avablog

Back-to-back MOCs! How on Earth do you people get so lucky?

We were hanging out in the kitchen the other day when Ava got interested in doing some art. Typically, she’ll just freehand and go off in whatever direction her imagination takes her. For this session, I thought it might be interesting to see what she’d do with a model. I grabbed one of Leah’s fancy dried gourds from the living room and set it on the counter in front of Ava. It was fascinating to see her relating to her subject. When she finished, she’d produced a pretty passable picture. Or maybe I thought so just because I knew what she was drawing. If you look closely here, you can see she’s coloring in a shape that vaguely resembles the gourd in front of her.

Seems like a good time for one of these.

I took this the other day as Ava sat in front of the TV, again. It’s actually a great time to get portraits of her, as the afternoon light really pours through the windows in our little TV room, and especially now that the leaves are gone from the big maples outside the window.

As of this morning, we’re on to month 12 of the Great Baby Hunt. Leah’s pretty upset, as usual, but I’m trying to remain optimistic. Not necessarily about having another child, which really strikes me as something that’ll happen or not regardless of how badly we want it, but about the odds of life going on after today. I contend those odds are good.

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My MacBook was busy this weekend ripping and encoding a number of DVDs. Handbrake‘s latest version really does a nice job encoding DVD rips with 5.1 channel surround via default settings. I was able to get through Monsters Inc., Cars, The Incredibles, and two Caillou DVDs before the weekend ran out. I wish I hadn’t loaned out my copy of A Bug’s Life. I’m trying to decide now which movies to do next. Thank Jobs for Core 2 Duo MacBooks. And no, I don’t have any qualms about ripping DVDs I own.

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Ava and I got to spend some one-on-one time together yesterday while Leah was off at a baby shower. We went up to the high school and played with her ball on the front lawn for a bit, then walked around back to look at the running track.

I had her practice a couple sprint starts, and then she wanted to take a run around the track. She actually went about 200 yards before stopped and decided she wanted to ride on my shoulders the rest of the way. I was happy to oblige.

My friend and colleague Marcia is, among other nice things, an absolute fiend for Classical music. She goes through CDs like other people go through milk, or bread, or Manolo Blahniks. She has rack after rack after rack of CD storage lining her living room (she and her partner, Dennis, hold the current record amongst my friends for the tallest stereo speakers, at over 6 ft.). A visit to their house out in the woods is like a trip into some audiophile Nirvana (and playing H3 on their huge plasma screen ain’t too shabby, either).

The coolest part is that Marcia maintains a Google document that lists all her discs. Yesterday I went through and made a couple selections, and this morning she showed up at work with a little backpack full of albums. I’m just itching to get home and fill the house with this sound. Ava and I were cruising in the car the other day, and I was playing the local (well, it’s not as local now as it used to be) Classical station on the radio. A beautiful violin piece came on, and Ava asked, “What’s this?” I explained that it was a violin and asked if she liked it. She did. A little blossom of hope bloomed in my heart that maybe I’d finally have a chum with whom I could sit and listen to music. I’m sure she’s a little young yet for this kind of sustained calm, but it certainly couldn’t hurt her to settle down once in a while.

I never thought it would happen this soon, but there it was, last night at the dinner table, when Ava looked over at Leah and asked her where babies come from.

The topic came up in the course of Ava discussing again how much she likes babies. Leah’s a big believer in laying out the facts as they is, so she tried to explain to Ava the mechanics involved in human procreation, complete with proper anatomical terms. As soon as she was done, Ava — who was sitting next to me at the table — looked up at me and said, “I know: Why don’t you put your penis in mommy’s vagina so we can have a baby?” I replied that that sounded like a fantastic idea.

It was at this point that we realized we’d come to a likely stopping place in our explanation. The whole sperm and egg process seemed beyond the scope of a post-dinner chat. Besides that, I wasn’t sure I wanted to field any more indecent proposals from my three-year-old daughter. We left the topic with the note that there’s more to making a baby than the physical act of having sex. Ava responded with a bit of a blank stare, understandably.

I really enjoy photography a lot, primarily because I believe it’s a medium that lets people express themselves in ways they might otherwise not. A certain angle, lighting choice, or expression can provide insights into a subject that aren’t obvious at first glance.

I feel this phenomenon particularly acutely when I’m taking pictures of Ava. When I’m scrolling through my shots from the CF card in Adobe Bridge, I’m often surprised by the look I’ve captured on her face. These things come and go so quickly sometimes, it’s almost impossible to catch the same smile you see through the viewfinder by the time you release the shutter. But my regret at missing the shot I thought I wanted is usually overcome by my joy at seeing the shot I did get. Like the image here. I have a pretty good idea what the histogram would reveal, but it doesn’t really matter. That contemplative gaze is priceless to me, and it’s not something I remember noticing before I took the picture. It’s one of the reasons I have three backups (one off-site; thanks, Flickr!) of every image I have of Ava. What will I ever do with all those images? I was thinking the other day that Ava’s going to have the most kickass images in school when it comes time for her senior assembly slideshow. Hopefully she won’t choose to include pictures of her doing kegstands or something.

On a related note, I finally figured out how to import images from a network drive onto my AppleTV. Unbeknownst to me, the ATV goes ahead and grabs a random track from your music library when it begins a slideshow, so imagine my surprise when images of Ava started floating across my HDTV to The Cure’s “A Forest.” I mean, could the opening lyrics be any more perfect?

Come closer and see
See into the trees
Find the girl
If you can
Come closer and see
See into the dark
Just follow your eyes
Just follow your eyes

It was one of those, “God, I love Apple” moments. Followed really closely by one of those, “God, I love Ava” moments.

Leah was giving Ava a bath two nights ago, and I was in the bathroom with them for a time. I stood and looked down at Ava as she splashed around in the tub, sitting sideways with her little head sticking up out of the water, and I was struck again by the fact that this little human being is a product of us.

It’s a realization that washes over me from time to time, out of nowhere, usually. It’s cause for a real cognitive dissonance. Primarily because it’s pretty amazing and weird that there’s a tiny person in the world, walking and talking and laughing and pooping and crying, who wouldn’t be here in that same form without my direct participation. To a lesser degree, it’s unsettling to find myself startled at this realization. Why is this not a fact that I carry around at the front of my mind at all times? How am I ever lulled into the fantasy that my life doesn’t include her? Is there some profound biological protection method at play? Maybe all it proves is that I’m too susceptible to navel gazing?

I’ve been buried under a project at work lately, the first presentation of which happened today. It went about as I expected, and I got some good suggestions for retooling before my spiel to the high-muckety-mucks later this month. The most objectionable part about the whole thing is that I had to do it in PowerPoint. I’ve never been a huge detractor of this oft-maligned piece of software, but it’s true that some mind-numbing presentations have tainted it (as a nod to the application’s ignominious past, I named my file jumptheshark.ppt). I might try taking the presentation into Keynote on my MacBook for the next gig, just to let the audience know who’s boss before the first slide ever hits the screen. Aside from a floor-length purple fox coat, nothing says “pimp” like that glowing Apple logo beaming through a darkened meeting room.

We took a drive out to Squire Point yesterday to take a stroll along the paths. We told Ava she should keep an eye out for pretty leaves, and we’d collect them to bring home so we could make a collage. She paid heed.

It was just about a perfect day for a hike. Ava insisted on walking most of the way, and she was determined to stay ahead of us. I tried to pass her once, but she wouldn’t hear of it.

Ava’s on the back end of a little cold that’s been producing copious amounts of thick, green boogers the last couple days. We’re hoping that whatever it is has just about run its course now (we’re running low on facial tissue). She hasn’t been too much fussier than usual, and her appetite is pretty much the same as always (which is to say, not great). The weather’s been nice, at least, so we’ve been able to get out a walk or rake leaves to keep things interesting for her. Also, Ava’s produced about 10 hand turkeys in the last week, most of which have turned out really well. My list of things to do this week should include getting my scanner hooked up so I can start processing this backlog of artwork we have.

Some days I feel like my brains will run out of my ears if I tilt my head too far in one direction. Today is one of those days.

Leah just called me at work (she has Fridays off) to let me know Ava has a fever and is draining copious amounts of green mucous from her nose. How’s your lunch? Ava also has a fever. Because I’m such a selfish prick, all I can think about is who’s going to stay home with Ava on Monday if she has to stay home. I have a presentation to give on Wednesday that’s taking up most of my time right now, and being off work next week isn’t going to make things easier.

I know there are parents at our daycare who drop their kids off even when they’re sick. I guess you gotta do what you gotta do, even if it does screw over all the other families who go there. And frankly, unless Ava is so sick she’s in pain, we usually have a good time together on the days I’m pulling sick duty.

Leah makes it sound like Ava isn’t doing too poorly today, regardless of her symptoms (Ava actually enjoys blowing big gobs of snot into a tissue, as I witnessed last night when I was called up to the bathroom to witness a glob she’d produced while in the tub). Thankfully, we don’t have much going on this weekend, so we can rest around the house, maybe taking a walk or two down to the Java House. I’d love to get out and shoot a couple “rolls” of film. Weather looks like it’s going to be nice and fall-like, so photo ops should abound.

Ack. 1 p.m. Back to the grind.

We had a great time trick-or-treating last night. Ava was totally juiced for the event, and she went hard for two hours before hitting the wall about the time we arrived at Grandpa Chuck’s house. Next up: Thanksgiving.

I came across an article in the WSJ this morning that has me thinking. I’m trying to postpone any thoughts of Ava’s dating life as long as I possibly can, but once in a while I’ll come across a news story or op/ed piece that gives me pause. For example:

Last month, a boy asked my 16-year-old daughter to his school’s homecoming dance. She agreed to go, bought a new dress and made a hairdresser appointment.

The boy never bought tickets to the dance. Neither did his friends. They decided that attending homecoming wouldn’t be cool, and instead planned to just dress up that night, go out for dinner and then hang out with their dates at someone’s house.

I don’t know whether Ava will ever care about getting dressed up to attend a school dance. Lord knows her mother never got much further than abandoning her ever-present army-green fanny pack as a nod to formality. But I’d like to hope that, if Ava ever did long for a special night at a dance, she could find a boy who’s enough of a gentleman to see that she had a nice time. Maybe that’s old fashioned? Maybe there won’t be any school dances when she gets older (I blame sexo con ropa!) I just hope that she gets treated with respect and care. I feel a resonance with the expression in the article linked above that the modern “hooking up” theme doesn’t do much to prepare young kids for the trials and tribulations of adult relationships. Perhaps adult relationships are on the way out?

Hold onto your hat. This one is going to blow the top off the cuteness meter:

Ava holding Lila at our office trick-or-treat function last evening.

This has got to be one of the coolest, drool-worthy pieces of technology I’ve seen in a long time. iPhone? What iPhone?

Sure, it won’t work in my XTi, but it will work in my A620. Sheesh. This is just sweet.

Right here:

Dr. Carol A. Livoti, a Manhattan obstetrician and gynecologist and an author of “Vaginas: An Owner’s Manual” (Thunder’s Mouth Press, 2004), said vajayjay and other euphemisms and slang offend her and can render women incapable of explaining their symptoms to health professionals. “I think it’s terrible,” Dr. Livoti said. “It’s time to start calling anatomical organs by their anatomical name. We should be proud of our bodies.”

“It seems like a step backward,” she added.

I’m with you, Carol! I don’t even own a vagina (I’m renting), but I can attest that I’m very much put off by the various and sundry nicknames I see thrown around for penis. Oprah coverage is a reliable indicator that any given cultural phenomenon has simultaneously hit the big time and jumped the shark.

A quick summary:

The funeral sucked. It sucked for all the usual reasons it sucks to attend the funeral of a beloved 36-year-old woman cut down smack dab in her prime, and in addition, the north side of Chicago is a mess. We timed our departure to coincide perfectly with the end of the Bears game.

Ava’s friend is out of the hospital and doing great. Completely back to normal.

Semen analysis is back, and all the things that were OK the first time around are now bad, and vice versa. The good news? The doctor doesn’t think there’s any persistent problem on my end. The bad news? Another test in a month. Oh, and Leah’s not pregnant.

My pal and BIL Kevin used to work the help desk at “a large Midwestern teaching hospital” until he tested out and joined the networking team. He still has friends on the help desk, of course, and every once in a while they’ll send along a plum like this cry for help:

“MY NAME IS REDACTED. THERE IS NO REASON FOR THE WEBSITE TO BE LOCKED. WE ARE ALLOWED THREE BREAKS A DAY. ITS A CLOTHING WEBSITE NAME JUICEY COUTURE. THANK YOU!”

Those five sentences are enough to create an episode of The IT Crowd. Maybe a whole season.

This stuff always cheers me up.

Ava was dying to sit on the tractor that was pulling the hay rack at the apple orchard we visited with Rachel and Kevin last weekend. Thankfully, there aren’t many buttons or dials for Ava to screw up on an old International Harvester.

Those pumpkins in the background represented the extent of the patch, but you can see some of the apple trees there farther back. It was a great day.

These last couple days have been mentally busy and tiring. We’ll get the results today of our latest semen analysis, which I’m not optimistic about (don’t ask me why). But it is what it is.

Last evening, I drove down to Mount Pleasant with three colleagues to watch another of our coworkers in a play called Springtown. It was actually much, much better than I thought it was going to be. Our friend did a great job (he played an insurance salesman and had five lines), and we finally got to hear him sing.

We also learned yesterday that one of Ava’s friends is in the hospital with what might be meningitis; they’ll know for sure today. She’s the same age as Ava; the two have known (of) each other for their whole short lives. It’s really scary. And it’s times like this — no matter how much concern we have for the little girl and her parents — that I can’t help but feel selfish at my relief that Ava is OK. It could be us, and there’s nothing we can do to prevent it from being us. We’re just hoping that our little friend is going to be all right and out of the hospital soon, and we’re thinking about her parents all the time.

This Sunday we’ll drive to Chicago to attend funeral services for Leah’s friend who passed away this week. It’ll be a quick trip, but hopefully the drive will prove therapeutic. By Monday morning, all this will be behind us. Ava’s friend will have been diagnosed and be receiving treatment one way or another (best case: she’s at home), and we’ll have the results of our latest analysis. I can’t recall the last time I looked so forward to having a weekend over with.

And maybe even more enjoyable.