The Rest of the Story

Ok, so this is probably two weeks over due, but I know you'll cut me some slack. Anyway, here is the whole story about Ruthie's birth:

So we had been to the OB/GYN earlier that week and it was decided that they would do an induction on Wednesday morning at 6 am (or there about's, depending on how busy they were in the maternity ward at that time - we were supposed to call ahead and check). So we went home and made all the arrangements. We had talked to Cheni  about being there and she was all for it, so she had to clear it with her teachers and everything.

Sometime during the night on Tuesday, Anna starts having contractions. She'd been having some pretty strong ones off and on for more than a week, so she didn't get too excited about it, especially since we were going to the hospital in the morning. Morning finally arrives and the contractions are getting REALLY strong. So Anna calls the maternity ward. "Can you come in later? Your doctor had a busy night." Anna says "Umm... I'm going to come in anyway because I'm pretty sure I'm in labor and if I wait it might be too late." Reluctantly the floor nurse agreed.

Since, technically, I am under doctor's orders not to drive, Anna and I argued about her driving herself to the hospital. My argument was that I COULD drive, even though I shouldn't. I lost. Anna, in spite of the contractions, drove herself to the hospital.

We got to the hospital and proceeded to unload. Me limping along on my cane, Cheni carrying two cameras, a tripod, and Anna's overnight bag, and Anna - by now in SERIOUS labor. After checking in at the emergency room desk (it was 5:30 in the morning and the front entrance wasn't open yet) they said GO, so we took the elevator to the 5th floor (ask any woman whose had a baby and they'll tell you how much fun that is in the last few days of pregnancy) and made ourselves at home in the labor and delivery room.

Anna got set on the bed while Cheni started freaking out and I set up the cameras. The nurse reminded us we were early and that the doctor wouldn't be in until later. But, then she checked how far along Anna was.... and called the doctor to come right away. That was 6 am.

At 7 am the room got crazy. There were a couple of student doctors there (they asked us if they could observe - since they were more interested in the baby than getting in the way, we agreed.) The doctor came in and checked and said "well, what are you waiting for, let's have a baby!" So they got the stuff all set up and the lights on and all that fun. Anna's water never broke, so the doctor had to do that for her. Less than 5 minutes later, we had a baby!

I got to cut the cord - which is both nauseating and exhilarating at the same time, but in a way gives me a connection to the baby that no one else has, I think that's awesome. We left Cheni in charge of the camera, but she was kind of freaked out so we didn't get too many pictures of those first few moments. When it was all said and done, Cheni vowed she would be an advocate for abstinence from now on (can I get a big HOOOO-RAH!!)

The rest of the hospital stay was pretty uneventful, other than the fact that I stayed with Anna and Ruth the whole time. Not that I had to... well I kind of had to, since I shouldn't drive. Also, we normally bring the rest of the kids to the hospital to visit their new sibling, but that wasn't do-able this time. Cheni got a ride home that night.

Another fun thing: I just happened to have an MRI scheduled that evening. Since it was a real pain in the patookus to get scheduled, and since it was right there at the hospital, we decided that, unless there was some reason to stay with Anna that I would just go downstairs and get it done. So, I did. I left Anna and Ruth in their room and went downstairs and got my brain scanned. Is that weird? Maybe, but it was like 10 hours after Ruth was born and they were sleeping pretty soundly, and it only took 15 minutes or so.

And, just like she drove herself to the hospital, Anna drove herself home, too.

That was two weeks ago. Ruth  had her first doctor's appointment yesterday, and even though she's lost a little weight since she was born (typical of breastfed babies - provided it's only a few ounces) the doctor says she's doing great, as is Mom.

And now you know the rest of the story.

It's beginning to look a lot like.... well you know.

Our traditional post-Thanksgiving tree party....

My life is a John Hughes Movie

Growing up as a child of the '80's

I was born in the late '60's. My grade school years were the '70's, but I define my "growing up" years as the '80's.  In the '80's I had my first girlfriend, found out Darth Vader was Luke's father, learned to drive, discovered that I had a favorite music, had my first job, got my first car, had a crush on Molly Ringwald, saw Haley's Comet (sort of), bleached a streak in my hair, watched the space shuttle explode during science class, received the right to vote, registered  for Selective Service, bought really stupid looking clothes, went to college, learned to "twist and shout" with Ferris Beuller, met my wife, got married, had my first child.

My generation is kind of the "undefined" generation. We're too young to be Baby Boomers and too old to be Generation X. We started the whole piercing thing, but only our ears (guys usually just one - left meant you were cool right meant you were "gay", girls had multiple piercings, but still just the ears.) We had our own music and started the "alternative" genre (usually defined as something totally bizzare that would have remained unknown if they didn't have a video on MTV.)

With the advent of cable, we were the first generation to be "media connected". While our parents had TV and radio, their main connection to the world was through the local stations. With cable we had access to movies, music, and who knows what else. Fashion trends and fads that used to take weeks and months to filter across the country were now piped into our living rooms. The influence of media allowed trends and tastes to change very rapidly, often resulting in weird and wild combinations that we still can't explain.

Movies and TV shows defined the life of the '80's teenager as metropolitan. Big city, big school, big parties. Growing up in a small town, the fashions and trends were really out of place, but we didn't care, it was cool. We saw "The Breakfast Club" and "Pretty in Pink" and dressed and talked like they did anyway. We longed to go to the mall because that was the cool place to hang out.

But small town life was different than what we saw in the John Hughes movies. We wanted to "party like it's 1999", but we were poor, isolated, and would get caught because everybody knew who we were. So we settled for our small town parties.

There is much about my "wonder years" that is unpleasant, but for the most part I have fond memories of my school, my friends, my life. I could spend pages and pages describing small town life, and probably will over the life of this blog, but I will spare you the romanticization in this posting. Being 40, I'm sure there is much that I am not remembering correctly and even more that I have assigned more significance to than it actually deserves. That being said, it's probably a good thing I remember things the way I do, dwelling on the bad would just be depressing.

I'm not sure how to wrap this up. While there is much more to my life, my experiences have made me who I am and the '80's are 25% of my life. I thank you for allowing me this road trip into nostalgia.

Finally got the pictures!

Here's Miss Pretty! Many more pictures coming soon.

Please don't say "Lordy lordy look whose..."

I seriously never thought I'd live this long.  And even if I did I never imagined this as my life. Yes, I'm 40. Time for my mid-life crisis.

When I was younger, I was a very sick child. I missed a lot of school in 7th grade. It wasn't until later that we found out I had severe allergies. At the time I thought there was no way I'd live to be 40, the ragweed pollen would kill me before then. If not that, then certainly my driving would do me in.

Well, I'm still here, mostly. If you told me when I was 18 that in 22 years I would be disabled with 8 kids living in a trailer house in the New Mexico desert, I would have said "gee, that's awfully specific". But seriously, at that age you don't think about anything more specific than "what can I do for a living that will make me rich?"

I've been feeling painfully nostalgic lately. Is that normal? I really have no desire to go back, but things that I took for granted suddenly hold significance for me. Music, movies, places I've lived all seem very important right now. Why is that? I grew up in the 80's, a lot of that stuff is just stupid. I mean, exactly what was the song "Hungry Like the Wolf" about anyway?

So, bear with me as I go through this junk. If I start going off the deep end, let me know.

Welcome to the world!

Baby is here





Welcome to Ruth Ann. Born 11-14 at 7:45. 6lbs. 14 oz., 18.5 inches
Mom and baby are doing great! Dad, however, ... that's another story.

Veterans Day Tribute

Video removed due to annoying music playing ALL THE TIME, but it's still really good. You can view it here.

Thoughts on Veterans Day

I have a pair of genuine Army Surplus camouflage pants. Actually, I think they are women's pants, my lovely wife got them for church camp two years ago when she was the girl's counselor. Since I'm all bloaty from my medications, they fit quite nicely and I wear them often.

When we go to Wal-Mart or somewhere I usually get one of those electric buggies. If I don't, I still walk with a cane. I have noticed a real difference in the way people look at me when I am wearing the camouflage pants and when I'm not.

No one has come up to me yet and asked me if I were a vet, and I would be very embarrassed to have that happen because the men and women who are vets deserve the respect and attention, I don't. We do have quite a large military population in the area - Kirkland AFB is only about 30 minutes away, and you often see ladies and gentlemen in full uniform in the stores and on the street. I don't know how people react to them, but when I am crawling through the aisles at the store, there is a very real difference in the respect I get from other shoppers on days when I wear the pants then on days when I just wear sweats or shorts.

The good news is, it's a good difference.

Dealing with a handicap is hard. Everything that used to be easy is a struggle, especially when it changes the way you get around. I don't mind so much, but people can be really rude. Almost every handicap parking spot in this town is, at this moment, probably taken by someone who is not (we don't have a handicap sticker, and I don't intend to get one until I have to).  When I get in one of those electric buggies, people always look at me weird, it kind of bugs me, but I don't have the leg strength to stand more than 45 minutes or so. So, if we're going to be longer than that (and it's ALWAYS longer than that) I need a buggy.

As I toodle through the aisles, I have to watch for people, because most times they aren't watching for me. They will look out into the aisle and let three people with carts go by, but they will cut right in front of me. I'll be following closely behind my wife only to have someone squeeze in between us, then stop in the aisle without so much as an apology - they won't even look at me. I'll have to wait until they move or backup and find another way around. There have been many times that Anna and I have gotten separated and I haven't been able to catch up to her until she was at the checkout.

But it's different when I wear the Army pants. People are apologetic, they make way for me, they'll even look me in the eye and give me a polite smile and nod. Now these folks don't know me from Adam. And everyone has a different opinion on the war, but everyone, and I do mean everyone, seems to give me a little more respect when I wear those pants.

My apologies to any Vets who may be reading this. I'm not saying that I am taking advantage of people seeing me as one of you. I am not and I would not intentionally disrespect you like that. My point is that because I happen to be wearing an article of military clothing, people in this area treat me different. And that is a good thing for those of you who are Vets, people see you different and in spite of their views on the war they seem to be giving you the respect you deserve, at least in this area.

I wish that were true all over. I know there are many people who would just as soon spit on you. They don't agree with the war, so they abuse the people who are doing the dirty work. I hate that. If they stop and think about it they would realize that men have fought and died to give them to right to be disrespectful. Take a look at what's going on in Pakistan right now. People who are disrespecting the military there are being arrested. Be thankful that good men fought so you could have the right to spit on them.

Anyway, I've rambled long enough. If you haven't already, take a minute to say a prayer for our men in uniform, past present and future. They need it.

You really can't go home again...

I don't know why, but I got the urge to search for information on my hometown. Dorchester, Nebraska. I found the link to the village's would-be news outlet, The Dorchester Times. (I have provided a permanent link on our menu to the left.)

I cried for an hour.

While the small town will always be very dear to me, being the place where I spent my "wonder years", too much is changing for me to call it home anymore. Now, don't get me wrong, change is good, especially when you are talking about the greater good, buildings need to be torn down and new rebuilt. Dorchester has been in need of a facelift for some time and I applaud those who made the decisions for positive change.

But two buildings that had a huge impact on my growing-up are gone (or at least about to be gone.) My church and my school.

Probably the one that really got to me was this picture:

in this blog post. This used to be the United Methodist Church building. If you imagine it freshly painted, with a steeple on the bell tower (where it still had a rope-pull bell to ring), beautiful stained glass in the windows, and a basement underneath that was accessed by a screen door just under bell tower, then you get the idea. Also, it sat on the edge of town surrounded by typical small-town houses, not out in the middle of a corn field waiting to be burned down. (Though it will more likely just rot away.)

While I currently belong to a different church, I always thought of this as my "home" church. There were so many parts of my life that took place here. My first job was to be the janitor here (like-wise, it was my first job to be fired from- rightly I might add!) It made me sad to see it like this. I know the new building is very nice looking (and this one was very old and cost-wise very expensive to heat and cool) I wish there were a better way to retire it. (Side note: as a youth in this church, I also got to go to Riverside Church Camp in Jr. High. The camp, too, is gone - turned into a cattle farm from what I read.)

The other thing that made me sad was the news that my school was being torn down and rebuilt - well, at least the part most of my high school classes were in. From the looks of the plans, the new school is going to be great, but I am still a little sad to see the old one go. On top of that, it looks like they are also tearing down the house next to the school - where we lived when I was in first and second grade (I think - don't remember exactly when). It was just too much to look at. I know that the old school really had to go, but it still makes me sad.

I hate to admit it, but there are times when I miss Dorchester. Life there just seemed uncomplicated. While there is some sadness associated with my teen years, there are many more fond memories, especially now when I look back on how simple things seemed to be compared to now. Not that I currently have the ability to move back there, but something inside me always thought that I'd go home, at least for a visit. Now I'm not sure I would recognize it if I did.

And that's probably for the better. I shouldn't expect the ghosts of my past to remain frozen, except in my memory. There's probably much more I can say on this subject, and probably will, but for now I just wanted to memorialize my school and my church.

May they rest in peace, and may the new buildings bring as fond of memories to those who go there now as I had when I was there.

No news is good news? or whatever...

Hi. It's been a while since I've made a "real" post (something other than a brief update or pics or video or whatever). We are all on pins and needles here waiting for the new baby, so it's hard to stay focused on anything for very long. Every time Anna goes "ow", we're ready to run out the door. On Wednesday, she will be at 38 weeks. She has never gone that long and has never made it to her due date. (Supposedly it has something to do with increased production of amniotic fluid leading to her body "thinking" it's at 40 weeks, but if you ask me, she just has a "fast oven".)

So, no baby yet. Still waiting.... and waiting... and waiting... I promise I'll blog better when the baby is here. (Health permitting.)

Halloween Pictures