avablog

You’ve been alive now for 644 days, and this morning I fell in love with you for the 644th time.

I rolled quietly out of bed so I wouldn’t disturb you where you were lying next to me and slipped through the door.   I walked silently from room to room, collecting the trash we needed to set out on the curb for the “big truck” to pick up.  When I came upstairs from gathering the recycling, I heard you yell, “mommy!”  You didn’t know mommy was off at the gym, and I crept to our bedroom and slowly opened our door, pushing my head through the widening crack until our eyes met.

There you were, sitting up, smiling, your eyes wide and expectant.  Your smile didn’t diminish at all when you saw it was me and not your mommy.  You bounced a little on your knees and brushed your beautiful hair away from your face.  You said, “Eggs!”

Someday, when you grow up, you will know what it feels like to have your whole body filled from top to bottom with a love that catches you at random moments and causes a hitch in your breath.  Know that this is the love your mommy and I have for you, and it grows with each day.  It starts in our hearts and runs through our tummies and arms and legs down through our hands and feet to the tips of our fingers and toes.  When we rub your back at night as you fall asleep in your crib, it’s the warmth you feel on your skin.  It will never go away.

Love,

Daddy

I have a couple basil plants that’ve been growing like crazy lately with all this hot, humid weather and rain.  Last night I got my first chance to use some when I made pasta for dinner.

We had a tube of frozen turkey in the freezer, so I browned it with a little sweet onion, kosher salt, and chopped basil.  Then I added a 28 oz. can of fire-roasted diced tomatoes and about a half cup of vermouth and set the whole thing to simmer while I put together some steamed brocolli and a salad of fresh lettuce and spinach from the CSA box we got last night.  We also had some snap peas from the same box.  Wow, are those things good.  And Ava loved pulling the tiny peas out of the pods after Leah opened them up for her.  Fun for the whole family.

We eat a fair amount of pasta at our house, for a couple reasons.  Primarily, it’s fast to put together, and it seems we never have much time between getting home and getting Ava to bed.  There are also a number of things you can do with pasta and sauce that keep it interesting if you have to have it often…not like cooking mac and cheese every night.  There are a lot of really tasty organic and whole grain pastas out there anymore, and with a can of whole plum tomatoes or even some inexpensive diced tomatoes and a little reggiano, you can whip up a very savory meal on the cheap.

Lastly, Ava loves eating pasta.  Last night was the first time I’ve seen her spin her little fork and get a good mouthful of spaghetti.  She still needs some work on incorporating some meat and sauce into those mouthfuls, but that’s a pretty advanced utensil manipulation that some adults I know haven’t mastered yet.  She’ll get there.

If this rain keeps up, I’m going to have tomatoes the size of bowling balls out in my garden in a couple weeks.  And I should be seeing snap peas any time now, by the look of things.

…100 hula hoops on a sequin-covered majorette.

The drinking game goes as follows: Half a drink every time someone in the room (including you) says, “I could do that;” full drink every time someone falls down or otherwise hurts him/herself on stage. Everyone chugs when Simon makes a contestant cry and/or swear, vomit.

Engage….

UPDATE:  Watched the show.  It’s terrible.  I can’t watch it any more, because I don’t want to do any further damage to my image of The Hoff.

If you’re thinking about having a baby — and even if you’re not — you’ve probably heard some horror stories about sleepless nights. They’re all true. But like everything else about having a child, sleep deprivation is a new part of life you just get used to.

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I was running errands at noon today and had occasion to be on a stretch of local interstate. At one point a truck entered the road ahead of me, and I was verily disgusted by it. It was one of those silver tanker trucks, the kind usually meant for hauling milk or lemonade or marshmallow fluff or some other nice, tasty item. But today it was hauling “pig plasma.” “Not for human food.” You don’t say….

My best friend is sitting at home today recovering from a vasectomy. I called him on Sunday to wish him a happy Father’s Day, and he mentioned he was going under the knife. I was a bit surprised, but not terribly. He and his wife have two gorgeous kids, one boy and one girl. They could afford to have as many kids as they want, but I think they’re ready to stop being pregnant and enjoy raising their children.

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I’m still getting used to Father’s Day. At least to being on the receiving end of Father’s Day.

On Sunday morning I was lazing in bed for a bit while Leah went about putting the finishing touches on my Father’s Day gifts. She came into the room with Ava and set her on the bed next to me, where she promptly crawled over and said, in her tiny little morning voice, “Happy papa’s day, daddy.” Oh, man. I’ve had some days start off great before, but nothing even comes close to that.

To top it off, Leah got me a couple really nice gifts. First was a little ladybug-themed gardening bucket with a little spade and rake in it for Ava to use when she helps me in the garden. Next came a new gardening hat for me that boasts an SPF value of 50. I can’t recall seeing an SPF value attached to a piece of clothing before, and it strikes me as a marketing gimmick. If I go outside wearing my raincoat, does that afford me an SPF of 100?

My last gift was a 117-piece Crafstman socket set. It’s gorgeous. Nice laser-etched sockets and everything. Alas, the set was missing one item, but a quick trip to Sears fixed us right up. After the mall and a stop at Paul’s, we went by the ice cream store to get Ava a cone before heading home. It was a fantastic day. Seeing Father’s Day from this side really drives home the fact that it’s not so much a celebration of me as another excuse to celebrate my daughter. Like I needed another one of those.

New findings by brain researcher Kelly Lambert, professor and chair of the psychology department at Randolph-Macon College, suggest that fatherhood may change more than just a man’s lifestyle – it may actually cause lasting benefits in his brain.

Full story here.  It’s difficult to say whether I’ve noticed any brain change since Ava’s been born.  I know Leah’s come across some study that says mothers become more forgetful and scattered after their baby arrives.

The body and mind are amazing things.  I remember when Ava was first born, and I was running back and forth between Leah — who was in a recovery room whacked out on morphine — and Ava in the nursery, it seemed like I couldn’t fathom how I’d ever be able to go back to a normal life with normal things like mowing the grass or working or talking on the phone or driving.  Seeing Ava for the first time was just such a shock, such a total mindbender, that I was feeling like I’d been turned inside out.

But your mind somehow gets over this amazement of suddenly having a part of itself out running around in the world in a different, smaller body.  Things go back to normal, or at least normal comes to look different.  If some scientist is telling me that my baby has changed my brain, I’ll buy it.  I wouldn’t doubt it.  Just don’t ask me to put my finger on the changes.

I like radishes.  Don’t love ’em.  But there’s something refreshing about them, particularly sliced super thin on top of a salad of mixed greens.

The CSA we belong to is producing lots of radishes right now, and I’m at a bit of a loss as to what to do with them.  Salads, yes, but after that…?

I bit into one the other day, and it was hotter than a mofo.  There’s that word again.  But it was delicious.  I’m keeping an eye on my tomato and pepper plants out in the garden, and it looks like it won’t be too long now before I start seeing some produce.  I can’t wait to get Ava back there to help me pick it.  The other day I found what I suspect is a volunteer cherry tomato plant growing in the flower bed at the back of the house.  I threw a little fence around it to keep the “Peter rabbits” away and will see how it does.  Couldn’t hurt to have more tomatoes around.

That’s what I need. I’d like a method to tell how much Scientology is mixed up in the media I consume (you got chocolate in my peanut butter). Surely there’s an easy way to tally this. Is the leading lady “clear?” Is the director an operating thetan? We could assign a point total according to the person’s role in the production and what level they’ve reached in Scientology. It’d be akin to Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon.

Mainly I’d just like this information so I can avoid supporting people whose money goes to fund a cult. More specifically, I’d like to stop validating those in Hollywood who think that their money and perceived status give them the right to attack people on the street. I knew there was a reason I hated Dharma & Greg. I mean, if you can’t take a look at yourself and laugh at the fact that you believe in a pseudoreligion fabricated by the guy who wrote Battlefield Earth, well, there’s no hope for you.

Same goes for Kabbala.

There’s an awareness of this concept, and then there’s the full understanding of the reality.  The latter sneaks into your consciousness if you spend any prolonged period of time with a toddler. [Read more →]

I was biking away from daycare this morning after dropping Ava off, and I had to shake my head at my conceit.  See, Ava had cried and tried to cling to me when I left her.  She did the same thing when I dropped her off the other day, too.  It’s not a fun episode for either of us, but one of the staff usually comes over to pick up Ava and comfort her while I head for the office.

I’ve seen this same scenario played out dozens of times with other parents and kids since Ava started at daycare.  To see Ava going through this stage now serves as something of a rude awakening to the fact that she’s very much like most of her classmates.  I think it’s good for me to see that Ava is developing in a normal way.  On the other hand, I’m having a hard time accepting that she’s normal or average in any way.

Ava’s really into mimicking lately.  Her verbal ability is getting to the point where she can quickly and fairly convincingly repeat just about any word or phrase she hears.  The three of us were gathering around the table for a meal the other day, and I said “mofo” almost without thinking.  A second later, Ava said, “mofo” clear as day.  Leah was not pleased at all, but I couldn’t help thinking, “that’s my girl!”  Frankly, I’d much rather have her constantly testing her vocabulary and speech than to have her sitting mute in a corner somehere, twirling her hair.  I’m sure I’ll eat these words the first time Ava says “s*#t” to the mall Santa Claus, but at least for now, more talking is good.

We had a very nice, albeit a bit cool, weekend in Madison visiting Aunt Rachel and Uncle Kevin.  As usual, we packed each day full of activity. [Read more →]

No, not that kind.

Leah’s become more and more concerned with my health since Ava came along. It’s nice, though I realize the primary concern isn’t really for me.

As part of my new health awareness, Leah scheduled me for a skin check at the dermatologist she sees (without checking with me first). No problem. I do have some moles on my back, and I used to get A LOT of sun when I was younger (my Swedish background not only makes me immune to HIV, it allows my skin to take on a deep, even tan).

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in science.  And I believe in [E]volution.

And I’m trying to come up with another explanation for why I’d throw myself in front of a truck if it would save my daughter’s life.

Tell me where is fancy bred
Or in the heart, or in the head?
How begot, how nourished?
Reply, reply.
It is engender’d in the eyes,
With gazing fed; and fancy dies
In the cradle, where it lies.

One 1998 Volvo V70 XC 2.4L 20 valve turbo with ~81,100 miles sold for $8,500.

Via con dios, coche.

CNN has a brief review today of a new biography of Ava Gardner.  We didn’t name Ava after Gardner, but she did cross our minds as we were coming up with girl names (which, we’ve decided, are much easier to come up with than boy names).

Ava Gardner was a real player.  The biography sounds interesting but far too long.  In an interview, the author claims Gardner went through life “like a rocket,” which is how I like to think about our little Ava leading the life that’s ahead of her.

We were off to sunny Lake Zurich, IL, to visit my friend A.J. and his family over the weekend.  It was a nice trip.  We went to the Brookfield Zoo with the kids on Saturday.  Ava was afraid of the merry-go-round and the dolphin show, but she loved looking at the baboons.  On the drive home yesterday Ava spiked a fever, but Leah got on it pretty quickly and was able to keep it fairly low overnight.

The new Subaru got 27.6 mpg on the way over to IL, which isn’t so bad.  Now that we’re selling the Volvo, I’m finding that a lot of people pay very close attention to what a car gets for gas mileage.  I’ve never paid any attention with the Volvo, for two reasons.  First, the Volvo had a number of things to recommend it when we began car shopping, and fuel efficiency wasn’t at the top of our list.  If you want an AWD wagon loaded with the Volvo’s safety features, you’re not going to get 34 mpg on the highway.  Second, I’m not a gratuitous driver.  If I can just as easily get somewhere on my bike, I take my bike.  If I absolutely have to drive, then I drive.  And if I have to drive, what’s the point of tallying my mpg?

I have to vote tomorrow.  As near as I can tell, we’re two of the maybe four people in Iowa City who’re voting for Nick Maybanks for County Attorney.   Ah well.  He’s young.  There’s plenty of time for him to make his mark in the world.  My mother-in-law is a Fallon supporter, which guarantees that he won’t prevail.  Still, I caught his TV ad the other night and was impressed by it.  What, this guy’s going to every county in Iowa twice?  That’s a lot of handshakes and diner pie.  I like his style.

And it goes like this:

Everyone I know signs up for a Gmail account.

That’s it. The end. Web-based, so you can get to it anywhere. Plenty of storage, so you never have to worry about whether some IT heavy is going to show up and tell you to empty your inbox. The way in which e-mails and replies are stored as conversations is an excellent way to traverse stored messages. Has integrated (Jabber) chat. There’s a cool calendar that plays nice with iCal files. AJAX! Contact groups. And more….

I’ve tried repeatedly to get Leah to use her Gmail account (I even went as far as setting one up for her), but she just doesn’t seem to be able to make the leap from her work Outlook account. Pity, really. What happens when she gets a new job? Does she really want all her personal e-mails going through our office’s Exchange server?

I’ve had a Yahoo! account, a Hotmail account, and a .Mac account, and none of them come close to working as well as Gmail does. It don’t cost nuthin’.

I was standing at the kitchen sink at about quarter past 8 last night doing dishes.  It was a beautiful evening, nice and cool(ish) and still.  But it wasn’t particularly quiet.  Leah was in the other room trying to put Ava to sleep, and Ava wasn’t having any of it.  She was tired, but she was fighting off sleep with a bunch of rolling around and crying.

Outside the kitchen window I could hear some wailing from the house next door as the neighbor’s baby, Grace, was dealing with her own bedtime issues.  The cries from each baby mixed and mingled and seemed at times to be emanating from the same child in a garbled wail that sounded like it must cut through the night and make its way into every house on the block.

By 8:30 things were quieting down.  And that was just about the time Julia, the three-year-old across the street, fired up with a tantrum that sounded like her parents were cutting her leg off with a rusty tree saw.  That episode must’ve gone on for 15 minutes before she too fell asleep.

Thinking back on it now, it all makes me smile.  I recall having to go to sleep on glorious summer evenings when there was still plenty of light in the sky and the other — much luckier — neighborhood kids got to stay out and play kick the can.  It was maddening.  I’d just lie there near my open bedroom window and let their joyous cries and shouts worm their way into my gut until I finally managed to doze off.

Last night was also special because it was the first night Leah and I heard from the owls that live in our vicinity.  I’m not sure if there’s a better sound to fall asleep to on a calm summer night than the distant hooting of an owl.