Frenzied Daddy

One of the developers in our daily meeting yesterday announced that he had found the perfect present for my kids, well, “for kids” and I am the only developer with kids. He steered us toward the shocking roulette. He had been given one for Christmas, and had played roulette seven or eight times. He thought it was the “best toy ever.”

I laughed. I literally laughed out loud. For several minutes. Because it’s totally a guy toy- and I have girls. My girls might try it once, but I’m pretty sure that after getting shocked once they’d be done. The developer got shocked four times. Yeah, I’m being sexist and over-generalizing, but … I think girl kids are smarter and don’t like getting nearly electrocuted.

When I was a kid, long after I had outgrown the belief in Santa “the jolly old man who brought presents in a sack,” my dad would insist that Santa was real. Because otherwise, “how could we afford Christmas?” This was a man who would rather buy one more present for his kids than a Christmas Tree.
This year, I got a Christmas card addressed to me, personally (All the others were “family of…” or “Mr and Mrs…” or all of us enumerated on the line.) It was from a good friend I haven’t spoken to in about ten years (really, since college). Inside was a check large enough to pay for all the “santa” presents under our tree. Totally unexpected; totally out of the blue.
Thanks Santa Rich.
This was sat next to the Fred Meyer Gift Card we got from another friend we haven’t heard from in about six years; since we stopped playing in the SCA and she got married. (Well, they got married; they were both our friends; she’s the one who called me though. ). This paid for some of Xmas Dinner. Thanks Santa Cassea.

I like ham. I like it as a meat dish and I like it as an ingredient; one of my favorite meals is macaroni and cheese with ham. And I have to admit, there are things I put above the environment in my general life; I don’t do a great job sorting out the recycling, I drive like a maniac … I’m kind of a “sunday environmentalist.” Well, as much as one can be in Portland anyway.

So reading this article was apalling. I entertain the fantasy that all meat critters are humanely raised by little 4-H kids, named Bossy (even the pigs) and fed with the rest of the family. And then, in the quiet of the night, the critter is silently euthanized and cut up for parts to feed me and my family. It’s sterilized and placed into little plastic baggies, so I don’t even have to think about the soft brown cow-eyes while I barbecue the ribs.

I eat hot dogs and sausages too. And bologna. But this story kinda put the kibosh on my kebobs for awhile.

The Good

Miss B scored the highest of her class in a geography bee, sending her to the school-level round. She bounced out quickly, but the taste of success seems to have stuck in her mouth like milkfat from real whipped cream on an iced mocha. Also, Lindsey at the Jantzen Beach Barnes and Noble was terrific- she remembered us, what we were looking for, and then when she found something else, she tracked us down and showed it to us. Initiative and enthusiasm; something you don’t see every day this season.

(venting below…)
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Ok you guys are scaring me.
Which one of you came looking for baby nemo zombie pics ?

So today I’m taking a break, a quiet time away from my kids, my wife, my work connections. I’m checking email, sipping coffee, enjoying the lap of luxury in the lobby of Providence Hospital.I’m on their ‘guest’ wireless network, which is insecure and only allows web-page browsing. I’ve been given a pager by the information desk.

Why am I here? Ms B has been out of work for almost two weeks, she’s been having a lot of abdominal pain. Three doctor visits, an ultrasound, and finally a consultation, and we’re fairly sure that yes, she has a cyst on one ovary, but also “something else” on the other. The doctors have narrowed it down to four possibilities, and they need more information. So they’re doing laproscopic surgery — in through her navel — to investigate, and remove the second ‘mass.’ Some scary words have been tossed around, but actually sitting here while she’s having the procedure is kind of relaxing. It’s one of those things that’s so totally out of my hands that I needn’t worry about it. She’ll either be out of the hospital in a few hours and then home, or she’ll be here for a while (if the surgery shows some of the more drastic results.)

Ms B’s sister had ovarian cysts from when she was about 15 to about 27, when she finally had a hysterectomy. Ms B’s mother was adopted, so we don’t know how far back these problems go, but we will have to keep our daughters informed of “ovary problems.”

We’re just glad we already have daughters; that’s one less stress about all of this.

update…
Ms B didn’t have any sorts of cancer. She did have, as the doctor described it, “a bag full of blood clots” that was twisted in on itself about five times. The pictures were pretty nasty. The pathologist will be preparing a full report on it, but that was the basic description. Ms B’s surgeon was impressed with her pain threshold, and can’t believe that she has been living with this mass for at least three weeks.

“Daddy, did I tell you that my (imaginary) fuzzballs like to ride around on little squirrels?” Miss B was chatting with me as I was driving home tonight. I told her that I did too. “But you need to ride a giant squirrel.” “Naah,” I laughed, “just many little ones.” She sounded thoughtful. I couldn’t see her, she was in the dark back seat. “Daddy, how much do you weigh?” I told her. “Wow. If each squirrel could carry one pound, you’d need two hundred and thirty squirrels!” I laughed at that, and said that would be a lot of squirrels, but a herd like that might work ok. Then she went on.. “but if each squirrel could carry two pounds… that’d be one hundred and fifteen squirrels!” “Yup, what if they could each carry 5 pounds?” That one took her a while, but she eventually got the answer. Ten pounds was even easier; she just took half of the five pound answer.

“So, ” she went on, “what if each squirrel could carry twenty pounds?”

“Well, you can figure that one out too– but I warn you, it gets kind of messy. ”

I heard her figuring in the back seat for a while. “Ten, no fifteen, no…. OMIGOD THAT POOR SQUIRREL!!!”

Well, first; we went to Disneyland. I suspect if you’ve seen my Flickr stuff (look to the right), you know that.

Also, the dogs went to doggy camp in Klamath Falls. Thank you again to my in-laws. Grampa R and Gramma N are really good dogsitters, and if you want their number, drop me a line. Or .. err, maybe not, on the other hand

Miss B is in fourth grade at her school- two more years until she elevates to middle school. My trials are already beginning. Her current read is “Bras and Broomsticks. Yeah, that about covers it. All through out the summer, she was telling us that her new class would be great “except it has her two worst enemies in it.” Apparently her two worst enemies are the two cutest boys. And on the second day, she and one of the two cutest boys declared a truce. His mother grabbed my shirt collar and cooed “Isn’t it so cute?” … Lady, all I wanted was to stagger to Starbucks and get my coffee.

Why is it the “cute boys”‘ mothers think them and my girl is “cute” but I just see them as … well … I know- I was a boy once, and at some point, these “cute boys”‘ brains will shut themselves off for about ten years. Or longer.

Ms B has been really busy too. She went scrapbooking this past weekend, and later this month her friend R is taking her out of town to a scrapbooking retreat. Just like that! Pretty swell of her

I wrote an article on Design Theory, using Robin Williams’ books on Design as my source. It’s aimed at scrapbookers and web designers, because, well, that’s what we have in the house, and the two disciplines aren’t very different, when it comes to that sort of thing; color combinations, alignment … well, if you read the article, you’ll see what it is I’m talking about.

The worst thing about taking anti-depressants is something I was worried about before I started taking them. It’s hard to trust my emotions now, without worrying that I’m off my meds or that my meds aren’t working. But I can honestly say, “yes, Mom, I’m taking my meds” and also say that this Summer’s end has downed me more than any other I can remember. Every little thing feels like a symbol of the end of summer, from Miss K’s pudgy little hand reaching down and pulling the seeds of a dandilion head, to the sun setting just beyond the green tree on the other side of the house to our west, to the cooler nights and windier days.

I usually say that I like the change in the weather, not just sunny days, not just rainy days, not snowy days– the variety in the weather. And, generally speaking, that’s true. But this summer has seemed so short, and the sunny days not appreciated enough (yeah, even the 107 degree days!), that this summer is over before I’ve even felt like it’s started. And this is also a message about my elder daughter’s adolescence; that I’m not appreciating it while I’ve got it, and soon she’ll be double-digits and then she’ll be off to college.

In a meloncholy mood today. Other things going well. Vacation’s over and work is full of … work. Talk to you guys soon.