Back in the Saddle Again

Well, we're finally back from jet-setting (read: sheer exhaustion) around the United States, and Grant is successfully back on East Coast time. He's sleeping like a champ, eating even better, and loving being back among his toys. Today, we ventured out to the park and to the library, and after lunch, he was asking to go to bed. He's sacked out as I type this.

I'm almost caught up on emails, and I am tackling the chores that have lay dormant for a month now. I've got notes to write, bathrooms to clean, and this afternoon's task of cleaning the carpets. Summer fun.

Our California trip, while exhausting in some regards, was loads of fun, and Grant loved hanging out with family. We cannot thank our family members enough for loving us through their hospitality.

I cannot even begin to express how much Grant has changed in the last few weeks. He mimics every word and every sound (Daddy is on strict orders to think before he speaks); he's toddling everywhere, and he has grasped (finally!) the concept of "no-no" (which he says back to me while wagging a finger). What he can say is slowly growing, but it is very clear that he understands a great deal more than he can verbalize. Bret and I have taken to spelling certain words, and Grant responds to entire sentence commands: "Grant, pick up the rollercat toy and take it to your Grandpa." I feel like he is (sadly in some ways) out of the baby stage and on to full-fledged boyhood.

Here are some pics from our trip:

The stuffed toy I WON GRANT!! There's something sweet about winning against young children.

Our Reno family: my sister Deanna and nieces Ashley and Samantha


Grandma HAD to bring that boat all the way from Indiana, so after finding refuge in Aunt Bonnie and Uncle Richard's pool (after being kicked out of another one), we blew it up for Grant to enjoy.









Uncle Richard and Aunt Bonnie!!
Grant's great Grandmother.

I can put that whole thing in my mouth; I just know it!
Grant's cousins (kid heaven for Grant). Check out their blogs: Holdridge and Ramones. Cousin Brady was already snoozing.
Here's cousin Brady! Boys!
Cousin Christina knows the way to Grant's heart: Elmo.
Give me that fondue you're eating, Mommy. My mom and I ended the trip with a great evening strolling Santana Row in San Jose. We ate at a French restaurant called Left Bank. I had fondue because I have a slight addiction to all things cheese.

Piano Lesson

I took piano lessons as a kid from second grade through my freshman year of high school. With such a long term commitment to a single instrument, one would think I would be a moderately proficient piano player. Instead, it's merely a chance to be embarrased every time someone says, "Oh, you took piano lessons for 7 years, you must be able to play --insert song I can't play here --." I can't even play Christmas carols well. That little Zuzu chick on "It's A Wonderful Life" looks like Beethoven next to me. I can't hold a candle to Liberace (snarf snarf).

Anyway, the point is that none of this was the fault of my two fine instructors. The first was a family friend who bailed out in disgust around fifth grade, and the second was an elderly lady named Myrta Tilson. Both possessed excellent piano teaching skills, but they had a student who would sooner spend time wishing he knew how to play the piano than actually practice playing the thing.

In an effort to keep me interested, my first teacher actually allowed me to play Duran Duran sheet music rather than her standard repertoire of classical pieces. (Remember, this was 1982. Duran Duran was so rad.) If you're sitting there thinking, "Hmmm...'Hungry Like the Wolf' doesn't contain a piano part that I can remember," you'd be correct. It was horrific. It was like playing "Eine Kleine Nachtmusik" on a pedal steel guitar. Awful.

Anyway, Ms. Tilson was slightly less prone to bending to my desires to play New Wave hits on her piano. She was an excellent pianist in her own right, and she had other people lined up to be her student, so my inability to commit to practicing irritated her beyond belief. In the end, I quit taking piano lessons from her, although I did mow her grass and trim her shrubs occasionally, as a sort of apology for being such a crap student.

The point of all of this is that I did some research this week and found out that Ms. Tilson now lives in an assisted care facility here in town, and apparently she's still playing the piano with gusto. I'm going to make an effort to go see her soon, in an effort to learn more about her and appease my guilty conscience over wasting so many hour long sessions with her over the years. (Although she did still get paid, so perhaps I should apologize to my parents for having them pay for Ms. Tilson's hour long Marlboro break for 5 years...oh well...)

Sleeping with Grant

Since night one in our home, Grant has slept in his crib. It's just the path we decided on, and he seemed to acclimate just fine.

This vacation, because we are staying with family and are cribless, I've been sleeping in the same bed with Grant. With the bed pushed against the wall and my body acting as a barrier, little Grant has been tossing and turning next to Mommy.

A couple of observations for his future wife:
1. He snores like mad. We've known this for some time, as we can hear him snore from our bedroom down the hall, but when you're sleeping in the same room--much less the same bed--it's deafening. I remember listening to my Grandpa snore through the wall when staying the night. Grandpa is one thing. My 16 month old... well, it just ain't right.

2. He's a spooner. I wrap him up. I place him against the far wall. I put pillows between his body and mine. Give it 10 minutes max; he's got his face in my neck. Snoring. Or he's got his back pressed up against my back. Or he's got his arm thrown over my eyes. This kid wants to be close, and he'll roll the width of queen size bed to make sure of it.

3. Somehow, even though he weighs just 25 lbs and I weigh... well a bit more than that, Grant owns the bed. He easily takes up 3/4 of the bed, and I'm left hanging off the side. I don't get it.

4. He's Houdini. Really. I wrapped him up tonight in a sheet, the classic burrito fold. My thinking was that when he fell asleep, I could leave without fear of him getting out or rolling off the bed. Ha. Not only could he get out (which he has done several times on this trip), but he is not opposed to using his teeth. Smart cookie. Scary, smart cookie.

More on our travels later.

Never Say Never

I don't want to make some declaration that I later have to rescind, but as of right now, I am never, ever, ever going to take a child on a cross country plane trip without his or her own seat. Ever. Thank goodness Grandma was there because Grant was A LOT of work. Plus, when he decided to gag himself (as he does when he's trying to help the teething process), he spit up all over Grandma. We hadn't taken off from Denver yet. Ouch.

After a quick trip to Reno, NV to visit with my sister and family, we are now sitting pretty in Elk Grove, CA. We went swimming at Grandma's pool today, but that only lasted 15 minutes or so because we were informed that children who are not potty trained are not allowed to swim in the pool, special diapers or not. I almost said he was potty trained. Almost.

So far, aside from family, the highlight of the trip was our stay at Circus Circus in Reno. There was an extensive midway and serious circus acts. I won Grant a giraffe on the camel races, and he thought the midway (and the trapeze artist) was the greatest thing on earth.

We're going to stay mellow here in Sacramento for a bit. Relaxation time. Plus, I play cards with my grandparents all day. I'm going to take them for some cash. I mean, at a dollar a game, it does add up.

We love you and miss you, Daddy!

Slow Posts

So let's see, we went to Key West, Grant was sick, we came home, then what?

Grant healed. As of Monday night, there was virtually no trace of the previous week's illness. His mad walking skills were progressing quickly, as he hurriedly rushed between objects in our living room. It was good to see the little dude back in action.

On Tuesday, Grant, Erin, and the Grandma headed for the west coast to bless those members of our family who still choose not to live in Indiana with a visit from Grant. We hope they enjoy his presence. We bill by the hour.

On Tuesday night, yours truly began quickly dismantling the dash to my Sonata in an effort to replace the no-longer-working CD player. This was one of those "why don't you wait and do that while I'm out in California projects" which means that Erin doesn't want to wait in the ER.

I managed to perform this task without doing the following:

a) breaking any portion of the dash
b) breaking the new stereo
c) dripping hot solder on any fleshy parts

My only error in judgment was that I needed to punch a hole for the iPod connector in the back of the plastic tray that the new stereo fit into. Rather than approach this like a sane person (or better yet, an engineer), I decided to just poke a hole with my soldering iron and burn outward until it was large enough for my iPod connector.

I'm fairly certain I will be unable to get the stench of burnt plastic out of my clothes or lungs any time soon. And I think my right eye is starting to droop. You can start divying my stuff up as soon as you like.

Key West--The Final Chapter

A potpourri of thoughts:

Bret's poor glasses were--in one deft motion--crunched in the hands of baby Grant. It was like Grant was trying to remind us: "if you mess up, you're next."

Grant and Mommy before the wedding. One of my favorite Grant memories happened at the wedding. Let's set the stage: it was hot. It might have been the hottest I have ever been, but don't worry, the wedding reception had plenty of frozen cold libations, and other such drinks, to help with the heat. Bret had ordered such a drink (a rum and coke to be exact) and was drinking it out of this coconut glass (which were part of the reception's theme). Grant was "walking" around the table, and before you knew it, he had that coconut raised over his head with rum and coke spilling everywhere: his head, his clothes, his mouth. So, Grant had his first drink in Key West. I'm sure it put hair on his chest.

Here are some final pics of Grant in the hospital. What a trooper! The nurse cut a green sock and put it over Grant's IV, but he was no fool; he had that thing out of his arm before the allotted time. Smart cookie. Also, there's a pic of Grant "playing" with my Gameboy; he looked so grown up pretending to play Ms. PacMan. Finally, there's a pic of Grant in his crib (or baby jail).

Key West was not a total bust. We played in the pool, got to see family (albeit for too short a time), and got to see a part of the United States we might never made it to otherwise. Bret would like it noted that we did have some fabulous food in Key West, despite our hospital stay. Our favorite, without question, was Florida's oldest restaurant, Pepes. Just our kind of place. Yummy.

Key West

What a week. There are some weeks that just can't adequately be described, and I think this qualifies -- especially for Erin and Grant. Let me start off by saying that Erin did an amazing job, despite existing on virtually no sleep and having to deal with a very sick, very angry baby, and at times, a very irritated, very irritating husband. Given the amount of stress this week produced for all of us, she held together better than I did, and I owe her a big anniversary night out here very shortly.

We arrived in Key West on Friday night late and headed straight for the airport. On Saturday, my cousin was getting married in the afternoon, so Saturday morning consisted of a quick trip to the pool, followed by preparations for the wedding. It was hot. I mean REALLY hot on Saturday. Everyone at the wedding was sweating in pools. The ceremony was short and sweet, and it was followed by a very nice meal in the courtyard. Everyone had a great time, despite the sticky conditions, and I was glad we were able to come down and support Erin and Gordon as they embark on married life together.

Saturday evening, I went out with my cousins and the bridal party for a night on Duval Street, Key West's version of Bourbon Street. We had a great time, and I would heartily recommend the experience, even if you're not a big partier. The opportunity to see alcoholics creating their own enterprises (take pictures with a drunk guy for $5, have a drunk guy tell you a joke for $5, have a drunk guy sell you a big, nasty hot dog, etc) is time well spent.

On Sunday, Erin, Grant, and I wandered back to Duval Street for lunch. We ate at a Jamaican restaurant. Grant enjoyed the steel drum music. In fact, he enjoyed it enough to break my sunglasses in delight. So after lunch and a brief stop for new shades, we again retreated to the hotel. On Sunday night, we went out to dinner with family, and that's when things started downhill.

During dinner, Grant began coughing. He's prone to being generally full of snot, and he's also prone to dramatic fits of coughing, so we weren't all that concerned. But as dinner progressed, he coughed more and more, so we headed back to the hotel early. That night, he had a little temperature, so we gave him Tylenol and put him to bed.

On Monday, he seemed to be doing much better, in some respects. He didn't sleep well, so he was tired, but he generally was his usual self, just tired. We didn't do anything on Monday, with the exception of a quick bite for lunch. We took him back to the hotel, but by Monday afternoon, we couldn't get him to drink or eat anything, and the fever had returned. We called our insurance company's "Dial-A-Doc" service, and based on the fever and inability to get Grant to
drink anything, we headed for the emergency room.

Upon arrival at the Lower Keys Medical Center, they took Grant's vitals, and he did indeed still have a fever and was a bit dehydrated. With much screaming and parental help, we put him on an IV. At this point, Erin and I figured they'd get some fluids in him, tell us to give him Tylenol for the fever, and we'd be on our way. Little did we know...

At around 11pm, the ER doctor returned and informed us that Grant tested positive for RSV, a common respiratory virus in children. Given the hydration issues, he suggested we admit Grant for the night to make sure he got plenty of fluids. We weren't thrilled about a night in the hospital, but obviously were mostly concerned for our precious little dude, so we agreed. It took until roughly 1am to get into a room. In the mean time, we had to put two new IVs in Grant's arms because of various problems. The little guy is strong. Disturbingly strong. It took three of us with all of our effort to give him an IV. I felt terrible for him, as by this time he was exhausted and completely scared. In the end, Erin stayed the night, while I returned to the hotel only a few minutes away.

I returned to the hospital on Tuesday morning to find that Grant was still runnning a fever, although it was controlled with Tylenol, and he was still not drinking anything. He'd been up all night, as had Erin, and both were completely and utterly exhausted. Grant was litterally limp, he was so tired. We saw the pediatrician around 2pm, and he informed us that while Grant didn't have a bad case of RSV (a bad case apparently involves putting the kid on oxygen and spending 5+ days in the hospital), he was still concerned about his inability to take fluids on his own. He recommended a 2nd night in the hospital. Our vacation was quickly slipping away.

On Wednesday morning, I arrived at the hospital to find that both Grant and Erin had gotten some sleep. Grant slept at least 14 hours that night, and he was pretty much back to his old self. The fever was gone. The only question now was whether he'd drink anything.

He awakened and immediately drank some grape juice provided by the hospital. He was obviously thirsty, in part because he'd finally yanked himself free of the IV in the middle of the night. We were thrilled to see him drink something on his own, until a few minutes later when he had a fit of coughing and spewed it all back up. This happened a couple more times, and we began at this point to consider the very real possibility that we wouldn't be leaving on our scheduled Thursday flights.

The good news was that Grant was in great spirits. He was standing up in his crib, giving everyone and everything his signature point accompanied by "What's zat?" The nurses, predictably, declared him adorable. Our nurse called the pediatrician and asked what to do about the fluids. At this point, we started giving Grant tablespoons of water, which he thankfully held down. When the pediatrician examined him Wednesday afternoon, he told us that if Grant could start taking an ounce of Gatorade every 15 minutes for the rest of the afternoon without spewing it up, he'd be fine to release him.

Thankfully, Grant didn't have any more trouble after this point. He's still coughing a bit, but he's holding down fluids and there aren't any other signs that he was ever sick. We couldn't be more thankful that he's doing well.

I'm now sitting here at MIA -- the call sign for the Miami International Airport, or the eventual status of the contents of your luggage at the hands of the MIA baggage handlers, take your pick. I'm sitting in the very spot where I took a phone call in January 2007 to let us know that we needed to get back to Indy ASAP. Our baby was on the way. Interestingly, the big baggage wrapping machines that so angered me on our previous visit are no longer around. I'd like to think my complaining did the trick, but perhaps I'll never know.

Anyway, as I sit here, I'm not thinking about the fact that I left a mess at work last week, anxiously awaiting a chance to sit in the sun for a week with my family on vacation. I'm not thinking about how much money we spent, only to spend our week in the hospital. And I'm not thinking about the fact that I now have to return to work, exhausted instead of refreshed. All of those things have crossed my mind this week, but in the end, none of that matters.

Right now I'm only thankful that Grant is okay, and I'm thinking about how amazing the past year has been and how much I can look forward to other good times with my family. I'm thinking about how much Erin and Grant mean to me, and I'm thinking about the fact that I couldn't have imagined loving a kid any more than I love Grant. So as I sit here in the same spot where I heard that Grant was on his way, I'm thankful to God that Grant is okay and that we got through this mess. Vacation will have to wait until next time.

I'd also like to thank the staff at the Lower Keys Medical Center. They work in a modest facility in a remote locale, but they were wonderful to us all week. Grant got wonderful care in the hospital, and I feel fortunate that there was a hospital so close to our hotel that could provide him with good care. If we ever return to Key West, I hope to avoid these fine people at all cost.

We have some pictures from the hospital that I'll post once we're back in Indy. What a week.

Quick Update

Just a brief update to let everyone know that we're still around. We traveled to Key West last Friday to start our vacation, attended my cousin's wedding on Saturday, and hung out a bit with family on Sunday. Sunday night, Grant started coughing.

We tried on Monday to nurse our little dude back to health. But on Monday night, a fever led us to the emergency room. In the end, he was admitted to the hospital here in Key West with RSV, a respiratory virus that is apparently fairly common in little kids. I'm not sure what the acronym stands for, but I came up with Really ***** Vacation. You can choose your own adjective starting with S.

The good news is that Grant is doing fairly well, although they are keeping him in the hospital until Wednesday. After three attempts at getting his IV going, he has developed a healthy contempt for medical professionals. He is keeping them all entertained, and each new person that enters the room declares him adorable.

We know. Just make him well.

Travelin' Man

Under threat from the doctor to have to visit the physical therapist, Grant is up and walking. I purchased a new toy (read: 1 dollar garage sale find) shopping cart that has aided his walking, and now, after a weekend of walking around with that cart, he's taking lots of steps on his own (mind you, this is the fourth "walker toy" I've tried and the only one to work). Walking is slowly becoming his prefered mode of transportation, but it's not like he's going to walk around the mall or the airport anytime soon, but he is mobile and upright, so we're moving in the right direction.

I've feared that I would have to start telling people he was nine months old, as I got many a stare, "word of wisdom," or snicker from anyone who asked how old he was as he crawled around under foot. I thought it might be easier to just say he was 9 months old, and just let them stand in amazement at his verbal skills and massive size. Thankfully, I will not have to resort to such mistruths.

WhoaMan

I'm frequently reminded of the differences between my brain and my wife's brain. As I step into the closet to retrieve the day's clothes, only to have to step over the last few day's of her wardrobe, I am reminded. When I get into her car and find the entire contents of a 7-11 convenience store strewn about the cabin, I am reminded. When she tells me she's starved for affection, and I reply with a bodily function, I am reminded.

I was reminded yet again yesterday when I arrived home after work. "That low tire light thingy is on in the van again."

Now this is usually not a reason for concern. The light kicks on when the tire goes below 30 psi, so it's frequently just a matter of putting a little air in to make the light go away. But the light is usually accurate. In this case, the light was somewhat more disturbing.

"Which tire is it complaining about?"
"One of the rear ones."
"Oh, one of the BRAND NEW rear ones that was put on 2 days ago?"
"Uh, I think so."

On Saturday I took the van in because there was a large nail sticking out of the side of one of the rear tires. Therefore I immediately thought, "Oh great, the tire place jacked up the installation of a new tire."

"Did you take a look at the tire after you noticed the light?"
"Nope."
"Did the car drive funny or anything?"
"Uh, erm, no."

I stepped into the garage to have a look at the offending tire. It was flat. Completely flat.

"When did you first notice the light? Saturday? Sunday?"
"Dunno...probably just today. I don't really notice dash lights so much."

I decided to inspect the flattened tire myself. In approximately three seconds, I discovered a screw sticking out of the treads of the new tire. It was a large screw, of the type one might find holding together the corner of an oil rig in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

"There's a large screw in this new tire, dear."
"I didn't run over anything! I didn't do it!"
"I'm not upset, dear. But can you just watch where you drive?"
"I always look. I didn't run over anything."

Erin always assumes that I'm angry, and that her insistance that she hasn't driven through an actual screw production factory leaves her blameless in the incident. In reality, it's the annoyance of having to return to the tire shop and drink their nasty coffee that is bothersome, and I'm genuinely not that upset.

Historically, though, she doesn't always notice things in the road. On her previous vehicle, she drove through what appeared to be the remains of a crash involving a truck carrying plate glass windows in front of her place of employment, only to have the tires go flat later that day while parked at the school. I noticed the large amount of glass as I arrived to put on her spare tire.

When I asked her about the glass, she replied, "What glass?" Indeed.

Grandma's Glasses

Funny every time.

I'm Funny

This video cracks me up; watch as Grant watches himself on video. The video is one of him laughing while being tickled, but he thinks he is pretty funny on screen. One of his new favorite things is to watch himself on the camera after I've shot a video. He's pretty cute, huh?

Grant's new favorite word, thanks to an evening with my dad in which my dad "taught him how to argue" (great job, dad), is "No." Grant has shaken his head "no" for some time, and those people close to him know that he made up his own sign language sign that means, "no," or "get the heck out of my face." He's spirited (to say the least). Well, here's a conversation centering around Grant's new word. Daddy tried to be funny, but Mommy prevailed!

Music Lover

Grant's love of music is becoming legendary. Of course, he loves the piano, his harmonica, and now, the guitar. However, his love goes much deeper than that! Sure, he loves the traditional tunes of "Twinkle, Twinkle" and "The Itsy-Bitsy Spider." And sure, he likes the classic church tunes (my favorite thing is when I sing "Jesus Loves Me" because Grant shakes his head "yes" the whole time and does his strong boy at the appropriate line).

But, that's not all. Grant's favorite TV show (I'm not kidding) is Austin City Limits, a concert show on PBS that Bret tivos (new verb sighting). Grant dances to the music of Franz Ferdinand and Ray Davies. If Bret pauses the concert, Grant signs "please, please, please" while pointing at the TV. He'll watch the whole concert.It's too cute.

Daddy has a new music buddy.

Mother's Day travelin'

One must be on some sort of street provided "medications" to schedule one's self the way Erin and I have scheduled ourselves over the past few weeks. I told her yesterday that I was having trouble relaxing, and I've BEEN having trouble relaxing since trip number one to Mexico several weeks ago.

Since then, we've had trip number two to Mexico, prom, and a trip to Madison (the eventual subject of this ramble). We still have a trip to Key West and a trip to California to go before this idiocy ends. At some point, I need a real vacation that doesn't involve anyone but Erin, Grant, and anyone with a liquor license.

This weekend, we went to Madison, Indiana with Erin's folks for our annual trek to the Madison In Bloom festival. We dearly love Madison, and strolling around for an afternoon in spring is always a nice diversion. We always have lunch at The Downtowner, and then we wander around to the various houses, occasionally pocketing a trinket or two from the particularly nice backyards.

Things this year started a little rocky. The first house wasn't very stirring, so we moved on to house number two, which turned out to be an Episcopalean church. Not wishing to be struck by lightning, I didn't pocket anything, but apparently the damage had already been done, because a bird pooped on me about five minutes after we arrived. As someone not fond of being shat or spat upon (is anyone really?), I spent a good while bathing in the sink inside the church fellowship hall.

For whatever reason, the gardens this year just weren't doing it for us, although it was still nice to wander around, and the people were, as always, exceedingly friendly. Erin had a pounding headache, so we bailed early and went to Scottsburg, Indiana and used some Holiday Inn points from my stays in China to stay at the Holiday Inn Express.

We took the opportunity to let Grant swim in the pool, which he has done in the past. This time he seemed somewhat leary of the whole thing. I didn't understand why until my eyes began to burn and several of my toes dissolved. I am of the opinion that the Holiday Inn pool maintenance might be a little suspect.

For dinner, we drove up to The Pines. We had driven past this place a multitude of times, and I had regailed Erin with stories of eating there with my grandparents as a child. I hadn't been there in years, and I warned her that we shouldn't go there necessarily for the food, but more for the experience.

The Pines is housed in a metal pole barn, and the inside is outfitted like a mortuary. It's very odd. Nobody under 80 apparently eats there, and there is some suspicion that perhaps these individuals are confused and merely think they're saving themselves some extra legwork by checking themselves into a mortuary, a reasonable theory proposed by my uncle. There are trellises everywhere, a gazebo, and green grasses painted on the walls. The staff is all dressed in tuxes, a feature of many of these types of restaurants in Indiana. It's as though they're serving in a five star restaurant in their mind's eye. In any case, the food was fine, and Grant took the opportunity to throw a large quantity of pudding around the room.

On Sunday we drove up to Bedford to be with my grandmother and mother on Mother's Day. We took a scenic route in an effort to allow Grant to take a nap on the way into town, and it turned out to be quite beautiful. If you're ever in the neighborhood, the county roads between Little York and Plattsburg, Indiana make for a wonderful drive through the woods, providing ample opportunities to witness river folk, a favorite of Erin's. About a half hour into the drive, Erin noted that every house featured exposed insulation on one portion or another. She was, indeed, correct.

We came home last night exhausted, but looking forward to my cousin's wedding coming up in a couple of weeks. Despite the presence of a shifty uncle or two, it will be a nice opportunity to hang out at the beach and consume whatever is available.

Half Giggle, Half Cry

What do you do with your ice cream cone?

What kid does this? He doesn't take after his daddy (that's for sure).

Little Miss Grace Update

It goes in cycles. A few times a year for an entire week, Bret and I get this question: "Now, aren't you adopting from somewhere else?" It's like everyone got an email reminder at the same time to ask about the process.

As is always the case with international adoption, it is out of our hands. It's been almost three years since we started on our path to Grace (read: longest freakin' pregnancy ever), and we've still got some time to wait.

We could realistically get her sometime between November 2008 and April 2009, but the Olympics are the big wild card. No one is certain how the CCAA (the Chinese governing body in charge of all adoptions) will function during the month of August. Will it shut down? Will it still allow travel? Will people be working? And then, will things pick up after the Olympics?

Ideally, we would have Grace home by March of 2009; if not, we will have to redo paperwork (again) and pay more fees (again). We cannot wait until the day that baby Grace is home, safe and sound and part of our family forever and ever.

We very much love her, and the wait has been a true test of patience and trusting in God's timing.

Prom 2008 - "Now With Breathalizer!"

Yep...it's that time of year again. For our third consecutive year, Erin and I chaperoned the prom. Actually this is the second consecutive year that Erin has been one of the organizers of prom, so with each year, she gains more responsibility and the speech about how I'd better not do or say anything stupid gets a little bit longer.

This year's prom theme was "Viva Las Vegas." What could better suit a student at an elite college preparatory school than a thorough instruction in the art of roulette or Texas Hold-Em. I kid, but prom this year was a rousing success. This year's prom had several key differences from previous years, and I think in all cases these changes were beneficial.

The first major difference was that instead of a formal sit down meal, there were food "stations" placed around the room. These included a veggie/dip table (read: the table nobody went to), a fajita table (read: the table covered with little chunks of discarded meat), a turkey carving station (read: a man with a big knife and short temper for snotty high schoolers), a pasta bar (read: a table for people trying to carb load for the rest of the night's activities), and finally, my personal favorite, a dessert table (read: where you'll find me for most of the evening).

I was assigned check-in duty for prom, which stationed me directly across from the dessert bar. As the food stations opened up, I noticed that the long lines were at the main courses, but the dessert bar was looking lonely. I also had a creeping fear that the desserts which looked good to me might disappear at the hands of these greedy little monsters who had actually paid their way into prom, so I decided to make my move. While everyone else was eating dinner, I snuck (rather unsuccessfully) over to the dessert table and loaded up a platter of desserts.

This plan worked flawlessly and proved to be endlessly entertaining to the other parents and teachers assigned to check-in duty. Erin was off doing other things, so I ran little risk of getting smacked around for what was later deemed embarrasing behavior. I also noted that since it worked so well, I should make it a ritual every 15 minutes or so. I tried different desserts with each visit, and it actually became quite a challenge once I discovered that if I emptied one plate on the dessert table, they brought out new, DIFFERENT desserts to replenish it with.

After my checkin duties were done, Erin and I made our way to all of the other food stations. It was difficult to scoop up the pasta or fajita meat, in part because of the diabetic tremor I had developed after two hours of dessert. I also noticed that I was having trouble controlling my bladder and my vision was blurry in one eye. Such is life.

After we had eaten our real dinners, I decided I needed my real dessert. As I made my way back to the dessert station and got a couple of cookies placed on my plate, one of the deans at Erin's school scolded me and ordered that I take no more cookies. She laughed in that, "I'm just kidding with you, but you really are disgusting" kind of way. I was undeterred.

Following the meal, the kids could either stand on the dancefloor and be deafened by the soothing sounds of today's Top 40, or they could make their way to any number of gaming tables around the room. These tables turned out to be an enormous success. There was no money involved, and you simply played for bragging rights, but these high school kids ate up getting to sit at a real gaming table with a professional dealer who, in some cases, looked like a hired lady. It was a hoot.

The kids who stayed on the dance floor also provided me endless entertainment. One of my coworkers noted that his daughter's school now broadcasts live video from prom on a local cable access channel. This seems like an interesting idea. He commented that he was somewhat taken aback by the fact that kids no longer dance facing each other, choosing instead to have the girl in front of the guy with her back to him. Apparently strip clubs are now providing dancing lessons.

I figure this makes the girl feel better about all the lunch money she blew getting her "tramp stamp," the common name of those lovely tattoos in the small of girls' backs that are so popular. I tried to explain to Erin why this type of dancing is so popular with the younguns, but she still didn't quite get it. I then tried to show her, but this only resulted in her smacking the top of my head and threatening to have me neutered.

At the end of the evening, as they did on the way into prom, the deans gave each kid a breathalizer. The students had been warned about the test on the way INTO prom, but they weren't aware of the test on the way out. We manned the exits at the back of the hall, figuring at least one kid would catch wind of the exit exam and make a run for the back door, but it didn't happen. This year's prom appeared to be a problem free experience, as far as alcohol goes.

Erin and I spent a lot of time discussing what the theme for next year's prom could be. This mostly involved me making suggestions featuring inappropriate slogans. For example, I suggested that they bring in Pop-A-Shot basketball goals and have T-shirts that say, "I scored at prom." I made other suggestions as well, but in the interest of maintaining our family friendly readership, I'll stop now. I figure I've already garnered myself a couple of nights on the couch with this post as it is.

Adios

On my final day in Juarez, I was forced by incurable hunger (I hadn't eaten since breakfast) to venture into the streets alone to find lunch. I decided initially that I would go to a Burger King that didn't appear to be too far away, based on Google Maps. It was in the same vicinity as the Wendy's I'd previously visited, so at least I knew the area.

As I approached the Wendy's, I decided that the BK was still several miles away, and no part of me wanted to get any closer to central Juarez than I had to. I also noted, at this point, that there was a restaurant called Barrigas near the Wendy's, which we had eaten at on our previous trip a couple of weeks ago. I decided that I'd rather have decent Mexican food than lame fast food, so I headed into Barrigas.

My food was good, although not exceptional. I spent the whole meal a little paranoid. During my dinner at Kiki's the previous night, a couple of El Paso natives told me multiple times that they thought I was crazy to wander around Juarez alone. They said things like, "Don't you know they have shootings in broad daylight?" and "If you have a wreck, you have a 50/50 shot of ending up in jail."

What I've discovered is that I actually feel much safer in China, in part because I don't have to drive. Mexico requires you to have "special" Mexican insurance, and if you have a wreck, it's immediately a criminal matter. Coupled with the fact that the traffic in Juarez is horrendous, and things like turning left from the right lane are common, and I just don't like taking the chance of having to deal with the cops over an accident. My drive back to the plant from lunch was made even more complicated by another sand storm, so visibility on the highway was extremely low. What a nightmare.

Erin inquired as to why I didn't just eat lunch at the plant. Excellent question. Basically I have a greater fear of being killed by our cafeteria than I do of being pistol whipped by a Mexican cop following a fender bender. When this plant opened a few years ago, there were several deaths due to improper food preparation in the cafeteria. No exaggeration. Deaths. "I'll have the chicken fingers...(24 hours later)...I'm dead now. Dang." There is a van parked in front of the factory that sells various burritos and such. Apparently they're very tasty...if you don't mind eating perishables from the back of an unrefrigerated minivan in 90 degree heat. Hell hath no fury like Montezuma...

Dinner last night was a mini-pizza and many brews (dig my homonym) at a place called BJ's Brewhouse. It was all tasty, made even better by the fact that it was all half price due to a happy hour special. Half price mini-pizzas are probably more dangerous for me than half price pints, but I was glad to test both. I crashed at the hotel early, wanting to get a good night's sleep before my 8am flight.

As I sat staring at my wedge salad and supreme mini-pizza, a thought crossed my mind. Over my many trips during the past few years, I've heard some dang seedy tales regarding what guys do on business trips. I've heard tales of drunkenness and debuachery. I've heard tales of strip clubs and girls in Asia. I've heard of guys putting weed on an expense report as an "entertainment" expense.

But what dawned on me last night is that my wife need not worry about me hanging out at strip clubs or smoking a joint. These are not my vices. No, my vice is corporately expensed food. When I travel, it's nearly impossible for me to eat in a proper fashion, knowing that I'm not paying for it, and I have nothing better to do. If it's fried, I'll take it. If it's green...and fried...I'll take it. If it comes smothered in cheese or some sort of butter based sauce, I'll take it.

And then each night, once I'm so stuffed that I can't remember what city or country I'm in, I wedge myself back into the rental car, I go back to the hotel, turn on the TV, and lay in the middle of the bed in various stages of undress with my arms and legs sprawled out like I'm making a snow angel on the covers, moaning quietly to myself in gastric misery. And I think, "If only Erin and Grant were here, life would be perfect." Indeed...

Howler Monkey

Bret call this new trick "Grant's Howler Monkey"

Mexico -- Round Dos

Monday, April 28

Well I've obviously ticked my employer off in a big way, because I find myself marooned, yet again, in Mexico today.

After a whirlwind weekend which involved seeing my cousin's family complete with their new son in Greencastle, followed by a visit to Chicago to see my good friends who are relocating to Singapore, I boarded a plane at 5:45am this morning and arrived in El Paso at 10:00am (noon Indy time).

I dropped my luggage at the hotel, had a quick bite to eat (at a place called Cheddar’s, in honor of my wife having previously waitressed at a restaurant of the same name in Indiana), and then proceeded to the border crossing. After receiving my visa in an uneventful fashion, I headed into Juarez.

The drug wars in Mexican border towns are at a fever pitch at the moment, and many passengers on my flight were discussing various strategies for getting into and out of Juarez in as quick a fashion as possible. After having no trouble with my visa, I had a somewhat false sense that things would go smoothly.

As I headed back out onto the street, I immediately saw six or seven policemen with machine guns tearing some guy’s car apart while he lay handcuffed in the street. Ok, no big deal…Just another day in Mexico, right? Then I stop at the first stop light. Two cars behind me, I see a pickup truck off to the side come barreling toward the guy waiting in line at the light. The truck plows into the guy, obviously on purpose. Both vehicles then pull into oncoming traffic and go racing around me through the red light, causing much dust and screeching of tires.

Now a little more shaken, I made my left turn and headed for the main road to our factory. Two more lights and the previously attacked car came barreling by me, jumped a curb at high speed and proceeded the wrong direction up a four lane road.

I'm not one for swearing unnecessarily, but can someone please get me the **** (choose your own word) out of here?

Tuesday, March 29

After a much needed night’s rest (and a really necessary beer at Logan’s Steakhouse), I awoke this morning and began my trek across the border for yet another day. Today went much more smoothly. I did witness a truck full of Mexican federal agents standing in the back carrying machine guns wearing what appeared to be black ninja outfits. This didn’t seem all that concerning in the grand scheme of things.

I tried a different route to work, which was semi-successful. My goal in altering my drive was to avoid left turns. It seems that in Mexico, you can turn against a red left turn light. I found this out as a semi-truck driver came at the back of my rental car at 80 miles per hour and began blaring the horn until I made my turn against the light. It appears that everyone does this, but it scares the bejeebies out of me. I’m under no delusion that Mexican drivers would stop before hammering into your passenger side door, especially if they saw the Texas license plates the moment before impact.

My new route only had one left turn, so I thought I’d found a master plan. When I arrived at the intersection, it had been designed such that you had to make a right turn and then an approved U-turn to go left. This is great! NO left turns! Except that it took me a moment to figure out the system. I started to attempt a left turn, only to be alerted to my mistake by a police car on my tail whose lights were set to “Stun The Gringo.”

The rest of my new route turned out to be pretty good, although the “major” street shown on Google Maps would qualify as a “major” alley in most places. I will probably continue to use this new, left-less route for the remainder of my visit, as it also avoids the part of the expressway that turns to dirt for a few yards, as discussed in my last visit.

I ventured out to Wendy’s, of all places, for lunch. The dilemma was that none of my Mexican colleagues seemed very interested in going out at 12:45pm, and I was about to eat the table (after I’d thoroughly sanitized it, of course). So I grabbed my Mexican car insurance from my laptop bag (I’ve been advised that you should have this on your person while driving, for if you leave it in the car and someone absconds with your vehicle, you’re up somewhat of a crick) and headed out.

My first thought was that I didn’t have any pesos, so I needed to find a place which took Mastercard. My second thought was that I’d go back to the nice Mexican restaurant I ate at on the previous visit to Juarez. As I approached this restaurant, which is only maybe three miles from our factory, I noticed a Wendy’s. As I approached the door, I took note that they accepted credit cards, so I was good to go.

After lunch, I began the few miles back to the factory. It was chaos. People pulling out in front of me, people honking, more trucks driven by ninjas with machine guns aimed out the windows. Madness. I’ve decided that if I ever want my dad to have heart failure under what will not appear to be suspicious circumstances, a drive through Juarez might just be the ticket.

This evening I ventured into El Paso proper for a meal at Kiki’s, a restaurant I discovered while perusing the web in my free time at the factory. I knew I’d found a restaurant close to my heart when I saw their sign which read, “Kiki’s – We now have silverware.”

I’ll post pictures of all my adventures later in the week. Kiki’s was, as hoped, a brilliant place for El Paso cuisine. My meal reminded me a lot of my beloved Pancho’s in Indy. I had Chicken Muchaca, which was the special. It was chicken, peppers, onions, cheese, and tortillas, but it was far better than the same type of dish would be at a generic Mexican restaurant. I drew some looks as I took pictures, and I ended up spending my meal talking with a couple at the bar who were native El Pas…uh…El Pasians(?) who had been eating there for 25 years. They were surprised that I’d tracked the place down as a business traveler. I explained to them that I’m far more willing to drive all over creation for a good meal than the average business traveler.

And with that said, I think I’ll head over to Outback for dessert…

SOOOOOOOOOOO BUSY!!

We are sorry for the lack of posts lately, but to say that we have been busy would be a gross understatement. Bret's week long trip to Mexico coupled back to back with the week long retreat I led, and we're already hurting. But these last two weeks were just the beginning.

This weekend was madness (in a good way), and there's no sign of things slowing down until mid-June. Every single weekend is crazy booked, which is hard to believe as Bret and I are not popular people. Not even good looking. Or rich. So what gives?

In the next two months, we've got three trips (a Mothers' Day Weekend, a family wedding week in Key West (da beach baby!) and a visit to family in Northern California. On top of that, Bret is on (as of this morning) his second work run to Mexico in the last three weeks. I've got to finish up school (and test and papers and portfolios), throw my school's prom (how did I end up signing the dotted line on that one for a second year?), and let's not even get me started concerts, parties, and camping trips with friends. Yikes!

This weekend started us off on our whirlwind with a bang. Friday night, we had dinner with Grant's birthmom and sisters which is always a treat. We love them so much; they are very dear to our hearts.

On Saturday, we finally got to meet cousin Brakston (heart-melter) and say bon voyage to the members of the Long Family as they head off to Singapore for FOUR years! The weekend included lots of food (a Hawkins' family favorite), a roadtrip to Chicago, Grant's worst hotel stay in history, and a stop--yet again--at the Beef House.

Grant, in all of this, was a trooper (I think he thought all of the parties were for him as each location had new toys with which to play). He gets bigger and smarter and funnier every day... and more willful! He gets so angry sometimes. He almost NEVER cries real baby tears. He cries "I am so honked off right now" kind of tears. It's almost screaming or yelling. Or, at the very least, very, very forceful pouting.

Here are some pics and such to make up for the lack thereof over the last few weeks.

Grant hugs his birth sister; he adores them!


Grant has always loved music, but right now, he could spend all day at our piano or my guitar. They are baby crack!


Grant standing (about to touch something he shouldn't)


To come this week: Grant's howler monkey video and tantrum video!!

"Weirdo" Addendum

Erin informed me this evening that the previous post, while funny, may seem a little, uh, mean.

I'd like to be clear that while I found the behavior of the gentleman in question odd, to say the least, I would have been perfectly friendly if he had approached me in conversation. Instead, he was, shall we say, hostile to the greater Steak 'n Shake environment around him. In other words, he didn't seem like the small talk type.

So here's to you, Steak 'n Shake iPod camouflage guy. If you ever need a hug or just a shoulder to cry on, give me a call. I'll send Erin.

Wierdo

The other night I went to Steak 'n Shake by myself. Erin was off at a conference, Grant was with Grandma, and I was hungry and incapable of feeding myself with goods found in our house, so I went to Steak 'n Shake.

Upon arriving, I noticed a man seated at the rear of the store. He had long, stringy hair, camouflage pants, a camouflage jacket, and what appeared to be brand spankin' new tennis shoes, as bright as the day is long. (Why is it that these types always have one article of clothing that appears to have received all of the care and attention of which the rest of their being has been deprived?)

He also had yellowish-brown tinted glasses, but they weren't just any glasses. They were one step short of being protective glasses like those worn by people practicing firing a handgun. He wasn't smiling, he wasn't frowning. He was staring. Dead ahead. He also had a pair of over-the-ear style headphones, attached to what appeared to be an iPod in his shirt pocket.

As I stood at the entrance, my initial thought was "Geez...So that's where I was headed if Erin hadn't arrived on the scene."

The hostess greeted me and then started back toward this guy's section. Sure enough. She seated me in front of him, and just off to the side. The man wasn't seated "properly" in his booth, instead choosing to sit sideways with his legs sticking out in the aisle. I took my seat with my back to him, but I could still just make him out from the corner of my eye.

Beyond the fact that I'd have to spend my whole dinner wondering if this guy was planning to lop off my head on the way out of the restaurant, I was also disturbed that my addition to his section had created, quite obviously, the "crazy single guys" section of the Steak 'n Shake.

Families would enter. I'd see parents' eyes meet with mine or his. I'd see them look at their children. There would be a brief conversation with the hostess. Then they'd head for their seats on the far side of the restaurant. I had inadvertently been sucked into "the dude's" vortex.

While trying to avert my gaze, I noticed him stand up and approach the waitress' station a few times, sticking his coffee mug out in front of him. He hadn't ordered any food. Only coffee. Gotta stay edgy. He would then ask the waitress to refill his cup, and he did it in the very-familiar-to-me "I forget I'm wearing headphones" voice -- a few decibles above crazy. At one point, one of the waitresses filled his mug, he looked into it, and stuck it back out asking for it to be "completely" filled.

He eventually stood up and walked straight out the front door of the restaurant, leaving nothing but his smell at the table. I thought, "Hmm...Nobody's chasing him to pay his bill. I can't say as I blame them." After about 5 minutes, he returned and took his seat.

All I can figure is that he had to go make sure the bodies weren't thawing.

A New Haircut

I cut Grant's hair last time, and it was an easy task. This time, my "terrible twos" one year old decided enough was enough. I got a few clips in before I started worrying about seriously puncturing his head.

He was left with large spots of hair all over his head. He looked like a sick puppy.

After what was a "less than fun" event at the local Great Clips, he has a new buzz cut fade, just in time for summer.

Here's the before:


Here's the after (he's saying: "what the heck are you doing?", isn't he?):

Mama misses his curls. Thanks goodness they grow back.

Single Dad

Sorry for the slow week of posts. Erin is on a work retreat, therefore I'm doing single daddy duty for the week.

Things I have learned this week:

1. If your child cannot walk, you cannot let him go down the slide without the second parent present. In other words, you cannot place him at the top of the slide, and then run to the bottom in time to catch him without him incurring some level of injury. Or so I've heard.

2. Poop can act as a kind of "baby alarm clock" at 4 A.M.

3. Chicken and dumplings can be used as hair gel.

4. No matter how much work I put into bathing, feeding, and changing the boy, I am no substitute. It is possible for him to say, "Mama?" several thousand times in one afternoon.

5. If you try to step over the baby gate while coming down the stairs, it will stop you. And you will think twice before doing it a second time.

Please come home, Erin. I understand now.

Bret

Grant's Newest Cousin

We are so thrilled to celebrate (finally, right Heidi?) the adoption and soon to be homecoming of Brakston Lawrence Taylor, Grant's newest cousin.

Heidi and Boomer live just an hour a way or so, and they are currently in Guatamala picking up Brakston (forever family day is today!!). We couldn't be more excited for them. We're also excited that there is yet another adoption in the family!!! What a beautiful boy!



Brakston: we can't wait to meet you!!

Fly Away Home

Here's a video leftover from our Birmingham extranvaganza...

More Factory Days

(Thanks to one of my coworkers for the pic of the previously discussed mural...)

Day two at the factory was only slightly more productive than day one. I wandered around quite a bit, just trying to learn the process and gain some insight into how our products get built. Hopefully it will help me to understgand in the future when the factory dudes call screaming because we used some type of part that requires the line operators to do a handstand while holding a 15 pound piece of plastic with their feet for it to be installed.

We had another great lunch at a Mexican restaurant in Juarez. I'll try to track down a web address for it later. What I really want is the ability to do those "zoom from Earth to an individual car" on Google Earth like they do on CNN, since I can pinpoint these places I've been on those maps. Perhaps I'll get that figured out soon.

For dinner last night we ventured out to a place called Jaxon's here in El Paso. It was good, basic brewpub food with a Southwestern flair, which mostly means that everything came with a chile or some type of extracted rattlesnack venom as a spice. It was too late for me to care whether the food was good or not, and I ended up eating a spinach salad and a couple of beers. I did get some sort of continentally sized brownie with ice cream for dessert. My coworkers marveled that I would pass on another beer in favor of a brownie. How little they understand about me.

I'm now stuck on an hour flight delay waiting to leave El Paso. Given the mess with the airlines over the past few days, I guess I'm glad that it's only delayed because the flight crew is trying to get the FAA required amount of sleep before the flight. My coworkers are/were booked on flights from El Paso to Chicago on the dreaded MD80. They're not expecting to get home on time.

I will say that this trip made me appreciate my Mexican brethren in our factory. They were organized, efficient, and hard working, as near as I could tell. I spent yesterday in a room doing an assembly with four guys and a girl from China, three guys and a girl from Mexico, and me. When the Mexicans and Chinese took their hands off each other's throats, it was a model of world economy efficiency.

(I ended up getting home safely this evening... Good to be back...)

Factory Day Numero Uno

7 AM

I got up way too early this morning to meet my coworker and cross the border into Mexico. After an uneventful trip across the Zaragoza Bridge from El Paso into Juarez, we only had a few miles of driving before reaching our factory.

My colleague suggested that it was my turn to drive today, which was fine. It reminds you how easy things are in the U.S. though. While the traffic in Mexico is much better behaved than the traffic in China, there are still some oddities. At one point, I was on a four lane road which abruptly turned to dirt. I had to cross a small field of dirt and grass (all in a major metropolitan area, mind you) before the road picked back up again. No explanation. Just no road there.

My Chinese buddies made the Mexico factory guys take them to a local Chinese restaurant for lunch yesterday. Nothing about Chinese food in Mexico sounds appealing to me, so we're headed out shortly for lunch at a recommended Mexican restaurant. Should be fun.

I have discovered this morning that they have an interesting soft drink down here called "Manzana Lift." It's bottled by Coke, and it tastes like a sparkling apple drink. Good stuff!

2 PM

We had an excellent lunch at a Mexican steakhouse. I had a great slab of beef, along with a cheese enchilada. The whole thing was very tasty, and the beef easily would have been up to our usual standards in the U.S.

During lunch, the wind began to pick up. There are 45 MPH winds forecast for today, which have also prompted dust storm warnings. By the end of lunch, you couldn't see across the gravel parking lot at the restaurant. On the way back to the factory after lunch, there were two cars, both inverted, in the middle of the expressway. Apparently they were blinded by sand, traveling at high rates of speed, and ended up entangled. It was VERY ugly.

5 PM

As frequently happens on these trips, the day was pretty useless from a work standpoint. Parts aren't here on time, people aren't ready, etc. I'm lobbying to go out to another local Mexican restaurant tonight back in El Paso.

One thing I noticed today in the factory is that there's a giant mural painted on a wall as you enter. It is a map of the U.S. and Mexico, and there is a giant Chinese flag waiving off to one side. From the Chinese flag there is an arrow pointing first to Mexico and then from Mexico to the U.S., symbolizing the flow of our products in production. For some reason, it seemed a little eerie...

In other news, apparently Juarez is currently Mexico's most violent city. There have been scores of deaths related to the drug trade, and the U.S. is getting ready to issue a travel warning regarding visiting here. Makes me want to set out on foot for lunch tomorrow...

Hola

"Out in the west Texas town of El Paso..."

Ah, yes. The dust. The heat. The lack of a neighboring city of any size. It can only be El Paso. In reality, El Paso is merely where I've chosen to sleep this week. I'm actually spending my days, starting Wednesday, in our factory in sunny Juarez, Mexico just across the border.

Imagine...Ten Chinese guys, three Americans, and a factory full of Mexicans. It has the makings of the perfect "buddy comedy."

"Follow the zany hijinks of Kwon-Foo "Jerome" Chen, Bret Hawkins, and Javier Blanco as they inhibit production on an entire product line for a major manufacturer. There'll be laughs (mostly bodily in nature), there'll be tears (mostly by company management), and there will be the potential for an international incident. Tune in."

I departed Indy this afternoon at around 3:00pm. I boarded a small plane for a relatively long trip across the middle of the country to my stopover in Houston. There were a couple of notable oddities about the flight, or rather its patrons, that give a picture of how my afternoon went.

First, soon after we took off from Indy, the plane began to smell as though someone had used their colostomy bag as a whoopee cushion. It was really awful. My flights to Hong Kong have rendered me less than sensitive to the smell contained within an airplane seat cushion during a long distance flight, but this was, possibly literally, a whole different animal.

The second item of note was that the gentleman sitting across from me had a monocle. He also had "normal" glasses, but occasionally he would remove them in favor of the shiek Inspector Clouseau look. Where do these people hide in "real life?" I haven't recently encountered anyone with a monocle outside of The Count on Sesame Street. (Sniffle...I miss my boy...)

I'm now awaiting my, already delayed, flight to the land of taco shells -- El Paso. I sat down for dinner during my wait when the gentlemen across from me said a swear in my general direction and then tried to hide. I gunned him down with a stare, and he confessed:

Airport Dude -- "What are you eating?"
Me -- "Uh, a 'stuffed' slice of pizza."
Airport Dude -- "I've never seen anything like that. Is it normally eaten with your hands?"
Me -- "In an airport, surrounded by the likes of you, it is."

I was incensed. Luckily the gentleman departed before I ate a giant chocolate chip cookie and slice of key lime pie.

Bret + Long Layover + Expense Account = B I N G E

More when I cross the bridge tomorrow...

Are you serious?

This car, with the plates "that car," was on the road as we headed down south. See, things do get nuttier the farther south you head.



I don't know if I was scared or amazed.

Chicken Little

Here is Grant talking like a chicken. To die for cute!

Spring Break

A week ago we loaded up Big Whitey (our family friendly name for our giant, white, shoulda-been-sold-to-a-retirement-village mini-van) and headed south for Birmingham. Spring Break gives us a great opportunity to go hang out with family, get warm in the 70+ degree weather, and eat everything not bolted to the countertop at my aunt and uncle's house.

This year's visit was no different. We had a wonderful time seeing everyone down there, and I did, indeed, eat most of their food. When I wasn't eating their cupboards bare, they took us out for a couple of great meals. The first was at a place called Dale's Southern Grill. An upscaled version of the classic meat and three, this place provided us the opportunity to try fried pickles, fried green tomatoes, and various other Southern cuisines. I love eating at these types of places while in the South, since we don't have anything similar in central Indiana. How hard can it be to soak stuff in butter and breading, then fry it? I think perhaps someone needs to take the opportunity to open someplace like Dale's in Indianapolis. You could even make Lipitor one of the sides.

The other big meal out was at a place called Newk's. We all had various sandwiches and pizzas, although there wasn't enough evidence of excessive use of a deep fryer for my liking. The crazy part of the Newk's experience for me was that I looked up midway through my lunch and saw a couple of old friend's from high school waiting in line. Given that we were over 500 miles from where all of us went to school, it was crazy running into them in Birmingham. One of them had moved to Birmingham five years ago, and the other one was visiting him. It was great to spend a moment catching up with those guys, although the presence of kids, wives, gray hair, etc did remind me that high school is drifting into the past at a rapid pace. In any case, it was great to see Mr. Keene and Mr. Corbin.

After saying our goodbyes to Birmingham, we headed north to Cullman, Alabama, home of the Ave Maria Grotto. Now I've been seeing the signs on I-65 for this place since I was a kid, but I had no idea what it was. Who uses the word "grotto" with any regularity? "Grotto" always evoked an image of a man straining. I have no idea why. Erin found out about the Grotto on her own and insisted we stop. The basic story is that this monk named Joseph Zoettl created miniature versions of various sites from around the world. They've been collected and placed on a hillside behind a monastery in Cullman. Monks in Alabama. Who knew?

As it turns out, the Ave Maria Grotto is relatively fascinating if only for its scope. There is a whole hillside covered in little buildings and shrines made out of old shells, buttons, hunks of rock, broken dishes, etc. The buildings are literally made out of whatever Brother Zoettl had lying around. If you went to someone's house where they had a front porch stacked with various old appliances, bedding, dishes, and car parts and started having your kids make little buildings, you might end up with something similar. But the work is definitely fascinating, and it's interesting in that Zoettl made so many little buildings. It's definitely worth a stop if you're ever trying to break up the monotony that is northern Alabama.

Part of the Ava Maria Grotto

After departing Cullman, we headed northeast toward Scottsboro, Alabama. Most people's knowledge of Scottsboro ends with the Scottsboro Boys, but as it turns out, they now also have the distinction of being home to the Unclaimed Baggage Center. How this ended up in Scottsboro, Alabama -- hours from the nearest major airport -- is beyond me.

The Unclaimed Baggage Center is a store filled with all of the stuff left in bags which are collected up by the airlines. Seeing the amount of unclaimed baggage lying next to baggage carousels around the world, I expected this to be a cornucopia of untold riches, and to some degree, I was correct. On one floor, they had piles of clothing, shoes, and books to peruse. On another floor they had a wall of golf clubs, luggage, CDs, DVDs, and various other electronics. You could find a cell phone charger for any model from the past 10 years at this place. Somewhat disturbingly to me, they had piles of earbud headphones available as well. My mind replaced the image with a giant pile of flowing ear wax. Ick. There is some unclaimed baggage that should just be pitched, and this would include earbuds and underwear. This place sold both.

Initially I was excited to look through the piles of treasures, hopeful to load the back of Big Whitey with loot. But after I got started, I realized that the trip wasn't going to be as fruitful as hoped. For example, they had a handful of iPods. Most were one generation old, and most looked as though they'd ridden on the floor of the lavatory for the duration of a flight from Atlanta to Kyrgyzstan. Price? Approximately $50 off their original new price. Maybe 25% off.

Now if I'm going to load up my cart with treasures, I want to pay, oh, 10% of the original price, not 75%. Clothing appeared to be the same story. CDs were $6 with no artwork...the disc only. Since I heard several others griping about the prices in the store, apparently my reaction was common. Apparently the place is selling stuff, otherwise I can't imagine it would stay open for long. In the end though, it was a disappointment. I guess the only cheap way to get this stuff is the old fashioned way -- to grab it off the baggage claim carousel and run like mad.

After leaving Scottsboro, we headed for Chattanooga. We had planned to spend a couple of days in Chattanooga, and we had booked a room at the Holiday Inn an the Chattanooga Choo Choo complex. Priceline netted us the room for $45 per night, and the reviews online were good, therefore I was optimistic about our stay.

The lobby of the hotel was very nice, having been restored with a great deal of care. As I was checking in, a manager of some sort came over and chatted with me. He then had the attendent put us in a "new" room that had recently been renovated. He made a big deal of the room being new and in a nice building, so I was grateful.

As we drove to Building 3 at the back of the complex, I became aware that the Choo Choo complex has the feeling of a once great entertainment venue that is now merely staying open. Everything looked a little worn, and places taht looked as though they were begging for crowds of people with drink in hand, were strangely solemn. It was like being in an amusement park when it's closed off-season. We drove across two empty parking lots before finding our building, which had a handful of cars parked out front. The outside of the building was nothing special, but there was a nice pool with a jacuzzi in the middle...again, all empty. (It was in the 50's that day, so this was understandable.)

As we approached our room, we passed a room that was barking. Not one dog, but multiple dogs. This is never a good sign with me. I can appreciate people loving their pets, but I don't need to stay in a hotel with them. Luckily they were well away from our room, so it wasn't a problem, but it did leave me with a questionable feeling.

Our room turned out to be fairly nice. Like much of the rest of the complex, it was nothing spectacular. It had, indeed, been renovated. But there were still plenty of hints that it was an old building. The AC didn't work quite right. The tub dripped continuously. The bottom of the bathroom door was water damaged. We were paying $45 per night though, so it didn't bother us much. In China, they'd be telling me "5 Star...5 Star!"

Chattanooga turned out to be pleasant enough. It's obviously a city undergoing a downtown renaissance, with lots of new buildings and restaurants. We had a good, but not unique dinner at the Big River Grille & Brewing Works. Grant had the grilled cheese and left enough food on the floor to feed the previously mentioned Kyrgyzstan for a year. We had some teriffic barbecue at a place called Porker's. (This might be the only restaurant in America for which I could serve as a pin-up model.)

Our last night we had pizza at a local place called Lupi's. The food at Lupi's was great, but the long wait for our food to arrive didn't settle well with Grant. He spent the majority of the meal flinging various bits of bread and pizza all over downtown Chattanooga. At one point he scowled, grabbed his bib, gave it a yank, and through it on the floor all in one motion, as if to say, "I've had it with all of you."

Our favorite meal in Chattanooga was breakfast at a place called Aretha Frankenstein's. I read a great review of this little place online, so we hunted it down. (Plus the image of the "Queen of Soul" with bolts in her neck makes me giggle. Inexplicably, Aretha's website is titled "So Damn Happy." Sounds like somebody found the Zoloft jellybeans to me...)

The restaurant was situated in a neighborhood, away from the tourist center of the city. It featured only a few tables, but the food was great and the atmosphere was fun. There were lots of music posters everywhere featuring "my bands" so I enjoyed that. The only issue was that, again, the small kitchen meant a long wait for food. Grant serenaded everyone with various shrieks while we waited. He and Erin both fought colds for the entire trip, so he was in no mood to sit around waiting to eat. I do have to love a place that bills itself as featuring "breakfast, lunch and beer." Sounds like the food pyramid to me.

We hit several of the major tourist attractions in Chattanooga, including taking a ride on two trains. The first was an hour long ride provided by the Tennessee Valley Railroad. The other was a trip up Lookout Mountain on the inclined railway.

Mommy and Grant before boarding the train

The inclined railway chugs up Lookout Mountain at a 72.7% grade. It reminded me of the train up to Victoria's Peak in Hong Kong, although it was significantly steeper. Surprisingly, Erin had a much greater issue with this railway than I did. By the end of the trip, she had bent the steel on the rail in front of her. She was not pleased that we had purchased round trip tickets.

The view from the top was great, but it's one of those attractions that you do primarily to say that you've done it. I did find it fascinating that the gift shop featured multiple cookbooks featuring "Hillbilly" or "White Trash" cuisine. These items appear to sell hand in hand with magnetic rocks and fudge.

With a similar mindset, we headed over to Rock City. My knowledge of Rock City was only that the classic "See Rock City" ad was painted on barns all over the midwest, and you frequently see little bird feeders with the same message in our neck of the woods. As it turned out, this ended up being our favorite attraction on the trip. I carried Grant on my back for most of the visit, which meant that I had to pull him out of the carrier several times due to narrow squeezes through the rocks. (In reality, he was merely providing me an excuse. My aunt Karen's chocolate cake was the real culprit.) Erin and I both agreed that Rock City might make a good pit stop while on a drive to Florida in the future.

Daddy packing Grant around Rock City (one of Erin's fav attractions ever)

Upon leaving Chattanooga, we made our way across Signal Mountain to the town of Whitwell, Tennessee. Whitwell is the home of the Children's Holocaust Memorial, as featured in the film "Paperclips." Basically a group of middle school students started collecting paperclips as symbols of each life lost in the Holocaust. They have placed the paperclips inside an authentic German transport boxcar, along with many other related items. It's a touching memorial and was worth the stop.

We next proceeded to Fall Creek Falls state park in Tennessee. A colleague of mine had suggested that this was a very scenic park. We did enjoy the couple of waterfalls we visited, but Erin and Grant both felt pretty miserable, so we ended up heading home. My only comment on Fall Creek Falls was that Tennessee should take a lesson from Indiana on how to present a state park. We had to hunt for an information booth, where I received hand drawn maps of the trails. I never did get a good map of the roads within the park. It was definitely a little tricky finding our way around the hills without a good map.

Some of the Falls at Fall River Falls State Park

Our final stop was at Barren River State Park in Kentucky. We happened to be passing through the area and made a brief stop so that I could show Erin and Grant where I almost died as a 6th grader. My family had descended on Barren River for Thanksgiving. My cousin and I decided to take on one of the hills on our skateboards. The net result was that I spent Thanksgiving throwing up and watching the room spin. (Although truth be told, I probably would have spent the holiday throwing up anyway, due to an excessive intake of cobbler and pie.) I banged my head pretty good, and I was glad to see upon returning to Barren River that the hill was, indeed, a steep one. (I greatly feared that I would return to find a nice shallow grade that even a small child could negotiate on a skateboard. I was vindicated.)

Overall we had a very nice visit with our family, and we were impressed with Chattanooga. It's sort of a shame that Erin and Grant both felt pretty lousy by the end of the trip, but I think we found some places we'd like to visit again in the future. I can now say "I seen Rock City" with pride.

The End