War on Christmas: Epilogue

We met the enemy, and we were victorious. Think Agincourt. Think Gulf War I. Think Tyson-Spinks.

A nice, sunny Christmas morning. Caramel rolls, oranges, and milk for breakfast.

The gift giving begins.

Mmm... warm and fuzzy.

Only 41 years and counting...

Santa brought Sarah Vowell books! And clothes. And a movie. And...

Back off. Mine.

A nice afternoon walk in the park.

And a little Christmas music before heading to friends' for dinner and a movie.

Probably not under the tree

"Hey. If any of you are looking for any last-minute gift ideas for me, I have one. I'd like Frank Shirley, my boss, right here tonight. I want him brought from his happy holiday slumber over there on Melody Lane with all the other rich people and I want him brought right here, with a big ribbon on his head, and I want to look him straight in the eye and I want to tell him what a cheap, lying, no-good, rotten, four-flushing, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, blood-sucking, dog-kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless, heartless, fat-ass, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped, worm-headed sack of monkey shit he is! Hallelujah! Holy shit! Where's the Tylenol?"

Speaking of Preparation

"Like every other wet-behind-the-ears parents-to-be, we loaded up on bedding, clothes, diapers, and other gadgets and gizmos that fool you into believing you'll actually be ready to take that alien thing home. It's pretty simple: when Americans get scared, we just buy more crap." Robert Wilder in "Daddy Needs a Drink"

We've been getting ready for Nuke's arrival the way people who've never had a child get ready these days: we buy things, we read, we take classes.

None of this is completely adequate, of course, but we do it anyway because, hey, at least we're doing something other than sitting around waiting for the big day. That's not to say we haven't learned anything or that we're not at least a little bit better prepared than we were a few weeks ago; it's just that there's a certain level on which it seems kind of silly. People have been having babies for quite a while now (okay, we'll just skip right past the infant and maternal mortality rates of old). So we'll probably figure things out before we break him beyond repair, even if we haven't read about the latest, greatest parenting technique (The 5 S's!!! Have you heard about THE FIVE S'S?!!?!!).

But we're preparing nonetheless. Here is a partial list of the things I've learned:

* To purchase everything Babies R Us offers for a newborn requires approximately the Gross National Product of Belgium, but you can probably get by at Trinidad and Tobago levels. Perhaps Equatorial Guinea.

* Lactation consultant is an actual career, and it is in considerable demand (No, I am not yet prepared to consider this an option for my own career).

* There is such a thing as a "doula," a non-medical assistant who helps the mom and pop-to-be get through the birth as safely and sanely as possible. I hope we get a good one; I'm gonna need it.

* The reason 90% of all child car seats are improperly installed is because the instructions provided are incomprehensible. I believe this is the product of a deliberate and malicious campaign; no one could have produced such poorly written instructions unless motivated by pure evil. All your car seat base are belong to us, indeed.

* Men can attend baby showers and survive. Gentlemen, here are the three phrases that will get you through: "Hey, that looks really useful!" "Hey, we needed those!" "Wow, that's great! Thanks!" Ladies, "Awww, it's so cuuuute!!" has gotten you this far; no need to reinvent the wheel.

* Everything you've heard about how hard it is to choose a pediatrician is true.

* One of the most important pieces of equipment in the modern birthing process is the exercise ball, and this amuses me. It makes sense when it's explained (has to do with helping guide the baby along while taking pressure off the mom's legs and back), but that doesn't mean I can't giggle about it every now and then.

Anyhoo, here's a little visual presentation of some of the prep work we've done.

The crib comes together, as does the baby's room

And the stroller, one part of the "travel system":

You think your instructions can defeat me? I laugh at your feeble attempts at misdirection!

And it folds up like it's supposed to, too! IN YOUR FACE, DEVIL MAN!

The War on Christmas: Preparation

Unhappy is the fate of one who tries to win his battles and succeed in his attacks without cultivating the spirit of enterprise; for the result is waste of time and general stagnation. Hence the saying: The enlightened ruler lays his plans well ahead; the good general cultivates his resources.- Sun Tzu

Jean gets the Christmas cards in their envelopes (not shown: I and my tongue finished the process for all of those envelopes. My taste-buds have almost recovered. Almost.).

The tree is acquired, erected, and decorated. Yeah, it's a little sparce, but it's not bad at all, really. Maybe it just needs a little love.

Food is prepared. Rolls! Cheesecake!

At least one is not yet impressed:

The Weirding Way

I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear

Caroleigh and Colin have produced a new Canadian, Harrison Elliott McDonell. Evidently Caroleigh is a Bene Gesserit, as she went through the birth with no drugs or stitches, according to Colin, who was pleased the process could be completed before the Premiership games started last Saturday. They claim he also sleeps quite a bit for a newborn.

O Canadians, teach us the weirding way!

(Seriously, big congrats from Jean and me. We're very happy for you three, jealousy notwithstanding.)

Damn Right

"I'm the Player to be Named Later"

We've been working on coming up with a name for our pending son. Our list is down to 22 names. This may seem like a lot, but it is actually down from a high of 31.

We are not decisive people, evidently.

Until we come up with our final choice, we need something to call him - something to which we won't grow attached, and we've been using either "Ebby Calvin" or "Nuke." Here's the problem: some of you guessed exactly what we were getting at right away. Unfortunately, not everyone has seen "Bull Durham". This post is for that second, evidently larger, group.

In "Bull Durham," Ebby Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh (played by Tim Robbins) is a young, fireballing pitcher who is full of potential, but he has little experience and even less wisdom. He is taken under the wing of two far more experienced characters, Crash Davis (Kevin Costner) and Annie Savoy (Susan Sarandon). Crash is his catcher, and Annie his lover. At one point, Crash and Annie are discussing their relative responsibilities, and Annie states that her job is to "teach him life's wisdom and help him get on to the major leagues." Crash replies, "Funny, that's my job too."

Now, don't take this too far; Jean's not Annie, and I ain't Crash. The key here is Nuke. He's all attitude and potential. He just needs direction from the right people.

So, what does that have to do with our Nuke? Well, take a look at the lower 3-D sonogram and tell me that "all attitude" isn't a good description of this guy.

The War on Christmas: Battle Lines are Drawn

We sent out our Christmas letters today. That's a big improvement over last year, which technically was this year because we didn't get them sent until sometime in February. You know, now that I think about it, you people should be damn happy that you got two Christmas letters from us this year!

I've always been a little resistent to the idea of a Christmas letter, if only because they so often take such a stereotypical form ("We've had some sadness and some gladness this year..." Oy.). But there are obvious advantages, and so what if it's often little more than a fruitcake in written form*? There's intrinsic value in traditions, even mundane ones.

But the Christmas letter tradition has a practical value too. Oddly enough, in addition to - or perhaps instead of - keeping everyone else up-to-date on us, it does a pretty good job of helping us keep track of you. When it comes time to get that sucker out, we realize there are people who have new addresses, new jobs, etc., and it gives us a good excuse to give you a call or shoot you an e-mail.

And besides, what better way to celebrate the little** narcissist in all of us than through a compilation of the notable events of the previous year that we get to edit entirely ourselves?

There's the rub - editing. Over the years, we've moved away from most of our family and friends, so we find it harder and harder to keep up on a regular basis with everyone we would like to, so we try to fit more and more into the one time each year (give or take) that we sit down and try to tell everyone what the heck happened to us since the last time we wrote. But we've still only got two pages to fit it all in. E-mail has helped, but there are still limits.

So that's what this post is for - to shatter the limits of time and space!

(Okay, maybe it's just supplementing the Christmas letter with pictures that we couldn't include in our little two-page missive, but shattering the limits of time and space sounds much cooler, so I'm going with that.)

Here are a couple of pictures from our trip to Vernon, BC to visit Colin and Caroleigh (January):

Snowshoein'

Cross country skiin'

And a few from our trek down to Galveston to do the triathlon with Beth, Victoria, and Kevin (March/April):

Tori and Kevin find that into each life, a little rain must fall - and into theirs, a monsoon should hit just as they start the run.

Kevin: That rain almost killed me today!

Ted: I could die tomorrow!?!

POST-RACE BEER!!!

Rocky mountain high, Jean in Estes Park, CO (May):

And, just for the heck of it, here's a beaver we saw in downtown Spokane (May):

I ask you, is this any way to celebrate your retirement? (June/July)

This is more like it:

In and around Anacortes / Whidbey Island (August):

Bill, walking with little Will, who Maren assures us is camera-shy

Camera-shy, my eye.

'Round Spokane, just before the big move (September):


Sunrise in Arches National Park (September):


Brian (November):


Thanksgiving day, Stormy, the most ironically named child in history, holds one of the twins, while Amanda and the other twin look on (look, if you want me to tell which is which, don't have twins - but I'm pretty sure Stormy's holding Logan, and that's Charlie with Amanda):


Also Thanksgiving day, Deanna and Jean's Grandma Janet, at the baby shower that piggy-backed Thanksgiving dinner:


Jean, preparing for Christmases future, revels in our successful crib assembly (December):


Finally, here's one of Jean's Grandpa Bob, who passed away this year at the age of 93. I took this one two years ago, but it's how I like to remember him:




* Fruitcakes are made to look more enjoyable and interesting than they really are. Christmas letters are made to look like last year was GREAT and boy don't you wish you were us because our year really RAWKED! even though you spent most of it slogging through a job you kinda like and you started going to bed early because there's not much on that you like anymore and the kids are gonna be up early anyway, and why don't we cook nice dinners anymore; it's always the same damn thing - spaghetti, chicken, pork chops - and would it kill you to use a little spice once in a while?... Wait. I've said too much. Carry on.

** Not actual size.