avablog

That number represents our chances of getting pregnant each month, according to the doctor we saw this morning (when we conceived Ava, our odds were more like 18% to 20%). If we undertake IUI, that goes up another 2%. If we do IUI with a drug like clomid or letrozol, we get another 2%. So we’re looking at 6%, solely because we’re old. It’s a bitter pill to swallow. But like all bitter pills, the taste fades, particularly in the bright light of a fond memory.

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I thought I’d post a little video of our takeoff from Chicago on the way to Cancun, a.k.a. Ava’s first plane ride.

It was also her first time chewing gum, which we told her would come in handy if her ears started to pop. She was far more excited about the gum than the plane ride, I’ll tell ya.

There’s nothing like a trip to a foreign land with a camera in your hand to get you thinking more broadly about photography. It’s not like I need another excuse to shoot, but it would be nice to have some structure to my endeavor.

I have friends who’ve undertaken the now-(in)famous 365 days of portraits project on Flickr, but I’m not interested in being tied to that kind of schedule. My thought, which struck me this morning as I brushed my teeth in front of the mirror, was that the ordinary deserves a place in all this picture taking. That idea is at the heart of the 365 day theme, but the spirit there is a bit different.

My plan is to take four shots of one subject each day, one in color and one in B&W, with each of my two lenses. The focus will be on ordinary objects, those things I see every day but pass by because of familiarity. What are the visual qualities of those things, and does a photograph either heighten or diminish an item’s stature?

I took a lot of pictures of ordinary things as I walked the streets of Isla Mujeres, and when I came home, I found myself looking differently at the ordinary things in my own world. So I’ll create a set on Flickr to hold these new shots and hope the servers don’t crash.

I feel like I need to conclude the story of our vacation departure, since the last y’all heard was that we were heading to the Eastern Iowa Airport for our 6 p.m. flight.

Well, the drive to C.R. was completely free of fog…until a mile from the exit to the airport, at which point we drove into pea soup. I’ve never seen anything like it. Of course our flight was canceled again, so we were left with the following options: Take the free bus from C.R. to Chicago, spend the night there, then fly out in the a.m.; book seats on the a.m. flight from C.R. to Chicago and hope there’s no more fog; drive to Chicago in our own car, spend the night there, and fly out in the a.m. We opted for the third option. So, at 7 p.m., we hopped into the car and drove to the Sheraton Four Points Hotel at O’Hare. It wasn’t an ideal situation, what with leaving our car outdoors in a secure lot for a week, but we were pretty tired of dealing with airplanes by that point. And everything worked out fine in the end. It was actually kind of relaxing to drive home from Chicago Sunday night, even though we didn’t get home until 10 p.m. All in all, I’ve had my fill of traveling for a while.

I submitted my third and final semen sample the Wednesday before we left for vacation, and it turns out it came back totally normal. Which, of course, is good and bad. So, next step, I guess, is to head to the fertility clinic for an appointment and to possibly do an IUI treatment. Or two. We’ll see what they say. I’ve told Leah that IUI is as far as I want to go to have another baby, and I think we’re on the same page. If a week of international travel with a three-year-old isn’t enough to dampen (or extinguish altogether) her maternal longings, I don’t know what is.

Photos here. Still uploading images as I type this. My favorite picture from the trip:

CID was socked in this morning with fog, so we’re going to try again this evening. United only has two flights a day from Chicago to Cancun, and the latest is at 10:15 a.m., so there’s no way we would’ve made it. We’re just hoping there’s no fog in Chicago tomorrow morning for the flight out.

In other news, R and K took the bus from Madison to Chicago to catch their afternoon flight to Cancun on American today. But of course they arrived to find everything pushed back or canceled. So they got themselves a room at the same hotel we’re staying in tonight, which’ll be just like our vacation starting in Chicago…without the warmth, water, or beaches of Mexico. This trip is getting shorter all the time. Had everything gone according to plan this morning, we’d be out over the Gulf of Mexico somewhere right now with an hour to go until we touch down. As it stands, we’ll be getting to Cancun about 23 hours from now, FSM willing.

In Spanish, that means “until later.” We’re off to Mexico in the morning, and I’m leaving my beloved MacBook at home. You can bet you’ll have plenty of vacation pics to look at when we return next Sunday.

Uncle Kevin spent the afternoon at the ER on morphine up in Madison today. Poor fella. He and Rachel had to reschedule their flight, but they should still get to Isla Mujeres tomorrow night sometime.

I hope everyone has a great week. Thanks for reading, and I’ll talk at you soon.

We caucused for Johnny Edwards last night, and lost. I was actually for Obama, but Leah convinced me to stick with her to help with her liveblogging for Momocrats (DISCLAIMER: I don’t get anything for linking to them, and neither does Leah).

It was a fun night. My neighbors are so wacky. At one point, towards the start of the proceedings, the precinct captain was making announcements and asking if anyone had any questions before we began. Someone from the back of the room stood up and, gesturing at the videographer at the front of the room, yelled, “Turn off that camera! This is between US!” A woman near him then shouted, “Who is he?!” An audible groan passed through the crowd at having to deal with these kooks. The captain smiled, looked over at the videographer with a bit of a shrug, and explained that he makes the decisions for the precinct, and he’s allowing the camera to stay. The dude with the tinfoil hat loudly mumbled a couple more statements, and then someone at the front of the room blurted out, “Why are you so paranoid!” It got a laugh.

I talked to the videographer at the end of the night and asked if he received a lot of that kind of treatment. He was clearly a professional, and he laughed it off with the acknowledgment that people are different all over. He observed that, had this been a football game, strangers would’ve been throwing themselves in front of his camera with their shirts off. Sober Democrats are such a comparatively staid group.

I think it’s time to take a deep breath amidst all this caucus madness and revisit what’s really important in the world. Namely, my adorable daughter.

Here she is, pointing her paint brush straight at you, as if to say, “Back up, please. I’m painting.” In fact, that could well be what she said after I took this picture.

Like mother, like daughter. Leah and Georgie have teamed up to contribute their voices to the doomed ship that is John Edwards’ presidential campaign. Why they don’t hitch their respective wagons to Obama’s shooting star is beyond me. As Jesse Jackson said when he visited my high school years ago, “Up with hope! Down with dope!” It was my first exposure to live hip hop. How is it possible Jesse was portending this “epochal” 2008 election almost 20 years in advance? Maybe there’s something to the guy after all.

In a single hour of network television last night, Leah and I were exposed to at least 15 political ads. Romney. Dodd. Obama. Clinton. Edwards. POUND! POUND! POUND! POUND! It was numbing. It totally ruined Jack’s inauguration as DA, if you ask me. I still don’t get what the big deal is. I mean, it’s not like Iowa has such a sterling record lately for picking the president. I can’t wait for tomorrow morning, when all this is over and we can get back to being a bunch of pig sticking, corn eating bumpkins in this flyover nowhere.

My wife is a social animal. Since the vast majority of those reading these words know her personally, this doesn’t come as a surprising observation.

But Leah’s social nature manifests itself in some interesting ways. Like online shopping. Here’s how most of us shop online:

1. Do a search for an item.
2. Locate item.
3. Click a couple buttons and buy item online.

Here’s what Leah’s process looks like:

1. Do a search for an item.
2. Locate item.
3. Get on the phone and call a customer representative to ask all sorts of questions about the item’s comfort, particular hue, durability, materials, and / or sizing.
4. Hang up phone and stare at the item online for a couple hours.
5. Click a couple buttons and buy item online.

Two nights ago, she was shopping for some rubber boots somewhere and couldn’t seem to decide just which color she wanted. I was sitting on the couch next to her, watching “Young Frankenstein.” I was just at the scene where Frau Blucher is revealing herself to Frederick as the person who lead him to discover his grandfather’s secret library. He’s ascending the stairwell backwards, throwing questions at her, as she follows him with the violin, replying, “Yes! Yes! YES!” You know the one. Anyway, the customer service rep overhears the movie and tells Leah how much she loves it. From there on out it was like they were two best friends.

I have days when I’d just as soon cut off my arm as I would talk to anyone, but Leah never suffers these bouts. She’s always ready with a smile and a kind word for absolutely anyone who crosses her path, regardless of whether she knows him. It’s clear she gets a lot of enjoyment from these interactions, from being a part of a community. She is the yin to my yang. The chocolate to my peanut butter. The nine to my six. The Kahn to my Wilder. She completes me.

We’re under a week away from our trip to Mexico. You know, I’d travel a lot more if I could use a transporter. Just disappear from one place and appear in another place in a snap of the fingers. But this flying stuff is for the birds, and only the birds. I’m still determined to pack as little as I can. Here’s my list:

• Camera. I can’t decide whether to take both lenses for the XTi or not, nor do I know whether I should bring my A620 along, too. Might as well, I guess.
• Toothbrush, toothpaste.
• Swim trunks.
• Couple pairs of boxers.
• Couple t-shirts.
• Pair of shorts.
• Flip flops.

I’m not sure what to do about the plane. It’s going to be cold as a mofo when we leave C.R., so I suppose I should at least wear some wind pants. Maybe that’s the way to go. Those’ll be easy to roll up and stick in my bag when I bust out my shorts.

But first things first. I still don’t know for whom I’m going to caucus. And we still don’t have a sitter for that night. I have a feeling Obama is likely going to take our caucus, so it’d be smart to go for Hillary so I can get home early. I think Leah’s leaning towards Edwards, but I’m not sure. We caucused for Dean last time, and you all know how that turned out:

I was grabbing a cup of what passes for coffee around here this morning, and there was a box of Swiss Valley cocoa mix sitting near the coffee machine. As I poured my (real) sugar packet into my mug, I noticed the Swiss Valley box said the contents were made with “fresh milk.” What in the h-e-double-hockey-sticks is the point of advertising fresh milk on the front of a box of powdered hot cocoa mix? It’s a guarantee I can do without. What, like you’re going to use spoiled milk in your product? Better not fess up to that!

In other news…. At the risk of turning this post into a Facebookesque (Oh yes I did!) preference poll, is there a movie in your past that you can laugh at anew every time you see it? An old standby? A faithful flick that can deliver you from even the funkiest funk? I was ripping “Caddyshack” to the server recently, and while running a quality check on the resulting file, I was reminded how much genius there is in that film. I know Leah is a big fan of “Harold and Maude,” which I’ve never seen. Steve Martin is even better in “The Jerk” than he is in “The Man with Two Brains.” I’ve never been able to watch the gas station sniper scene in “The Jerk” without laughing out loud. Ever. Same with just about any frame of “Young Frankenstein.” Or “Blazing Saddles.” So, what about you? And Cindy, if you say “13 Going On 30,” I’m going to give you a virtual wedgie!

Dear Santa,

I know you’re resting, but I wanted to intrude upon your repose for just a minute with an admission: Over the last week, I repeatedly took your name in vain in the most careless ways imaginable.

See, I’m the father of a three-year-old girl. And as the father of a three-year-old girl, I often find myself faced with conflicting impulses regarding discipline. Which issues am I willing to go to the mat over, and which am I prepared to let slide? Sure, the hitting and biting and grumblings of “you’re dead!” are easy calls (it’s all about Zero Tolerance in these instances), but what of the subtler forms of disobedience, those times when action is clearly required, but a time out is overkill? In your name, Santa, I successfully blurred these distinctions over the past ten days, but I’m conflicted about it.

I invoked your ever-watchful eye at the drop of a hat. Ava not eating her beans? “I hope Santa’s not watching this.” Ava fussing when it’s time to get in the car? “I wonder what Santa would think of this behavior. He keeps a list, you know.” Ava running around like a madwoman instead of getting ready for bed? “I have a feeling Santa would frown upon this. He’ll probably skip our house now.”

Please know, Santa, that using you this way made me feel dirty. Ava’s vision of you as a jolly, benevolent old grandfather with a bag full of loot is now tinged with an impression of you as enforcer, as a spiteful, unforgiving fat man in a red suit who’s busily marking his naughty/nice list with a fountain pen dipped in elf blood. I wish I could take it all back.

But, I cannot. And so I conclude by simply thanking you for your understanding. And I pledge to you that Christmas 2008 in our house will be all about putting the Christkindl back in Christmas.

Nice since 1970,

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One of the items on Ava’s Christmas list from the very beginning was a guitar. As usual, Santa delivered.

I love how her tousled hair completes the rocker chic look, especially in her fancy Christmas garb. She even has the facial expression down!

We’ve been having a good, if snowy and cold, time in Decorah. We leave today.

Yesterday, Ava got decked out in her Christmas finery to open presents and have Christmas dinner. It was a perfect photo op. I got one nice picture:

And one…well, see for yourself:

I call it an infection of the Christmas spirit. A pretty serious case. We’ll get her on a full course of antibiotics and hopefully have her cured by the new year.

So I just got home from work, and Ava had me play Perry Como’s version of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town,” which she just said is her “favorite song in the whole world.”

After it finished playing the first time, she came over to the AIO remote and hit the play button, restarting the song. I praised her for being such a big girl. I gave her a hug, and she said, excitedly, “I don’t need you!” I said, “What?” A little pain crossed my heart. “I don’t need a family! I can do it all by myself!” She was thrilled with herself, and of course she didn’t realize the unintended effect her words were having on me.

“Ava, you’ll always need your family,” I lied.

“But you’ll live in a different house, right?”

She’s a sassy little bugger, that’s the truth.

Last night we went out for dinner with a couple friends. The hitch: We had reservations at Cafe Docici, which is a ~30 minute drive from Iowa City. Not such a big deal, usually, but last night the countryside was socked in with a dense fog, and visibility was down to about 30 feet. We’d been trying to get together forever, so we felt like we had to make an effort.

Our friends drove, which didn’t do much for Leah’s nerves. I’m not sure how having me drive blind down the road would’ve been better, but whatever. In the end, we made it OK, if a bit late. And as a bonus, it was 1/2-price wine night, so we treated ourselves to a $50 bottle of shiraz (before the discount). It was tasty.

The fog worsened while we were inside, but we took it easy on the way home. Ava did fine with the sitter, who was sound asleep on the couch when we arrived. Tonight we’re having our annual Christmas dinner at Givanni’s with my dad and brother, and then we’ll drive up to Decorah tomorrow morning, returning Monday. On Tuesday, we’ll have the folks over for an afternoon meal and to exchange gifts. Note to self: Charge the battery on the video camera.

I’m sitting here eating breakfast with Ava, and she said, “Do you know who came to school yesterday?”

I knew, but I acted like I was guessing when I said, “Santa Claus?” She nodded. I asked if he was alone, or if Rudolph came with him. She replied, “He was alone. Santa drives a minivan, so Rudolph didn’t need to come along.”