need built. My dad had a garage full of tools (sawdust was the common aroma around the house). My best friend's garage had tools everywhere. It was a normal thing for our fathers to build us whatever we were into at that moment. It is something that I appreciate now and took for granted then.
Here's the problem with all of that: I am an IDIOT when it comes to tools. Never has this been more true than yesterday (but more on that in a second). It worries me that whenever Cassie needs a dollhouse built, I'm going to have to hire a contractor to come build it for her. Don't get me wrong, I try to do projects around the house and usually they get done. But they lack all efficiency and skill. The reason I try, even though I have no idea what I'm doing, is because when I got married a good friend of mine told me to just try. He said the only way I'll learn is to try. My friend who told me that was Dave and yesterday...Dave paid the price for that advice.
My wife is a 1st grade teacher and is in the process of getting her classroom ready for the upcoming school year. Jesse takes A LOT of pride in decorating her classroom. She wants her students to have an amazing 1st grade experience so she works tirelessly at making everything in her room perfect. This year she wanted to put a rocket ship in the corner of her classroom to serve as a place for her students to read - "launch into reading." Dave volunteered to help me build it - good friend.
Jesse and I bought the wood. I successfully cut all the 2x4's and Dave helped cut all the other wood. We took the wood to Jesse's classroom and to our surprise, and later dismay, some guys were working on another classroom and said we were welcome to all of their tools. Using their saw and nail gun was going to save us massive amounts of time. Dave grabbed the nail gun, I grabbed the nails and we were set. We laid out the wood according to how it was going to be built. We had a plan. Shouldn't take long at all.
The problem: I am an IDIOT when it comes to tools.
It came time to actually build the rocket. Dave braced the 2 pieces of wood that I was about to nail together with the nail gun. I placed the nail gun against the wood and fired away. The gun recoiled more than I thought. But as I looked, sure enough a nail was in place. Something didn't feel right, though. Dave yelped, held out his finger and told me to "look!". I immediately freaked out as I stared at Dave's finger. I had just shot one of my best friends in the finger with a nail. Dave had a nail in his finger and I was as white as a ghost. Dave was somehow smiling as he watched me freak out. We realized quickly that we needed to pull the nail out so we ran to the sink and on the count of 3 I pulled hard as I yanked the nail out of Dave's finger. It came out quickly with only a slight drop of blood. I was sure we were going to have to go to the ER but miraculously, and I mean miraculously, Dave was ok. The Lord saved Dave's hand.
Shaken, I sat down as Dave got a bandaid and continued to laugh at me. The owner of the gun walked in shortly after the incident and explained to us that he had recently shot himself in the leg with the same "cheap gun." Apparently the gun shoots a rogue nail every once in a while. THANKS MAN. THANKS A LOT FOR THE GUN! This fact did not make me feel better in the least. I held the gun. I fired the gun. I shot Dave. I will never be the same.
Sorry Cassie but from now on I will build everything with with legos or crazy glue.I hope that will suffice.
I'm happy to report that Dave is still my friend and though his finger is sore, he's going to be ok. I, on the other hand, and going to have nightmares for years to come.
Here's the problem with all of that: I am an IDIOT when it comes to tools. Never has this been more true than yesterday (but more on that in a second). It worries me that whenever Cassie needs a dollhouse built, I'm going to have to hire a contractor to come build it for her. Don't get me wrong, I try to do projects around the house and usually they get done. But they lack all efficiency and skill. The reason I try, even though I have no idea what I'm doing, is because when I got married a good friend of mine told me to just try. He said the only way I'll learn is to try. My friend who told me that was Dave and yesterday...Dave paid the price for that advice.
My wife is a 1st grade teacher and is in the process of getting her classroom ready for the upcoming school year. Jesse takes A LOT of pride in decorating her classroom. She wants her students to have an amazing 1st grade experience so she works tirelessly at making everything in her room perfect. This year she wanted to put a rocket ship in the corner of her classroom to serve as a place for her students to read - "launch into reading." Dave volunteered to help me build it - good friend.
Jesse and I bought the wood. I successfully cut all the 2x4's and Dave helped cut all the other wood. We took the wood to Jesse's classroom and to our surprise, and later dismay, some guys were working on another classroom and said we were welcome to all of their tools. Using their saw and nail gun was going to save us massive amounts of time. Dave grabbed the nail gun, I grabbed the nails and we were set. We laid out the wood according to how it was going to be built. We had a plan. Shouldn't take long at all.
The problem: I am an IDIOT when it comes to tools.
It came time to actually build the rocket. Dave braced the 2 pieces of wood that I was about to nail together with the nail gun. I placed the nail gun against the wood and fired away. The gun recoiled more than I thought. But as I looked, sure enough a nail was in place. Something didn't feel right, though. Dave yelped, held out his finger and told me to "look!". I immediately freaked out as I stared at Dave's finger. I had just shot one of my best friends in the finger with a nail. Dave had a nail in his finger and I was as white as a ghost. Dave was somehow smiling as he watched me freak out. We realized quickly that we needed to pull the nail out so we ran to the sink and on the count of 3 I pulled hard as I yanked the nail out of Dave's finger. It came out quickly with only a slight drop of blood. I was sure we were going to have to go to the ER but miraculously, and I mean miraculously, Dave was ok. The Lord saved Dave's hand.
Shaken, I sat down as Dave got a bandaid and continued to laugh at me. The owner of the gun walked in shortly after the incident and explained to us that he had recently shot himself in the leg with the same "cheap gun." Apparently the gun shoots a rogue nail every once in a while. THANKS MAN. THANKS A LOT FOR THE GUN! This fact did not make me feel better in the least. I held the gun. I fired the gun. I shot Dave. I will never be the same.
Sorry Cassie but from now on I will build everything with with legos or crazy glue.I hope that will suffice.
I'm happy to report that Dave is still my friend and though his finger is sore, he's going to be ok. I, on the other hand, and going to have nightmares for years to come.
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