Christmas, Honor, Family, and Tradition – All on My Mantle

November 27, 2013 – 9:26 pm
Yule Log

Yule Log

 

So this isn’t just any log or stick.. this was a hunt through the park where we were married to find my first ever yule log. Since this is the first Christmas in a long long time where I’ve actually given more than 2 fucks let me explain…

I keep posting the photos of my mantle all over social media.  Yep, I’m done now (I think) but it was a special place for me as a child when my Grandad would decorate it. Rather than copy his style I decided I’d make my mantle my own. The theme is honor.

I have a little nativity set on the left to honor the meaning of Christmas, the birth of Christ. Regardless of my faith or what I do or do not believe this is the reason behind Christmas.

I have nutcrackers to the left. These represent the strong willed women in my family.. just kidding. (Admit it, that’s funny) I actually love the nutcrackers – something about the tireless soldiers standing guard no matter what uniform (or Liberace outfit as you can see by the one in the middle). This honors my Grandfather and his love of Christmas. He was a solider for 28 years. “Be in the right place, at the right time, and wearing the right uniform – this is one of the secrets of success”. I heard that my whole life growing up and it’s never let me down.

The Hallmark ornaments are a sign of Christmas present – the reindeer, sports heroes, and ones that are significant dates (1979 = me, 1984 = Romy, and 2013 = Gavin). The carols, the pop culture, the icons of a holiday in modern times. You may not hear songs about “I’m dreaming of a TSA Free Christmas” or “What the hell is a chestnut and you know there is a no open flame policy here..” but it’s still the Christmas we live in and with and hopefully you find ways to make it special despite the world moving at a speed measured in megabytes per second.

Finally, the yule log. It honors my ancestry. It also allows me to honor this season in a way that’s detached from everything Christmas is now. It lets me acknowledge the season, the shorter days, the brisk weather, but offers a promise of brighter and warmer as we get dragged out of winter and into spring. The handfasting cord allows me to honor my wife, my family, my vows, and my future. One candle for each of us.

I look on this mantle and see pieces of my childhood mixed, now, with pieces of Gavin’s childhood. I get to fondly remember helping my Grandad and now doing this for my family.

A lot of thought went into this project this year. A lot of feelings as I went through those old ornaments. A lot of feelings when I pulled out the “Baby’s First Christmas – 2013”. It somehow made it a little more real that in a few weeks we’re welcoming our son into the world… and when he gets here I want him surrounded by love and memories (even though he won’t comprehend any of it).

I usually am a stickler for waiting until the weekend after Thanksgiving to get this done (when I bother) but since Romy is at term with Gavin now we’re a little on edge. I didn’t want to wait this year just on the off chance she goes into labor tomorrow or something.

We picked out nearly everything together; the tree, the trimmings, the angel, and even the silly little log that I went bounding through the forest to find while she patiently waited on the trail for me. Even a stick can be a good story to look back on years later.

Since this will be the first year in I don’t know how many I won’t be spending Christmas with my family back in North Carolina I also wanted to honor that tradition. It helps me feel connected in a day and age where communication can be instant but the miles are still a bitch to traverse. If everything goes according to schedule, Christmas morning will be less about unwrapping trinkets and more about family – teaching the new guy how it was done when I was his age. Circle of life and all that.

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Someone Asked Me a Question

November 16, 2013 – 4:04 pm

and that question was if I would write a letter to Gavin for when he turns 18.  It took me a while to get in the mindset (I can’t even imagine him being 18 minutes old yet…) but I finally just started writing and this is what I came up with.

 

Gavin,

Felt like 18 would never get here, right? You’re old enough to vote, old enough to serve in the military, old enough to buy smokes (but don’t), and legally you’re an adult.

Don’t get hung up on that adult thing, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. You’ll realize that when you’re about 30.

You are at the second big milestone in your life and you have some control over this one. Will you go to college, join the work force, join the military, travel for a while, or do something totally different and surprise us all?

Now that you’re 18 and a man (at least in the eyes of the law) you are free to do as you will and suffer whatever consequences there may be. However, I’m 51, and have learned a thing or two about life. I know, I know, “Dad, not another one of your life lesson stories” and believe me this isn’t what that is. I hope though that at least some of those lessons you’ll carry onward with you as life truly starts to open up.

This, this is more of a man to man, heart to heart, father to son talk. Not a lecture on what you have to do, simply the sum of my life experiences put down in the form of suggestion and introspective.

By now you think you’ve had your heart broken, think you understand the injustices of the world, are full of vigor and passion about things, and feeling somewhat immortal. You feel like you can do your job better than anyone else and if you’re anything like I was you’ve made up your mind about all of the important issues like politics, religion, and how to most hate the Red Sox while keeping it classy.

I’ll address these points and then offer a closing thought.

Heartbreak isn’t just for high school sweethearts. You’ll likely have your share of it going down the road until you find the right person for you. You’ll feel heartbreak so much more acutely when you build a life together and watch it fall apart. It’s just part of life. You’ll learn over time that hearts are fickle things and are apt to change until you finally understand what it is you want (not just what you think you want), what you need, and what you need from the other person. Once you understand the heart and how to open it up fully and without fear (because after being burned a few times you will know that fear) you can really start making the meaningful connections. I make no promises to you that they’ll all work out. I can offer you this – do everything you can when you meet that special someone to show them daily you love them.

The world, son, is full of so much more injustice than you’ve ever even imagined. Some of it so small you might miss it if you blink. As you continue to grow and experience life this truth will become self evident on a near daily basis. If you harden yourself to this truth and become jaded you will have robbed yourself a growing opportunity. There is no shame or weakness in kindness and love. You have been taught to stand up for your beliefs and you should do that as long as you have a breath but standing up for them does not mean always having to stand with a fist. Do not let anger and apathy define you, apply them only where necessary.

One of the benefits and detriments of growing older, wiser, and full of experience is that you start to feel things differently. It’s more science than anything – you start to level off in your hormones until they start to drop little by little and you gain a sort of clarity into things. Suddenly very few things are “the end of the world” and “you ruined my life”. I will say that part of me misses being that passionate about life (good, bad, emo, otherwise..) but truly I appreciate the perspective I’ve gained over the years. Until that happens though feel all you can and learn how to work with it and not against it. If you’re angry, say so. If you’re happy, say so. Don’t keep things bottled up and festering. You may worry about hurting someone if you tell them you’re not happy with what they are doing or how they’re doing it but it does you both a disservice if you say nothing at all. Remember, you can be kind and let them know you’re unhappy. Those are not mutually exclusive events.

No matter how good you are at something, stay humble. Your work will speak for itself. I was that cocky “Linux Guy” when I burst on the scene of my career path and I wasn’t afraid to let my coworkers know when they were wrong and how often. In fact, my first real review went something like this:

“You’re a great technologist and I appreciate your skill set. It’s advanced and you’re ahead of most of the staff in that regard. Your coworkers find you unapproachable and brash though”

You know what my response was?

“I’m here to work not make friends”

…what an arrogant and pigheaded thing to say but at the time I just knew I was right and felt I was better than everyone else in my department. I’ll let you draw your own conclusions but I will say I was never offered a lead or management position, I was pretty much shunned at the corporate events, and nobody wanted me on their team even though I could resolve the most issues day in and day out. Be humble if you can, you’ll get a lot farther.

Finally, be flexible and open. You have one set of beliefs now based on your experiences and what your mother and I have tried to teach you. Your world is going to open so vast and wide it’ll make your head spin (at least in retrospect, you won’t notice it happening in real time). You will learn new things, be exposed to new ideas, and science will make new discoveries. You need to examine this new data with your head and your heart and be true to who you are. Never be so stubborn though that you won’t at least consider as many sides of the story that are out there. Put yourself in the shoes of people and try to see the world through their eyes. It goes a long way in shaping who you are as a man.

Always hate the Yankees and Red Sox, if you don’t it’ll break my heart and I’m an old man now.

The final thing, if you take nothing else away from this letter, take this – you were born out of love, came into this world loved, loved through your highs, loved through your mistakes, and will always be loved. You are my first born and I’m so proud of you. No matter what you have a friend in me and until my heart no longer beats you have my unwavering love and support.

Go get’em hot rod.

Love,

Dad

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Reporting from Ft. Living Room, Surrounded by Birthing Supplies

November 12, 2013 – 10:22 pm

birth_supplies

 

“I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout birthing babies miss Scarlet” -Prissy, Gone With the Wind

That’s pretty much how I felt about 5 months ago. I’d read the books (which were frankly insulting) and started doing some research on what I should be expecting.

Birth, it seems, is a bloody business full of all sorts of fluids, solids, and waste product designed to protect mother and baby alike and get all over the damn place when they’re not needed anymore.

Above is the list of things our midwife team would like us to have on hand for various stages of birth (both before, during, and after). The rest of the medications, tools, antiseptics, etc.. they’ll be bringing.

I had to laugh, actually, when I got done typing this list. First, they gave us a paper check list but fuck those, I don’t always have a pen. Second, it feels like we’re having a housewarming party or baking a treat.

Mixing bowls, cookie sheets, Ziploc bags, new sheets…

Some of the items are self explanatory – I get why we need waterproof mattress covers, birth pool liners, diapers, and such. Some of the items I’ve had to research – like why in the hell do we need Ziploc bags or a large stock pot.

Once all our items are assembled, delivered, and organized into bins (before birth stuff, after birth stuff, and during birth stuff) and we decide on diapering, we’re set. We have all the necessities that we think we need.

…we’re just one month out now if he decides to come on time. Due date is 12/16/13 and I feel like we’ve taken refuge in Ft. Living Room and hunkered down for the siege.

It’s still a bit alien to me being surrounded by all this baby stuff. I’ve gotten used to the crib, then the changing table.. but all the little tiny clothes, blankets, do-dads, trinkets, and other such things still are a bit surreal. I know this is happening and that we’re as ready as we can be but I think a small (but prevalent) part of me is in disbelief that I’m going to be a father… and some tiny little human being will need my help.

I’m at the stage now where I wonder things. I wonder things like:

  • Will he look like me?
  • Will he be a fussy baby?
  • Will he watch baseball with me when he’s older?
  • Will he look up to me the way I looked up to my dad?
  • Will he like to read?
  • Will he join the Army?
  • Will he know how much at this moment before he’s even here how much I love him?

It’s crazy to think about this stuff. Some stuff gets pretty dark though, this whole situation has activated my “what if” and it gets taken to some places that are pretty upsetting.

What if I get terminal cancer or something before I can teach him to hold a baseball bat or to tie his shoes?

That was the latest one.

It’s getting so close and for the first time I’m allowing myself to dream a little on his behalf. I won’t push an agenda on the kid but right now it’s all potential and it’s limitless because nobody knows yet what he’s capable of doing… and when I think about not being around if I get smashed on the motorcycle or cancer I get a pit in my stomach. So I try not to think about it.

Mostly it’s just waiting and wanting to meet the little guy. I want to welcome him into the world even though he’ll never remember it or even understand what the bearded guy with tears in his eyes would be talking about.

It’s not long now but it can’t get here soon enough.

I’m sure I’ll have blogging material for a year with this whole homebirth thing.. especially if they have me put a placenta on a tray or something. You guys certainly will be the first to know.

 

 

 

 

 

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By kxpx | Posted in RKDC Blog | Tagged , , , , , , | Comments (0)

So I Got Stitches in My Ass Today

October 4, 2013 – 1:55 am

Since I moved to Oregon a little over two and a half years ago one might say that my stress level has gone up a little. I, however, would argue that my stress level for many months sat at near cardiac arrest levels. This move has been good for my career and apparently bad for my ass. About six months after my arrival I noticed a severe drying of my skin around the knuckles, my scalp, and on the top of my ass where it meets my back. I didn’t pay much attention to it and decided that it wasn’t likely to kill me and that it was probably just the weather change and my body would adapt.

Well it didn’t and as the time progressed the symptoms worsened. My fingers and knuckles would literally split open and the skin around them turn into a zombie flesh (dead and calloused).  I once again assumed I had the worst dry skin ever and started investing in lotions from Walgreens to Lush. Nothing helped.

Romy has convinced me that I need to start taking better care of myself and so I’ve been going to see various doctors lately to try and right some of the wrongs.

Today I went to the dermatologist so he could check out my zombie fingers. My hope was he’d agree with me that sandpaper and rubbing alcohol was a good solution and send me on my way.  He did not and I don’t actually think he believed me when I told him I tried that last winter. (Hey, come on, I’ve dug out infected spider bites with pliers, used pocket knives to dig out infected splinters, and pissed on my feet to get rid of a fungus..)  So this guy determines I must be a health hazard and tells me I need to take of all my clothes and put on a gown that my ass will hang out of. He then tells me I might have cancer (poor wording on his choice, he meant he was going to check me for skin cancer) and that he wants to examine all my maladies.

So a fat dude comes in to take down some information and says he’ll be back when I’m in the gown.

I told him not to call it a gown because that’s what my grandmother wears to bed that I will be, from this moment on, calling it a Snuggie.  Dude didn’t even crack a smile.  I seem to have THE WORST FUCKING LUCK with trying to lighten up a situation where I’m about to get naked and go through something I’ve never been through before.

Anyway, the fat man comes in with the most metrosexual doctor I’ve ever met.

“Hello doctor, pleased to make your acquaintance” I tell him. “I’m sorry to have met you while I’m wearing a medically approved Snuggie, usually when I meet people I have pants on”.  At least he gave me a courtsey chuckle and says “Don’t call me “doctor”, call me Joe”.

Now, listen, I don’t mind the casual address thing – I don’t expect to be called “sir” or “Mr. Phipps” or anything like that. I do mind when a doctor says “Call me Joe” because now I don’t have “Dr. Whatever” looking at my naked body I have some dude named Joe in gray slacks that are a little too tight and a shirt he likely bought in the metro section at Kohl’s.  That’s a game changer for me.

So now Joe is telling me he has to do this exam and whips out these giant fucking magnifying glass and starts going over my zombie fingers and then arms then back and then goes “you’re not a mole-y guy..the few you have look good and aren’t cancerous”

“Thanks Joe” was the best I could do for a response.

He says “Now we’ll check out your backside”

So hey, Joe, I know we’re now on a first name basis but really don’t call my ass “your backside”. We’re not on a date and you’re not going to powder my ass… stick to the professional terms… of course I didn’t tell him this because he’s inspecting my ass on a microscopic level saying that he has to biopsy me and without missing a breath says “what that means is we’re going to take skin plugs from you and then stitch you up, you’ll be back in two weeks to get the stitches out and we’ll have some results for you but in them meantime I need you to start using this lotion and I’ll write you a script for steroids”

That’s a lot of information to take in while you have an illuminated magnification device by your butthole and a guy called Joe talking about one hundred words a minute.

Fat guy says “I need your consent to take your plug” as I’m standing there with Joe on my ass drawing dots with a sharpie.

So we get to the point where I lose the gown and lay on my stomach and fat guy is asking if he should drape a gown over my legs to “preserve my dignity”.  No, fat guy, that’s ok, my dick is on paper sheets and my ass is about to be prodded by a guy called Joe in gray slacks – I’m pretty much thinking my dignity left when he looked under my nut sack.  (I spared you those details because I stood there like a weeping angel that someone was looking at. Not my finest hour to have my balls jiggled by Joe and the Fat Man watching.)

“It’s ok man, no need for the gown” I tell him as he continues to cover my legs up.  So here I am in the 2 Live Crew position and he says “You’re going to feel a little prick and then a burning sensation” and so I said “Oh wow, just like my college days” trying to make another joke. The fat man had a new (lower) opinion of me but whatever, he’s the one that has to look at my naked ass, not me.

He stabs me with Lidocaine and I knew shit was about to get real because he said “most people don’t realize this but this really is minor surgery”.  That pinched and burned just like he said and then he started fucking poking me with the needle saying “do you feel sharpness or pressure?” to which I replied “FUCK man.. that hurts…” so he gave me another shot and then it felt like I had an organic black hole on the top of my ass…err.. backside.

Joe comes in and shows me this punch tool that he’s going to use to take a sample. “You’ll feel some pressure… let me put this bandage around you to catch all the blood and such”.   By now Joe isn’t one of my favorite people ever.

So 2 minutes later and I’m stitched up and look on the cart and OHMYMOTHEROFTHELORDABOVE I had chunks of skin in a jar and bloody gauze in a quantity which apparently surprised me and it was written on my face. Fat man did the best he could to clean off the tray quickly and he says “Sorry about the diaper I had to put on you but you were bleeding quite a bit”.

Now I’m confused.. nobody put a diaper on me unless they numbed me from the waist down and I totally missed that part so my face apparently still said “Fat man.. what the fuck…” so he follows that up with “I mean it’s a big bandage… there was more bleeding that I thought so it’s bulky.. ”

The rest of the visit was uneventful, got my scripts and instructions and went to pick up one of the topical creams they had on site.  A lady who was likely in her 80′s but resembled Mumm Ra before he transformed into a badass just starts talking to me out of nowhere. “I like sports” she said.  ”Pardon me?” I retorted.

Her:  I like sports.. but who  is that on your jersey?
Me: OH, it’s me… it was made for me with my name on it.
Her: I mean.. what is it? Football?
Me: No ma’am, Ice Hockey.
Her:  ARE YOU A WINTERHAWK!?!?! (seriously she lit up)
Me: No ma’am, I’m not that talented, just a fan.
Her: <gives me the “son I am disappoint” look>

Given that I was in my Blues jersey and had just had my “butt plug” (which is totally what I’m calling my biopsy sample) removed by Joe and the Fat Man I thought I did a good job of staying polite and not telling her that I’m 5’8″ and fat and if you tried to put my fat ass on skates now I’d just eat ice and lose teeth.

So the moral of the story is this – if you go to the dermatologist to have your fingers looked at be careful because Joe will take your butt plug and leave you with stitches and Vaseline on your ass.

By kxpx | Posted in RKDC Blog | Comments (1)

Respect the Great Ones

September 26, 2013 – 11:32 pm

rivera

 

I’m a sports fan. Seriously, if it’s a sport there is a good chance I like it and have a favorite team/side/player/athlete/country.

I grew up on baseball, found a love in football, and a passion in hockey. I like college basketball (you can thank Dwight Howard for turning me away from the NBA) and soccer. I tend to have a room in my entertainment time for all the sports.

Baseball will always have my heart.

Growing up I wanted to be Cal Ripken Jr. I dreamed of playing for the Orioles.

Baseball has a sense of respect for the great ones.

Tonight, for instance, I watched Mariano Rivera pitch his last time at Yankee Stadium. I got a little choked up when Pettitee and Jeter came out to get him. The umpires (knowing the magnitude of the moment) let players make the pitching change.. not just any but Yankee royalty.

The game stopped to let the moment build, to let Mo take it all in, to let the crowd watch him leave and come back out to tip his cap to those fans for the final time.

A football player would have had a flag thrown for excessive celebration or something. They don’t let moments get bigger than the game until that moment is slapped onto an NFL Films reel and put to music and narrative.

When Rivera teared up so did just about everyone in the stadium and so did I. A man who has dedicated his life to his sport, performed at phenomenal levels, and is known as maybe the nicest man in all of baseball knew that he wouldn’t throw again in front of his home fans and that in a few days it’s all over.

Without a doubt he goes to Cooperstown and goes down in baseball lore as “The Sandman” the greatest closer to ever throw a baseball.

Don’t get me wrong, I hate the NY Yankee franchise but baseball taught me to respect the great ones.

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Home Birth vs Hospital Birth (or Midwife vs Doctor)

September 18, 2013 – 10:41 pm

As you may (or may not) know Romy and I will be welcoming our first child into the world in mid-December assuming he sticks to a schedule.

As you may (or may not) know Romy and I will be doing a home birth. We’ll be using the services of a midwife team (3 women) who are Oregon trained and certified.

As you may (or may not) know my insurance scoffs at this and refuses to pay for their services so we’re paying out of pocket. We’re also having to drive past 4 hospitals to get there when we visit them. I have to take 1/2 day off work each time we go visit.
…and now that you know what this post is going to be about feel free to skip it if you have no interest in any of this, no hard feelings I promise, I had no interest in any of this until it pertained to me either.
So why go through the out of pocket expenses, inconveniences of driving into Portland proper (and crossing the river), burn valuable PTO at work, and be treated like freaks when we go to any class involving other parents to be?

Simple. It’s what Romy wants.

Now I didn’t exactly accept this with blinders or a sense of jubilation – this represented a huge change for me. Birth, to me, was something done in a hospital and it involved drugs to numb that pain and a c-section if it took too long to push the little bugger out.

Birth needed to happen in a “clean” and “sterile” environment that only a hospital could provide and a skilled team of people in scrubs with tools, forceps, and a lot of machines that go “ping”.

When Romy presented the idea that she wanted a natural birth my first (internal) response was “People still do that?!”.

We started off by watching “The Business of Being Born”. Not my favorite thing ever but it presented a different view for me. I decided to do a little bit of street work and started asking women I know that have had children what their experiences were. I was surprised at the amount of women that regretted going to the hospital. Not that they’d go for the home birth but the experiences there were subpar with reasons ranging from “I only ever saw my OB when he/she caught the baby” or feeling like they didn’t want or need a C-Section but they had it anyways at the doctors insistence. Mostly it was just being uncomfortable and feeling like they were on some predetermined timeline to give birth.

This caused confusion in my engineer wired brain – why wouldn’t you want to be efficient in something like this? Why wouldn’t you want a short labor, all the drugs, and someone to say “this is too hard, let me help take the baby out of you to ease your pain and stress”.

As it turns out my views were pretty uneducated. I’ve been around for a few births in my life – never witnessing one but kind of knowing “the routine”. Head to the hospital, get them checked in, go park the car, come back with a bag of stuff, and wait a while.

I’ve since learned that you can actually give birth at home in any number of ways. You can give birth in a tub or birthing pool, squatting, on all fours, standing, or laying down in your own bed.

You can have a say in what care your child does or does not receive at birth and you can have an environment where the baby isn’t whisked away to be put in a room full of other babies that have since been whisked away.

Still, this was all feel good stuff to me. So we set in to do work on finding out about this midwife culture and hospital culture. We started with interviewing midwives and we interviewed many. We visited their homes, their birthing centers, and their offices.

Like dealing with anyone that deals in providing a service we had our ups and downs and immediate likes and dislikes. What I learned about these providers outside that some of them really need to get a sense of business is that they weren’t just granola hippies that wanted to catch a baby and anoint it with patchouli oil and call it a success.

These women are college educated, highly seasoned, medically trained, and treated Romy and I with far more warmth and respect that we got in any hospital.

We grilled them pretty hard in the interview process and came away with a pair of midwives that work in tandem. They’ve since added an assistant so we’ll have three women attending Romy at the time of Gavin’s birth.

We’ll have the same medical options available to us as we would at any hospital here in terms of medication, APGAR, stitching, etc.. and we’ll be given a choice on which medication we want given to Gavin.

One thing you have likely learned about me is that I’m pretty risk adverse. So I’m not going into this thinking that nothing can go wrong. One of the things Romy and I have agreed on (at my insistence) is that we go to the local hospital and get a chart going with an OB/GYN and explain to he/she (turned out to be a she) that we’re doing a home birth with attending midwives and that they are our emergency option. The OB wasn’t too happy or supportive but I’ve found there to be a fairly similar attitude among many OB’s is that midwives are half voodoo priestess and half barbarian that holds back real medical science.

We also entered into a contractual agreement with the midwife staff that in the event that a situation COULD turn into an emergency we’ll transport to the hospital in a non-emergency situation and they will attempt to enforce our wishes of a natural birth without drugs.

We won’t be attempting any high risk births at home because home isn’t capable of handling an emergency as such and that’s where I feel hospitals really shine. I feel like hospitals aren’t a place of caring and healing as much as they are a vessel to safe lives, set bones, and get thousands of people in and out of there per day that are sick.

Hospitals are essential in any civilized infrastructure and I don’t want you to think that I’m knocking their existence, however, I don’t think it’s a place where I want Gavin to be born. Romy stresses out pretty hard when we get to hospitals for labs or to meet new doctors and I can’t imagine the stress she would feel with her legs strapped apart being told if she doesn’t give birth in the next 30 minutes she’ll be cut open.

Since stress causes a series of hormones to flood your system I believe that Gavin would get a full dose of that along with whatever other would get pumped into Romy. Just seems like a rough welcome to the world.

So we’ve made our choice, I’m paying off the midwife service in monthly installments, I’m happily driving far out of my way to see our team, happy to take the PTO because I feel like Romy and Gavin both will get the care they want and need. I’m confident that we have our bases covered, we’re agreed on when and why we transport, and have gained a support system through this that we’d not had up until that point.

The midwives have earned my total respect and confidence and have given us choices we didn’t know we had. They are a wealth of information and provide a sense of leadership that was lacking. They want to deliver our baby, they want to see him healthy, and they want to help us through this and that’s an attitude I’m entirely grateful for.

So what say you all (that made it through this post) – would you consider a home birth or is the allure of a hospital birth too strong to overcome?

By kxpx | Posted in RKDC Blog | Tagged , , , , , , , | Comments (4)

When Christmas Was Christmas

September 8, 2013 – 5:31 am

I’ve written about Christmas here before. I’m sure if anyone wants to go back through the many posts you’ll find mention of some good times, some bad times, and a ton of photos I’ve taken of dishes and candy I’ve made.

I’d like to write a little bit about Christmas now though in the context of when Christmas meant something to me. It was Christmas with a little pomp, circumstance, and my Grandparents had the wherewithal to make it spectacular for my sister and I.

So I lost my Grandad to cancer in August of 2000. I was 20 years old and was so angry that he passed away I quit school (college) and tried to just be there for my Grandmother. I was interning (paid) for the local city government doing media integration and just kind of lost in a sea of uncertainty. (I promise this all has a point relating to Christmas).

As Thanksgiving neared my Gram had started to just come out of her depression but as it passed by she was flung right back in it. At first I didn’t understand until it dawned on me – Christmas was when my Grandfather was at his absolute best. He sparkled when it was time to get the tree, decorate, and unpack his meticulous collection of Hallmark ornaments.

As time got closer and closer I decided we had to have some sort of Christmas. After all tradition was a tree, the ceiling decorated, the mantle done with the “Magic” ornaments, and just the year before my Grandad showed me how to do it all.

I waited until she was gone so she didn’t have to see me dragging all the stuff around messing up her house, I knew it would be emotional for her seeing the house lit up and I didn’t want to add to it by making a mess while she was around.

I had not anticipated how heavy it would come crashing down on me. On a cold December day in the year 2000 I walked around to the shed on the side of the house where the ornaments were. I opened the door as I’d done a few thousand times in my life and grabbed a box. I opened it up to make sure it was the right one and I saw these ornaments packed neatly and methodically just as they always were. I sat the box down and cried my eyes out, I cried until my throat was raw and my hands were shaking. Christmas just wasn’t the same for me since. It was Grandad’s thing and I was his helper – no way could I be tasked with making it as perfect as he always did.

Those ornaments aren’t used to this day at my Grandmother’s house.

We talked about it last year or the year before (isn’t it funny how as we get older we can say things like that.. the years start ever so slowly running together) as to why they just sit out there.

Christmas when I was little and living with them was a big deal. The mood around the house was festive, old movies playing, old music playing, my Grandad recording all the specials for us on VHS so we could watch them at will during the holiday season.

He would decorate the dogwood tree out front by stringing lights very taught from the top all the way down to the ground in a “teepee” shape so it resembled one big fir tree.

The ceiling had garland tacked up (green) that draped in about one foot sections and repeated as it ran the lengths of the beams. Each little loop had a pattern it had to follow – silver icicle, silver ball, Hallmark ornament, silver ball, silver icicle, etc.. My sister and I would always find our favorite ornaments and he’d make sure to always hang them on the ceiling. “Find your rabbit in the skate, Hot Rod (that’s what he’d call me)” and I’d feel so proud to pick it out from the seemingly thousands of Hallmark ornaments up there.

The mantle was my favorite. He would string up green garland in the shape of a pine tree and hang the lighted/musical ornaments from it. It was a magical thing to me that he had these little living worlds with people ice skating, Santa flying, and trains carrying brightly colored packages around its circular track. This was all done on the wall, on the mantle were special rocking horses – Hallmark does a line of them (or did) and he had them going all the way back to the early 80’s. Each year he’d add a new one and tell me about it.

The stockings were on the front and I can still see mine – “Keith” written in cursive glue covered in glitter on a big red sock with white trim.

His handwriting was immaculate and so when I would go look under the tree and find presents to me I knew when he had wrapped them and written the “To/From”. His creases were perfect, never too much tape, and my name was written in a script that was part ex-military block letter and part slanted because he held the paper like he was taught back in the early days of his schooling.

He would let me stay up late and our favorite was watching “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” together and he would tease me that if I made too much noise the Grinch would come take our ornaments, presents, and even our ham… of course I’d counter with the fact that the Grinch (by the end of the show) was totally a good guy with a big heart.

Today was the second time since 2000 that I’d been into a Hallmark store. The first time I got a little emotional and went and sat on a bench in the mall to clear my head. Today, I was emotional but for a different reason.

I went with Romy. I specifically wanted an “Our First Christmas” and “Baby’s First Christmas” ornament – they had to be Hallmark, nothing else would do.

I started showing her the different series and talking about Grandad and it made my heart happy to have all those memories – happy and sad. To remember that Christmas to me was special once and that for all these years I’ve carried it with me. I can barely remember my Grandad in the hospital bed but I can remember him vividly putting up the decorations and him telling me how and why he did it that way. I can remember him telling me that I had to unbox carefully so as to not destroy the packing material they came in (because it’s for more that good looks – it protects them for all the time in between each Christmas).

He was a hell of a man and I spent so long being mad because as I was coming into my own in life he left and I felt like I didn’t get the same benefit as my father or uncles…

It was only a few years ago when someone said “You sound just like Don Rollins” that I realized I soaked up a fair amount at a young age. As stupid as it sounds I forgave him for dying and started to really look back on the lessons he’d taught me.

I can only hope going forward that I can make use of the wisdom he freely gave to me and be a loving, good, providing husband and father that Gavin can love and respect.

I miss him so very much even now but the trip to the Hallmark store today helped me realize that I carry with me much more from him that I’d imagined previously.

Here’s to Christmas magic even if it’s just September.

By kxpx | Posted in RKDC Blog | Tagged , , | Comments (1)

Keith’s Adventure in Retail: Bra Shopping

June 26, 2013 – 3:51 pm

VS Girl: Hello there, can I help you?

Me: Certainly ma’am, thank you. My girlfriend is pregnant and I’ve noticed her saying that her bras aren’t comfortable – I believe it’s the wire. Currently she is a three six delta but I believe based on the physiological changes she may need to go up. I believe it’s referred to as her “sister size” which I believe is three eight charlie.

VS Girl: (blank stare)

Me: (blank stare)

VS Girl: (blank stare)

Me: three eight charlie with no wires…thirty-eight charlie…

VS Girl: OH 38C without under wire! We should have those.

Me: Ma’am if you’ll just point me in their direction I believe I can complete this mission.

VS Girl: Let me help you with that.

Me: (blank stare)

VS Girl: (blank stare)

Me: Yes ma’am, you’re the expert on these things. Lead on.

VS Girl: I think that’s clever.

Me: Ma’am?

VS Girl: That you make the letters have names, so you can remember.

Me: (blank stare)

Me: Yes ma’am, it helps.

 

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Onward to Fatherhood…

June 6, 2013 – 2:06 pm

Baby Shoes

 

News! I have news!

Romy and I are totally becoming parents. As you can tell by her infographic above this will happen in December.

There is a gravity to this situation I’ve had a hard time putting into words. I’ve been sitting on this information for months now so I’m happy to finally share it with you all.

To the ones that knew I thank you for your support and advice thus far and any I will make use of in the future.

To the ones that are just finding out… Surprise? :)

You will likely (or not) have noticed a lack of posts with substance for a while and that’s because my brain has been in “holy shit I’m going to be a dad what the fuck do I do right now, how do I save for college, do I want to raise my kid in Portland, how is this even going to happen, what the hell is a placenta, where am I going to learn to make baby food, etc.. ” mode

It’s literally been 200 miles an hour in my brain thinking baby and family.

Romy has been great about it all putting up with my spreadsheets and questions to the medical staff. Also my constant complaining about fruit as a measurement method.

So there you have it… I’ll be a Dad, Romy will be a mom, and the baby is likely to be the Macho Man Randy Savage reincarnated if I have my way. He’ll have a wicked elbow drop and come out of the womb to “Pomp and Circumstance” screaming “oooohhh yeah…”

(See what she has to put up with?) :)

By kxpx | Posted in RKDC Blog | Comments (0)

Why Sports Matter to Me

May 11, 2013 – 1:32 am

Being a fan is hard work. It requires giving something you can’t ever get back – time.  There is a theory that I share with some friends of mine (and I’m sure countless other people I don’t know) that I’d rather spend money than time. Money is easy to get back, time, impossible.

When I watch the games and ride the roller coaster of wins, losses, listening to the smack talk from the opposition, throwing in emotions in the moments throughout the game, I consider than an investment of my most precious resource, time. So tonight my beloved Blues lost to the sports city I hate most of all (L.A.) and I am heartbroken. Not in the “oh I’ll never get over her boo hoo” but it’s season over for me. I could care less who raises the cup this year because it’s not going to be the team I invest in.

When you’re a fan you are part of a community, people you’ve never met will be social with you, you can make friends based solely on their sporting team of preference, and at the end of the day, there are enough of you trying to will your team to victory that you feel a part of something. In a day and age where communications are typed rather than spoken, friends are scattered all over the world, and work dominates it’s nice to just sit down with a beer and cheer your team on with countless other people you’ll never meet.

It helps spark conversation in people, like me, that aren’t good at conversation. Any sport I watch pulls at the stats tracking bug I have inside me. Even the rivalries can be fun if you find like minded fans.

…but why they matter most is that they’re an investment and help define a small part of who I am.

I’m a Blues fan  (/r/stlouisblues)
I’m a Chiefs fan (/r/kansascitychiefs)
I’m an Orioles fan (/r/orioles)
I’m a Timbers fan (/r/timbers)
I’m a Magic fan (/r/orlandomagic)

..none of that will ever make me any money or define my moral compass (I will not miss events that are important just to catch the game) but as a source of entertainment, social interaction, bonding, cheering, booing, and feeling all of the feelings… it’s hard to beat a close match/game where your team comes out on top. You win with them even though you’ll never see a dime, meet the players, play the sport on the biggest stage, or be in the championship photo if they ever have one.

One day I hope to see one of my teams raise a cup, win the series, win the superbowl, etc.. I can’t imagine what that feels like to finally have an investment seen through to the end.  Came close in 2009 with the Magic (fucking Lakers) and I remember that series hurting pretty bad when it was all over.  The Chiefs had a good run in 2003 but were bounced out. The Orioles have been so bad for so long (up to last year) that I don’t ever remember them being good…. and so it goes…  but I’ll keep sporting my colors, my voice, time, and emotion along with countless others and maybe one day I’ll fly out to one of those cities and know what it’s like to see a victory parade.

I will say this though – of all the sports out there I’m most passionate about the NHL. I have loved baseball since I was a toddler but nothing fires me up like a good NHL game…. and nothing stings so much as when your team is bounced from the Stanley Cup playoffs. So tonight’s loss will hurt a while but that doesn’t mean I’ll give up on the team or spew vitriol at the other teams or my own.  It was the best series and exposed what we need to do to get better next year.

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Holy Getting Sick Out of Nowhere, Batman!

April 27, 2013 – 4:32 pm

You guys remember on Thursday I posted (on Instagram) that it was Voodoo Thursday? That was apparently prophetic. I didn’t even get to eat one doughnut. I felt off that morning but thought it was just because I’ve been sleeping poorly.

By 10:00am I had to go home from work (I never go home from work) and several extreme bio-chemical reactions happen in my body that expel whatever contents I had in it in the quickest most appropriate fashion.

I then fell into a deep sleep for about 13 hours.

Woke up, did it all over again… back into a deep sleep.

Woke up sent an email to my boss saying I wouldn’t be in on Friday.. and another deep sleep for 5 hours.

I made the mistake of trying to eat something.

Then another 5 hour nap.

I finally got some toast to stay down last night.. but to be safe.. another 5 hour nap.

I managed to stay up a while last night after the fever broke but never felt right to try and eat again though water was sitting funny it was staying down.

I hit another deep sleep until about noon today.

…so since Wednesday night at 7:00pm PST I’ve had one piece of toast and about 3 glasses of water… and more sleep than I usually get in a month.

I don’t ever remember being so sick that I would be drenched in sweat one second then start freezing my ass off and shivering like I was outside in the wintertime naked the next second. My joints hurt,weird muscle groups hurt, and most of my body was so tender to the touch even when I tried to stay awake it was just painful.

Feeling better today, the monitor isn’t making me nauseous and I can poke myself without wincing, and I might even have an appetite. The headache isn’t gone but I’m thinking that might be a little dehydration so I’m going to start getting some fluids in my system today.

…and if I don’t wash my sheets I may gag just thinking about all the germs I’ve been rolling around in… so before I go suck on a Gatorade it’s time to start disinfecting this apartment.

TL;DR: I was super fucking sick and my apartment full of germs is creeping me out… also, I basically haven’t eaten since Wednesday.

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Depression, Anxiety, and Kohl’s.

March 16, 2013 – 7:35 pm

I’m not shy about talking about depression/anxiety, I think when someone is struggling with it it’s nice to reach out and let them know they may feel alone but they’re not alone in their suffering.

I try to keep it out of daily conversation and most blog posts though – I’ve attempted being an advocate in the past and you tend to get shot down in a very harsh way by people that know everything. This is true in both forms of interaction (in person/online).

I’ve encountered people that don’t believe in depression, they believe it’s a form of laziness, they think taking a deep breath and counting your blessings will make it all alright, etc.. -or- they believe in medication until you can’t feel.

I bring this up because today I had a fairly bad anxiety attack. Nothing out of the ordinary I just needed to run to Kohl’s for one item.

It started in the parking lot. I tend not to shop during peek hours, on weekends, or if there is a high chance that many people will be around. Today broke a few of those rules and the lack of room in the parking lot triggered a fairly negative response in my system.

Elevated heart rate, shortness of breathe, and overall sense that this would not go well.

I rode that wave until I parked and decided to say “fuck it, people shop here all the time, you’re not special, you can just go buy what you want and go home”

…this is not a normal through process for a lot of people, I get that. It’s part of what infuriates me so much, my body seems to betray my mind.

I go in and scope out my path (I try to take short direct routes to my destination to just get in and out – unless there is an empty aisle.. again, who the fuck does that?) and make my way back to the kitchen stuff.

I know exactly what I’m looking for (down the materials used and steel gauge) and what my comfortable price point is but none of what I’m looking for is right on the box so I have to go around feeling the pots and pans making sure they’re the right weight and construction.

I mean, how hard is it to print on the box “Tri-ply 18/10 stainless”, “safe to temperatures up to 500 degrees”, “these are the cooking surfaces that are acceptable to this cookware” and “handles are riveted”

Anyway, because I’m having to lift display models to see what I can find as far as balance, weight, construction, etc.. goes I start to feel like a freak and again heart rate goes up, blood pressure increases, I start breathing differently, and if it wouldn’t draw attention to myself I’d like to just melt into a puddle and ooze my way out the door.

Again the “why the fuck can’t you just be normal” thoughts started overcoming me and it makes it so much worse when your body is at war with your mind.

I finally just had to walk over to the baking dishes where no one was and pretend to be looking for something just to try and get my breathing proper.

I find a set a like but with no price and I don’t feel quite stable enough to ask anyone so I find a set that has a price and just grab it.

This again triggers such a negative response internally…

Now I’m walking from the back of the store to the front with this giant box on my shoulder and nobody wants to walk on the right side of the damn aisles so I’m having to play frogger and it feels like so much attention is on me I could just explode. I’m dodging strollers, people walking the wrong way, people side by side, shit in the middle of the aisle, and people stopped to talk in a group.

By this point I’m ready to just shut down. Too much chaos for me. Too much attention.

Goddamnit I need these pans though.

So I stand in line holding this box, 10 minutes later I get to the checkout lady. Bless her heart she wanted to talk to me about the Timbers game tonight (I’m wearing my Timbers shirt) and all I could offer back was “yes ma’am”, “no ma’am”, and “thank you ma’am” to any/all of her questions.

I get back to the truck and just want to sit a second to try and process and then I have people waiting for my spot and some fucking prick parked crooked next to me so I’m having to back out, pull in, back out, etc..

It’s a miserable fucking thing to me… to react with such a sense of stress over essentially.. nothing.

My head is splitting now, I’m still shaking, and I’m more pissed off at myself than ever.

I was thinking that back when I was a kid all I wanted was a normal family, I didn’t want to be the kid with divorced parents, pothead parents, or being raised by my grandparents who worked so I was the “latch key kid”. I just wanted to be normal.

Seems like I’m still searching – I just want to be a normal adult that can fucking buy pots and pans without nearly stroking out.

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The Story of Becky

February 17, 2013 – 3:26 pm

It started about 6 months ago with this post

Becky was the “office mom” at my first real IT Job. We hit it off famously and kept in touch over the years even though I had moved away from NC to GA, FL, back to GA, then finally OR.

She hand made a few Mother’s Day cards for me (she was into that crafty stuff they were cool) because I wanted something special for my Gram.

She worked at a firearms accessories wholesaler later in life and so we talked gun parts.

Her daughter got an English Mastiff puppy back when Leo was still alive so she’d send me pics of the puppy and always be cheerful.

When I was looking at my motorcycle she would always say that she’d have to come out for a ride. We’d go for a root beer.

…sadly the cancer took her. She’d been fighting it for years and after some close calls the doctors said she was in remission. Everyone celebrated…. but a few short weeks later it had struck again and hard. She went though every kind of treatment possible and was always the strongest most upbeat person.

If anyone could have beat cancer, I thought, it’d be Becky.

At the end she was frail, worn down physically, and said she couldn’t take the treatments anymore. They weren’t working… she wanted to spend the remaining hours on this earth with her husband and children.

This world lost Becky a few days after that. It’s been about 6 months now.

Naming my bike Becky was my way of honoring a gun totin’ granny who had a soft spot for big dogs and guys like me.

I miss her words of encouragement and her stories about trying to wrangle “that big ol’ dog” and her grandbabies.

When I get ready to go for a ride on days like today I always pat the tank and say something like “Alright Ms Becky, let’s go see something new”… just in case there is a Heaven and she could hear me.

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Office Prank: Level – “Anus Lube”

February 14, 2013 – 4:20 pm

Given that we work in a very multicultural environment (people from all over the states, people from all over the world) there is no consensus on how to be sick.

Some people are knocking at death’s door will show up to work.

Some people work from home.

Most people are so stressed about deadlines they come in anyway.

I tell you this because it is relevant to the prank. We all keep pump bottles of hand sanitizer on our desks. It’s just something that we do in my department.

The drawback is that they need to be replaced quite often because each time someone comes over they, without asking, pump a few squirts and rub it in. I’m fine with this but I have a coworker who isn’t.  We hatched a scheme.

Silicon lube to replace his normal stock.

First victim was our favorite German guy. He actually brought over a little travel sized bottle and said “because I always use yours I wanted to replace some of it”

(foreshadow – this was a bad time to be nice)

Before anyone could say “boo” about it he pumped three big squirts in his hands. Got about one revolution of rubbing and said “what the hell… it smells like mint… and feels like anus lube!  MY GOD WHY DO YOU HAVE ANUS LUBE AT THE OFFICE!!!!” WHY DOES YOUR ANUS LUBE SMELL OF MINTS AND CHOCOLATES?! WHY?!?!?

At this point I’m in tears of laughter, I can’t help it. This 6’4” bald man shouting “ANUS LUBE” across the office with a look of sheer terror on his face just tickled me pink.

Finally I compose myself enough to say “So that’s not hand sanitizer?” to which he promptly responds “DO YOU WISH TO SMELL MY FINGER? I SWEAR TO YOU IT’S ANUS LUBE?! WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING? WHAT ELSE SHOULD I CALL IT? IT’S MINTY ANUS LUBE WITH CHOCOLATES!!!!”

….if I had my guess he’s finally gotten it all off his hands but this will be a day that lives in office infamy.

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Need some 1970′s Eastwood – Netflix Doesn’t Care

February 14, 2013 – 12:49 am

Why in the name of all that’s holy and not 4chan does Netflix think it’s ok to not have “The Outlaw Josey Wales”?

Seriously Netflix, get your shit together. Sometimes a man needs to see a fictional outlaw spit tobacco and sling lead at other dirty looking people.

‘MURICA (also, I love westerns)

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