Tuesday, September 29, 2009
We've got a baby!!!!
The big day has arrived (a bit sooner than we thought)! More details will be coming in another blog. But Jack is here and healthy. Carly is recovering nicely, and I'm loving all the snuggle time I get! Pictures have been posted on my Facebook page!
Friday, September 25, 2009
NOBODY PANIC!
See, cause people panic when you say the word "preeclampsia," but it's completely not necessary. My blood pressure is elevated and I can't think of a delicate way to say "the protein in my urine is slightly elevated," but it's not bad enough to do anything other than cut the sodium out of my diet, watch my blood pressure, and go on modified bed rest. I'm still going to work, but I have to sit while I teach, and I have to come directly home from work and not go anywhere other than the bathroom. I go back to the doctor on Wednesday (assuming I don't go into labor before then), so I should have more to report then.
An actual baby blog. Who knew?
I bet you are all wondering why I've called you here today.
It's come to my attention that some members of this blogging community have expressed disdain for the lack of baby related topics on this baby named blog. Normally, this kind of insurrection would be dealt with on a personal level and would not reach this blog. However, I must reluctantly concur that I have been rather lean on the baby front. As a result, I have graciously decided to forgo the usual beatings and summary executions of those expressing dissent, and choose instead to give you all the gift of an all baby blog.
I am a benevolent dictator.
Thus, I present to you, my subjects....
JON'S "ALL BABY NEWS" BLOG
1. Carly is pregnant.
I know, big shock! Take your time to recover. She's started dropping now and even had a real weak contraction or two. (For more information on that front, please direct your e-mail barrage to her). The last time she went to the doctor(week 37 ), the baby measured 40 weeks. We're thinking that the boy will be huge when he arrives. If this changes your guess on the baby weight or time, please keep post it in the comments section. She has been going through the milk at a rate upwards of one gallon per 24 hours. I'm having a very hard time keeping up with the buying of it. It helps her now rampant heartburn. Any help on that front would be appreciated. (I have suggested having the baby, but that didn't go over so well...) The upshot of this is that Jack will have bones of steel. I'm hoping for Wolverine-like claws too.
2. The nursery is looking fantastic.
HUGE thanks to Aunt Sara and Grandma Connie for busting your fannies/wrists to get that done. I think it kept us from going too insane and taking it out on each other. I know I said that I might post pictures, but thanks to my @#$%ty work schedule and homework situation, I haven't had any time to take let alone upload pictures. But, this weekend is (mostly) open, so there's a flicker of hope. (Take that at face value. Hope is the first step on the road to disappointment. -ed)
3. Did you know aspirin was once a brand name drug?
NO!!! BAD JON!!! MORE BABY TALK!!!!
3. I mean, we went to a baby class last weekend.
We signed up for this class since it had an infant CPR lesson. Going into it, I thought, "Wonderful, they'll teach me about swaddling, diapering, feeding, how to handle the birth, and all the things that I would need to know. A veritable user's guide to parenting! How quaint!"
Not so much.
We walk into the room about 15 minutes early, and on the screen a video is playing. The instructor is getting things set up and apparently needed to rewind the video. Of a birth. Take a moment and image our horror of walking in to a 9AM class and seeing a baby being un-born. It was... upsetting... But, it did make watching it properly much more bearable.
Other things we learned from this class:
A. Epidurals are great, you should get one (our hospital doesn't offer them, lucky us).
B. I like Ocean Spray Cran-Grape juice. They offered juice refreshment.
C. Epidurals are the bees's knees, you really need to get one.
D. Breastfeeding is complicated.
E. Epidurals are God's gift to all of humanity. Get one now. Right now.
F. Ummm....
G. EPIDURAL!!! NOW!!! GO!!!
H. Don't shake a baby. Shaking your moneymaker still ok.
I. Epidurals are the equivalent of liquid God.
J. Feeling the baby move is the best thing about pregnancy.
Further on point J., every woman in this class said that was the best part of it.
Carly disagrees. Jack hasn't really stopped moving since we first felt him. While it is cool to see and feel the baby, what I think is better is watching the ultrasound every month and seeing my baby grow. That's the really amazing part. Oh, that and the fact that he's really healthy and going to have Wolverine claws. Awesome.
It's come to my attention that some members of this blogging community have expressed disdain for the lack of baby related topics on this baby named blog. Normally, this kind of insurrection would be dealt with on a personal level and would not reach this blog. However, I must reluctantly concur that I have been rather lean on the baby front. As a result, I have graciously decided to forgo the usual beatings and summary executions of those expressing dissent, and choose instead to give you all the gift of an all baby blog.
I am a benevolent dictator.
Thus, I present to you, my subjects....
JON'S "ALL BABY NEWS" BLOG
1. Carly is pregnant.
I know, big shock! Take your time to recover. She's started dropping now and even had a real weak contraction or two. (For more information on that front, please direct your e-mail barrage to her). The last time she went to the doctor(week 37 ), the baby measured 40 weeks. We're thinking that the boy will be huge when he arrives. If this changes your guess on the baby weight or time, please keep post it in the comments section. She has been going through the milk at a rate upwards of one gallon per 24 hours. I'm having a very hard time keeping up with the buying of it. It helps her now rampant heartburn. Any help on that front would be appreciated. (I have suggested having the baby, but that didn't go over so well...) The upshot of this is that Jack will have bones of steel. I'm hoping for Wolverine-like claws too.
2. The nursery is looking fantastic.
HUGE thanks to Aunt Sara and Grandma Connie for busting your fannies/wrists to get that done. I think it kept us from going too insane and taking it out on each other. I know I said that I might post pictures, but thanks to my @#$%ty work schedule and homework situation, I haven't had any time to take let alone upload pictures. But, this weekend is (mostly) open, so there's a flicker of hope. (Take that at face value. Hope is the first step on the road to disappointment. -ed)
3. Did you know aspirin was once a brand name drug?
NO!!! BAD JON!!! MORE BABY TALK!!!!
3. I mean, we went to a baby class last weekend.
We signed up for this class since it had an infant CPR lesson. Going into it, I thought, "Wonderful, they'll teach me about swaddling, diapering, feeding, how to handle the birth, and all the things that I would need to know. A veritable user's guide to parenting! How quaint!"
Not so much.
We walk into the room about 15 minutes early, and on the screen a video is playing. The instructor is getting things set up and apparently needed to rewind the video. Of a birth. Take a moment and image our horror of walking in to a 9AM class and seeing a baby being un-born. It was... upsetting... But, it did make watching it properly much more bearable.
Other things we learned from this class:
A. Epidurals are great, you should get one (our hospital doesn't offer them, lucky us).
B. I like Ocean Spray Cran-Grape juice. They offered juice refreshment.
C. Epidurals are the bees's knees, you really need to get one.
D. Breastfeeding is complicated.
E. Epidurals are God's gift to all of humanity. Get one now. Right now.
F. Ummm....
G. EPIDURAL!!! NOW!!! GO!!!
H. Don't shake a baby. Shaking your moneymaker still ok.
I. Epidurals are the equivalent of liquid God.
J. Feeling the baby move is the best thing about pregnancy.
Further on point J., every woman in this class said that was the best part of it.
Carly disagrees. Jack hasn't really stopped moving since we first felt him. While it is cool to see and feel the baby, what I think is better is watching the ultrasound every month and seeing my baby grow. That's the really amazing part. Oh, that and the fact that he's really healthy and going to have Wolverine claws. Awesome.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
A Rouge's Gallery
Let's get this out of the way first, the baby is fine. Carly is fine. Everything is proceeding as it should be (though not as fast as Carly might hope). The baby has started to drop a little and the fake contractions have started. It's only a matter of time now.
Now, you might say, "Jon, you prodigious exemplar, it's ALWAYS been a matter of time".
A. Yes, that's true. Once the die was cast, the clock started running. Confusing mixed metaphors aside, I've always known that the day would come. And...
B. Shut up, this is my blog.
To enforce the idea of the big day coming, lots of work has gone into the house to make it ready for him. And us. We finally got the floors put in and they are amazing looking. For those of you that have had the pleasure of seeing our house, you'll see the difference almost immediately. For those of you that have not, it's awesome. Just imagine walking on awesome. It's like that. (No, a little less awesome than walking on bubble wrap. Reign it in a little, sparky).
During our various travels throughout northwest Missouri, we've had the (mis)fortune of encountering several individuals that have, for better or worse, had some sort of interaction with our lives. Case in point: We had to buy paint for the baby's room. So, we packed up the truck (car) and headed to St. Joseph. In the Home Depot store in that fabled city, there is a man.
This man is a bastion of customer service. He is a large man, not in a muscular way, but in a "boy, that's either a really big guy or a small truck" kinda way.
His name is Sean (spelling may be different, who knows?), and he sells paint. But, he doesn't sell paint in the typical fashion, oh no. He sells paint in the old school way; the "I don't want to sell you paint" way. His reverse psychology is flawless. If you treat your customers like they are the scum of the earth and not even worthy to look at this paint, let alone buy it, then they will be even more inclined to purchase it.
He's an angry man, full of bile and hated for all things human. But deep down, I know he's got a heart of gold. Shine on you crazy diamond...
The nursery is now a lovely blue color with an off-white trim. If I start to care to put in the effort, I might put pictures up.
Aside from Angry Paint Guy, there are other cases. Mostly there are the various children that I have the... pleasure of sharing my academic career with. First, there's Mini-Skirt Girl.
She's about 19 or so, blond (possibly dyed) and sickeningly thin. The kind of thin that makes other women want to force feed her McGriddles until she pops in a delicious, maple-flavored volcano.
She was in my Biology class over the summer, sat next to me and spent most of the time playing with her hair as the professor lectured. Now, she is in the Accounting I class that meets right after and in the same room as my Accounting II for Majors class.
But her defining feature, is the Holy Mini-Skirt. Much like Superman, the girl has only one outfit: Some form of top, and a denim mini-skirt. One denim mini-skirt. And only one denim mini-skirt. I envision her closet as consisting of flip-flops on the floor, a few sorority shirts hanging on the left and, in a special shrine, the One True Mini-Skirt. Seriously, 9 times out of 10, she wears this skirt. It was Parents Day on Saturday and Carly and I had lunch at Taco Bell. In she walks with her parents... in that same mini-skirt!
Then, Question Girl. You know that one girl that's read one too many books and wants to share her knowledge with the entire class even though the topic of the lecture is only VERY vaguely relevant to the information she wants to impart? This is that girl.
She once asked how the British Parliament worked in the 1700's. In an American History Survey class.
She once told the class that Henry VIII was forced to marry the wife he had left the Catholic Church for and later beheaded. She's read "The Other Boleyn Girl" 500 times, you see....
And finally, Note Girl. She asks to borrow my notes for Statistics class frequently. But, upon further reflection, this is not a bad idea. You see, my Stat teacher is Hungarian. Not descended from; straight up from Hungary. It's going to be a tricky class. My first warning sign was when her name popped up on my schedule. Fair enough, I'm open-minded and can take a little ESL in my coffee.
Second warning light came when she did a head count of the class on the first day. In Hungarian. No big deal, I thought, she's just more comfortable counting that way.
Huge warning lights went up when I caught her second mistake on a problem. At this point, my brain decided that enough was enough and we're going to have to buckle down and learn Hungarian in order to survive this. My body decided to do what it's been told all this time to do: Duck and Cover.
So not only do we have to go through a worthless class, we go through it in Hungarian. I mean, I don't need Stat class to know that when someone says, "80% of Americans want universal health care", I should put on my hip waders. It's like Algebra. Aside from very rarely in pharmacy, when have you ever used Algebra? You certainly can't do much worthwhile with it, like, oh say, pick up chicks.
(authors note: I have no interest in picking up said chicks anymore since I'm very happily married to a wonderful woman. However, the author's past experiences have taught him that great pickup lines do not include, "Hey, baby. I can use the double distributive property to expand polynomials for you." Generally, the result is a massive case of burning eyes caused by a sudden increase of mace in their vicinity.)
Lots more to talk about, but the blog runs long. I'll try to post more often. Not a promise, though.
Now, you might say, "Jon, you prodigious exemplar, it's ALWAYS been a matter of time".
A. Yes, that's true. Once the die was cast, the clock started running. Confusing mixed metaphors aside, I've always known that the day would come. And...
B. Shut up, this is my blog.
To enforce the idea of the big day coming, lots of work has gone into the house to make it ready for him. And us. We finally got the floors put in and they are amazing looking. For those of you that have had the pleasure of seeing our house, you'll see the difference almost immediately. For those of you that have not, it's awesome. Just imagine walking on awesome. It's like that. (No, a little less awesome than walking on bubble wrap. Reign it in a little, sparky).
During our various travels throughout northwest Missouri, we've had the (mis)fortune of encountering several individuals that have, for better or worse, had some sort of interaction with our lives. Case in point: We had to buy paint for the baby's room. So, we packed up the truck (car) and headed to St. Joseph. In the Home Depot store in that fabled city, there is a man.
This man is a bastion of customer service. He is a large man, not in a muscular way, but in a "boy, that's either a really big guy or a small truck" kinda way.
His name is Sean (spelling may be different, who knows?), and he sells paint. But, he doesn't sell paint in the typical fashion, oh no. He sells paint in the old school way; the "I don't want to sell you paint" way. His reverse psychology is flawless. If you treat your customers like they are the scum of the earth and not even worthy to look at this paint, let alone buy it, then they will be even more inclined to purchase it.
He's an angry man, full of bile and hated for all things human. But deep down, I know he's got a heart of gold. Shine on you crazy diamond...
The nursery is now a lovely blue color with an off-white trim. If I start to care to put in the effort, I might put pictures up.
Aside from Angry Paint Guy, there are other cases. Mostly there are the various children that I have the... pleasure of sharing my academic career with. First, there's Mini-Skirt Girl.
She's about 19 or so, blond (possibly dyed) and sickeningly thin. The kind of thin that makes other women want to force feed her McGriddles until she pops in a delicious, maple-flavored volcano.
She was in my Biology class over the summer, sat next to me and spent most of the time playing with her hair as the professor lectured. Now, she is in the Accounting I class that meets right after and in the same room as my Accounting II for Majors class.
But her defining feature, is the Holy Mini-Skirt. Much like Superman, the girl has only one outfit: Some form of top, and a denim mini-skirt. One denim mini-skirt. And only one denim mini-skirt. I envision her closet as consisting of flip-flops on the floor, a few sorority shirts hanging on the left and, in a special shrine, the One True Mini-Skirt. Seriously, 9 times out of 10, she wears this skirt. It was Parents Day on Saturday and Carly and I had lunch at Taco Bell. In she walks with her parents... in that same mini-skirt!
Then, Question Girl. You know that one girl that's read one too many books and wants to share her knowledge with the entire class even though the topic of the lecture is only VERY vaguely relevant to the information she wants to impart? This is that girl.
She once asked how the British Parliament worked in the 1700's. In an American History Survey class.
She once told the class that Henry VIII was forced to marry the wife he had left the Catholic Church for and later beheaded. She's read "The Other Boleyn Girl" 500 times, you see....
And finally, Note Girl. She asks to borrow my notes for Statistics class frequently. But, upon further reflection, this is not a bad idea. You see, my Stat teacher is Hungarian. Not descended from; straight up from Hungary. It's going to be a tricky class. My first warning sign was when her name popped up on my schedule. Fair enough, I'm open-minded and can take a little ESL in my coffee.
Second warning light came when she did a head count of the class on the first day. In Hungarian. No big deal, I thought, she's just more comfortable counting that way.
Huge warning lights went up when I caught her second mistake on a problem. At this point, my brain decided that enough was enough and we're going to have to buckle down and learn Hungarian in order to survive this. My body decided to do what it's been told all this time to do: Duck and Cover.
So not only do we have to go through a worthless class, we go through it in Hungarian. I mean, I don't need Stat class to know that when someone says, "80% of Americans want universal health care", I should put on my hip waders. It's like Algebra. Aside from very rarely in pharmacy, when have you ever used Algebra? You certainly can't do much worthwhile with it, like, oh say, pick up chicks.
(authors note: I have no interest in picking up said chicks anymore since I'm very happily married to a wonderful woman. However, the author's past experiences have taught him that great pickup lines do not include, "Hey, baby. I can use the double distributive property to expand polynomials for you." Generally, the result is a massive case of burning eyes caused by a sudden increase of mace in their vicinity.)
Lots more to talk about, but the blog runs long. I'll try to post more often. Not a promise, though.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Babymoon: Episode 6: Return of the Rambling
Since I don't have all that much to talk about as far as the trip to Memphis is concerned (see Episodes 4 & 5 -Ed), it's back from blog vacation (which mostly involved phoning in blog updates and humorous rants about shoe salesmen) time! Also, it might have to do with the fact that I'm a really lazy blog writer and forgot most of the trip in the thousand days it took me to write this thing. So, to ease you into the transition from hilarious misadventures to my typically solid mediocrity, I present a special feature. And as a bonus, a new interactive portion of the blog. Yes, dear readers, it's time for:
JON'S TOTAL STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS BLOG
First, I think I've hit the point in the Baby Having Experience(tm) where excitement has been bludgeoned to submission by apprehension. I got to thinking the other day that eventually this little bundle of joy and poop will grow up to be a whole, self-sufficient, employed, and hopefully stable (read:non-stabby) human being. But, between those two stages comes the long middle part. The part where he'll be asking me things. A lot of things. Like, "Why is the sky blue?" and, "Why are the goldfish swimming on their backs?" and, "Why does Mommy swear so much when you get home?". Questions that, honestly, I have no real answer to and that certainly will not satisfy a little child's curiosity. I mean, I COULD tell him why the sky is blue (Smurf magic) and where aquatic animals go when they die (the toilet, obviously). But, really, if I tell him those things he'll probably grow up believing that I'm a brilliant man that deserves his praise and respect for my many accolades, super-powers, dashing good looks, killer abs and mean right hook.
Then, he'll hit his teens and discover that it's all been one gigantic lie and wear black clothes, eyeliner, and a long mane of greasy hair while writing bad "introspective" poetry and listening to *cringe* Muse....
(Side note: To all of you who have known me for more than 18 seconds, you know I'm a Guitar Hero fanatic. I love that game. As such, I will NOT be buying GH5. Shocking as that may be, the reason is simple. I had a Facebook update that had screenshots of said game featuring the lead "singer" from Muse as a playable character. I don't really need that level of fail sullying my stalwart PS2, thank you so very much.)
Yes, yes, I know. I'm going to be a wonderful father, and I can't second-guess myself all the time, I have to play it by ear and always do what we think is best for our child and I am an amazing slice of triple chocolate man-cake. I get it.
But, it is a big burden to shoulder. And, I know that tons of people have done this before me. It's hard to wrap my brain around it. Once he gets here though, I'll forget all of this, I'm sure. I'll roll up my sleeves, change some diapers, and get over it.
Aside from my self-indulgent whining, things have been pretty calm here at Chez West. Lily kept us up almost all of last night. First, she got her paws caught in the blanket we had on the bed, and screamed us awake. After we got her out of that debacle, a storm kicked up and she flipped out. Then, she wanted to go outside only to find that *gasp* it was raining (she's a dainty lady and hates having her paws get wet)!
School's started back up for Carly, and my classes start on Monday. Not looking forward to getting back in the classroom, but I need to get this over with and get a degree and a real job so I can support my family and stop being a lazy bum that writes blog entries all day (or fails to, as the case may be).
Finally, on to the interactive portion of the blog! Carly wants to get a pool going of when the baby will be here and how big he will be. Please, write your guess in the response portion of the page. Just click where it says "Comments" and type away! Don't copy guesses and the 4th of October is already taken. In all fairness, the baby is measuring about 34 weeks now and the due date is October 10th. The winner will receive a fabulous prize of absolutely nothing but bragging rights and a temporary feeling of smug superiority! (Please note: these prizes will be null and void if you already have an existing smug feeling of superiority or are French.) Happy random guessing!
JON'S TOTAL STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS BLOG
First, I think I've hit the point in the Baby Having Experience(tm) where excitement has been bludgeoned to submission by apprehension. I got to thinking the other day that eventually this little bundle of joy and poop will grow up to be a whole, self-sufficient, employed, and hopefully stable (read:non-stabby) human being. But, between those two stages comes the long middle part. The part where he'll be asking me things. A lot of things. Like, "Why is the sky blue?" and, "Why are the goldfish swimming on their backs?" and, "Why does Mommy swear so much when you get home?". Questions that, honestly, I have no real answer to and that certainly will not satisfy a little child's curiosity. I mean, I COULD tell him why the sky is blue (Smurf magic) and where aquatic animals go when they die (the toilet, obviously). But, really, if I tell him those things he'll probably grow up believing that I'm a brilliant man that deserves his praise and respect for my many accolades, super-powers, dashing good looks, killer abs and mean right hook.
Then, he'll hit his teens and discover that it's all been one gigantic lie and wear black clothes, eyeliner, and a long mane of greasy hair while writing bad "introspective" poetry and listening to *cringe* Muse....
(Side note: To all of you who have known me for more than 18 seconds, you know I'm a Guitar Hero fanatic. I love that game. As such, I will NOT be buying GH5. Shocking as that may be, the reason is simple. I had a Facebook update that had screenshots of said game featuring the lead "singer" from Muse as a playable character. I don't really need that level of fail sullying my stalwart PS2, thank you so very much.)
Yes, yes, I know. I'm going to be a wonderful father, and I can't second-guess myself all the time, I have to play it by ear and always do what we think is best for our child and I am an amazing slice of triple chocolate man-cake. I get it.
But, it is a big burden to shoulder. And, I know that tons of people have done this before me. It's hard to wrap my brain around it. Once he gets here though, I'll forget all of this, I'm sure. I'll roll up my sleeves, change some diapers, and get over it.
Aside from my self-indulgent whining, things have been pretty calm here at Chez West. Lily kept us up almost all of last night. First, she got her paws caught in the blanket we had on the bed, and screamed us awake. After we got her out of that debacle, a storm kicked up and she flipped out. Then, she wanted to go outside only to find that *gasp* it was raining (she's a dainty lady and hates having her paws get wet)!
School's started back up for Carly, and my classes start on Monday. Not looking forward to getting back in the classroom, but I need to get this over with and get a degree and a real job so I can support my family and stop being a lazy bum that writes blog entries all day (or fails to, as the case may be).
Finally, on to the interactive portion of the blog! Carly wants to get a pool going of when the baby will be here and how big he will be. Please, write your guess in the response portion of the page. Just click where it says "Comments" and type away! Don't copy guesses and the 4th of October is already taken. In all fairness, the baby is measuring about 34 weeks now and the due date is October 10th. The winner will receive a fabulous prize of absolutely nothing but bragging rights and a temporary feeling of smug superiority! (Please note: these prizes will be null and void if you already have an existing smug feeling of superiority or are French.) Happy random guessing!
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Babymoon: Episode 5: The Vegans Strike Back
In our last episode, the evil forces of treats were mightily vanquished by the brave Lily...
Onward to St. Louis! While there, we stopped off and visited some friends and their adorable kids. Then, it's off to lunch at this little pub tucked away near an overpass called O'Connell's.
Sometimes fortune smiles on me in the most devious ways. Such as making me go to a party I really didn't want to go to in the first place and meeting my future wife there. Yes, fate is a tricky mistress. She gives freely, but then asks a lot in return. Case in point:
The special that day just so happened to be the Reuben sandwich. For those that don't know, the Reuben is a corned beef sandwich with sauerkraut and Thousand Island dressing. It is the third most awesome sandwich creation in history (the second being the Monte Cristo sandwich: an amazing creation consisting of a ham sandwich dipped in batter, fried, sprinkled with powdered sugar and served with maple syrup or raspberry sauce. And the most awesome creation being the Luther Burger. This burger is the most awesome thing since Lance Uppercut, the cyborg ninja, traveled to Awesometown to fight the rampaging hordes of dinosaur-riding pirates. It is an Angus burger topped with melted cheese and bacon, served on a sliced and deep fried Krispy Kreme doughnut.) Not only did I eat this marvelous creation, I also finished my fries, Carly's onion rings and part of a Coney Island chili dog.
Needless to say, I was about to burst with fatty meat and grease goodness.
So, as we reached Memphis, we found out a disturbing change in the status quo. My father had gone vegan. No meat, no meat-based products, no dairy, no eggs. On the plus side, he is healthier and I'm thankful for that. We did have a tofu dish with peanut and ginger sauce that was pretty good.
After a few days, Carly and I needed a burger... with real meat. Hopping in the car, we sprinted to Red Robin (yum!). I'm not quite sure how the burgers there qualify as "gourmet" as they claim (there's not a Luther in sight on the menu). Not that it was a bad burger, it just wasn't what the hype claimed it to be.
We visited good friends had a lot of good meals and a good time was had by all.
INTERMISSION:
A True Pharmacy Story.
A mother comes up to the counter with her 4 year old son
Mother: I need something for my son here.
Son: HI!!!
Me: Hi!
Mother: He has diarrhea and we need something that'll work.
Son: Yeah, 'cause I've got the squirts!
Hilarity ensues.
Onward to St. Louis! While there, we stopped off and visited some friends and their adorable kids. Then, it's off to lunch at this little pub tucked away near an overpass called O'Connell's.
Sometimes fortune smiles on me in the most devious ways. Such as making me go to a party I really didn't want to go to in the first place and meeting my future wife there. Yes, fate is a tricky mistress. She gives freely, but then asks a lot in return. Case in point:
The special that day just so happened to be the Reuben sandwich. For those that don't know, the Reuben is a corned beef sandwich with sauerkraut and Thousand Island dressing. It is the third most awesome sandwich creation in history (the second being the Monte Cristo sandwich: an amazing creation consisting of a ham sandwich dipped in batter, fried, sprinkled with powdered sugar and served with maple syrup or raspberry sauce. And the most awesome creation being the Luther Burger. This burger is the most awesome thing since Lance Uppercut, the cyborg ninja, traveled to Awesometown to fight the rampaging hordes of dinosaur-riding pirates. It is an Angus burger topped with melted cheese and bacon, served on a sliced and deep fried Krispy Kreme doughnut.) Not only did I eat this marvelous creation, I also finished my fries, Carly's onion rings and part of a Coney Island chili dog.
Needless to say, I was about to burst with fatty meat and grease goodness.
So, as we reached Memphis, we found out a disturbing change in the status quo. My father had gone vegan. No meat, no meat-based products, no dairy, no eggs. On the plus side, he is healthier and I'm thankful for that. We did have a tofu dish with peanut and ginger sauce that was pretty good.
After a few days, Carly and I needed a burger... with real meat. Hopping in the car, we sprinted to Red Robin (yum!). I'm not quite sure how the burgers there qualify as "gourmet" as they claim (there's not a Luther in sight on the menu). Not that it was a bad burger, it just wasn't what the hype claimed it to be.
We visited good friends had a lot of good meals and a good time was had by all.
INTERMISSION:
A True Pharmacy Story.
A mother comes up to the counter with her 4 year old son
Mother: I need something for my son here.
Son: HI!!!
Me: Hi!
Mother: He has diarrhea and we need something that'll work.
Son: Yeah, 'cause I've got the squirts!
Hilarity ensues.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Babymoon: Episode 4: A New Babymoon
As promised, I've decided to write the next chapter of this blog on the subject of our trip to Memphis. Nominally, it's a nine hour drive down there, cutting across almost the entire state of Missouri before even getting near Tennessee.
However, with a pregnant lady and prone-to-seizure dog in the car, the rules change slightly. Under doctor's orders we had to stop every two hours and Carly had to walk around the car three times minimum. As we left our little home, our spirits were as high as Lily. Sadly, things were about to take a turn for the worst.
We stopped in St. Joseph for some breakfast at the local Perkins and had our first required pit stop. We left Lily in the car with the windows cracked and a cup of water. The dark cloud that followed us into the restaurant foretold of the horrors to come. Our first indication of trouble came when the hostess decided to seat me and my PREGNANT wife near the smoking section. Now, I'm no genius (truthfully, I'm more of a super-genius... Jon West- Super-Genius), but even I know that that is a monumentally bad seating idea. But, I suppose our choices must have been between that or sitting right next to the leaking radioactive missile near the kitchen. And, now that I think about it, if I'm so concerned about my wife's health, why are we eating at Perkins?
In other news, some restaurants still have smoking sections.
Then, Carly orders two eggs cooked over medium and dry toast. At this point, I'd like to say that my culinary knowledge when it comes to eggs is limited to two settings: "scrambled" and "burnt to a crisp". So, it should come as no big shock that I have no idea what "over-medium" means. Thus, when the eggs arrive and Carly takes a look at them at says, "do these look undercooked to you?", my response is to look at them, then her with my most knowledgeable face on and very suavely say, "I dunno, maybe."
This put us at a crossroads. On the one hand, it's a very bad idea to eat undercooked eggs. Especially if you're pregnant. If you do, you might as well just go ahead and inject salmonella right into your belly while singing "What Do You Do With A Drunken Sailor" at the top of your lungs (or your choice of favorite sea shanty. Yes, sea shanties work best for that sort of thing. No, I do not have personal experience in this. Oh, the things you can learn on those interwebs).
On the other hand, if we send it back, the odds increase dramatically that it will return to us with extra spit. And who knows what song to sing while eating spit covered eggs?
We opted for the second choice. If the eggs were befouled, there was no trace of it. Luckily, my Mammoth Muffin was awfully tasty.
We head out to the car, the dark cloud following us, and fall upon what can best be described as a massacre. Bits of the victims lay strewn about the crime scene like pieces of broken glass. The grizzly evidence before us told the story of the horrific events that happened. Carly and I were at a loss for words over the gruesome scene.
Lily had found the treats we packed for her. An entire weeks worth of dog treats, snarfed up by one fat little dog. And she's just sitting there like the Queen of the World.
The heavy metaphorical cudgel I've been using to bludgeon you called the dark cloud following us turns into the real thing as we hit the road again. It starts to rain on us and we need to roll the window up. So, we try. And try. And try again. Carly's window won't go up! Stupid car! My theory is that Lily's big fat bottom shorted out the electrical system in her mad dash to engorge herself on ill-gotten gains.
The rain pelted down and as it got worse Carly was getting soaked. And then, during the worst part of the rain, I decided to try the window one more time and.... IT WORKED. For no good reason, the darn thing rolled up, saving Carly from 9 more hours of drenching ickyness. Someone was looking out for us...
I also learned that my mutant power is making the rain stop for short periods of time. Of course, it really only works when we pass under an overpass, but every power has limitations.
Lily was banished to the back seat for most of the trip.
In our next episode: Vegans, burgers, and flip-flops! It's Episode 5!
We stopped in St. Joseph for some breakfast at the local Perkins and had our first required pit stop. We left Lily in the car with the windows cracked and a cup of water. The dark cloud that followed us into the restaurant foretold of the horrors to come. Our first indication of trouble came when the hostess decided to seat me and my PREGNANT wife near the smoking section. Now, I'm no genius (truthfully, I'm more of a super-genius... Jon West- Super-Genius), but even I know that that is a monumentally bad seating idea. But, I suppose our choices must have been between that or sitting right next to the leaking radioactive missile near the kitchen. And, now that I think about it, if I'm so concerned about my wife's health, why are we eating at Perkins?
In other news, some restaurants still have smoking sections.
Then, Carly orders two eggs cooked over medium and dry toast. At this point, I'd like to say that my culinary knowledge when it comes to eggs is limited to two settings: "scrambled" and "burnt to a crisp". So, it should come as no big shock that I have no idea what "over-medium" means. Thus, when the eggs arrive and Carly takes a look at them at says, "do these look undercooked to you?", my response is to look at them, then her with my most knowledgeable face on and very suavely say, "I dunno, maybe."
This put us at a crossroads. On the one hand, it's a very bad idea to eat undercooked eggs. Especially if you're pregnant. If you do, you might as well just go ahead and inject salmonella right into your belly while singing "What Do You Do With A Drunken Sailor" at the top of your lungs (or your choice of favorite sea shanty. Yes, sea shanties work best for that sort of thing. No, I do not have personal experience in this. Oh, the things you can learn on those interwebs).
On the other hand, if we send it back, the odds increase dramatically that it will return to us with extra spit. And who knows what song to sing while eating spit covered eggs?
We opted for the second choice. If the eggs were befouled, there was no trace of it. Luckily, my Mammoth Muffin was awfully tasty.
We head out to the car, the dark cloud following us, and fall upon what can best be described as a massacre. Bits of the victims lay strewn about the crime scene like pieces of broken glass. The grizzly evidence before us told the story of the horrific events that happened. Carly and I were at a loss for words over the gruesome scene.
Lily had found the treats we packed for her. An entire weeks worth of dog treats, snarfed up by one fat little dog. And she's just sitting there like the Queen of the World.
The heavy metaphorical cudgel I've been using to bludgeon you called the dark cloud following us turns into the real thing as we hit the road again. It starts to rain on us and we need to roll the window up. So, we try. And try. And try again. Carly's window won't go up! Stupid car! My theory is that Lily's big fat bottom shorted out the electrical system in her mad dash to engorge herself on ill-gotten gains.
The rain pelted down and as it got worse Carly was getting soaked. And then, during the worst part of the rain, I decided to try the window one more time and.... IT WORKED. For no good reason, the darn thing rolled up, saving Carly from 9 more hours of drenching ickyness. Someone was looking out for us...
I also learned that my mutant power is making the rain stop for short periods of time. Of course, it really only works when we pass under an overpass, but every power has limitations.
Lily was banished to the back seat for most of the trip.
In our next episode: Vegans, burgers, and flip-flops! It's Episode 5!
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