The Teacher Learns

Who'd have thunk that a little pink poop monster could teach me so much? For one thing I've learned, not surprisingly I suppose, that the only instinct humans are born with is knowing how to suck. Far too many people never let that one go. I've also learned that just like love and obscenity, disgusting is in the eye of the beholder. (and you may relax as I shall not elaborate on that) But the biggest thing I learned just the other day was something about myself. I used to be what they now call emo. My high school and college notebooks were filled with bad poetry, sappy sketches, and drippy prose about how I'd gladly march into the jaws of death for the young lady that was currently the object of my fancy. But as I've grown older, and less convinced of anything beyond this mortal coil, I find the notion of willingly grappling with the Grim Reaper anything but romantic. Then, the other day on the way home from work, I found myself wondering what I would do in a situation where I could only save Sharon by sacrificing myself, and I realized that I would do so without a moment's hesitation or regret. All those times in the past when I've told people 'I'd die for you' I only thought I meant it. I now know exactly what it feels like to truly mean it. It's a good feeling. Something else interesting happened last night. We all have reoccurring themes in our dreams, and one of the most disconcerting to me is when some supernatural force has created an invisible barrier that immobilizes me. I know that this is an artifact of the temporary paralysis we experience in our sleep that keeps us from physically acting out our dreams, but it's very unnerving. Last night the culprits were aliens, and it was a staircase that no one could go down. Only this time they took Sharon. And last night, for the first time in my life, I broke through that barrier. Of course as soon as I did that the dream shifted to me being Superman and flying around a city, but the important part is that my feelings for my little girl penetrate into my subconscious so much that even in my dreams they give me strength. It's very cool. Other than that things have been pretty quiet here in Castle Marius. The school year is over for me, so it's time to start doing things around the house and spending even more time with Sharon. What's up with you? Peace, Marius

Passivity Examined

Last month we broke up with our cable company. We were paying an outrageous amount of money each month, and after watching them offer everything but oral sex to new customers, while telling us to basically bend over when we tried to reduce our plan to something more reasonable, we said good bye. Now, for the first time since, oh, 1979, I don't have cable TV. It's weird, but not in a bad way. See now that we have a baby, and a new car payment, we needed to tighten the budget somewhere. We are not extravagant people, so most of our spending is necessary, but it became clear that every show that we follow on the old boob tube is available online, and most of them are free. So cable was the logical victim. So far I'm not missing it, though I think Mrs. Marius might be. I did just have a bit of an epiphany, though. Our television consumption has shifted from passive to active. It's strange to think of TV as anything but passive, but the simple act of watching a show online requires deliberate, albeit minor, action. We can no longer just turn on the box and become couch potatoes, mindlessly pressing the channel up button until something causes a couple of brain cells to fire and we stay there for a few minutes or more. Now we have to decide that it's time to watch X; we have to log in, find the web site that carries X, and then watch. Granted I'm not going to be monitoring my standing heart rate while downloading the latest Mythbusters from Amazon.com, but it does strike me as interesting that an activity that has for nearly a century been considered one of the least active things you can do, when coupled with a technology that takes passivity to a whole new level, you get a requirement of deliberateness. I think I just blew my own mind. Namaste, y'all. Marius

On Family

Yesterday was one of those Dickensian 'best of times/worst of times' kind of days, but before I get to that let me explain a bit about what family means to me. I am not unique in having two distinct families; the one I was born into, and the one I chose, but the chosen family is different to what most of y'all out there would recognize. I've told y'all about the SCA, the Medieval recreationist group I have dabbled with over the years, and many of you are part of my SCA family so this won't be news to you, but most of my extended family comes from that group. Familial ties sprout up in the SCA as a natural part of the creation of your persona, and as friends gravitate together and households get formed, the family structure makes a great deal of sense...although sometimes the metaphor can get a bit strained. For example concepts like incest tend to get ignored leading to sometimes strange statements like 'I'd like you to meet my girlfriend, and sister.' But even though it's all in good fun the emotional bonds we form with our family members are very real, and often last a lifetime. Now let's set the Way-Back machine to 1981. It was the height of my Dungeons and Dragons playing years, and my brother told me about a woman he knew who ran an awesome D&D game. I soon met Barbara for the first time, and became a regular at her table. She was quite a but older than us, but the age range of her regular players ran from my age and a bit younger, to people in their 30's, so it didn't seem the least bit strange. Her games were elaborate, rich with detail, and a blast to play, and it didn't take long before I was one of the regular cadre of folks that hung out at her place. Both she and her husband at the time were affiliated with the local police department, and she was the den mother of the men and women in blue in our town. During our D&D times we had often heard of the SCA, but in these pre-Internet days we had no idea how to track them down. Then I graduated high school and moved to Gainesville, Florida and went to the University of Florida. Shortly after I arrived I spied a flyer saying that the SCA would be doing a demonstration at the school soon, and my friend Adam and I eagerly attended. The beginnings of my SCA career were, to say the least, ignominious, but we shall leave that for another time. The important bit here is that I quickly acquired contact information for the branch back home, and sent that info with all speed to all my friends, including, of course, Barb. To encapsulate the events of the ensuing 30 years or so would take more time, kilobytes, and functioning brain cells than I have available at this time, but very soon Natasha(as Barb became known) became better and better known in the Kingdom, and as a first aid practitioner, or Chirugeon, she was one of the only people who knew the signs when I was in trouble on the lyst field and saved my ass on numerous occasions when the heat was just too much (she was rarely far away when I was in armor, as seen in the above pic. that's her behind me). I honestly can't recall how she became Matka, Russian for mother, to me, but it made so much sense that I never needed to question it. She has been my second mother for more than half of my life, and in some ways knows me better than my biological mom ever did. Now we are back to the present. Barb has had many health issues over the past few years, and one that will ultimately send her away from us, but there is no telling how soon that will happen. Could be today, could be next year. I was told about this when Mrs. Marius was about 6 months pregnant, and I told Barb in no uncertain terms that she was not to go anywhere until she got to meet her granddaughter. Well, yesterday that finally happened. We gathered up the kids and drove the 2 1/2 hours north to visit. Under any other circumstances I'd have waited for a free couple of days so we could have a leisurely visit, but due to work schedules and such we could only stay a couple of hours and then head back home. It was great to see Barb, and the rest of the family with whom she lives, but the drive home could only be described as hellish. The baby doesn't mind the car, but HATES her car seat, and the Child of the Apocalypse just hates everything these days, so the ride was less than fun. Then, once we got home at 9:30, the baby was wide awake, though I was exhausted. But, I'd do it all again to get these pictures:

So Matka, you know I love you and have for a very, very long time, and I am so grateful for having you in my life, and I'm even more grateful that you got to meet Sharon. Now you have to stick around til she's talking so you can tell her stories. (you didn't really think I was letting you go, did you?) :-) Your loving son, Marius

Landing Party Report

Captain's Log, stardate 1203.23, Captain Sharon E. Tetrault reporting. Readings indicate that this planet is perfect for pooping, spitting up, and prolonged playing. I am currently about to engage in a full scale sleeping experiment and will report further when it's bottle time.

Log out.

Vulnerability

When you tell the world that you're expecting the advise comes in a flood. Sometimes joking, "Ha ha, guess you'll be giving up sleeping." Sometimes serious, "Treasure the days when they're tiny, for they grow up so fast." In fact nearly everyone, parent or no, has something to warn you about, but I learned something tonight that no one mentioned, and it blindsided me. I was at the grocery store about an hour ago. It was near closing, and the store was relatively deserted. I was at the check-out and heard a child screaming over by the exit. Now a year ago I might not have even noticed that sound, but it totally grabbed my attention, though no one else seemed to notice. As soon as I gathered my purchases I moved toward the doors to see what was going on. A large woman had a small, maybe 3 or 4 year old boy by the hand, and he was doing the 'I don't want to do what you want me to do so I'm letting my legs go limp' thing that kids do. Again, a year ago if I had noticed this at all I'd have just assumed that the kid was being bratty, but not tonight. Tonight the scene filled me with terror as I wondered if things would look any different if the child was being taken by a stranger. Then I panicked as I imagined that boy was my Sharon. I watched a little while longer through the window of the store until I was sure she was, indeed, his mom, and as I was walking to my car I saw the boy with his father as well, but the whole affair really rattled me. No one tells you how vulnerable you are as a parent. Suddenly someone who is vastly, incredibly, infinitely more important in my life than I am is a primary concern of mine. You can knock me down, spit in my face, slander my name all over the place. Do anything that you want to do to me, but stay the fuck away from my kid...and the corollary of that being that I'm terrified because I can't protect her from everything. It's a sobering thought, and one that may take me a while to come to terms with.

In the meantime I intend to teach her to raise holy Hell if some stranger tries to take her from us.

Anyone know how young you can get a concealed carry permit in Florida?

Marius the Shaken.

The Time Has Finally Arrived

Poop long, and prosper.

:-)

Requiem for a Valient Steed

Sixteen years ago I started working at the greatest gig of my career. The Duncan Theatre, at Palm Beach Community College, needed an Assistant Technical Director, and I got the job. That was the beginning of three wonderful years there, and it was also the steadiest, and largest paycheck I'd gotten to date. My beat up, hand me down Ford Taurus was rapidly falling apart, and it was time to look into getting a different car. I don't recall how the idea came up, but I soon realized that a new...actually new...car was possible. So in November of that year I drove off the the lot of Saturn of West Palm Beach with a brand new, if no-frills, car. She was silver, with a manual transmission, manual locks, manual windows, and no power steering or brakes. The only frill was the cruise control. I recall as I was driving her home for that first time wondering if I'd get 100,000 miles out of her. Back then 100K was still a milestone, but Saturns were known for their longevity, so I figured I had a good shot. I treated her well, kept to the maintenance schedule, changed her oil often, and she got me where I needed to go. The Hyperion, as I came to name her, and I drove all over Florida, all over Louisiana, and as far north as Savannah, Georgia, and rarely did she complain. Of course there were repairs needed. A water pump here, a starter module there, a snapped shift cable was the worst of it, but never anything horrible. I got my one and only speeding ticket in that car, and we were never in a wreck. I've slept in her, dressed in her, oddly enough she's the only car I never had sex in, but just about everything else you can do in a car I've done in the Hyperion. Whenever I'd forget to turn my lights off before trying to get out of the car she'd quietly ding at me, and I'd always say 'thank you, dear'. She gladly suffered silly stickers on the rear window, and dragons and Buddy Christ glued to her dash. She was a work horse that could haul up to 10' long 2x4's and never falter, though she would slow down a bit. I loved that car. Sadly, though, all good things must end, and a few months ago I drove her to the store for lunch one day and she wouldn't start. Now she has always started with just the lightest turn of the key, so this was strange. I feared I had run out of gas, so I put a gallon in, and still nothing. I waited a bit more, and then she started right up. This happened a few more times before I realized that she would no longer start when hot. It was more annoyance than anything else as it merely meant that anywhere I went needed to last at least 15-20 minutes so she could cool down. But soon 15-20 became 30-60, then two weeks ago I had to cancel class because after two hours she still wouldn't start. I took her to the shop and was told that the clutch and transmission weren't communicating properly and it could cost $1K to fix, and that might not do it. The Hyperion was terminal. So we've limped along while I've tried to find a newish car. I hate car shopping, and dealing with car salespeople can be soul-crushing, but my brother recommended a place down in our home town that gave him a great deal this summer, so I contacted them, got approved for financing, and found a couple of cars I liked. Of course the main problem now was getting down there since the Hyperion's last journey of 10 miles from work to home ended two miles shy of our destination, and required the services of a tow truck to get us home. A rental car would have cost over $100 since I'd have to leave it down there, so I thought I'd check out the trains. 25 bucks! So I booked passage on the choo-choo and readied myself as best I could. The train was 2 hours late, so I was sweating getting to the dealership before they closed, which would have been tricky since I'd be 200 miles from home with no car, but I got there by 6:30, and the salesperson working with me was more than happy to accommodate me at that late hour. Sadly the car I had come to see, a 2010 Yaris, had been sold that afternoon, but a quick search found something even better, a 2010 Nissan Versa. I'd never heard of it, but we checked it out. A smallish hatchback with lots of room inside. I sat in it, and it felt, well, right. A test drive also felt good. By 9pm I drove off the lot with my newish car, and a huge feeling of relief. The drive home the next day gave The Phoenix and me a chance to get to know each other. I named her Phoenix since she is rising from the ashes of my once beautiful Hyperion, and I found 4+ hours in her driver's seat to be not in the least bit tiring. Of course we now have a car payment again, but we also have a shiny, nearly new car in the driveway and I don't have to worry that every time I stop at a red light I'll be pushing the car out of traffic and waiting for the engine to cool down again. So I raise my glass in a toast to the end of a long, 271,000 miles long, relationship with a fantastic car, and to the beginning of a, hopefully, equally fruitful partnership with this one.

Behold, The Phoenix:

I'm a Baaad Blogger

I had no idea. No idea at all just how all-consuming being a parent is. I mean I've been a step-parent for nearly a decade now, but this is so very different. The CoA is a relatively self-sufficient creature, able to be left alone for increasingly longer periods, and aside from a damnable angsty attitude is fairly autonomous. But the baby...the baby. Don't get me wrong, I adore her and would fight a Balrog wearing only a Saran Wrap thong and wielding a celery stick to protect her if need be, but by Grabthar's hammer I miss me. Every morning is spent desperately trying to get my coffee down and my email checked before those familiar little noises coming from the monitor turn into the full-throated wails of the now awake and hungry Sharon. The rest of the morning is a game of 'let's see how long daddy can sneak away to wash dishes, or get big sister out of bed, or Heaven forbid eat some breakfast before baby starts crying'. Then it's bottles, play, carry, change, play, bottle, rock, sleep, rinse, repeat. Then after work it's the balancing act between mommy and daddy to make sure neither of us gets unfairly put upon, although my lack of functioning mammary glands does make that somewhat difficult, but since I do most of the non-lactation related food prep I consider that an even balance. Finally, anywhere between 7-8:30 the baby falls asleep for the night...well, at least until around midnight-2am when she'll wake up and want more to eat. Then Mrs. Marius turns in, and I have the house to myself. I have so many things I want to do. Blog, edit my podcast, play Oblivion, but as soon as I sit down at the computer my eyelids become two lead sheets, and I'm usually in bed by 9:30 having accomplished nothing. Then it all starts again, though sometimes I'm up as early as 4:30 because the little one makes a lot of noise in her sleep, and sometimes it's hard to tell the difference between a sleep cry and an awake cry. So, as you might imagine, I'm a tad frazzled of late.

Also, a week ago last Thursday, my wife was in a car wreck. Fortunately is a was a low speed collision where no one got hurt, and was not her fault, but we are now dealing with getting her car fixed and worrying about them fixing all the damage vs just totaling the car and giving us a fraction of what we'd need to buy something else, so that's an extra frazzlation. At least they've paid for a rental so we're not down a vehicle. Plus my car is on its last legs, having given me sixteen years and 270,000 miles, but our tax return should cover a down payment on a newer car, but I hate buying a car.

So, in a nutshell that's why I've been terribly absent. I hope that if any of you are still reading this that all is well with you, and rest assured I still read your stuff. Now if you'll excuse me I have to go wash something.

Oh, and that picture is Sharon this weekend. We went to a very nice park with this great raised boardwalk/nature trail. Sharon, when surrounded by the bounteous beauty of nature, wanted only to look at the boards of the boardwalk while being carried, and to chew on her stroller when being wheeled about. I love her, but she's weird.

Marius

The Teacher Becomes the Taught

When I was 3 or 4 years old my father got us in a car crash. We had just come home from something or other, and our cat was on top of the table, and I wanted to hold her. So I pulled her down to me. Of course, being just a toddler I didn't know how to handle a cat in such a way, she thought she was falling, put out her claws, and scratched my eye. I don't remember much of this, just vague impressions, but my mother later told me there was a lot of blood and crying, and my dad panicked and threw us in the car and raced for the hospital. Unfortunately, due to his belief that my eyeball had been shredded, he ignored one too many stop signs and we got t-boned. The police took my mother and me to the hospital and it turned out that the cat had only nicked my eyelid and I was perfectly fine. All my life I never fully appreciated that incident, and kinda wondered why my normally rational father would lose his shit so. Yesterday I found out. Sharon's fingernails have needed trimming for a while now, but my up-close vision has degraded to the point that even with glasses it's very hard for me to see her whisper-thin, yet oh-so-sharp nails. But my wife has been sick of late and hasn't been up to doing much of anything, so I put on two pairs of glasses and figured I'd give it a go. The first clip went ok, or so I thought, but slowly Sharon's face went from baby neutral to a soul-shredding frown of ultimate unhappiness and she began screaming in pain. Looking more closely I saw I had taken a nip out of the end of her thumb, and it was starting to bleed. I felt like I was the worst, most horrible daddy ever, and as I held my screaming baby to my chest, knowing that she was screaming because of me, the myriad of emotions flooding me completely ripped any rationality from my mind. Anger, confusion, terror all blotted out my usually analytical thought processes, and all I could do was move in random directions while trying to comfort the wailing creature in my arms. My poor teenager made the mistake of being visible and I yelled at her in my frustration, sending her to her room in tears. Fortunately this only lasted a few minutes, and I calmed down enough to finally get myself together and take care of the injury...a bit of hydrogen peroxide and a way-too-big Band-Aid did the trick...and apologize to the COA, but I felt like the lowest of the low all the rest of the day. I know that should this be my worst day as a daddy I'll be very lucky, but I also hope that my complete losing of my shit over such a relatively minor thing will help me to not do so in the future if/when something serious happens. And dad, if you are still out there and are watching, I get it now.

Why I Hurt My Baby

Little Sharon was lying on the crinkly paper covered exam table. She'd stoically endured pokes, and prods, and cold stethoscope intrusions, and even swallowed the oral vaccine without complaint. But then it was time for the shots. I hadn't been there for the first round of them, so I didn't know what to expect. I held her little hands as the doctor stuck the three tiny needles into her thighs. I will never forget the red-faced wailing of my darling girl, or the look of utter anguish and hurt on her face. I squeezed her hands, fought back my instinct to grab her and flee, or fight off her assailant, and tried my best to reassure her that it would be all right. The shots were given quickly, and in a few seconds I was holding my crying baby in my arms, rocking her and trying to soothe her. I tried to comfort myself with the knowledge that she will almost certainly not remember anything about this day, though I know that I will almost certainly never forget. The rest of the day she was grumpy and uncomfortable; made all the worse by the nasty cold she has. Last night neither my wife nor I got much sleep as Sharon slept fitfully, noisily, and woke frequently due to her stuffed up nose. But, in two months when it's time for her next round of shots I'll willingly, if not exactly gladly, do it all again. I know that with the exception of this relatively small amount of pain and discomfort I am protecting my little girl from rotavirus, hepatitis b, haemophilus influenzae, polio, diphtheria, tetanus, and pertussis. Any of these can be fatal or crippling, and I will continue to do everything I can to protect my darling baby from the ravages of easily preventable diseases. And if you are on the fence about vaccinating your kids I urge you to do your homework. Look at the volumes of data compiled over nearly a century that vouch for the safety and efficacy of vaccines. I also urge you to ignore celebrities who have no medical credentials whatsoever, yet choose to spread falsehoods and bad science. Vaccines are safe, effective, and vital to the survival of our children.

I will now put the soapbox away.

And Now Your Moment of Zen

I'm posting this on because it worked for me today.

A Dr. on TV said to have inner peace we should always finish things we start & we all could use more calm in our lives.

I looked around my house to find things I'd started & hadn't finished, so I finished off a bottle of Merlot, a bottle of Chardonnay, a bodle of Baileys, a butle of wum, tha mainder of Valiuminun prscriptuns, an a box a chocletz.

Yu haf no idr how fablus I feel rite now.

Sned this to all who need inner piss. An telum u luvem.

My Cat is a Sloppy Drunk

If Artemis could meow 'I love you, motherfucker. No, really, I mean it, man.' she would. It's nearly Christmas, and since we've decided to go down to South Florida so my dad and some others can meet Sharon, Artemis is having her annual urinary tract infection. So we found a vet nearby and I put the poor dear in the carrier and paid the good doctor a visit. After the normal prodding, and squeezing, and listening, and, now that I think about it, no thermometer work, the doctor suggested something no one else had. Apparently some cats have a thing called lower urinary tract disease, which acts an awful lot like a UTI, but without bacteria involved. And given Artemis's history of frequent flare ups she is a likely candidate, so rather than antibiotics we have her on painkillers to ease the symptoms and see if it runs its course and subsides on its own. The side effect to the narcotic pain killers is that my cat is stoned out of her tiny kitty mind. When she's not sleeping she's even more affectionate than ever, and she is a very loving kitty, and there have been a lot of kitty kisses and hand grabbing. It's quite amusing, actually. When asked what can trigger such flare ups, the doctor said stress, usually. And what can stress a cat out? Stuff like a new baby in the house. D'oh!

Other than that all is quiet. I'm done for the semester, so I'm on full-time-daddy duty. Sharon has finally mastered blowing raspberries, much to my amusement and my wife's dismay, and the little imp now realizes how much it amuses me, and pthbthbthbthbs whenever she sees me. It's freaking adorable!!

Almost as adorable as this:



TTFN

Marius

Politicraziness

I know I said that I would post an entry every time flurrious did, and some of you might have noticed that she did so just last week, but I did not, but she posted again this week, and it's part 2 of last week's post, so I'm still good, right? Right? *le sigh*

Anyway, the real reason I haven't posted anything is that I'm trying to not be that obnoxious new dad who only ever talks about The Baby(insert golden light from above and a heavenly choir here) You know that guy. Has a wallet full of photos that are all nearly identical, brags about the latest bowel movement stats like her diaper is an NBA court, already knows what college she'll attend, etc. The truth is I AM that guy, but I've been subjected to enough of that over the years that I'm actively fighting it...and mostly succeeding. But, and I hope you'll forgive me this one indulgence, ain't she cute?




Anyway, I have a theory about the latest spate of Republican nutjobs competing for the GOP nomination for 2012. They all seem irredeemably insane, and this has puzzled me for a while, because even at his back-woodsy nuttiest, George W. Bush never acted as batshit crazy as this bunch. But I think I have it figured out. Unseating an incumbent president is historically difficult, and the GOP doesn't seem to have a truly viable candidate right now, so what if they're trotting out the lunatic fringe that keeps begging to sit at the adult's table so that when they inevitably get trounced by Obama then they can legitimately tell them next time that they had their chance, and they need to slink back into the basement while the grownups handle the real work of sucking corporate di...um, funding.

Either that or the whole party is just a bunch of whack jobs.

Either way it's entertaining as hell, but I will miss Herman Cain.

Peace, y'all.
Marius

Someone (else) Think of the Children!!

I've been in the parenting biz for nearly a decade now, not that this makes me an expert by any stretch, but there is one thing I've noticed. Lots of people constantly bemoan that this world is too dangerous for 'the children'. As a newly minted 'daddy' I certainly can understand the inclination to view the world through the prism of how everything will affect my daughter, but I also temper that with the very real fact that it is MY job to protect and teach her. Now I will grant you that there are some things that have been enacted to protect children that I 100% support: fire resistance regulations, paint lead content maximums, and car seat legislation all work to protect children from unscrupulous corporations, or idiot parents. I also agree with some governmental oversight of public schools...note that I said 'some'. But lately it seems that any and everything that could possibly be harmful, or even mildly inconvenient for children must be wrapped in foam, or covered in warnings, or hidden behind a plain brown wrapper, or not put on the air until 2:15am. Speaking as a parent I say KNOCK IT OFF!!!! For every wailing mother on the TV who cries out 'Won't someone think of the children?!' I put in the missing word...'else'. Won't someone else think of my children so I don't have to. And even when someone else does do everything reasonably possible to protect their little snowflakes it's still not enough. Video game companies bent over backwards to rate games so that parents could see at a glance if they were appropriate for their darling, impressionable little cupcakes, yet when my wife worked at K-Mart she frequently sold Grand Theft Auto to parents who then turned around and handed it to their 8 year old, even after being verbally warned by my wife that it probably wasn't age appropriate. And, of course, after watching Ghandi, Jr. cap a hooker and then run over a priest, the fault was laid squarely on the store for selling the game in the first place. It's just sad.

I try my best to keep my children's lives as innocent as possible for as long as possible, but I don't expect the government to do that for me. Everyone screams that they want less government interference in their lives, at least until they have to actually get off their fat asses and show a little parental responsibility, then it's all 'the government didn't do enough to prevent little Johnny from seeing a nipple for 3 milliseconds during a football game'. Yet these are the same yahoos who will haul their toddlers to see The Guts and Boobs Killer XVIII in 3D Gore-Around(tm) without a second thought. This shit used to bug me when I was single, now it just totally pisses me off. And I know I'm preaching to the choir here, but at least I'm getting it off my chest, and getting another blog post out there, so win/win, no?

Anyway, I have some bottles to wash while Sharon is asleep for a bit. Ciao, y'all!

Marius

And So This Is Chrisgiving...wait, what?!

I'm going to jump on the bandwagon here and bitch a bit about all the Christmas stuff being dragged out before Thanksgiving. This is nothing more than a shallow, transparent marketing ploy, much like tomorrow's Black Friday nonsense, that seeks to capitalize on the American public's easily manipulated nature. I'll admit it seems to be working brilliantly, so I'm tempted to say more power to them. I mean if people are dumb enough to let the retailers dictate their lives who am I to complain? But I realized as I heard my first radio ad to the tune of Jingle Bells yesterday that I hate, Hate, HATE advertisements set to Christmas song tunes, and when they start playing that shit a week before Thanksgiving, well it just pisses me off.

However, this is not supposed to be a rant. Instead I'd like to say that I am thankful for so much in my life. No, things are not where I'd like them to be, but I have wonderful friends, a great job that at least pays the bills, a roof over my head, and the most amazingly amazing little baby daughter any man could wish for. My family loves me, and I them, my students at least pretend to like me ( ;-) ) and my cats adore me. I have a turkey breast in the Crock Pot, and two pies in the fridge, and this:



I'm out of beer, but I have a bottle of mead, and the Dolphins are playing in two hours. I have a wildly successful podcast, and my car still runs even after driving the equivalent of a trip to the moon with her. I have two phasers, a communicator, and a tricorder, and I know how to use them all. So all in all life is pretty damned good. Thank you to all of you who still come around my cobweb festooned corner of the interwebs, and I wish you a very happy Thanksgiving...even if you're not in the US since we could all use a bit more gratefulness in our lives.

Hugs to all,
Marius

Randomness Revisited

Well, gentle, patient, and probably absent readers, I am going to make a concerted effort to rise up above the piles of Pampers, rubber nipples, and spit-up stained shirts to blog atcha once again. The wonderful, talented, and slightly scary flurrious has, through no fault of her own, become my goad. Whenever she posts a blog, I shall do likewise. I might even try to do so more often, but at the very least when the meerkats cry, so shall I.

So what's up? I've noticed something strange about being a new parent. Most parents I know go nuts with pictures and stories about their little bundles of joy for most of the first year of baby's life, but after a while things start to blur together. I took tons of pics of little Sharon, even sharing some with you wonderful folks, but I started to notice that her repertoire of activities is pretty much limited to laying down, being carried, and sleeping. Yes I got some shots of her smiling, which just melts my jaded old daddy-heart, but even that got rather repetitious. So this is my pledge to you...I shall not barrage you with shot after shot of Sharon doing...well...not much, really. When she does something particularly cute, such as this:

...then shall I share it. But otherwise, and henceforth in this post I shall try to avoid the constant baby-babble that is the hallmark of the new parent.

Part of the problem with being a new parent, however, is that you find your world narrows in focus to the dimensions of your house, and maybe the car seat. When we're home most of our activities revolve around either getting the baby to sleep, or not waking her up. It's very strange. This has had the effect of cutting me off from the outside world so that I have very little to say about current events. The Occupy Whereever movement seems to be losing its momentum, since people are very good at getting used to annoyances when they last long enough, and I'm sure the gold plated assholes who are the targets of the protests couldn't care less if a thousand unwashed people are yelling at them from across the street. I know the press is trying to play up the police actions of kicking the protesters out of parks and such, but that's their job. No one is telling them they can't protest, but if I wanted to set up a tent in the local park I'd be told to go home too. Free speech is free speech, but if a public park does not allow camping, and you are camping there, and the local constabulary asks you to leave, you're not being oppressed...you're breaking the law. Anyway I can sympathize with the protests, at least with the ones who are being rational. I have no problem with wealthy people being wealthy, and I don't support the enforced redistribution of wealth, but when the banks accepted our money to save their sorry asses, and then shit on us from the gold plated windows of their mansions, then fuck them! But I don't suppose that would look too good on a picket sign.

The state of Florida killed a murderer yesterday. He'd only been on death row since 1989 for killing a woman and her two teenaged daughters, so yay for swift justice. I'm no fan of the death penalty in principal, but I have to wonder if knowing that you'll get at least 20 years before the sentence is carried doesn't lessen the deterrent effect just a tiny bit.

The holiday season looms anon. I don't know how I feel about that just yet. The years since my mom died have been lackluster at best at Christmas time, but maybe the baby will help rekindle the yule log in my soul.

Ok, that's all for now. Go visit flurrious and tell her how much you like her blog...and you will, trust me...and encourage her to post more oftenly so I can. :-)


Peace out, y'all,
Marius

Of Injections and Baby Stats

So Sharon is two months old now. She had her first round of vaccinations yesterday, and while I see no evidence of her gaining any super powers, neither does she seem to be any the worse for wear, so we'll call it a wash. Coincidentally I got a flu shot yesterday, and I also cannot perform any superhuman stunts. Sad, I know. As for Sharon's current stats, she is 10.8 pounds, and 21 inches long. She eats like a horse, and can already scoot all around her crib at night while she's sleeping. We finally bit the bullet and invested in a motion monitor that goes under her mattress so she can sleep on her tummy and we'll know immediately if she stops breathing. It has allowed all of us to actually get some sleep, although still not enough. Today she woke up at 2:30am, then at 4am, then made enough noise at 5am that I thought she was waking up, and so I got up, made her a bottle, and when I went to get her she was sound asleep. Methinks once she's mobile we'll have quite a little handful.(and I kind of pity the cats)

She can be quite grumpy sometimes, but then she turns on her crippling cuteness rays, and all is rainbows and puppies. Here, allow me to demonstrate:



Mrs. Marius is in her first week back to work, and I think she's glad to be doing something other than transporting and feeding our little darling. I have a show opening in two weeks, but the build is going well, so the stress level isn't too bad. I could just use a little more sleep. :-)

Peace out, y'all.
Marius

More Babyness

Things I've learned in the past 6 weeks:

When people learn you're having a baby they all say 'well, guess you won't be sleeping much' or words to that effect, but what they don't tell you is that you will get plenty of sleep, just in 45 minute increments...which is far more mind-crushing than just staying up all night.

I used to think that people who took their babies out in public with only a diaper on were lazy parents. Now, after changing diapers on the average of every 25-45 minutes I wonder why we ever bother to put clothes on her. And wouldn't Velcro make more sense in the diaper region of onesies than snaps?

"Shhh, you'll wake the baby!" Carries more weight in my world now than "Run, the missiles are coming" would.

When Sharon smiled at her mother for the first time yesterday, and I mean a real, "Hey, I know you and I like you" smile, my heart nearly exploded with joy. And when she gave me a smile this morning, I almost wept.

Until she is more aware of her environment, which is happening very gradually, we can't plan to do anything. Even typing on the computer is contingent on her either being asleep, like now, or being with Mrs. Marius.

We took many precautions to make sure the cats didn't bother the baby, but they are either indifferent to her so far, or actively afraid, so it hasn't been an issue.

I never could have anticipated my feelings for Sharon. Even at her most frustrating I can't imagine life without her anymore. When I'm at work, while part of me is relieved at having both arms free and not being damp with regurgitated formula, I miss her every minute, and can't wait to get home to her.

Oh, and for you statisticians, she's just under 10 pounds, and probably about 21-21" or so now.

And now I'm going to make a mad dash for the bathroom before she wakes up again.

Love y'all!
Marius

Starbaby Update

So, it's quiet. The living room is dark and the TV off for the first time in weeks it seems. My Mother-In-Law, who came down a week before Sharon was born, just left to go back to Mississississississippi (sorry, I never know when to stop with the i-s-ses) and I took first shift with the baby and sent Mrs. Marius to bed. We're trying to get Sharon to sleep on her back and not on one of us, and we have had some modicum of success. She still won't go to sleep on her own, but if we time it right and put her in the play pen after she's asleep we can sometimes get her to stay there. But for most of her three weeks of life she's been in someone's arms, with the TV and at least one light on. So now it's dark, quiet, and aside from a few squeaks and grunts over the baby monitor it's been about 45 minutes without any complaint. I don't dare hope for an all night snooze, but if she'll sleep for at least another hour I know the missus will appreciate it.

Otherwise it's been a fairly normal few weeks. Work is going well, and my class seems to be a good bunch so far. My brother stopped by last week to meet his new niece and took me to lunch, and we haven't invaded any more sovereign nations lately, so I'll call it a win for now.

And now I'm going to watch some more of the Wild Wild West DVD that's in my disc drive, but let me leave you with some more pics of my world's most adorable baby. :-)

Baby Sharon Is Born

So here's what happened. Last Saturday, August 27th, 2011, began like most other days. I got up, had coffee, cut the grass, etc. My mother-in-law was here to help Mrs. Marius in the last weeks of her pregnancy, and nothing seemed amiss. Around three in the afternoon my wife mentioned that she was having strong, regular contractions, and so we began timing and monitoring, and this time not freaking out. Finally, around five, it became clear that this was really, really labor, and we went to the hospital. By six we were in the labor/delivery room. Imagine a large hotel room, only with a linoleum floor, and medical instruments built into the furniture. For the first couple of hours it was just my wife, me, and an occasional visit by the nurse. Eventually the doctor came in, who was very nice and reminded me of the stock 'female Asian doctor' on just about every medical show I've ever seen with a little bit of Hoshi Sato mixed in, and she examined my wife. Mrs. M was dilated to 7cm, which is close but not quite to the needed 10cm, so we waited a bit more. The contractions were painful, but not too severe, and I did my best to keep her breathing and comfortable. Eventually the doctor decided to speed things up a bit and broke my wife's water. Contrary to popular myth most women's water never breaks until delivery, but sometimes the doctor will make just a tiny hole in the amniotic sac with what looks like a plastic crochet hook and allow the fluid to come out. This usually triggers active labor, and boy howdy did it ever! Within minutes my wife was in full labor, crying out in pain, and ready to get that baby out. Maybe half an hour later things shifted into overdrive. Several nurses and the doctor swooped in and began doing all kinds of things. A tray of scary looking instruments was uncovered, and the sound of latex gloves snapping drifted over my wife's sounds of pain. I stroked her head and murmured encouragement, but my ability to assist anyone at that point was essentially nil. The nurses took over coaching, and soon my wife was pushing, and crying, and straining. We didn't opt for the mirror since neither of us really felt the need for a front row seat, but it wasn't long before I saw the top of the baby's head poking out. Two more pushes and suddenly a squidgy, bloody, slimy, crying creature was pulled from my wife's body. The team swiftly and expertly cleaned her off and within two or three minutes Sharon Elizabeth was laying on her mommy's chest. I confess that more than a tear or two rolled down my face at the sight of our daughter. Mrs. M became very calm and relaxed as soon as Sharon was there, but the work wasn't quite over. If you've never been through childbirth you may not realize that the placenta does not come out when the baby does, and it takes a few minutes before it is delivered, but I didn't even notice when that happened, and I'm not sure my wife did, either. There there was a bit of stitching up to do since there was a little bit of damage during the birth, and then almost as suddenly as it started, the whirlwind of activity was done, and it was just us and one nurse again. They let Sharon nurse for the first time before weighing and measuring her, and then we gathered up our stuff, and our baby, and went to the recovery room. All told I think we were in the delivery room for about four or five hours.

The recovery rooms in this hospital are even more like hotel rooms. The bed is, of course, a hospital bed, but the room is smaller, with comfy chairs, a pull-out sofa, softer lighting, and a wide-screen tv. We settled in and the nurses brought my wife crackers and juice, and then started taking vitals for both mommy and baby, and we began to get to know our new arrival. That night we didn't sleep much, but not because of Sharon. The baby was very quiet, but about every hour or two someone would come in to take a reading, or measurement, or check something, or get something signed, etc. Hospitals are not conducive to resting, but we both managed to grab a couple of hours of sleep anyway.

The next morning my mother-in-law came over to meet her new granddaughter, and our 13-year-old got to meet her half-sister. Everybody loves the baby, though my wife was getting quite sore as Sharon was demanding to eat nearly hourly. Eventually I went home and my mother-in-law stayed with Mrs. M and Sharon for the second night. Monday morning I ran some errands and then went to the hospital. It took some time to get all the paperwork sorted, but by about 1pm the discharge papers were done, and we took our baby home for the first time. She did fine in the car, and since she can't really see much beside blurry light and blurry dark the surroundings didn't really affect her. She sleeps, she eats, she poops, she generally waits til we have her diaper off and then pees. All normal stuff for a newborn. She squeaks, and grunts, and burps, and farts, and cries, and burbles, and is the most beautiful, amazing, gorgeous creature I've ever seen. I didn't expect to be so moved by her presence, after all I've been relatively indifferent to children most of my adult life, but I know that if an army of orcs were coming after her, and all I had was a plastic spork and a single shoelace, there would be a twenty foot high wall of dead orcs around me before any of them laid so much as a finger on her. I freely admit that I am in full-on first time parent mode, worrying about everything that might hurt or even inconvenience her, but I don't care. This tiny, helpless human needs me to be ever vigilant, and even though I rationally know that I can't protect her from every possible threat, I'll do my damndest to try. As for my wife, she is recovering quite well, and while we don't exactly fight over who gets to hold the baby 'this time', I know we both consider it to be the greatest thing in the world to do. Of course, since she is the baby's food dispenser, she has quite the edge on me. :-)






That's all for now. You can be assured, or warned, that there will be numerous posts in the future about Sharon and her growth. After all, it is highly doubtful there will be another baby in this house, and I'm going to make sure we all get the most out of this experience as possible, including, and especially Sharon.

Peace out, y'all.

Daddy Marius the Incredibly Proud and Lucky