Almost Ashamed

I walked Bailey this afternoon.
I took my time, walking Roy and Brooke first, petting the occasional cat, un-tilting the rabbit cage, avoiding the fact that they asked me to walk "Bailey." How would my own Bailey ever forgive me?
But this Bailey is a he. And I gathered that he had no idea his name was supposed to be Bailey.

The good news is that CiCi was finally adopted. And I didn't miss much while I was home -- they closed down for two weeks due to whooping cough (!) and took the time to clean the place up and down.
I also walked a big, happy, jumpy, tongue-with-feet golden named Fred, and Roy the hound again. After that upper-body workout, I figured it was time to give the little 'uns a chance, and carried little Riley (a poodle-shih tzu mix ... a pooshit?) out to the front...I haven't carried a dog in years, it occurred to me. Sorry, Brooke. Bad back.

Meet the Fokkers

I'm a little Wright Brothersed Out.
My dad rode back with me to Dayton Thursday night (arrival time -- 3:24 am) and spent the long weekend exploring the area's extensive Aviation Trail. We hit the Wright Brother's refurbished 1896 bicycle shop/museum, Huffman Prairie Interpretive Center, Carillon park with the original 1905 Wright Flyer III in which the brothers perfected the art of flying, and the National Museum of the US Air Force, with everything from WWI planes, gliders, and dirigibles, to training versions of the F-22, B-2, F-117, and Global Hawk, plus the capsule from the Apollo 15 mission, plus plus plus....
The information started to overlap at some of the sites, so I could probably tell you everything the Wright Brothers did from 1985 to 1905, where they went, what their aerodynamic theories were, and what their favorite cereal was.
(Fruity Pebbles.)
But it's just an amazing feeling to live where manned aviation started. And the museum is too much to see in one day, as some of the items require a certain level of absorption. I mean, the box on the wall with the tachometer cable for the plane in which Baron von Richtofen's was killed... has the tachometer cable from the plane! It's like looking at Washington's toothbrush or something.
I took Dad to the airport tonight, and I have three days left of mini-vacation before next quarter's classes start on Monday. For which I already have homework.
I was going to say 'I should have become a pilot', but there are a bunch of them in my class, so I'd still be stuck here.

... the cable!

Joost?*

So we got to see a living legend (that most people would apparently want dead) the other day.
Dad got free tickets from the office to see the Nationals play the Giants on Tuesday, with the seats way down the left field line. And Barry Bonds, Left Fielder and Steroid Poster Child (allllleged!), decides a week ago to start playing again. Made it a rather difficult section of the stadium to sit in for three hours. People booing, others clapping, everyone wanting a picture, an almost constant "Bear-Reeeee! Bear-Reeee!" People were being jerks, basically, even holding up asterisks when he hit the field (implying his records are tainted). "You're a disgrace to the game!" "Your father would be ashamed!" Even a seven-year-old kid felt he had to get in on the act. "Nobody likes you-ou!" I really wanted to chime in with my two cents: "You're really old!"
So of course he hits a towering blast in the fourth inning, and draws a walk in the ninth with two outs so the next guy can hit a three-run homer to win the game.
I took a picture of Rafael Palmiero last year...let's see what happens with the Incredible Bulk, here.

Conehead

There's a reason why all our cats don't co-mingle.
Unfortunately, my first morning home, Tucker got into it with Bailey the Cat, and bit her on the side. It seemed to be healing okay, but when we got home from Infant CPR class Saturday, the wife saw that Bailey had licked the wound open and it was all infected and attractive looking and beautiful-smelling.
Three long hours of mostly waiting for an available vet later, we brought home a cat with a shaved side with a wound that looked like the red spot of Jupiter, and the obligatory megaphone wrapped around her neck.
We'll probably be the only parents that will use Elizabethan cones on our kid.
...keeps the clothes cleaner during Gerber time.

Baby 101

This hasn't been all home-cooked meals and footrubs in the hammock, these ten days away from all things AFIT. My Gorgeous Pregnant Wife and I have gone to numerous fetus-centric activities, to include a 36-week pregnancy class, a breastfeeding class, a checkup with her nurse practitioner, a final sonogram, and a five-hour Child & Infant CPR course. She is on her fifth or sixth book, while I've muddled through enough material to make me dangerous. At the 36-week class, we got to see the labor & delivery rooms, check out some of the equipment that may be used during the birth, and ask a bunch of questions of the nurse midwife. The other classes were helpful, too, though I find it ridiculous that the Red Cross now recommends you use rubber gloves and a breath shield (which every parent naturally carries around) before administering CPR, "to prevent possible disease transfer." I mean, you come across an unconscious infant, not breathing, no pulse, and you're supposed to waste time unfolding rubber gloves, slapping them onto each of your fingers, and place a shield the right way up before starting any life-saving measures? We're watching the video, the actor tells someone to call 9-1-1, reaches into his belt loop rubber glove and starts to fiddle with them, and every time, I called out, "well, too late, he's dead." But besides that preposterosity, I think we learned a few helpful tips, particularly about what to do with choking infants (un-choke them).
The sonogram was very interesting -- we saw some standard images that look like the Cassini fly-by of the Saturn's moons (the kidneys), weather patterns over the south Atlantic (a leg and a foot) and a cinnabon sitting next to a salt shaker (el scroto grande y el pepe puny). Saw parts of the face, and the doctor opined that the baby has my wife's nose as opposed to mine, which makes her very happy. "What's wrong with my nose?" "IT'S FINE. I JUST DON'T WANT IT IN MY BIRTH CANAL." She makes a good point.
Everything looks normal thankfully, although according to calculations and measurements, the baby appears to be the size of a baby at 35.5 weeks as opposed to 34. Doesn't mean the baby will come early, just that he won't be a wee little thing. He's estimated at 6lbs and change now, so with the standard 1/2 pound growth over the remaining six weeks...we're looking at a 9-lb butterball here.
We also got to see a 3-D image of the baby, which was absolutely incredible. We got to see his little face and a hand, with the umbilical cord floating in front, all as if there were a movie camera thrust inside my wife's belly button. However, since his face was all scrunched and angry-looking, and the tint of the image was a golden-yellow, he kind of looked like the Toxic Avenger. So he's got his fifteenth or so nickname.
We are a couple missing crib parts away from having a complete nursery, thanks to in-law construction, hand-me-overs, and a ridiculous booty from a baby shower held by our lifelong friends, the Boivins. We are highly educated, truly motivated, slightly medicated, fondly dedicated, kind of old and dated, but just can't freaking wait-ed parents-to-be!
Yikes!

See?

This is known as bowlaphobia.

We sure pick 'em odd.

AAAA

I'm no marketing expert, but when a classmate last quarter briefed an article in our Corporate Strategy class about a hotel company that owns a luxury chain called "W" wanting to get more into the business-class level of a Marriott, I suggested that the firm call the new line of hotels "U". So you'd go to "U" if you wanted one level of service, but to get twice that, you'd go to "double-U".

With that, I still recall one of the more clever things Rebecca Howe did on "Cheers" when she took over the marketing for Norm's housepainting business. She made up a poster with a chameleon with a cap and a paintbrush, and called the company "AAAA Painting." That way, when people looked in the phonebook, it would be the first one they'd come across. And her slogan was "Let 4-A Painting be your Foray into Painting." Brilliant.

With that, I just found out I got all As in my classes last quarter. Making the 8 nanoseconds of sleep I got in August almost worth it.

A week of nothing

After weeks of reading, riting, and r'statistics, it is a clown-shoe-upside-the-head shock to be home without anything due. I can't remember the last time I had one week off, let alone two. I haven't slept this well since the Ford administration.
Not that I'm eating bon-bons on the hammock every afternoon. My Very Pregnant Wife and I just got back from Hershey, PA for an overnight splurgathon at the gorgeous hotel and Spa -- she got a pre-natal massage and a pedicure, I got a cocoa-oil massage and a dip in a chocolate-laced hydrotherapy jacuzzi built for one. It occurred to me, sitting there as the world's biggest mocha latte, foam tickling my ears, that we really are very lucky to be able to experience the finer things in life once in a while.
We also visited Chocolate World to ride a rollercoaster car through a faux factory (they don't allow tours through the real one anymore) to see the various stages of goo the chocolate goes through, got a free sample, and paid for others. It's a pretty cool town, with its Hershey's Kiss lamp post covers and Twizzler garden rails and chocolate chip payphone numbers and Recees Peanut Butter Cup Manhole Covers and white chocolate toilets and hummingbirds made out of bubble gum.
Back home, it's been interesting trying to remember where stuff is and learn what's changed. Tried to open a bottle of beer, but in that drawer now is bibs and sippy cups. And you should see the nursery. Really. How's next week for you?
As a bonus, I'll let you watch Tucker drink water from the bowl by sticking his paw halfway down the water and then licking his foot.

True lies

At 3:48 in the morning Wednesday, I emailed my professor the last of my take-home exams, meaning I'm 25% of the way towards my well-rounded degree (I won't get my grades for a while, so don't ask). I then finished cleaning up my apartment from east to west (windows to bathroom), including its first ever vacuuming, thanks to a loaner from the Martindale family. I went to bed around 9:30 in the morning after filling up my car (with gas and Combos[tm]) for the trip home.
Now. Ordinarily, your normal fella would leave on an 8-hour car ride early in the morning, or at least during daylight hours. However, I knew that getting my exams and projects comleted, sprucing up the pad for my father's visit in two weeks, and getting some shuteye would not happen on a typical schedule. I was also asked to stop by my in-laws' place in West Virginia to help fix their computer, and they're not the type to accept visitors at 1 in the morning. So, the plan was to stay up all day Tuesday working/packing/cleaning, sleep all day Wednesday, and leave at midnight-ish to surprise My Pregnant Wife when she rolled out of bed in the morning.
Fortunately, every day starting last Friday, I had nothing scheduled in the mornings, so I started sleeping in late after going to bed between 1 and 3 in the morning. Get that ciccadian rhythm shifted so I would only be awake every 17 years. Or something.
Like all surprises, this one had to involve some subterfuge -- I told MPW I'd be coming home Thursday. This was true. I also told her I had my last essay exam Wednesday. This we can put in the category called "sort of true." My phone rang at 1pm Wednesday (remember, that's my 3 in the morning) to tell me she loved me (I checked the message she left to make sure she wasn't in labor and then fell back asleep). When it woke me up again at 7pm, I pretended to be wide awake. "How'd you do on your exam?" "Okay, I think." This was true. Where I took the test wasn't discussed. She asked why I hadn't called her back all day. I told her my phone had died in my pocket and I'd only just noticed. This, technically, was a true statement if not taken in context, as at one point in history my phone has indeed run out of juice and my answer did not explicitly specify the time I would have been talking about. (Okay, I'm reaching here.) "What time are you leaving tomorrow?" "When I'm up and have washed the sheets." She just didn't know that her call was my "I'm up" time.
There's something about driving in the middle of the night. It's a little more adventurous, since the most that you can see is how far your highbeams can illuminate. During the day, you can see for miles, which can be disheartening (I have that far to go??), but at night, the only distractions are the stars and the few other nutbars on the road. I drove non-stop the 400 miles (thank you, 27.8 mpg T-bird) and showed up in WVa around 6 am to a bubbling pot of water for some tea (for most people, that's breakfast time), did what I could with their computer, and left a little after 7. I called my wife.
"Are you on the road already?" "I am on the road." True. If she had asked where I was, I would have said "east of Columbus", which would have been also true. She was more concerned with my apartment chores. "Are the sheets dry?" "They will be in two weeks..." "DANIEL." "No, no, I dried them." True, Dad. True. "Will you be home before 7 pm?" "I should..."
Rolled into the driveway around 9:15, snuck in the back way, then realized she's a trained Army killer, so I announced my presence with my typical dog whistle. Typical dogs came barreling down the stairs to ask where the hell I've been. Wife in the doorway, tapping her foot, sick of being lied to, although, technically...