Whoop-ee!*
Today is the day. That elusive due date the doctors give you by simply guessing the date of conception of your baby. This is the day that you look forward to sleeping on your back (when you get to sleep), not getting kicked from the inside out (which you will miss) and meeting that little baby that has grown inside you for 9+ months. This is the day. Or it’s supposed to be. Or maybe it isn’t. Yesterday wasn’t the day. Tomorrow may not be the day. Tomorrow may be the day. I guess today could be the day if "the day" is night. All we really know is that there will be a day. I hope that day is today or tonight, ok so I was hoping for yesterday.
Come out, baby, come out. We’re ready to meet you.
Ring, ring---
Clint: Hello?
Chuck: Hi, Clint. This is Chuck, your landlord.
Clint: Oh, hi! I haven’t heard from you in a while. How was your trip out east?
Chuck: Well, Clint, I’m going to be selling the house I’m renting you. I just wanted to let you know (that you and your family are soon going to be out on the street or paying some exorbitant amount for a cramped, older, falling-part place in a bad neighborhood with a new baby and a two year-old).
Clint: (Whooah! Did he say..?) You…what?
(silence on both ends of the line)
Chuck: I wanted to thank you for being such a wonderful tenant. If everyone was like you, I’d probably still keep the houses I’m renting.
Clint: Oh well, that’s nice of you to say (but how does that help me today, buddy?! You wanna see NOT nice?! I can show you NOT nice, too.) I really appreciate you, as well. You’ve always been prompt to return our calls and you fix anything that’s broken within a few days. (How about fixing THIS and just giving us your freakin' house, Chuck? Huh!? How ‘bout THAT?)
Chuck: Don't worry--I’ll give you 30 days notice once I talk to my realtor.
Clint: 30 days? (How generous is THAT?!) Chuck, that’s not much time (to pack up our entire existence and drive away from the million things we love about this house, this neighborhood and this area). We’re going to need at least 3 months to be able to find a place and move out. What can you do for us? (Help a brutha out, here!!!)
Chuck: I’ll talk to the realtor, Clint. I’ll do what I can. I just wanted to let you know. (Now leave me alone. I’ve done my good deed today. “Into every life…”).
Clint: OK. Well, thanks for being straightforward with us about it. I’m sure it’s in your best interest (diametrically opposed to OURS, of course!) I wonder--would you be open to a rent-to-own scenario? I think we could both win here.
Chuck: No, no. I don’t think so, I just need to get these houses of mine out from underneath me. That’s all. Have a good day. (Of my numerous headaches, you are my favorite).
---Click---
Into every life, a little rain…At least I’ve got a job. No house, apparently, but a job.
On the 3rd Brianna will be 2 years old. We had a fun little party last weekend to celebrate. Here are some Bri shots. Enjoy!
(This picture is from the park the other day)
Heroes. The word conjures all sorts of ideas in peoples' heads, from Spider Man and Batman to firefighters and family pets. My hero has always been my grandfather. This may be partly due to the fact that he died just before I ate whatever it is that adolescents eat that make them go crazy, cynical, and good-for-nothing for about 10 years. Either way, my grandfather was and still is the Platonic Ideal. I know there was a bullet-proof cape under those pinstriped farmer's overalls, and that his Red Man chewing tobacco had magical properties. He could read the minds of strangers and kin alike, still raging thunderstorms, calm the most horrible of my grandmother's tirades, get any tractor unstuck from mud with his bare hands, and harvest more hay in one afternoon than all the other neighbors put together. In short, my grandfather had only enough flaws to keep him balanced somewhere between man and Titan. In my mind, that's the way it's always been, and it's the way it is to this day. So how is it that a fictional character created by a cantankerous deep South recluse is stepping into the same light as my grandpa? Simple. Atticus Finch and my grandpa are juxtapositions and cross references of one another. Shades and compliments. Sunrises and sunsets meeting in a blazing midday heat. The first time I read To Kill A Mockingbird, I felt a strange and warm familiarity when Atticus Finch was introduced. The more I got to know him through the pages, I thought Mrs. Harper Lee had been sneaking around my family tree, all the way to the top branches. Atticus is the perfect antagonist, the perfect gentleman. Next to my grandpa, he is the perfect role model as far as I'm concerned. So for those of you who weren't blessed enough to have my grandfather as your grandfather (and that's all but 3 of you), Atticus Finch will do fine for a sit-in. And if you've never picked up the novel To Kill A Mockingbird, do so soon. And read it on a porch swing on a hot summer day, if you can manage it.
We just returned from our first major family vacation to
She just loved the ocean. Unlike most almost 2 year olds who run away from waves Bri would head straight into the water. You would think a few sandy waves in the face would cure that but it didn't. She learned the word ocean and it sounds like she's saying "oh shit". Clint thinks she's saying "oh shit, that's a lot of water." Pretty dang funny.
We went into town one day to the market and ate at a taco stand. How is it that such simple tacos in
All and all it was a great time. Oh yeah, and it was hot. Really, really hot.
**This is a foot note, really it's a mother note. We didn't really lock Bri in the room for the night in order to go out. We did the classic baby switch. Jason and Kristin watched Bri one night and then we watched Josiah the next day. My Mom didn't want anyone to come after us for child abuse.
