Sleep, Sleep and more Blessed Sleep

Well, Grant is... on the whole... knock on wood... for the most part... don't jinx myself by saying this... sleeping through the night. His nights range from 6 to 9 hours, and we think that in the coming weeks, he'll get it figured out. It's a dream to be sleeping again; though, I wake up all the time to check what time it is. I force myself to stay in bed (if I didn't force myself, I'd be up every hour checking on him), but even with the sporadic waking, I am getting better sleep than I have since January 13. I thought I was the most excited person about this new found sleep, but it turns out that my dear husband had to endure a little more snippiness than I had realized. He’s a patient man.

Yesterday, Grant, Bret and I had a visit with Grant's birthmom. It was wonderful to see her again. She adores Grant, and so I know it was special for her to see him and hold him and feed him. After about an hour and a half at a local restaurant, we said goodbye. We hope to get together again this summer.

Grant has his first sleepover this weekend. I am in charge of the Prom this year, so this Saturday, Bret and I will be dancin' it up at my school's prom (read: sitting and eating the extra pieces of cheesecake). Grant will be hanging out at his Grandparents' house overnight, where he will no doubt get the requisite spoiling.

Here are a few recent pics. He smiles like crazy--and even laughs--but soon as the camera (and the darn flash) come out, he's far too interested in the electronic contraption in front of him to keep smiling. He's going to be a nerd; I can just feel it.

Two Big White People, Two Big White Cars, One Cute Black Kid

It's a little bit frightening, but I guess we had to expect it would happen eventually. Last night we got our first phone call demanding a blog update. The voice was polite, but very clear in its message -- "It's been six days. We're counting on you. We rely on knowing what you ate and pictures of the boy for motivation." I understand, and in the future, we'll try and update at least a couple of times a week. But this past week, a lot has happened, so prepare for a tome.

Last week, Erin and I reached a boiling point with our current vehicle lineup. Our friends have always made fun of our cars -- one a big, white, bulky, gas hogging sedan, the other a small, gas hogging, slightly sportier sedan, so perhaps it's good that we start car shopping. My car is a AAA sticker and a "God Bless Our Troops" ribbon away from being a nursing home van and Erin's, while slightly less elderly, just isn't big enough to hold the two of us and Grant. Erin has been begging for a minivan for the past few weeks, but I haven't been able to look myself in the mirror without weeping at the thought. It's like releasing your last vestiges of untamed youth to buy a minivan. It's like admitting you're over 30. It's facing the fact that not only could you no longer win American Idol, but you're too old to even enter. This is the vehicle that will elicit screams of, "I will pull this van over if you don't stop blah blah blah..." So we bought a minivan. I've never felt less manly.

But this isn't just ANY minivan. It's a big, white, bulky, gas hogging minivan (Erin claims this description very nearly matches yours truly). In my engineering way, I briskly read the manual after we purchased it. Throughout there were phrases like "If equipped with..." and "If the automatic setting is available on your vehicle," and in all cases, the answer to these questions is, "No." Our van has features like "a steering wheel" and "keyed entry." So I'm now the proud owner of a Grant hauler. Erin will be the primary driver, which leaves us trying to sell Erin's sporty little sedan. We would have traded her car in, but the dealer offered us approximately $6 for her car, therefore we're selling it ourselves. Hopefully it'll go quickly and peacefully. I hate the process of buying a new car, but I'd say that this experience was less painful than average. The only downside is that we test drove about eight minivans with tornadoes looming, which wasn't very fun.

"Gee, Bob, this thing seems to be pulling to the right a little bit. Oh look, the wind just snapped that tree in half and flipped over that guy's minibarn. Perhaps it's just the weather..."

Our first outing in Big White (I racked my brain trying to use B.O.W.E.L. as an acronym, but only got as far as Big Old White...) was to Chicago this weekend with Erin's folks. This was Grant's first trip to the big city, which was exciting. Erin and her mom have an IKEA fixation, therefore I think buying the van was simply a ploy to get more space for furniture purchases. When we picked Erin's folks up on Friday afternoon, I encountered a very delicate situation which many guys only get to dream about -- my mother-in-law had lost her voice. Not just a little, but completely. So for the whole weekend, she could only talk in a whisper. Grant seemed utterly befuddled by this woman staring him in the face, appearing to talk with nothing really coming out. He stared at her somewhat quizzically all weekend while I chortled to myself at her predicament.

Our other big outing on this trip was to a Brazillian steakhouse called Sal & Carvao. A guy at work recommended this place to me, and he described it as "a carnivore's dream." He was right. The basic premise is that waiters circle the restaurant bearing swords with meat on them. I think they said there were 35 kinds of meat; everything you can think of from Portugese sausage to filet mignon. You have a rock and if you put your rock in front of your plate, they will continue to come by, asking if you want a slice of whatever their sword is carrying. If you want a break, you put your rock away. On top of this, they had a big salad bar with all sorts of exotic things on it, not just your typical iceburg lettuce and shaved carrots.

Now those of you that know me should already be thinking, "This sounds dangerous." And you'd be correct in this assessment. But more impressive than my own eating are the abilities of my father-in-law. He's been known to eat two whole chickens at the Essenhaus before taking his first sip of iced tea. In the end, the food was wonderful. I was concerned that with such vast quantities of food, the meat might possess the quality of a "steak" from a suburban buffet (I'm looking at you, Golden Corral), but this was not the case. Everything was top notch. I think in the end I ate maybe a dozen pieces of various things, and I suspect my father in law was in the same camp. I don't want to risk incurring an injury from the wife, but let's just say that small animals were running away from her, screaming, as we left the restaurant parking lot. Apparently they'd heard the news. Funny thing is, out of all of us, my father-in-law had the biggest problem after the fact. On the drive back to the hotel, he moaned and groaned in the back of the van, complaining that he hadn't eaten that much rich food in a long time. By the time we got back to the hotel, he dashed back to his room, begging the Brazillians to go quietly.

All in all, it was a fun weekend, and it gave us a chance to get used to driving Old Whitey. Summer driving vacations, here we come...

(Usual Disclaimer: Erin will post pictures of the boy later...)

Time Keeps on Ticking...

There was a point where I talked about how old Grant was in days: "he's nine days old." Before you knew it, I was talking about his age in weeks: "he's 6 weeks old." But as of Saturday and the 12 week mark, it's time to start talking about Grant in months. The sad realization hit me that before you know it, I'll have to talk about him in years, and that doesn't even seem possible.

Last weekend was a great weekend, full of firsts, including Grant's first Easter. We went to the Botanical Gardens to see the butterfly exhibit, and Grant loved checking out all the flowers in bloom. Easter is an especially meaningful time in our family, as we celebrate God's goodness to us--specifically in Jesus. With Grant's adoption, I have a special place in my heart for how God talks about us as His adopted children, and this Easter I was especially thankful to be so loved.

Here are some recent pictures of the ever adorable Grant Nicholas:

The Horrors of Social Interaction

On Sunday, our church and another local church had a combined Easter service at Clowes Hall. This is the one opportunity each year for all 800+ people who usually attend one of our three services on a given Sunday to all be in the same room at the same time. Pastries and coffee were available, and people were invited to mingle for an hour or so prior to the service. Now this is sort of a nightmare for yours truly, because if I know one thing about myself, it's that I'm a fairly crappy mingler (is this really a word?). My usual approach might be to show up about 15 minutes prior to the service and mingle briefly before nervously heading for the cheap seats. In this instance, Erin had to be present an hour early since she was one of the scheduled toddler teachers for the morning. (Teacher is probably a loose term, in this case. She spent two hours cleaning refuse from the tails other people's offspring; not a job I will volunteer for without coersion.) This left me with few options, so I began circling. What I discovered is that the best guy to mingle with at such an event is the guy shelling out the pastries. Not only is he always available, but he's providing me something with which to stuff my face, leaving me inable to converse without crumb spewage. So I repeatedly circled back to his table, each time pretending I'd never seen his selections before, choosily grabbing whatever I hadn't already sampled. (Now I know at least one of the elders from our church reads this, so he can contact me later to verify just how much I really ate and bill me appropriately.) Luckily after several pounds of danish, my sister and brother-in-law arrived, providing me with someone safe with which to converse.

All of this got me to thinking about a prior awkward mingling experience. When I was in middle and high school, I was a frequent user of local BBS's around Indianapolis. That sentence hopelessly dates me, and for those not in the know, BBS's (Bulletin Board Systems) were a precusor to the Internet. User's used their home computer to dial over the phone into someone else's computer, where programs and e-mail could be exchanged with other users of that BBS. There were dozens of BBS's in the area, and occasionally, some brilliant computer nerd would get the idea to have a BBS BBQ, allowing for the BBS users around town to meet face to face with other, previously faceless, BBS users they might "know" from around town. There were several flaws with this plan.

First off, computer users are, by defintion, not socially adept or compatible creatures. They sit around at night staring at dimly lit computer screens, praying it will someday lead to a chance encounter with a member of the opposite sex. (The "opposite" part of that sentence frequently backfires, given the anonymity involved in BBS usage.)

Second, one of the primary tennets of BBS usage was that you had to continually pick fights with the other users, just to keep the "conversations" going online. (This frequently involved a lot of profanity, often from middle school students masquerading as adults.) This brings up the third problem.

Much like the Internet today, you frequently were misled regarding the age and/or gender of the people you were dealing with. This can create an ugly scenario during a face to face introduction. You thought you'd been chatting with 25 year old Mary when actually it was 52 year old Marvin. And finally, the ratio of actual males to actual females on BBS's was approximately 1000 to 1.

All of this should be creating an image in your mind of a group of men of varying age (and perhaps one unfortunate looking woman) hanging around a strangers house on a weekend, none having ever met before, none having any real understanding of social cues, all having stayed up until approximately 4:30am the night prior fiddling around on the BBSs, all now trying to mingle in an impossibly awkward situation.

For whatever reason, I subjected my buddy Eric to one of these things while we were in high school. I have no idea, really, what we were thinking. We both had girlfriends, and all our presence at such an event could do was degrade our already damaged social status, ensuring that those girls would most assuredly ditch us if they found out we had attended such an affair. I don't think we stayed long, but through some break in logic and the space-time continuum, after seeing this gathering of Indy's most rabid computer users, I still decided to go into Computer Engineering. What I guess I failed to understand at the time was that this meeting was a glimpse into the future, as it looked very similar to virtually all of my undergraduate engineering classes -- with a slightly better male to female ratio. Yet another brilliant decision by yours truly.

(For those who've read this far, there will be more pictures of Grant up soon. I'm well aware that me rambling is only a distraction from the real reason for you checking our blog. The only immediate Grant update is that following our lovely Easter service at church and Easter dinner with the grandparents, around 8:30pm last night, Grant decided to attempt to wake the dead on his own for approximately an hour. The boy has lungs. He was his usual, cheery self following a bath to remove the beads of sweat he was soaked with while screaming his head off. Ah, parenting...)

Bossy Names

My boss at work for the past ten years has been a guy whose name happens to be Aaron. My wife of the past four years is a lovely lady whose name happens to be Erin. On the surface it doesn't seem like there would be anything funny about this, but it has become not only confusing, but in some situations dangerous to my employment.

You don't know the funny looks I get when I say things like "So I was talking to Erin in bed last night." If they don't know my wife, I just get a confused, judgmental stare, or the guys that know Erin come up with clever quips like "So that's why you get those great evaluations, eh?"

This horror of homonyms (take that, English teacher wifey!) has led me to always appending "boss" or "wife" to the my sentences. So I say things like "Boss Aaron asked me this morning if Purdue just gives an engineering degree to everyone who asks for one" or "Wife Erin asked me to stop teaching Grant to laugh when he passes gas." One rather astute co-worker informed me that in reality, this approach is a poor one since I really have two Boss-Aaron/Erin's, therefore "Boss Aaron" doesn't really help narrow down to which commander-in-chief I'm referring. I guess he's right. The boss at my next job will probably be named Grant...

Tote Bags

This has been a big week for the Grantster. On Thursday, Grant officially became a permanent member of the Hawkins family (his protruding nose and chin are on order). The ceremony involved standing before a judge and declaring that we understood that we were to support and love Grant for as long as we're still alive. It also involved us agreeing that Grant could inherit from us (good luck with that one, kid) and that if Erin and I were to ever dissolve our marriage, one of us would have to take custody of Grant (this would obviously be Erin, since if our marriage were ever to dissolve, my body would be disposed of in a most unsatisfactory manner.) All in all, the hearing went well, and Grant managed to impress the judge by sleeping through the entire proceeding.

This morning, Erin went to a lady's meeting for church. This meant Grant and daddy got some one on one time to play cards and watch that show about the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders (just kidding, ma...). Grant has had a difficult 24 hours. For whatever reason, he's been exceptionally gassy, and despite my efforts to try and show him how to relieve the issue, the problem remains. Therefore about 10 minutes after mom left, Grant began to alternate between screaming and giggling, as gas bubbles approached. It was maddening. He'd coo and giggle, so I'd get right in his face to giggle with him, at which point he'd switch to a blood curdling scream, rendering my hearing non-existant for several minutes after.

One thing I discovered after Erin left is that there were small, plastic shopping bags all around our house. One in the kitchen. One in the family room. One next to Grant's changing table. This final one gave me an unfortunate clue as to the contents. Now I understand that Erin is tired, and OCD has decided that I'm usually the one to take out the trash, but I'm not sure I fully understand the need to leave a small, plastic bag filled with urine soaked Huggies at every corner of our humble abode. When she gets home, I plan to ask her if she's trying to ward off evil spirits or perhaps ensure we don't have house guests for the next few months through the use of these little Grant fun bags. Needless to say, I gathered them all up, disposed of them in the trash in our garage, washed my hands up to my elbows 25 times, and returned to attending to my gassy little guy. Ah...Saturday's...

Grant Update

Well, I'm here on spring break and loving being home with the little guy. Grant is simply too much fun, and he's growing and changing daily. Everytime my dad sees him, he says that he looks like a "whole new kid." Well, in honor of Grant, here's an update:

This Thursday
This Thursday is our official court date where we make everything official. It's a very big day for us, and we'll all be sporting our most stylin' duds. We plan on celebrating this day as our "forever family" day, and much like a birthday, we plan on celebrating year after year after year. We plan on doing the same thing with Grace when she joins us... but as for now, March 29 will be Grant's Forever Family day. We'll post some pictures of the cutest baby in the world on Friday.

Sleeping
Many of you must be wondering how Grant is sleeping, especially after I posted about his significant breakthrough. Well, he's sleeping about 5 hours at a time. On average, we put him down at 9 pm, and he sleeps until about 2 or 3. Then, momma is up for a quick feeding (usually about 15 mintues), and he's back down again until morning. He really struggles in the morning (from about 5 to 7), but we are working on it. Some days are better than others (for example, last night was AWFUL), but on the whole, we are making steady progress towards sleeping soundly through the night.

Grant's favorite things
Grant continues to love his bath (I MEAN LOVE!!!). He has a very long attention span; he stares at things for hours (okay... maybe not adult hours... but baby hours). He espeically loves to stare at: light bulbs, the huge Bedford sign in our living room, the TV if it's on, the New Order (a band for those outside of Bret's music world... so most of you) poster in our office, the motor to his swing (I think he is very suspicious that noise comes out of it but it looks just like the other side). Grant is talking up a storm when he's not tired. He babbles to just about anyone about anything. I love it! He is also starting to smile all the time, and I swear that I heard a giggle the other day. He especially thinks that his grandmothers are funny, as they get double the smiles. See, smart kid... he knows who has the deep pockets (especially when it comes to him).

Grant's least favorite things
waking up... to prove it... here's a little movie clip. Notice two things: 1. the crazy look I get when I start talking and 2. what happens to my finger when it gets too close to his mouth. Other than waking up, being hungy, and gas (which Grant has a lot of), Grant is the happiest baby ever!



But, just so you don't think that we have a cranky boy on our hands, here he is after eating... talking up a storm.

Back Home Again...in Indiana...

On my final day in Hong Kong this week, I decided to do the most touristy thing I could find. So I headed back over from the mainland at about 3:00pm, donning shorts, black socks, and a camera around my neck, and took the tram up the side of Victoria Peak. The tram has been in operation since 1888 and consists of a pair of rail cars that are slowly dragged up the side of the mountain at what is very near a 45 degree incline. Now for those of you that know me, you'll remember that I spent a great deal of my childhood on the floors of various glass enclosed elevators, praying for God to take me swiftly rather than screaming as the elevator was released from its tether. So for me to ride this tram was something of a challenge. Shown below is the view from the starting station in Hong Kong central. Notice the incline...
Here is a shot while ascending the peak. This gives some indication of the incline...My only concern while riding the tram was that I have been witness to some, shall we say, questionable Chinese engineering in the past couple of years. So putting my life in their hands did leave me somewhat jarred. I guess I slept soundly enough on the 21st floor of my hotel each night, so this shouldn't have bothered me.
After arriving at the peak, I was greeted by a number of shops, all featuring various tourist gifts and memoribilia. I quickly dashed past all these shops, as I planned to do some authentic shopping later in the evening. The peak features a Madame Tussauds wax museum which seemed somewhat fitting for a tourist trap. It was entertaining to watch plump Americans pose next to a Jackie Chan figure, looking more like they were ready for a toilet rather than a karate match. Another floor featured a fine Asian cuisine restaurant, with tables outside overlooking Hong Kong central. I ascended to the top of the tower, curious as to what shop or restaurant had been given the priviledge of the highest point in Hong Kong's most famous tourist attraction. What did I find?
Bubba Freaking Gump. Now don't get me wrong. I've eaten at Mr. Gump's establishment, and it provided a cornucopia of greasy seafood which treated me well (in a cleansing sort of way). But is this really the best that Hong Kong can do? All I can figure is Bubba's American ownership bid a Gump-load of cash for the location, outbidding all their Asian competitor's who figured, "Eh...we'll feed 'em when they get back to street level." I neglected to eat, instead heading out onto the viewing platform for some pictures of downtown. Here are some views downward towards Hong Kong's majestic skyline...



After my trip to Gump Towers, I took the Hong Kong subway back to Kowloon for a little shopping in Tsim Sha Tsui. Upon boarding the subway, I looked toward the back of the car. Now the picture is a little blurry, but you'll notice the only other face at my level is another Big Dumb White Dude.
I trotted around the TST (Tsim Sh...ok, you get the idea) for a couple of hours looking for gifts for Erin and Grant. One of the alleys lead me to a place where even my arts could be appreciated...

All in all it was another enjoyable trip to Hong Kong. My visits to China aren't bad, with the exception of the dreadfully long flights. On the return flight, as we pulled away from the terminal, the pilot made the following announcement:

"For this afternoon's flight, we'd like to take this opportunity to welcome the 50 children from the Rich Chinese Kids From Hong Kong Primary School aboard for their spring break trip to America."

You could almost feel the air being sucked from the plane as the businessmen in coach gasped. The kids were mostly well behaved. There were a couple of 10 year old Chinese boys that insisted on running from their seats at the front of coach to their friend's seats at the rear of coach every few minutes. But then again, every Asian guy under 40 that I've ever worked with runs from cubicle to cubicle around our building at work, so I guess they're just in training.

All in all, it feels great to be home with Grant and Erin. It was nice to flip on the radio this afternoon here in Indy and hear something that didn't resemble cats in chorus. While in Shenzhen, I heard a pop song on the radio in a cab which had adapted the melody from "What Child Is This?" This travesty was only out done by a Chinese dude slaughtering a Simon & Garfunkel classic. My boss nearly wet himself every time I burst into "Herro darkness my old friend...that's the sounds of sirence."

Like Father, Like Son

Last Friday, before Bret made his famous second voyage to the other side of the world, we took Grant Nicholas to the doctor for his two month well baby visit. To start the visit, the nurse took Grant's measurements. He has been on the small side, his first visit registering in the 25th percentile for height and weight. So, you can imagine that it was no surprise to find out that Grant is still in the 25th percentile for height (his Daddy's dreams of the NBA are "shortly" becoming a thing of the past). But, the real shocker was that buddy boy weighed in at 14 lbs, 5 oz, putting him in the 97th percentile for weight. That's right, we have a porkchop on our hands. Most babies who are heavy are also long, so round and pudgy Grant is in a class of his own.

I guess that's what happens when you give a kid to two chubby people. I don't know what I'm going to do about it; I'm going to go talk to some food about it. Where's that Snicker bar when you need it?

Here are some pics of the little, loveable, cuddly, cushy guy:
His wrists look like a rubber band is tied tightly around them. Yikes. It's like a bad, "you know you're fat when" joke.

Single Mom

With Bret in China, I am pulling single mom duty, and let me tell you, it's hard work. And that's with the help of family, 2 extra shot Americanos just today, and the vow to do no laundry or real cooking. It's tough. It doesn't help that Grant has a cold and chokes on his own snot about every 5 mintues (especially at night). I have never (and I mean never) been so ready to see Bret.

Here are some pics, espcially for Daddy in China:

The Seattle Cafe...now serving pig knuckles!

Tonight for dinner we visited the Seattle Cafe, a high end restaurant situated behind our hotel (and adjacent to the Dongua Park women's commercial enterprise district...if you catch my drift...) This "western style" steakhouse featured a wide array of steaks, as well as the aforementioned pork palms, various ox parts, and any number of delectable bird parts. I had a standard issue filet, which was actually quite good. I also had some French onion soup, which I'm fairly sure contained no onion, but who knows. A glass of red wine (Spanish, if I remember correctly...California reds were VERY expensive...) and all was well. The place was basically priced at American prices, so it was very pricey by Chinese standards.

After dinner, I took a stroll around the area surrounding my hotel. Here are a few night shots. I know that I'll be hearing, "That looks so nice" and "Yeah, really looks like you're roughing it" but trust me, it's still China.





I went in this very upscale department store (again, American prices), and the escalators all smelled like open sewers. A very nice store, but just not quite right.


My hotel is the tower in the background...


This sign was next to the sidewalk in the park on the way out of the hotel...Would someone like to hazard a guess as to what this means??

This ain't spaghetti...

So nothing too exciting to report today. I did shockingly well, considering the amount of jetlag I expected to have. I made it through a day's worth of meetings, and I only drooled on my laptop once.

Given the inclimate state of my boss's digestinal tract, I let him choose our dining options for the day. So what does a sick man eat for lunch? A McDonald's double cheeseburger made from grade DD Asian beef. For dinner we went to an Italian (!?) place. I ordered the house spaghetti. As it turns out, this meant "scrape everything you can from the floor of the South China Sea and toss it with a few spaghetti noodles." It was fishy to say the least. I left a large portion of it behind, and I have a strange feeling I've not seen the last of it.

Tomorrow a second wave of coworkers arrive, which will be nice. There's a large shopping complex across the street from the hotel, which I plan to checkout tomorrow. There's also a rather magnificently large Wal-Mart and another shopping mall down the street. Nothing says "direct to market" quite like a Wal-Mart in China... I should hopefully get a chance to take more pictures tomorrow.

Awe geez...

What do you not want to hear your boss say at breakfast at the start of a week where you'll be working closely with him and riding in cabs all over China with him?

"I've been throwing up for 3 days straight..."

Man do I hate international travel...

You know, when I was in college, I loved traveling. I'd have paid my own way for my company to send me to someplace exotic like China. But what I've discovered since marrying Erin, and even more recently since having Grant, is that I now despise being sent out of the country. I hate being away from home. I hate the hassles. I hate not hearing Grant coo in the morning. I hate not leaving for work with a stinky, formula stain somewhere on my clothes from Captain Spitup. But alas, this is the predicament I find myself in, so here's the last two days of my life.

I left our house at 6:00am on Saturday morning in hopes of catching an 8:00am flight to Newark. My Hong Kong flight was to leave Newark at 3:00pm, and I was booked on a flight arriving from Indy at 2:00pm. Thus with all the bad weather, I thought it prudent to catch the early flight. Got to the airport...flight cancelled. Back to Brownsburg. Got home around 7:30am. Returned to the airport around 10:30am. Flew to Newark, arrived 2:30pm...close, but I'll make the Hong Kong (heretofor known as "the HK" for you hipsters) flight. Got the gate at 2:45pm. Flight delayed until 4:00pm. Eat a Nathan's hot dog, return to gate. Flight delayed until 5:00pm. Boarded the flight around 6:00pm. We taxi out into the parking lot someplace and sit...until about 9:00pm. No updates, no info. Sit. We finally depart (with cheers) for our trip over the North Pole to HK.

Now normally I'd make lots of comments about the food, tiny toilets, etc, but to be honest, I slept a lot on this flight, which was nice. My only comment is that they have replaced the notorious curtain between first class and the commoners with a mesh curtain. This just adds to the frustration for those of us in economy. At one point I heard the stewardess asking a man if he wanted nuts on his sundae. Then it was what KIND of nuts. Then it was, "Do you want whipped cream?" "Cherries?" and on and on. When the thing came out, it looked spectacular. About the time his was delivered, I was handed one of those little cups of vanilla with a used popsicle stick to eat it with. The guy got up to go to the toilet, and he very nearly lost his precious sundae. Otherwise, food on Continental was WAY better than United. Travellers take note.

I arrived at the HK airport at 11:00pm. After spending an hour waiting for my bag, I headed to ground transportation. Normally we take the ferry to the mainland, but it's shut down after 9, so I started surveying my options. About this time, a wiry little Chinese dude who looked about 65 but had dyed hair and rather trendy shoes which said, "I'm actually 40 but dying at a much faster rate than you" started yelling "Shenzhen taxi...Shenzhen taxi." Perfect, I thought. I know guys at work have hired cars to take them over. I was set. So I follow Hong Kong Louie out into the parking lot, where he shows me into the back of his Toyota minivan. No taxi meter, no "Your driver is Samir"...nothing. I begin envisioning my organs being harvested and a group of guys saying, "Nice work, Qu Phong. You got us a fatty." So I demanded to see some identification. He pulled out a laminated card which basically said "Qu Phong -- HK taxi guy." A middle school kid with Photoshop could have made it before the bell rang, but I said, "Looks good." By this point, we were going about 95 MPH on the freeway out of the airport. What do you do?

Now Louie had agreed to get me to the Holiday Inn in Shenzhen (SZ for the hipsters) for $600 Hong Kong Dollars (HKD). So we're sailing along. We hit a toll booth, and he demands $50 (HKD) (about $7 US). I'm like "tolls aren't included?!" He says no, so I'm like, work is paying this...fine. He hands me back less than I expect, so I say "Where's the rest?" and he says "I've got to get back to the airport, no?" So now I'm being driven out in the middle of nowhere to die...on my own dime. Or work's dime.

We hit the crossing into mainland China, and Louie hops out of the minivan and stands by my door. "What the hell are you doing?" I politely inquire. He informs me that he can't drive into China. "Welcome to Shenzhen" he says. I started griping about our little misunderstanding, at which point he says, "I'll go with you for $400 HKD more." I reply, "I'm pretty sure I can get there from here" while in my head I'm standing in a bus terminal in the middle of nowhere at 1:00am with 10000 Chinese people milling around. "Ok, fine."

A guy drives us into the bus terminal. We hop a SZ city bus to cross the border (after going through a customs checkpoint.) After that, the guy catches me a cab and tells the driver where I'm headed. Worth his price? In the middle of the night? Yep. I'd never do it this way again, but he DID get me to SZ. So now I'm racing through SZ in a cab. I'm looking for landmarks that I know, but I never got into downtown during the last trip. The place is massive. Like Chicago sized. I finally see an exit sign for Nanhai Blvd, which I know is where my company and hotel are. Shew. The cab dumps me, and I head for the desk.

Now at some point during this past week, American Express Travel lost my hotel reservation, so I rebooked on Friday. But by that time, all rooms were full for Tuesday night, and all rooms were now smoking...not cool in Asia. The girl at the desk looks up my reservation, and I explain that I have reservations for nights 1, 2, and 4, but really need 1 through 4. She understands. The hotel is full though. She talks to her manager. Voila...I'm in a suite. Non-smoking even. It really is an awesome room. It makes up for a lot of this evening's horrors. Free laundry, free mini-bar, free happy hour. It's sort of like, "Welcome to China. You're stuck here, so drink up!" Here are some pics.




That last one is just one of any number of examples of what cracks me up over here. Off to bed. Off to work in 6 hours...what a day.

You never can tell...

Back In The P.R.C.

So here I am again, on the verge of another trip to the People's Republic of China. I've been assigned to another joint project with my Chinese brethren, therefore I'll be traveling to China occasionally for the next few months. (It was evident to me that a trip is necessary after a conference call this evening with three Americans and several non-English speaking Chinese engineers. Conference calls work very poorly under these circumstances.)

I'll have the pleasure of checking out the Holiday Inn Donghua Shenzhen. Surreal. We switched hotels this trip, and the endorsement from someone who had stayed at the Holiday Inn was "it doesn't have as many hookers out front." But hey, it's 16000 frequent flyer miles, and it'll give me a chance to brush up on phrases like, "no more chicken bones for me, thanks" and "you're really gonna eat that?"

Things I didn't know... sappy content to follow

There are a great many unknowns in the world. No amount of reading or prepping or chatting with others can prepare you for the reality when it comes. Babies are one such reality.

I read the books--lots of books. I talked with other moms. There are some things, though, that just come in the trying. This last weekend we went out with our dear friends from Chicago, Eric and Emily and their darling daughter, Kaya. Over dinner, Emily asked me, "So, what are some of things that you didn't expect?" I don't think I was ready to answer that question then, but after some thought, here are some unexpecteds:

1. I didn't know love like this was possible. I love Grant with a unique and an unquenchable love. Who knew that a love for a child could be so different from any other type of love?

2. I didn't think I would find his cry so endearing. He gets his bottom lip quivering and starts to wail. It's too cute. It's even cute at 3 am in the morning. That's when you know it's really cute.

3. I never thought that I would change outfits as often as Grant. We have tried everything: different formula, different bottles, different delivery methods, but there's no getting around the fact that our kids spits up like mad. He is freakin' Old Faithful. Just today, I have changed outfits three times; Grant has only changed outfits once. Smart kid.

4. I didn't realize that four hours of sleep would seem like a gift. I need sleep... just ask Bret. Prior to Grant, I would have said that I needed at least 7 hours of sleep to function, but, I can survive (and even be semi-productive) on less sleep than I thought. If I get four straight hours, I am in heaven.

5. I didn't realize that having a baby means open season for conversations and attempted touching by old ladies and Walmart cashiers the world over. Everyone wants to touch, to tickle, to pinch and to talk about Grant. Most of the time, it is wonderful. Sometimes, when I'm a tad bit sleep deprived (reference point #4), it's hard to muster the strength to be sooooo chatty.

6. I didn't think that I could love Bret more than I do, but seeing him be the world's best (seriously, I think the absolute best) father to Grant makes my heart melt for him in new ways.

7. I didn't think Grant would be so expressive. Bret and I (and the rest of our families) love the many expressions of Grant Hawkins. From his early days, Grant has been able to produce a wide array of looks--Blue Steel included. And because he is so expressive, he doesn't seem like a newborn. Here are a few:

The shirt says it all

Engineers Are Weird

Over the past couple of weeks, the company I work for has gone through a, shall we say, reorganization. This has led to many of the cubicles in our Dilbert-scape needing to be, shall we say, cleaned out down to the bare floor. This has proven no easy task, and it has led me to a greater understanding of a few of the nuances of the engineer personality.

1. Engineers are freaking pack rats

I've never seen anything like it. In the past few years, there have been routine cleaning requests where dumpsters were rolled in, and we were asked to clean out extra equipment and junk from our cubi-cells for tours and such. You'd think these would have eliminated the vast majority of the garbage from our department, but it obviously has not. There are computers made out of vaccuum tubes, black and white televisions, and crusty voltmeters and power supplies that appear to have been used by Edison. I'm relatively sure I saw the key from Ben Franklin's kite. There is junk piled everywhere. Thousands of video and computer cables that would easily be sold at Best Buy for $19.99 a pop, some being used as bailing wire for other assorted crap.

2. Electronic junk is like Crack for engineers

With all of this trash in the hallway, it's been enjoyable for me to watch the pain with which my fellow engineers shuffle past the piles as they move in and out. It's virtually impossible for many of them to give the stuff up in the first place, but then after they've done so, they're drawn to it like Ann Coulter to a slur. They can't resist. I've seen one poor guy hunched over a heap of 3.5" and 5.25" diskettes for the past two days, trying desparately to keep from stuffing them in his mouth and pockets, running frantically for the door. It doesn't matter that the entire pile has a street value of approximately $.03. It's just the thought of throwing away anything computer related or anything with a plug that breaks their lonely, unsociable, short-sleeve-dress-shirted hearts.

3. Engineers never have any brotherly love, even in times of distress

It's a well known fact that engineers are antisocial. This is understood. It's the explanation for our inability to date or mate with regularity or avoid comic book conventions. This inability to relate socially extends to our own predicament. It doesn't matter that we're all in a similar, leaky boat. It doesn't matter that we've all been asked to clean out our trash. It doesn't matter that most of us have worked together for ten years. If you even suggest, "Hey buddy...Yeah you with the black socks and Reeboks...You might want to toss that 1200 baud modem. I'm pretty sure it can't be used in a post-1985 PC" you'll get a tongue lashing. I haven't heard some of these guys speak in 10 years, but now they're fighting over who gets to take home a VCR that weighs approximately 300 pounds or a pile of remote controls for televisions produced in the 70's or (and this is my favorite) several hundred megabytes (the precursor to the gigabyte, for all you youngins) of memory for PCs from the 80's (this one nearly went to blows...and for all you computer geeks out there, the deathmatch was between two guys who both wanted it for their Amigas...I kid you not...)

Now I'm sure some of you are going to think, "Eh...this isn't funny. You're just playing on the Engi-nerd stereotypes for a quick chuckle." But it's the honest truth. And much like the Seinfeld where the dentist turned Jewish so he could tell their jokes, I'm a member of the club so I can take all the shots I want. I really wouldn't have believed all of this until I saw it. I should be selling tickets. I can see the marquee now:

"See two unmarried guys with a combined weight of 700 pounds and 6 remaining strands of hair between them wrestle over crap nobody else in the universe wants, all the while wearing polyester pants, black sneakers and T-shirts featuring their favorite Star Wars character. Get your tickets today!"

Breakthrough

It happened. I don't want to jinx myself, but it happened. Grant Nicholas (read: the best baby ever!) slept over 6 hours (almost 7) last night. I never thought I could be sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo excited about one night, but let me tell you it is a dream come true to have over 6 hours of uninterrupted sleep. I feel like a new person. As Bret puts it, I have de-crankified. After two cups of coffee, I almost feel normal (or sane)... (or both). Good thing.


Here's a picture from a week or two ago of our sleeping angel.



We have been working really hard on getting good sleep, not junk sleep, and I think it is paying off. I say that this morning, and he'll probably be up every hour on the hour tonight just to show me who is boss.

Crazy People

These things can only occur in Bedford, Indiana...

A plane crashes into a house on Sunny Acres Lane. Tragically, it's a man and his daughter on board. In true Southern Indiana fashion, the house was owned by his former mother-in-law.

http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/03/05/indiana.crash.ap/index.html

http://www.tmnews.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=5546&Itemid=43

Yeah, Right.

Erin went to bed early tonight to try and get some sleep before Grant awakened for his 10:30pm feeding. One of the frustrations I've had since Grant's birth is that Erin wakes up at the slightest whimper of a cry from Grant. Tonight, I decided to stay up and take the 10:30pm shift, in hopes that Erin would de-crankify with a bit of sleep. So at 10:30pm, Grant started stirring, and I quickly dashed into his room, but before I got seated, there was Erin. I told her I'd take the shift, and she gleefully threw herself back in bed.

In the course of feeding Grant, he got a little gassy (who doesn't?) and started crying. It lasted approximately 1/1000th of a second, but there she was at the door. I quickly said, "I've got it! Go back to bed!" Her response?

"I was worried about YOU, not Grant. I thought something happened to YOU!"

Dearest, you're never a good liar, least of all when you're 1/10th awake. Worried about me. Right. Because I cry and sound like Grant. (Ok, so I do...but only sometimes...)

Mix 5

On Sundays, Erin and I frequently have lunch after church at one of two places -- Costco or Pancho's. Lunch at Costco is usually preceded by us doing our weekly shopping, then stopping for either a hot dog or slice of pizza, the sum total of the Costco dining menu (they also have 1/2 pound ice cream bars, which frequently follow my lunch.) Pancho's deserves its own blog entry at a later date, but it features, quite simply, the finest Mexican cuisine in the universe.

A while back I took a gander at www.indyethnicfood.org in search of recent restaurant reviews and new places to dine. One of the new restaurants, at that time, was a place called Mix 5. Mix 5 purports to be Indy's only Iraqi restaurant. The reviews were positive, and it just happens that Mix 5 is directly across the street from my beloved Pancho's, offering a potential fallback option in the event that the Iraqi menu listed organs rather than dishes. (To give a picture of this neighborhood, there are three Mexican restaurants, two African restaurants, an Iraqi restaurant, a boarded up White Castle, and a place featuring "ribs, chicken, and fishes" all within a block of each other.)

We entered Mix 5 and discovered that it was an Iraqi grocery store, with the restaurant in the back. One of our favorite restaurants in town, the Cairo Cafe, has a similar setup, so this was not an issue. Plus I'm well aware at this point that the visitors to www.indyethnicfood.org place virtually no stock in ambience or clean toilets, choosing instead to focus on the cuisine. We were ushered into the restaurant, a term used loosely in this case. It was four glass top tables on a patchwork carpet floor adjacent to the kitchen. It also featured an aging 25" TV and satellite box, which was turned off or had frozen, I'm not sure which. It was approximately 60 degrees in this portion of the store, and we were the only customers. Erin and I are pretty adventurous, so we decided to stick it out, despite chattering teeth.

The owner soon emerged, seeming friendly enough. He spoke rather broken English, and he wore a dirty white apron and his hands looked to have been washed sometime around the end of the Cold War. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, we quickly put in orders for hot tea and a somewhat rich quantity of Iraqi food, which is similar to Greek or Turkish food -- lots of kabobs and meat cooked on spits. The owner, sensing that we had little to look at with his limited decor, quickly turned the TV on to an Arabic news channel. He turned, smiled at us, and headed back to whatever was making his fingers dirty. A few seconds later, an American emerged from the kitchen in similar garb and declared, "This here channel is in Arabic, right?" This seemingly obvious point caused the owner to reemerge. He quickly turned the channel to another news network, and I heard "...this morning in Baghdad there were lots of Americans milling about..." and so forth, in a well mannered British accent. "Is this the station that does the news in English?" asked the coworker.

Now it seems to me that if you heard a language you didn't comprehend on one station, but a language you DID comprehend on the other, if you were an English speaking individual, you would be able to figure out that the second one was the English language channel. I'll give this gentleman the benefit of the doubt and assume that the British accent was a curve ball. At this point, the Iraqi restauranteer looked at me and said, "You know Al-Jazeera?" I had already discovered that this friendly gentleman had a mannerism carried by many non-native speakers -- he smiled with every word and continually nodded as if suggesting your agreement. But in this particular instance, with the state of American-Iraqi relations today, I found myself struggling for what the right answer to his question would be. I also gave pause because there was a significant amount of blood on his apron.

"Uh, yes, I've heard of it" I smiled and returned.

Smiling and nodding, "The liar channel? They're liars? Yeah? Lies... Many lies."

I nervously smiled and chuckled. I was dumbfounded. Speechless. I looked to Erin for support, but her face said, simply, get us our kabobs and get me the hell out of here. I imagined parts of me clinging to his apron. Finally our host headed back into the kitchen. Relief.

The rest of our freezing lunch was relatively uneventful. As we left, I could see Erin glancing over to the Pancho's parking lot, longing for the warm embrace of a Pancho's burrito and their friendly Mexican providers. I suspect we'll be returning there next Sunday. When we returned home, I checked more recent reviews of Mix 5 and discovered that many others had had similar experiences there. One individual commented that he watched the owner get beaten senseless in front of his customers by a woman in a birka, shouting at him for being open during Ramadan. Opening a restaurant is difficult enough, but it seems to me this poor guy is fighting an uphill battle with his fellow countrymen. The Middle East can be a tough place...

A Big Day

Today is a big day, a very big day. For those of you who have been following our adoption journey, you know that we had to wait 30 days to see if the birth father would claim his rights to Grant. Then, we had to wait another 10 days to find out--from the state of Indiana--whether or not he had indeed claimed his rights. As you can imagine, it has been an emotional 40 days. We love Grant so much (who knew this kind of love was possible), and the small potential that he could be taken away was enough to cause massive prayer sessions and near emotional collapses.

Well, the wait is over. He's ours! I was so excited and tearful and thankful. We feel like God has blessed us so much, and He continues to take care of us each and every step of the way. We will go to court in March to make it legal, but as of right now, there is no way that anyone could take Grant away from us.

Here's a picture of Grant celebrating today. He is happy too.


Grant also had a first today...!! He outgrew his first outfit. My friend Jodi sent the cutest pair of tweed cargo pants from baby Gap, and at just 6 weeks of age, the little porkchop had to box them up. As you can see, he wasn't happy about it. He loved his stylin' duds. Poor Grant, if someone doesn't buy him clothes, his clothes come from the "garage sale" designer label, so he had a special affinity for those pants.

Get that kid some Gas-X...

Over the past few days, Grant has developed a considerable problem with gas. This has manifested itself in various ways, including but not limited to spewing everything he's eaten in the past five weeks onto whatever and whoever is within a six foot radius. Erin has noted that despite his lack of genetic relation to his daddy, it is obvious that he holds a connection to yours truly, given that I, on occasion, have proven flatulant.

Witness this picture of spewage from last night. (I think it's uncanny how much this looks like a still from the Zapruder film. Nice camera work, dear!) Please note that not only has Grant royally fouled himself and his clothing, but he has also fouled my shirt. (I have highlighted the three areas of spewage -- Grant's face, Grant's neck folds and shirt, and my shirt.) Let it be noted that this outfit had been on him for approximately 35 seconds when this incident occurred. I had just changed him following a similar incident. Grant's room is quickly becoming known as the "vomitorium," therefore we're trying a different formula and some different sleeping arrangements in his crib to try and help the little dude digest rather than eject.

In other happenings, I have become increasingly aware of a new form of communication developing over the past month between Erin and myself. In almost five years of marriage, we have learned how to discuss issues in a civilized manor, such that I can now safely say to her things like, "Dear, I'd appreciate it if you'd move your dishes from the office down to the kitchen." And similarly she can say things like, "I don't know what you ate for lunch today, but could you please take it somewhere else." These exchanges go fairly smoothly most of the time.

Since Grant's birth, I have noticed that we've found an unlikely new conduit for these conversations -- Grant. In an effort to stimulate our young son, we frequently talk with him. I've noticed myself saying things like, "Grant, do you see that object over there next to that rather expensive piece of electronics? That's a bowl. Do you see what's in the bowl? That's right. It's a quart of milk and the remains of mommy's breakfast. Do you think that's where that bowl belongs? I don't either." Similarly I've heard Erin say things like, "Daddy stinks, doesn't he Grant? You sure wish he'd go out in the yard or downstairs or somewhere else, don't you, Grant?" In this way, Grant has provided a rather sly way of saying what might be construed as insulting things to each other without the risk of causing a confrontation. The trick is making sure the recipient of such commentary is not too far, but not too close, to Grant at the time. It works flawlessly and has ushered in a new era of openness between Erin and I. Just another of the benefits of having a small, unaware third party in the house.

LOVE to all MY PEEPS

Grant says hello and lots of love to all his peeps the world over: those in Alabama, California, Puerto Rico, China, Nevada, and Indiana. Peace out.

Bret and fashion and fatherhood

Let me start off by saying that Bret is an amazing father; he is loving, patient, full of good humor, wise, and wonderfully affectionate.

However, it is not to say that Bret isn't without some weaknesses, and the majority of his weaknesses, which he admits, center around the "everyday" tasks for Grant. A few examples.

Example 1: What's a blanket?
The other day, I went into work for a few hours (I am the junior class moderator which means that I'm in charge of prom, and prom waits for no baby). On Bret's way to work, he drove Grant to my school just as I was ready to leave (the great parking lot baby switch). Before leaving, Bret called, and I told him, "be sure to wrap the baby in blankets" (seeing how it was 7 degrees outside). When Bret and Grant arrived, I checked on the little guy in the back seat only to discover that he was wrapped in towels. TOWELS. Now, Grant does have designer (read: garage sale purchased) baby towels, but still. There was the little guy wrapped in mounds of terry cloth. Daddy said, "it worked."

Example 2: How do I put this on?
Bret, despite the advice that I have given him, has his own special way of putting on and taking off Grant's clothes. First of all, let's start with taking off. Imagine a child in a onesie: snaps at the bottom, neck and arm holes at the top. It makes sense to me that one would undo the snaps and, moving upwards, remove the arms before lifting the garmet up and over the head. Not Bret. Bret starts by removing the arms and pulling the onesie's neck over the belly of the baby. Now, our baby Grant has a large belly (already weighing in at over 10 lbs), and Bret's top down method stretches out the neck of the garmet as he tries to pull and tug it over our dear child's ribcage. Now, because of the necks beging stretched, all of Grant's clothes now have a special "off the shoulder" quality to them.

But that's not nearly as bad as Bret putting clothes on Grant. Now women who wear nylons or tights understand that you start by sruching up the length of the leg into a managable bit, and I treat Grant's onesie the same way. I take the entire onesie, ball it up around the neck, and, in one deft motion, pop the whole garmet over his head. Bret, however, INSISTS on pulling the onesie over Grant's head without srunching the onesie . What does this mean? It means that Grant has to endure his face riding the inside of the onesie for a long time. I have a few pictures to try to help explain.

Here is Grant happy after eating. Please notice the naked boy; he obviously spit up all over whatever he was wearing. The smile suggests that Grant hasn't wised up to the Daddy fashion torture that is about to ensue.














Then the torture begins. First the snaps over the face. Then the body over the face, and then finally... maybe... a vent hole we call the neck. Grant comes up practically gasping for air.















Still after several minutes, Daddy does not have the onesie even over the head. Grant is trying to be patient, but you know he is thinking, "Man, it ain't that hard."

Still, mission not accomplished, but Grant is resigned.

All in all, Bret is the world's best Daddy. His love and affection and care of Grant make me love Bret in new ways. It is so endearing. Maybe Grant will even grow to find Daddy's fashion sense (read: or lack there of) endearing as well. As for now, it's off to Walmart to buy some more onesies; I can't have my kid flashing those delts this early in his career.

Shower Gift

Grant and his momma had a baby shower this afternoon which resulted in a mass of purchases rivaling Imelda Marcos at a shoe sale. Among the fine gifts received was a DVD with the following sticker on it...


Apparently babies just don't dig faith based videos...

I'm Dumber Than A Car Seat

Something I've discovered in the few weeks since Grant was born is that most of the random knowledge I possess has been of absolutely no value whatsoever when it comes to dealing with newborn, er, stuff. I have a secondary degree from Indiana University (a source of amusement to my engineering friends from Purdue), and I am living proof that collegiate degrees are absolutely useless when dealing with even the most trivial aspects of having a newborn. And let's not forget all the useful piles of music trivia I have stored up. (At some point Grant is going to ask me a music question, and as I get all excited to whip out the answer, I'm going to realize it either doesn't involve the Beach Boys or involves any artist since 1995, again rendering me useless.)

Take, for example, his clothes. It doesn't matter what time of day it is or what amount of sleep I've had recently, I cannot button up a one-sy (sp?) (I can't spell it because I didn't even know what it was until last month) without some amount of difficulty. I start at the top, and I button sequentially as I move down, but things always go awry once I get to his legs. No matter how careful I am, there are extra snaps left over around his crotch. Or there will be two of the snappy parts left, but no snap-into parts (are these considered "male" and "female" in the snap universe?) Anyway, I always end up having to start over, only to be left with different snappy parts left the next time. And the more that I think about it, I don't even think I'm actually discussing a one-sy. I believe the proper term for this is a "sleeper," but to me it's just a soft, infant-sized body bag with evil snappy parts.

I feel the same way regarding car seats. We have two mid sized cars, and to lean over and actually lock the car seat into the base requires my back to bend at an angle which leaves me needing to be in traction for the next three days. But that's an ordeal only after I've actually gotten the kid buckled into the seat. I have to twist his arms backward to get them through two straps which have to be adjusted on the back of the seat, and they're supposed to be tight enough for him to sustain a 75 MPH head on collision without moving more than 1/2" in any direction which means you'll have to tear his arms off to get him into the thing. Same goes for the belt that runs between his legs and around his hips and then snaps into the arm strap thingy. I feel bad for the poor guy. By the time we're done, he's praying for a car crash just so he can be released from this seat and breathe again. The car seat makes dismemberment seem like a high note.

The base of the car seat is equally disastrous. There are a myriad of latches and buckles in the back of my car which, apparently, are for car seats. Up to this point, they've merely confused guests in my vehicle into spending twnety minutes trying to buckle their seatbelt into a latch that doesn't fit. Now we have to run a labyrinth of belts and buckels into various latches both on and behind the seat, all in an effort to securely mount the base so that our beloved Grant will be able to walk away from virtually any accident, hopefully in good enough shape to one day feed his parents who were most likely ejected from the vehicle.

I know these things are all for his safety, but after slamming a finger under the seat just as it latches onto the base a few times, I'm ready to tell the poor kid that he won't be going on any more rides until he's big enough to drive himself.

Go Colts!

Congratulations to the Indianapolis Colts, winners of the Super Bowl! It's a good night to live in Central Indiana... My apologies to any friends who have moved to Chicago in the last few years... ;)

Funny Grandparents

Since the birth of our beloved Grant (a physically and intellectually superior being), Erin and I have noticed a distinct change in our own parents. We expected following the birth of the Golden Child that there would be the potential for extra visits to our house or a gift here or there, but what we've discovered is that Grant has actually caused a rather bizarre personality shift in some of these individuals.

Let's start with my mom. (Don't worry Deb, I'm an equal opportunity harraser. You'll get yours next.) My mom is a pretty stoic individual. During the summer following first grade, I tried to perform some Bart Conners style maneuvers on our swing set (which will be subject of a future blog entry, since it featured all metal construction with various protruding screws waiting to pry the flesh or eyes from any child who dared swing from anything other than its losely affixed plastic seat) and in the process, fell squarely on my right arm. When I gathered myself up and took a look at my arm, it was aligned in a rather unnatural fashion such that when I stuck it straight out in front of me, my forearm aimed left. Not good. I proceeded to try to correct the situation by gritting my teeth and rearranging the bones in my arm, which only furthered the damage. I gathered myself up and reentered our house. In my stunned state I said, "Mum, I think I broke my arm." She gave me a glancing look, observed that I wasn't crying (shock will do that to you), and declared, "Wait until your dad gets home, and let him have a look at it. I suspect it's just a bruise." After this she went back to placing leftovers in unidentifiable dishes in our fridge. What mom neglected to tell me as I slinked off to my room was that Dad was in another state and would be returning right around the autunmnal equinox. I waited patiently in my room, trying various experiments with my wounded appendage, all of which led me to the obvious conclusion that my arm was broken. Once my dad returned home, it was determined (with the help of my grandfather who is a pediatrician) that my arm did, in fact, need medical attention. My mom gave me a quick kiss and sent me off to the ER with my dad. Again, there was no question that she loved me, but you couldn't easily coax a tear from her ducts.

After Grant was born, the grandparents made a quick visit to the hospital to have a look at him. My mom held the kid for about 30 seconds, and she was hooked. My dad informed me that in the time between her meeting baby Grant and us exiting the hospital, he found her rather emotional, teary even, while awaiting word that we were, indeed, leaving with Grant. You mean to tell me I could break my arm after living with her for six long years, and I got nary a tear, but this kid gets tears after 30 seconds? It's an injustice.

Erin's mom has also proven herself to be of questionable mind following Grant's birth. Erin's folks live down the street from us, and they have been nothing but wonderful as neighbors. They never show up unnanounced, and they're always very cautious of invading our space. Until the last couple of weeks. Now Erin's mom still calls before coming over, but she frequently has a list of demands regarding how long she'll be able to hold our beloved child upon arrival. They were over for dinner the other night, and I was holding Grant when they arrived. She asked if she could hold him, and I gave pause (actually, I was just messing with her). This lovely woman who I have the utmost respect for damn near bit me in an effort to get to my son. I had to pass Grant to her while holding her at arm's length to prevent her from inflicting an injury on me.

The grandfathers haven't proven themselves beyond reproach either. My dad calls frequently to "see how Grant and you guys are doing" but his intentions are thinly veiled. What he's really asking is a) you're taking appropriate care of our grandson, aren't you and b) can we come over to see Grant? Erin's dad has been more restrained (he's a laid back dude), but I have found it humerous that since it snowed here recently, he has warned us repeatedly about the ice on his driveway and how slippery it is and how sorry he is that he didn't get it shoveled. Now in the time they've lived in their house, it has snowed repeatedly, and their driveway has frequently been icy. But only now does it matter. Erin and I could have shimmied down that drive a thousand times, but only now, with our precious cargo in hand, does it cause him concern.

We're on to you guys. We're more than grateful for the gifts and love you've shown Grant in his early days, but it hasn't gone unnoticed that our position in the family pecking order has been supplanted by a child you've known for days, not years. We see how it is. And don't get me started on next Christmas. With the potential addition of Grace from China, Erin and I fully expect to receive a couple of pairs of socks and some motor oil for ourselves.

Grace Update

Even with the exciting addition of Grant--the love of our lives--Hawkins to the home, we still are in the midst of a very long, every growing international adoption. Grant's sister, Grace Hawkins, will make her way on to the scene somewhere in late 2007 or early 2008 (at latest... summer 2008).


We just received word that the Chinese government has finished reviewing our dossier (it's through the review room). This is wonderful news because it means that the Chinese government has "approved" our paperwork, and now we are simply waiting to be matched with a little girl.


Now, matching takes quite some time, and as many of you know, the timelines for Chinese adoption, once the easiest and most constant of international adoption programs, are increasing. In the past, the whole process could take as little as 5 months, but now, the whole process is moving towards taking 24 months. Our log in date (the date our paperwork was officially logged into the line) is March 15, 2006. The Chinese government just finished matching families with log in dates of October 13, 2005. Currently, the government is placing about 7-15 log in dates a months, so we have a ways to go before we get to March.


I just thought that I would update everyone. We haven't forgotten about Grace; we love her and can't wait for her to join our family. Grant is especially excited that there will be someone else to help defer the many kisses Mommy gives him every hour.