Kaitlyn's New Car Seat

Walk Right In

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! 

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.

Kaitlyn's Christmas Letter

Dear friends and family,

When daddy read a few Christmas letters out loud to me and mommy, I decided I wasn't going to write one this year. At nine months I just didn't think anything interesting has happened in my life. I didn't get a new job; nobody gave me a raise or a bonus; I'm not building a vacation home or fighting with tenants; and no matter how hard I try, nobody has bought me a new car. I can't even write to tell people how many hundreds of thousands of dollars I lost in the stock market because I didn't have any invested. I dismissed the idea completely until, after reading the last letter, daddy insisted that I should write a letter of my own. Let's see if I have the hang of it.

I think you all know by now that Kaitlyn moved in March. It wasn't as stressful as people make it out to be, but I totally did not even see it coming. One day I was floating blissfully along in my own little world and the next...BAM!, welcome to your new home. The hardest part has been the climate change, it's so much colder here! I'm getting used to it though, and I seem to have no shortage of clothes to keep me warm. Sometimes I change three times a day!

In May Kaitlyn took her first airplane ride. I pooped on the plane. Those bathrooms are pretty tiny and it was funny watching daddy try to maneuver. We had a layover in Dallas. Our destination was sunny California for my baptism. I was baptized at the same church where mommy and daddy got married. After the baptism, we went back to my Nana and Papa's house for a big party. Daddy had to go to the store first and pick up the keg and more guacamole. On his way to get the guacamole though, his friend Chris that he went to high school with picked up the guacamole instead.

Unfortunately, the airplane ride was not so good for Kaitlyn. She had a little cold and by the time everyone arrived back home in San Antonio, the pressure changes on the airplane caused an ear infection. My doctor missed it when I went to see what was wrong and mommy and daddy ended up taking me to the emergency room. We went to the same hospital where I was born. It's a beautiful hospital and everyone there is very nice. We are so lucky to live in such a lavish area. We were back home in less than two hours with our prescription. Mommy and Kaitlyn waited in the car while daddy got the medicine. The pharmacist recognized him from the childbirth classes they took. His baby is doing well.

I had several visitors to San Antonio this year. Shortly after my birthday, both sets of grandparents came to visit me as well as my aunt Shannon. There has been a lot of debate about what my grandparents want me to call them. My mommy's parents are going to be grandma and grandpa. My daddy's parents are confusing. Grandma doesn't like grandma, and grandpa wanted to be called Cozy Bear. Daddy has been calling them Grandma Daisy Nana and Grandpa Cozy Papa in order to cover all the bases. I think we've finally decided on Nana and Papa, although Grandma Daisy Nana still seems a little unsure. I usually just call them both "eeeeehhhhhhhhhhhhh!".

In August, daddy went to Ireland with Nana, Papa, my aunt Shannon and uncle Patrick. They had to bury my Great-Nana. While daddy was gone, Grandma came to stay with mommy and Kaitlyn. We had so much fun! In October, Nana came to visit Kaitlyn with her dad, Great-Grandpa. We had four generations together in our house! I got to paint a pumpkin at the pumpkin patch. Great-Grandpa stayed home and read the paper.

A few weeks ago, my friend got to take a fabulous week-long vacation to Disney World in Florida with her entire family and all of her grandparents. They had a blast and got to see all our friends from Playhouse Disney. They brought me a Minnie Mouse Santa hat. Mickey Mouse Clubhouse is my favorite show. I love to watch it in my big beautiful house. I have three rooms and my very own pink bathroom! Daddy says it's a good thing that I love my house because after his trip to Ireland and mommy being so sick while I was in her tummy, we can't afford to go anywhere for a very long time.

Kaitlyn seems to be a pretty smart little girl because I'm only nine months and I'm already standing up, walking with help, and writing my own Christmas letters. By the time I see Nana and Papa again, I'll probably be walking on my own and talking!

I think that's all, it's been a pretty dull year. I hope to have a more exciting letter for you all next year! Merry Christmas!

Love,
Kaitlyn

How To Bathe a Child

Step 1: Recognize the child needs a bath.

This is also called "try to get out of giving the child a bath". This may sound pretty obvious and straight forward, but it's not. It's deceptively complex, because it involves your spouse. If you're a single parent, you probably never have to worry about bathing your child. Good for you.

The key is to get the other parent to recognize the need for a bath without you.  This usually occurs by way of a poopy diaper blowout, excessive spit-up or projectile vomit, or playing with dirt, all while you're not home.  If you find yourself a part of any of the following phrases, you've past step one and signed up for bath duty: 

"Honey, is this Tuesday?"

"Did we give [insert child's name here] a bath last night?"

"Daddy's little girl needs a bath, doesn't she?!"

Step 2: Prepare the Bath

We've reached the point in my house where step two now requires a full-fledged bath tub. I am fortunate in that I am able to dedicate an entire bathroom to bathing the child. If it's in the budget, I recommend it. I also recommend getting the other parent to prepare the child while you prepare the bath. 

Plug the tub, add warm water, and make sure you have a clean wash cloth and towel. Under no circumstances should you allow a spouse, grandparent, in-law, or anyone but your child to feel the temperature of the water as it will undoubtedly be too warm, too cold, or too wet.

Step 3: Insert Child

At this point we are ready to place the child into the bath.  Hopefully the child is delivered to you ready to just add water.  If not, you'll have to deal with taking off clothes, diapers, etc.  Hint: remove the diaper only at the very last minute to avoid any messy "accidents".

Step 4: Mutter Muffled Colorful Metaphors

I forgot step 2.5: change your clothes.  Hopefully at this stage you're not wearing anything you don't mind getting wet.  I don't just mean with water.  If you didn't have the good sense to read all the steps before you started, well, hopefully you had the good sense to know what to wear.  Once in the water, the child may do one or more of the following:

• "Spank" the water
  
• Try to climb out of the tub
  
• Throw water-laden toys at you
  
• Unplug the drain
  
• French-kiss the faucet
  
• Try to drink all the water
  
• Practice the breast stroke
  

As with those water rides at the theme parks, you will get wet, you may get soaked.  Don't let mom hear you cursing in front of the baby.

Step 5: Clean the Child

Oh yeah, do you have a cup or bucket you can use to wash the soap out of the child's hair?  I guess that was step 2.6. It's just no fun if you have everything you need the first time.  

You'll need to use soap in this step.  I use Johnson's Multi-Purpose No More Tears and thank God for the pump action dispenser.  I usually start with the hair. Cleaning it is easy.  Rinsing out the soap is hard. I recommend a firm but gentle grasp under the child's neck and head with one hand, and the cup or bucket filled with warm, clean water in the other. Now, lower the back of the child's head to the surface of the water.  Just as you're about to dump the clean water over her hair to wash out the soap and she squirms out of your grasp falling face first into the tub, use another colorful metaphor. "Nothing" is what you'll shout to your spouse in the other room who responded to your colorful metaphor with a concerned "what's wrong?" 

Grab the child out of the water. Make sure she's still breathing (yes, choking counts). If the child appears dazed or stunned, use this to your advantage and finish rinsing the soap out of her hair. If the child is not yet dazed or stunned...well, let's just say this works better if the child is dazed or stunned.

At this point, if you had the foresight to bring a cocktail with you to this event, drink it.

Use a washcloth to finish cleaning the rest of the child while she plays in the bathtub. Try to minimize the following:

• Diving
  
• Gulping
  
• Attempting to breath underwater

Step 6: Dry the Child

Here's where it gets fun. If the child has not already done so, unplug the drain. As the water drains, use the bucket or a cup to rinse off any remaining soap. Grab the towel. Stand up and stare at the child in the tub for a moment while pondering how to wrap the towel around the child without getting yourself soaked. Good luck. When the child gets bored and realizes she's in an empty tub and tries to climb out, the brainstorming session is over.  Pick up the child and wrap the towel around her. You should now be completely wet. Bring her to the nursery and set her in the crib so she can't escape. Try not to drop her as she attempts to wriggle from your drunken, frustrated and shivering (now that you're soaked) death grip.

Step 7: Dress the Child

NASA invented Velcro for the benefit of the world, but retailers from Babies "R" Us to Wal-Mart sell baby clothes with no fewer than a gazillion snaps on each outfit. These people clearly don't have children. 

Begin by placing the "snappy" outfit flat on the crib. Lay the child on top of it. Try to keep her flat on her back while you wrestle one arm into the sleeve. This will involve leaning over the crib rail and cutting off blood flow to your lower extremities. When you get the first arm halfway through the sleeve and the child's fist opens up, catching her thumb inside the sleeve and stopping the arm from moving any further, curse loudly. Stand up and look around the room incredulously for the hidden camera as you mutter "what am I doing?" Now grab onto a solid, immovable object as there will be a moment of light-headedness when all the blood rushes from your head back into your legs. Once it passes, grasp the child firmly and quickly remove her from the crib and place her flat on the floor. She should now be temporarily disoriented from trying to figure out why she is not still in the crib. Use that moment to get the first arm through the sleeve. If you haven't finished that cocktail, now is a good time.

With one hand holding the baby down, use your other hand to fish her other arm into the sleeve. If you start to sound like you're in an episode of COPS ("stay down and quit resisting!"), you're doing it right. Use the same approach with the legs. 

If the outfit is equipped with "feet" it gets a little trickier because you have to continue to hold the child down, put her foot in the pajama foot, and snap it closed enough to prevent her from removing the first foot when you move on to the second. It helps to utter a few more colorful metaphors. It also helps if you have three hands. 

Once you get both hands and both feet in place and the outfit snapped securely, hold the child upright. She may smile and/or giggle at you. This is not because she loves you or has gas. You misaligned some of the snaps and will have to redo a good portion of them and she thinks it's funny. If you finished your cocktail, you may have to redo some portions more than once. 

In that case you get the last laugh--unless you forgot to put on the diaper. That was step 6.5.