No, Case, this is not about the lack of sleep I am presently experiencing. This is a short lesson in taking care of an automobile. Short because it's simple, and simple because your dad knows next to nothing about cars. Although I am stunningly adept at finding myself in car-related fiascos of various kinds.
And that is the perfect segue.
OK, here it is: Don't forget to regularly put gas in whatever you drive (I assume hover cars will need gas). Short. Simple. But more complex than it sounds for some of us. Your dad has a sordid history of running out of gas (if the dry fuel line of my old S-10 pickup could talk). Really, no one of legal driving age should ever run out of gas more than, say, twice in a lifetime. I've run out of gas twice in one day. I want you to follow my example on certain things. On this, I'd prefer you didn't.
Today on the way to work, I was thinking about how beautiful it was outside, how happy I am with our family (despite the whole sleep thing) and how unfair it was that I wasn't going to win the weekly NFL picks pool despite getting 13 of the 14 day games right. Then I noticed the bright orange "LOW FUEL" light on the dashboard. I was 6 miles from the nearest gas station and it didn't look good. Luckily, I made it to the Exxon station on fumes and spared myself the embarrassment of having to leave my car on the side of the road and, worse, making a phone call to your mom to come and pick me up (you think some of the looks she gives you are intimidating).
Thirty-nine-year-olds with jobs should never find themselves trudging along a random stretch of road carrying $1.78 in gas as other (smarter) drivers fly by and laugh (rightfully) at the idiot with the red can.
OK, this wasn't as short as I thought it would be (it never is). But to recap, make sure your car has enough gas to get from Point A to Point B. Short. Simple.
That's pretty much all the automotive advice I can offer. Well, that and NEVER swing a sledgehammer on a hot, sweaty day when your car hood is within 10 feet.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Sleeveless shirt. Tattoos. Baby?
So, Magoo, after weeks of talking about it, I finally dragged myself out of bed early enough to take you out to breakfast. The idea was to give your mom a break so she could get some rest. But I think she spent the whole time worried that our first public outing would result in lots of screaming and crying (and that you might get upset, too).
It didn't get off to the best start, as five minutes after we left the house, I found myself in the back of the nearby library parking lot fumbling around in the back seat trying to prepare a couple ounces of formula to quiet you down. It turned out the bottle I cleaned in anticipation of our trip didn't get as clean as I thought. So I drove us back home, ran upstairs and quickly cleaned the bottle again, returning to your side and making a second attempt to put together your bottle. This time, I dropped alll the various pieces on the flloor. So I had to run back up the stairs and finallly got the cleaning right as your mom told me to "calm down."
Off we went to breakfast.
The trip went smoothly, and I was feeling pretty confident. Until I noticed all the cars in the parking lot. The place was packed. I admit it was fairly intimidating. I was hoping this would be my regular spot, but if I screwed this up, it might be my last visit.
Of course, I walked in the wrong door, which meant I had to haul you through the entire dining room to the front door where the hostess would seat us. I could feel the glare of all those eyes -- and sense their thoughts. But it wasn't the usual, "Who dresses that man?" Instead, I sensed a "Why is that man dressed like a hobo carrying a newborn baby? Look how cute that baby is. You think that guy stole him?" vibe.
To clarify, son, I was wearing a typical outfit (sorry Jason Isbell's dad): sleeveless shirt and worn-out jeans (they're light green, but your mom insists they're gray; your mom can''t see well). It probably didn't help that I hadn't shaved in about six weeks. But when you have a child, you will understand my even-more-laissez-faire-than-usual attitude toward fashion on this particular day.
Ultimately, you mostly slept through the coffee and the ensuing oatmeal I ordered. There was a short outburst a few spoonfuls in, but the pacifier solved that. I was actually becoming very comfortable with us hanging out and figured I'd ask for a refill. But before I had the chance, the waiter dropped off the check and, unprompted, asked me if I wanted a coffee to go. "Uh, yeah," I stammered. I initially thought the guy sensed I may have been in over my head and was looking for a quick exit. More than likely, though, the manager told him to get $10 from the hobo and shoo him away. :)
All in all, Magoo, I enjoyed our time together. At this point, I don't get to see you as much as I'd like, between me working and you sleeping. The trepidation I felt when we first left the house had subsided completely by the time we got back. It was a good time, a good start to a lifetime of small, but meaningful meal moments (sort of a Pallister tradition). As I type, I'm already looking forward to the next one, thinking maybe I'll shave and wear sleeves so all the stares will be directed toward the cute little guy in the car seat.
It didn't get off to the best start, as five minutes after we left the house, I found myself in the back of the nearby library parking lot fumbling around in the back seat trying to prepare a couple ounces of formula to quiet you down. It turned out the bottle I cleaned in anticipation of our trip didn't get as clean as I thought. So I drove us back home, ran upstairs and quickly cleaned the bottle again, returning to your side and making a second attempt to put together your bottle. This time, I dropped alll the various pieces on the flloor. So I had to run back up the stairs and finallly got the cleaning right as your mom told me to "calm down."
Off we went to breakfast.
The trip went smoothly, and I was feeling pretty confident. Until I noticed all the cars in the parking lot. The place was packed. I admit it was fairly intimidating. I was hoping this would be my regular spot, but if I screwed this up, it might be my last visit.
Of course, I walked in the wrong door, which meant I had to haul you through the entire dining room to the front door where the hostess would seat us. I could feel the glare of all those eyes -- and sense their thoughts. But it wasn't the usual, "Who dresses that man?" Instead, I sensed a "Why is that man dressed like a hobo carrying a newborn baby? Look how cute that baby is. You think that guy stole him?" vibe.
To clarify, son, I was wearing a typical outfit (sorry Jason Isbell's dad): sleeveless shirt and worn-out jeans (they're light green, but your mom insists they're gray; your mom can''t see well). It probably didn't help that I hadn't shaved in about six weeks. But when you have a child, you will understand my even-more-laissez-faire-than-usual attitude toward fashion on this particular day.
Ultimately, you mostly slept through the coffee and the ensuing oatmeal I ordered. There was a short outburst a few spoonfuls in, but the pacifier solved that. I was actually becoming very comfortable with us hanging out and figured I'd ask for a refill. But before I had the chance, the waiter dropped off the check and, unprompted, asked me if I wanted a coffee to go. "Uh, yeah," I stammered. I initially thought the guy sensed I may have been in over my head and was looking for a quick exit. More than likely, though, the manager told him to get $10 from the hobo and shoo him away. :)
All in all, Magoo, I enjoyed our time together. At this point, I don't get to see you as much as I'd like, between me working and you sleeping. The trepidation I felt when we first left the house had subsided completely by the time we got back. It was a good time, a good start to a lifetime of small, but meaningful meal moments (sort of a Pallister tradition). As I type, I'm already looking forward to the next one, thinking maybe I'll shave and wear sleeves so all the stares will be directed toward the cute little guy in the car seat.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
One of those days
Case,
I'm sitting at work right now, but my mind is elsewhere. I'm thinking of you and your mom. We had to take her to the doctor this morning with a migraine (thanks for being cool while I rocked you in the parking lot for an hour). You and I got to spend some extra time together this afternoon while your mom got some much-needed rest, but eventually I had to go to work. I wish I could be there for you guys right now; sometimes responsibility is as frustrating as it is necessary. I take solace in knowing that I'm trying to do what's right, trying to do my best, for you, your mom, our family. Just some days I wish I could do more.
Love,
Dad
I'm sitting at work right now, but my mind is elsewhere. I'm thinking of you and your mom. We had to take her to the doctor this morning with a migraine (thanks for being cool while I rocked you in the parking lot for an hour). You and I got to spend some extra time together this afternoon while your mom got some much-needed rest, but eventually I had to go to work. I wish I could be there for you guys right now; sometimes responsibility is as frustrating as it is necessary. I take solace in knowing that I'm trying to do what's right, trying to do my best, for you, your mom, our family. Just some days I wish I could do more.
Love,
Dad
Monday, September 12, 2011
I wanna rock
OK, so I finally got around to putting together your rocking chair, Case. It only took me three hours, and not once did I swear. Not twice, either. Let's just say it was a number I'm not exactly proud of. But, hey, now the rocker is gracing your nursery, and I felt a swell of pride upon completing the task -- knowing it was well worth the time to provide you and your mom a place to relax. Of course, the screws for the foot rest didn't fit the pre-drilled holes in the thingies (I'm no Bob Vila, or even Tim Taylor; look them up) that hold the two sides together, so there are still a few pieces and parts scattered on the floor. Stupid ottomans. I never liked their empire anyway.
"Holy Mother of God!"
OK, Case, quiz time. The above titled exclamation by your mother happened when she:
a) saw you riding Edgar like a horse
b) read that Josh McDaniels was returning as Broncos coach
c) peeled back your diaper this afternoon to reveal its latest contents
Hint: It's not a) or b).
:)
a) saw you riding Edgar like a horse
b) read that Josh McDaniels was returning as Broncos coach
c) peeled back your diaper this afternoon to reveal its latest contents
Hint: It's not a) or b).
:)
Saturday, September 10, 2011
A dinner story
There wasn't much I feared going into this fatherhood thing. One exception, though, was taking Case out to restaurants.
I envisioned horrifying scenes of screaming, crying and people staring at me for reasons other than the usual.
But a week into his existence, we went to lunch. Aside from getting out of the car and making it halfway to the front door before remembering there was a child in the back seat, the outing went fine. Perfect actually. And in the ensuing weeks, Case contiinued to sleep through public meals. Most of the time, it was like he wasn't there.
Until Friday.
Now there was no screaming, crying or questionable behavior (at least on Case's part), but there was an incident. And, surprisingly, I wasn't horrified at all. In fact, I enjoyed being the guy everyone was staring at (at least one person I'm sure did not share this bit of twisted pride).
Anyway, our meal at Carrabba's was going swimmingly. Good food, good conversation, TV was within sight. Case was sleeping late into the meal when he began to stir. I told Ashly and my mom I'd take Magoo for a stroll to try and calm him down and I'd meet them outside; it's the type of sacrifice a parent makes when someone else is paying the bill.
So Magoo and I are out cruising around the parking lot (on foot), and he's enjoying the new view -- wide-eyed and quiet. Then, the silence breaks. Aggressively. The boy's expression did not change, but it was the type of noise even the newest of the new parents recognizes. After a couple more minutes of walking and a couple more aggressive rumblings out of Case, I decided it was time to go back inside and see if the rest of the party was wrapping things up.
They were were still leisurely chatting away waiting for the check, so I mentioned to Ashly that Case needed to be changed. She wondered if the restaurant had a changing station, but I suggested it might be easier to change him in the back seat of the car (Calm down, we have a changing pad). She agreed. I then offered to do the changing (Really, I did), but Ashly said she would take care of it and I could wait for the bill with my mom (the least I could do since she was paying).
A few minutes later, I figured I'd be alll supportive and check on the fesitivities in the parking lot. Approaching the back of the car, I turned and the back seat was in clear view. The first thing I noticed was a puddle on the changing pad.
"Uh, what's that?"
"Oh my God, it was horrible!"
"What happened?"
"All over the back seat!"
(Grimace, slight smile)
"I figured it wasn't good when I noticed the puddle."
"When I took his diaper off, he started shitting again, and when he was done, he started peeing!"
(Smile no longer slight)
"Oh, no, I'm sorry, baby."
(Laughing, both of us)
"OK, let me get in there and clean that up while you put Magoo back in the car seat."
I wiped the changing pad down, free of feces, and cleaned a moderate amount of pee off the back seat, still smiling. It could have been much worse. Thank God for changing pads. Of course, now we were standing in the Carrabba's parking lot with plenty of people staring us, and I was holding a diaper I swear weighed roughly the same as Case. It was 5 pounds if it was an ounce. I then made what turned out to be the type of suggestion that could only be made by a new parent lacking sleep.
"What are we going to do with this diaper?"
"Ooh, I don't know."
"How about I take it into the bathroom in the restaurant and throw it away; I'll hide it so no one sees."
"WHAT? YOU CAN'T TAKE A DIRTY DIAPER INTO A RESTAURANT!"
"Oh, yeah, good point."
Ultimately, I got an extra to-go bag and stashed the evidence in the trunk. We then fled the scene of the crime and returned home, where dirty diapers are handled more efficiently, but rarely with as much entertaining drama.
I envisioned horrifying scenes of screaming, crying and people staring at me for reasons other than the usual.
But a week into his existence, we went to lunch. Aside from getting out of the car and making it halfway to the front door before remembering there was a child in the back seat, the outing went fine. Perfect actually. And in the ensuing weeks, Case contiinued to sleep through public meals. Most of the time, it was like he wasn't there.
Until Friday.
Now there was no screaming, crying or questionable behavior (at least on Case's part), but there was an incident. And, surprisingly, I wasn't horrified at all. In fact, I enjoyed being the guy everyone was staring at (at least one person I'm sure did not share this bit of twisted pride).
Anyway, our meal at Carrabba's was going swimmingly. Good food, good conversation, TV was within sight. Case was sleeping late into the meal when he began to stir. I told Ashly and my mom I'd take Magoo for a stroll to try and calm him down and I'd meet them outside; it's the type of sacrifice a parent makes when someone else is paying the bill.
So Magoo and I are out cruising around the parking lot (on foot), and he's enjoying the new view -- wide-eyed and quiet. Then, the silence breaks. Aggressively. The boy's expression did not change, but it was the type of noise even the newest of the new parents recognizes. After a couple more minutes of walking and a couple more aggressive rumblings out of Case, I decided it was time to go back inside and see if the rest of the party was wrapping things up.
They were were still leisurely chatting away waiting for the check, so I mentioned to Ashly that Case needed to be changed. She wondered if the restaurant had a changing station, but I suggested it might be easier to change him in the back seat of the car (Calm down, we have a changing pad). She agreed. I then offered to do the changing (Really, I did), but Ashly said she would take care of it and I could wait for the bill with my mom (the least I could do since she was paying).
A few minutes later, I figured I'd be alll supportive and check on the fesitivities in the parking lot. Approaching the back of the car, I turned and the back seat was in clear view. The first thing I noticed was a puddle on the changing pad.
"Uh, what's that?"
"Oh my God, it was horrible!"
"What happened?"
"All over the back seat!"
(Grimace, slight smile)
"I figured it wasn't good when I noticed the puddle."
"When I took his diaper off, he started shitting again, and when he was done, he started peeing!"
(Smile no longer slight)
"Oh, no, I'm sorry, baby."
(Laughing, both of us)
"OK, let me get in there and clean that up while you put Magoo back in the car seat."
I wiped the changing pad down, free of feces, and cleaned a moderate amount of pee off the back seat, still smiling. It could have been much worse. Thank God for changing pads. Of course, now we were standing in the Carrabba's parking lot with plenty of people staring us, and I was holding a diaper I swear weighed roughly the same as Case. It was 5 pounds if it was an ounce. I then made what turned out to be the type of suggestion that could only be made by a new parent lacking sleep.
"What are we going to do with this diaper?"
"Ooh, I don't know."
"How about I take it into the bathroom in the restaurant and throw it away; I'll hide it so no one sees."
"WHAT? YOU CAN'T TAKE A DIRTY DIAPER INTO A RESTAURANT!"
"Oh, yeah, good point."
Ultimately, I got an extra to-go bag and stashed the evidence in the trunk. We then fled the scene of the crime and returned home, where dirty diapers are handled more efficiently, but rarely with as much entertaining drama.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Mama's arms
Finally catching up, Magoo, after a hectic week filled with getting ready for the football season. By the way, you looked cool this morning in your Bears hat. Eventually your head will grow into it.
I have a few significant thoughts rummaging around in my head that I'll get to this weekend. In the meantime, I just wanted to leave you a little reminder of your mom, who loves you more than anything. Your Grandma Pallister and I took you out for breakfast today to give your mom a break (someone's been keeping her up at night). But she didn't get much rest; she was busy thinking of you. She spent a good five minutes staring at you and smiling when you got back home.
In the dark of night
as the thunder rolls,
in mama's arms you'll be
In the morning light
as the day unfolds.
it's mama's eyes you'll see
In mama's arms
you're safe from harm
In mama's arms you'll be
In mama's arms
there's no alarm
It's safe as safe can be
I have a few significant thoughts rummaging around in my head that I'll get to this weekend. In the meantime, I just wanted to leave you a little reminder of your mom, who loves you more than anything. Your Grandma Pallister and I took you out for breakfast today to give your mom a break (someone's been keeping her up at night). But she didn't get much rest; she was busy thinking of you. She spent a good five minutes staring at you and smiling when you got back home.
In the dark of night
as the thunder rolls,
in mama's arms you'll be
In the morning light
as the day unfolds.
it's mama's eyes you'll see
In mama's arms
you're safe from harm
In mama's arms you'll be
In mama's arms
there's no alarm
It's safe as safe can be
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Real quick
A few thoughts, son:
*Believe in yourself, but don't assume a sense of superiority.
*Be confident, but not to the point of arrogance.
*Take pride in all that you accomplish, but be humble enough to keep learning.
*Believe in yourself, but don't assume a sense of superiority.
*Be confident, but not to the point of arrogance.
*Take pride in all that you accomplish, but be humble enough to keep learning.
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