What is it about a refrigerator door loaded with junk — inundated with old pictures, to-do lists, magnets, bits of Thanksgiving dinner leftovers and random tidbits of life — that something meaningful occasionally cuts through the clutter while you reach for the water pitcher and gives you a boost. I read the saying, almost crowded out by a Key West chicken magnet and a New Yorker cartoon, and laughed.
New Baby Means Goodbye to Normal
So, this is fatherhood. Not so bad. Not so different. Normal life, I have been told, is over. Now the search begins for a new kind of normal. For a routine. For just a little bit of sleep. (In 22 years, I’m told, I’ll get some.) It’s been two weeks since my daughter, Amelie, was born, and already I have changed 32,000 diapers. Having never done so before this experience, I think I’m adjusting quite well.
Waiting on the ‘T’
T-minus 10 … 9 … 8 … 7 Just waiting for blast off here at the Thompson house. Today, Dec. 23, is the due date El Doctor set all those months ago for young Baby T’s arrival. As you read this, one of three things will have happened. Could be I’m at home with the little one, learning how to change diapers and swaddle, as well as saying things I’ll get punished for like, “She spits up like a drunken sailor!” and “Would the baby like some roast beef?” Could be I’m in the hospital uttering the often repeated, “Now, honey, remember what we learned in birthing class … ‘cus I forgot everything.”
When the lights didn’t light
“Wow! You’ve done a lot already,” my wife said. “Did you try plugging them in before you put them up?” Blank stare.
When Turkeys Attack
Forget about the avian flu, people. Just forget it. There’s a much bigger threat we need to be thinking about — worrying about — and it’s not a chicken with a runny nose.
The Art of Buying a Digital Camera
So it’s the day after Thanksgiving. Your body has stored 14 pounds of turkey meat it hasn’t had time to digest over by your spleen, the refrigerator is leaning 22 degrees thanks to everything stuffed in it and if you see anything resembling stuffing in the next year, you will need psychiatric counseling.
Here Come the Christmas Catalogs
A dump truck pulled up to my house the other day. That familiar scream from its rear warning siren burned a hole in the air as it backed into my driveway, lifted its payload bay and discarded its contents upon my yard.
Baby’s coming! Now Finish the Room … Fast!
Why is it so-called “home improvement” projects always on look like little dances through the tulips. So easy. So uncomplicated. Swing your right foot this way, raise your arm, adjust your hips, smile and then spin. Weeeeee!
Time to Change the Clocks
Goodbye daylight savings time. We were getting along so well, then you turned your back and walked away.
Bomb Threats and Birthing Classes
Is it a bad omen if your first birthing class is canceled by a bomb threat? Just asking. Just wondering. Don’t think I’m one of those paranoid nut jobs who believes every little thing is a sign — “So when the pigeon with the white feather flew north, that’s how I figured the tornado would wreck the mobile home park.”