Congratulations to the delivery date pool winner, Jessica :)
 |
| From Alyssa |
Posts
10 years ago
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Speed Bump Number Two
Alyssa Anne Genovese arrived December 27th, 2009 at 12:42PM after seventeen glorious hours of labor. She was born 7 pounds and 19 inches long.
Congratulations to the delivery date pool winner, Jessica :)
Congratulations to the delivery date pool winner, Jessica :)
Friday, November 20, 2009
Baby G #2 Delivery Date Pool
Want in on the action? Click the Buy Now button below to buy your date. Include the date you want with your PayPal transaction and be sure the date isn't already taken (check the calendar above)!
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Friday, August 14, 2009
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Things K Does: #5
About a month ago I noticed three of my toilets at home were slowly leaking into the bowl. I replaced the ballcock gaskets and that solved the problem. The next day, my wife noticed a puddle in the master bathroom where I made one of the repairs. It turned out the connection to the tank was not as tight as it should have been and when I made the repair, the connection jostled even looser allowing water to slowly drip out.
This morning, as I reported on Twitter, I woke up to a phone call from my wife that it was raining in the kitchen. It turned out the same loose tank connection allowed water to leak from one of the upstairs bathrooms. The water seeped behind the baseboard, through the wall, and onto the ceiling drywall in the kitchen.
All of this was discovered by The Fuzzy Headed Oracle who, upon waking up and beginning her morning routine of walking through the house, entered the kitchen, noticed the wet floor, and finally got to use her new favorite word in the proper context:
"Uh-Oh"
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Wait...What?
I'd like to tell you the story of the fourth of May. To fully appreciate the story, you'll need to recall that my wife revels in obsessive compulsive behavior. She cannot knowingly allow herself to be surprised and she cannot for the life of her keep a secret. The condition is hereditary.
I tried to surprise her once when we were dating with an unannounced weekend visit. I coordinated the surprise with her sisters, who in turn told their dad, who in turn blabbed about the whole thing to Jen. My only redemption was that she didn't believe him, it was too fantastic of a tale!
So in my house, no big news goes unannounced, not for a second. The fourth of May, aside from being the day before my mom's birthday, is the day that changed.
About an hour before I left work I got a call from Jen, as I often do when it gets close to quitting time. She was calling to see when I would be leaving and to tell me she and K were going to take a nap. That was my signal not to call them on my way home. I arrived home to find everyone in bed. The fourth of May was a Monday, and as you know they often become Martini Mondays, so a nap sounded good to me too. I think it was about an hour later, I was just starting to get my sleep on when Kaitlyn woke up. Jen went to get her and I started to doze back off when suddenly both mother and daughter were front and center next to me at the bed.
K was performing her usual "I'm so happy to see my daddy home from work" routine, which is a kind of modified Happy Dance. I sat up to receive my precious princess but Jen kept holding her at a distance, smiling. I thought this a little odd but I just kept waving and smiling and talking to Kaitlyn, waiting for mommy to let her come see her favorite daddy. Finally Jen asked me if I liked Kaitlyn's new shirt (the one she's wearing in the picture above).
Daddy: When did she get a new shirt? And who the hell approved that expense?
Mommy: "We went to Babies 'R Us today."
Daddy: "Oh you did, did you?"
And just as I was spooling up for paragraph two of my "the child has more clothes than I do" speech, Jen asked me if I saw what the shirt said. Obviously not, I was still on the fact that she bought her yet another article of clothing. Why are they always trying to change the subject? Besides, I'm the daddy, if the child is clothed, I'm happy. If she's wearing the Gettysberg Address on her clothing, that's mommy's department. To keep the peace, I read the shirt.
Daddy: "She can't wear that."
Mommy: "Yes she can."
Daddy: "No, she CAN'T!" (what,does she think I'm dumb or something?)
Mommy: "Yes, SHE CAN!"
Daddy: "Wait...what?"
So now you know and you more or less found out the way I did. But the most amazing part--apparently Jen CAN keep a secret. What's more, she waited a whole six days before we told the grandparents.
And that was the fourth of May.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
The Things Kaitlyn Does: #3
No matter how many times I correct her, K still insists that "ball" is the same thing as "open". I know this because when she brings me a something to open and says "ball? ball? ball?" and I say "you mean open?" she smiles and does her happy dance. Opening and closing things sometimes occupies her for hours.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Saturday, June 20, 2009
The Things Kaitlyn Does: #2
I started to vacuum one day and Kaitlyn got scared. In order to calm her down and show her there is nothing to be afraid of, I picked her up and let her vacuum with me. It proved to be a pretty good workout. Unfortunately, every time someone opens the closet where the vacuum "sleeps", Kaitlyn gets inspired to clean. I guess it's cheaper than a gym membership.
Monday, June 1, 2009
The Things Kaitlyn Does: #1
On most holiday weekends on my block, you'll find me sitting in the middle of the street with my neighbors, enjoying good food, conversation, and more than a few refreshing beverages.
Memorial Day was no exception this year.
In order to try and avoid the worst of the hot, humid, South Texas weather typically brewing towards the end of Spring, we started the party this year rather late, at 6:30--late at least by Kaitlyn's standards.
After running around for about 3 hours, Kaitlyn started getting cranky. She started walking away from us down the middle of our dark residential street.
At first I thought she was heading for the cones that were set up to route traffic around our little street soiree, but she kept walking.
Jen started following and called her name. Without turning around, K just kept walking, throwing her hands up in the air as if to say "I've had enough". She walked all the way home, went into the house, straight to her room, took some clothes out of her pajama drawer, and waited for mom to put her to bed.
She probably wrote in her diary the next day about how awful her parents are to keep her out so late.
Deadbeat parents.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Friday, April 3, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
The Year I Got Kicked Out Of Church
Every year, immediately after New Years, my wife and I begin an annual tradition. It has nothing to do with black eyed peas. Once the dust settles, the lights are packed away, and life as we once knew it begins to resume (say around the first week of February), we each lay down the law about what we’re absolutely not going to do next year. During the course of what is often “heated discussion”, neither of us thinks to write any of it down. As a result, nine months later we start arguing about exactly how and where we’ll be miserable for the upcoming holiday season.
Part of the problem is that my company shuts down at the end of the year and, with a few strategically placed personal days, I usually end up with close to three weeks off. That means 21 days to carefully and fairly balance between my family, my wife’s family, transportation to and from the family, my sanity, my bank account, and my bottle of Johnnie Walker—you know, to celebrate Christmas.
If I were Charlie Brown, my wise-beyond-his-years spiritual philosopher friend Linus would probably sit me down and give me a long speech with his blue blanket about how Christmas isn’t about all that; “Christmas is about Jesus” he’d say. No, it’s not. If Christmas is about Jesus then why did I spend seventy five bucks on a dead tree that I dragged out of my house nine days before Christmas so I could drive 1200 miles across the country with a wreath tied to the bumper, lights wrapped around the luggage rack, and presents piled so high I couldn’t see out the rear-view mirror? I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Jesus’ idea to stop every 75 miles to change a poopy diaper either. We’d have to be out of our minds to do all that for Jesus when there is a perfectly good Catholic church fifteen minutes down the road with plenty of Jesus for everyone. No, Christmas is about sanctimonious Christmas letters from people you don’t really even know and 21 days of high octane super concentrated family.
Like every good family man amidst all this Christmas cheer, I try to find the perfect mix of Clark W. Griswold and Linus. And what better time and place to contemplate the Christ in Christmas than Christmas mass together as a family. As many of you know, Kaitlyn’s “Papa” is a musician and in recent years has increasingly shared his musical talents on weekends and religious holidays with Catholic and Christian churches throughout the county. Last year, he played at all the masses on Christmas Eve at Corpus Christi “Catholic-Christian Faith Community”, which meant he would be unable to join us for any of the high octane family fun that night. We decided to attend one of the Christmas Eve masses in order to be with him. Despite arriving thirty minutes early, it was standing room only. We settled in against a wall near the back of the church and I scouted a single chair a few yards away for Jen, who you may remember was pregnant at the time. When I returned from getting her settled, a member of the “Faith Community” had taken the opportunity to occupy my one square foot of standing space and nearly shoved me out of the way when I attempted to reclaim it. I spent the duration of mass contemplating everything but the Christ in Christmas. I vowed not to return.
This year, in an attempt to be conciliatory, I agreed to return to Corpus Christi for Christmas mass in order to again be with my dad and the family. After all, that’s what Christmas is all about, right? This time, in order to avoid the loving Christian hostility of the crowd, we went to the 8AM mass on Christmas Day. To our delight, the church was barely half full. We found an empty pew in the front row and settled in for a peaceful Christmas mass together as a family—three generations worth ready to put the Christ in Christmas! Linus would have been proud. As I glanced down the pew at my family, all dressed up, and my dad up near the altar on his drum set, I was proud and content. For a few minutes, I even forgot about my friend Johnnie who got left at the house with the dog.
Just then, Jen leaned over to me. Out of the corner of my eye I had seen a woman walk over to her and say something quietly. I figured it was probably another woman doting on Kaitlyn’s cuteness. At home it usually happens to us every week at church. Jen whispered in my ear as she picked up the diaper bag, “we just got asked to leave”.
That old sentimental bastard Johnnie Walker missed me. He saw the content look on my face and got scared; figured our relationship was over. So he sent over an angry old woman to ask us to move into the crying room. I looked around the church. The congregation had been singing the entrance hymn accompanied by a full band—A FULL BAND. Kaitlyn, in her usual way, was smiling and laughing and cooing amidst the noise. It didn’t seem to be bothering any of the other ten people at mass, yet this wench wanted us out—ON CHRISTMAS DAY!
I leaned over to Jen and said, “stay here”. I had no intention of leaving, at least not voluntarily. My wife, on the other hand, was now self-conscious. She grabbed the child and the diaper bag and walked off to the crying room. Steam began pouring out of my ears. If the church had a steam room I’m sure the church Nazi would have sent me to it. Reluctantly, I grabbed the remainder of our things and followed my family as the other ten parishioners watched. My sister was a few steps behind. As I passed the crotchety woman with white hair and red velour’s, I muttered a “Merry Christmas” between clenched teeth. I’ve been asked to leave plenty of bars, but by God this was a church and I wasn’t even drunk!
About thirty minutes later it was time for the collection and we realized the woman who asked us to leave was an usher. That made me even angrier—ON CHRISTMAS DAY! We were practically alone in the crying room and Kaitlyn was passed out in my arms. The usher came in with the basket. I did my best to avoid eye contact while my wife shot laser beams out of her eyes. The usher, obviously picking up a negative vibe, came over and said she hoped we weren’t offended by having to leave the main church. I told her I absolutely was offended and pointed out how much of a disturbance my daughter turned out to be. She told me if she hadn’t said something, Fr. Fred would have.
Of this I can be sure; next year the last 21 days of the year will be miserable--but it won’t be at Fr. Fred’s church. This year I’m writing it down.
Part of the problem is that my company shuts down at the end of the year and, with a few strategically placed personal days, I usually end up with close to three weeks off. That means 21 days to carefully and fairly balance between my family, my wife’s family, transportation to and from the family, my sanity, my bank account, and my bottle of Johnnie Walker—you know, to celebrate Christmas.
If I were Charlie Brown, my wise-beyond-his-years spiritual philosopher friend Linus would probably sit me down and give me a long speech with his blue blanket about how Christmas isn’t about all that; “Christmas is about Jesus” he’d say. No, it’s not. If Christmas is about Jesus then why did I spend seventy five bucks on a dead tree that I dragged out of my house nine days before Christmas so I could drive 1200 miles across the country with a wreath tied to the bumper, lights wrapped around the luggage rack, and presents piled so high I couldn’t see out the rear-view mirror? I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Jesus’ idea to stop every 75 miles to change a poopy diaper either. We’d have to be out of our minds to do all that for Jesus when there is a perfectly good Catholic church fifteen minutes down the road with plenty of Jesus for everyone. No, Christmas is about sanctimonious Christmas letters from people you don’t really even know and 21 days of high octane super concentrated family.
Like every good family man amidst all this Christmas cheer, I try to find the perfect mix of Clark W. Griswold and Linus. And what better time and place to contemplate the Christ in Christmas than Christmas mass together as a family. As many of you know, Kaitlyn’s “Papa” is a musician and in recent years has increasingly shared his musical talents on weekends and religious holidays with Catholic and Christian churches throughout the county. Last year, he played at all the masses on Christmas Eve at Corpus Christi “Catholic-Christian Faith Community”, which meant he would be unable to join us for any of the high octane family fun that night. We decided to attend one of the Christmas Eve masses in order to be with him. Despite arriving thirty minutes early, it was standing room only. We settled in against a wall near the back of the church and I scouted a single chair a few yards away for Jen, who you may remember was pregnant at the time. When I returned from getting her settled, a member of the “Faith Community” had taken the opportunity to occupy my one square foot of standing space and nearly shoved me out of the way when I attempted to reclaim it. I spent the duration of mass contemplating everything but the Christ in Christmas. I vowed not to return.
This year, in an attempt to be conciliatory, I agreed to return to Corpus Christi for Christmas mass in order to again be with my dad and the family. After all, that’s what Christmas is all about, right? This time, in order to avoid the loving Christian hostility of the crowd, we went to the 8AM mass on Christmas Day. To our delight, the church was barely half full. We found an empty pew in the front row and settled in for a peaceful Christmas mass together as a family—three generations worth ready to put the Christ in Christmas! Linus would have been proud. As I glanced down the pew at my family, all dressed up, and my dad up near the altar on his drum set, I was proud and content. For a few minutes, I even forgot about my friend Johnnie who got left at the house with the dog.
Just then, Jen leaned over to me. Out of the corner of my eye I had seen a woman walk over to her and say something quietly. I figured it was probably another woman doting on Kaitlyn’s cuteness. At home it usually happens to us every week at church. Jen whispered in my ear as she picked up the diaper bag, “we just got asked to leave”.
That old sentimental bastard Johnnie Walker missed me. He saw the content look on my face and got scared; figured our relationship was over. So he sent over an angry old woman to ask us to move into the crying room. I looked around the church. The congregation had been singing the entrance hymn accompanied by a full band—A FULL BAND. Kaitlyn, in her usual way, was smiling and laughing and cooing amidst the noise. It didn’t seem to be bothering any of the other ten people at mass, yet this wench wanted us out—ON CHRISTMAS DAY!
I leaned over to Jen and said, “stay here”. I had no intention of leaving, at least not voluntarily. My wife, on the other hand, was now self-conscious. She grabbed the child and the diaper bag and walked off to the crying room. Steam began pouring out of my ears. If the church had a steam room I’m sure the church Nazi would have sent me to it. Reluctantly, I grabbed the remainder of our things and followed my family as the other ten parishioners watched. My sister was a few steps behind. As I passed the crotchety woman with white hair and red velour’s, I muttered a “Merry Christmas” between clenched teeth. I’ve been asked to leave plenty of bars, but by God this was a church and I wasn’t even drunk!
I spent the next thirty minutes trying to forget it, but every time I saw my mom and brother sitting there in the front row, a few feet from Cruella Deville, I was reminded of how hard we worked to get the whole family to mass at the same time so we could be together. Now I couldn’t even appreciate the music because I was hearing it through a pair of tin cans in the ceiling.
About thirty minutes later it was time for the collection and we realized the woman who asked us to leave was an usher. That made me even angrier—ON CHRISTMAS DAY! We were practically alone in the crying room and Kaitlyn was passed out in my arms. The usher came in with the basket. I did my best to avoid eye contact while my wife shot laser beams out of her eyes. The usher, obviously picking up a negative vibe, came over and said she hoped we weren’t offended by having to leave the main church. I told her I absolutely was offended and pointed out how much of a disturbance my daughter turned out to be. She told me if she hadn’t said something, Fr. Fred would have.
I had just spent the better part of the last half hour trying to be loving and forgiving and calm but all the time wondering how this woman could be so mean-spirited to a baby. After I found out she was just carrying out the boss’s orders I spent the next thirty minutes wondering what could possibly possess a Catholic priest to banish children from the church—ON CHRISTMAS DAY! After taking down our Christmas tree nine days before Christmas to drive a packed car halfway across the country, stopping every 75 miles for two days to change a poopy diaper, and then having to make sure everyone got their equal share of time with their son, daughter, niece, and granddaughter, I just wanted to go to mass with my family and watch my dad play the drums. It turns out at Fr. Fred’s church, that’s not what Christmas is about.
Of this I can be sure; next year the last 21 days of the year will be miserable--but it won’t be at Fr. Fred’s church. This year I’m writing it down.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
