Happy Birthday, Mom!

This is very dangerous for me. My wife informs me on a regular basis that I have a strange way of turning compliments into critique or satire. This is probably true, but what fun is having a blog if I can't skewer the ones I love?

With that, I'd like to wish my mom a happy birthday today and relate some memories I have of my mother from my childhood.

One of the things I love about having a son is the unbridled enthusiasm he shows for the mundane. I possess a rather remarkable ability to make even the most exciting things seem mundane, a trait handed down from my mother. It's always been very difficult to draw a sense of excitement out of my mom, and once it was achieved, the only outward sign was that she'd raise her eyebrows just a little bit. That was what you got.

As you can see from this picture taken a couple of weeks ago, my mom has little enthusiasm for sitting in the rain watching a 4th of July parade. My wife and aunt were slightly more amiable.

Now don't get me wrong -- I always knew in my heart that my mom was more excited about things than she let on, but it just wasn't in her nature to burst with happiness at, well, anything. Grant's arrival came pretty close. And I suspect the arrival of two more grand-kids in the next few months will ring her bell. We'll see.


So I watch Grant with great joy as he reacts to things. Last week we babysat two little girls for a friend of ours. Grant was in seventh heaven showing them all his toys and trains. (In just a few more years, some of his means of expressing himself to the ladies will become punishable offenses. Enjoy these freebie years while you can, son.)

I came down the stairs at one point to hear him showing off, with great enthusiasm, the new coffee maker I'd purchased the night before. It's nothing special. It's just a new coffee maker. No cappuccino or espresso, just coffee. But because I'd shown an interest in it, Grant was showing an interest in it, which made me smile.

"Did you guys see our new coffee pot? Isn't it CUTE!?!" Indeed it is, Grant. Indeed it is.

As a young child, my mom also provided me a great sense of safety and contentment that only a mother can provide. My memory extends back to when I was about three years old (in sharp contrast to Erin's which extends back about three weeks...she can't actually remember what high school she attended or where she left her car).

I can remember sitting in my mother's lap watching cartoons on channel 40, and I'm certain that at the time, I was sure that there was nothing that could go wrong in the world. I was completely safe and at ease, because I was with my mom.

I think about those moments a lot when Grant is sitting with me, and we're watching Peter Pan or reading his books about cars. I hope he feels that same sense of safety that my mom provided me, and I hope it's something I'm able to provide him with for a long time to come.

So happy birthday, mom! May God bless you with many "2 for 1" coupons and low priced gasoline for many years to come!

Chivalry is not dead!

As faithful reader readers may remember, Grant was not too fond of adding sister Grace to the mix. He often would pray for her, but then in the next breath say something akin to "I don't want her in my family." He was territorial about toys and parents, and he did not like anyone bringing up the subject of our burgeoning family.

But, all of that changed. I know this is going to sound crazy, but we have Disneyworld to thank for Grant's new found love for his sister. You see, up until our back-to-back Disneyworld/Disneyland adventures, Grant's television viewing included the PBS line-up: Curious George and Clifford the Big Red Dog, to name a few. But, after Disneyworld, we watched Peter Pan, a movie that forever changed the course of Grant's life. I have my issues with Disney movies (a bitter post for another time), and I happen to have real issues with Peter Pan as a heroic character, but that--too--is not the point.

The point is that early in the movie (for those of you who haven't seen it 74 times like I have), Wendy starts to fall from the sky (the "danger ahead" aspect is not found in the toddler PBS genre). And, that moment is when our little hero was born. He snatched her up in his hands, proclaimed to the world that he had saved her, and developed a keen fascination with saving the damsel in distress. We went to the library to find a Peter Pan book, and we read the story again and again and again. But, Grant gravitated to one page: the page with Wendy falling. He'd sit by the page (the book pages had to touch his leg) for hours (not exaggerating); he'd sleep with the book open to that page.

But, then our Disney viewing did not end. Each week we'd go to the library to find another movie, and over the course of the week, we'd watch another film, and if there was someone who needed to be saved, Grant was the man for the job. Now, if a woman is crying in a commercial or a small blond girl starts to cry at the park, Grant transitions into hero mode and trys to swoop in to save the day.

So, tell him that his sister does not have a family and is need of someone to help her, and guess who answered the call?

Grant now spends HOURS a day carrying around these "women" in his hands (let's not visit the potential imagery of trapping these women in some male-dominated hero complex). I like to think that my son is learning that he has a special opportunity to care for, to nurture, and to even protect the women in his life. Now, it's on to opening doors and buying flowers on non-holidays.

Here are just a few of the many pictures we have of Grant protecting Wendy (or Cinderella... or Snow White... or "Anastasia from that evil Rasputin."

Breakfast

Grant's not a big eater, and he almost never eats breakfast (despite my constant attempts to the contrary), so this morning, when he told me he was "really hungry in my belly, Mommy," I thought I would take advantage of the situation.

I offered Grant slices of apple (one of his favorites), which he declined. Instead, he came over to my ear and whispered, "No, Mommy; I want chocolate instead."

That's my boy!

Adoption Talk

Today as we checked out of the grocery store, a conversation started with Grant about Gracie (I was buying diapers for her, so she was on his mind):

Grant: We're going to adopt Gracie.
Me: Yes, you're right. We are going to adopt her. Are you adopted?
Grant: No.
Me: Yes, you are. We didn't have to go to China to get you, but you are adopted too.
Grant: Are we going to adopt Drew Michael (my sister-in-law's soon-to-be son)?
Me: No, Grant. Aunt Rachel and Uncle Troy are going to be Drew Michael's parents.
Grant: Will he come out with clothes on?
Me: No, Grant. He lives in Aunt Rachel's belly, and he's going to come out naked as a jaybird.
Grant: We should buy him some clothes.

Indeed, Grant, we should. It's interesting how Grant continues to grow in his questions about who he is, how he fits into our world, and the genesis of our little family. We just talk about Grant's adoption often, so that when the time comes that the discussion doesn't turn into fashion concerns for the unborn, Grant will be comfortable.

Limestone Heritage Festival Parade

As many of you know, my family on both sides is originally from Bedford, a small town in southern Indiana. The town was once known primarily for its limestone quarries, having provided the stone for many of the buildings in Washington D.C. and New York. Today, the town is probably known more for factory closures and the occasional incineration of a local landmark, but that obviously hasn't damped the spirits of the community. For on each 4th of July, they still have their Limestone Heritage Festival, including a parade, ice cream social, and concert -- this year featuring local jazz favorites, "The Residue."

We'd been to the fireworks and festival previously, but we hadn't gotten a chance to visit the parade. So this year, we braved the foul, rainy weather to see "floats" (usually the bed of a pickup truck) featuring local institutions like this here dumpster truck.

If you have a keen eye, you'll notice the reconditioned Marathon gas station behind the dump truck. It's deceptively simple to turn "Marathon" into "Smoke Shack." Here's a better picture from the start of the parade:

The parade also featured local square dancing troupe, the "Squares and Rounds." They didn't seem the least bit bothered by the rain or the new millenium:


But my favorite part of the parade was the Shriners and their funny little cars. I could watch big men in funny little cars all day.

In all seriousness, we actually had a great time at the parade, despite the constant drizzle. My cousin Mary watched Grant during a large portion of the parade, and now he is completely infatuated with her. I suppose she'll be able to get through high school with the little dude attached to her leg.

Erin and I were talking on the drive home about the things you miss when you don't live in a small town. Our little suburban town used to have an actual "downtown" until CVS and Walgreens decided it would look better with two identical pharmacies rather than the original historic buildings. I realize that people who live in small towns have their issues with them, but for the rest of us, there's something endearing about walking up the block and running into your neighbors while waiting for the town insect fogging truck to go by on the parade route. Perhaps I'll be able to instill a small town sense of community in my kids without actually having to become a square dancer. Time will tell...

Eat the Beater

It's finally cool enough to turn the oven on (when it's over 85, I don't even open the curtains), so we decided to bake some cookies. Grant loves to bake with me, and I love to bake, so we're a good team. Really, Grant just likes to eat brown sugar lumps, scoop flour from the bowl to the floor, and eat the beater at the end of the process, but when you're two, baking shouldn't be about unsalted butter, real vanilla extract, and fluted edges.

The Copier

Last week, my office moved to a new location, and I'm now in a true office environment rather than a lab environment for the first time in my professional career (a career in which I use the word "professional" in the same way the Clippers are a "professional" basketball team).

In fact, my new cube stares directly at one of the two printer/faxer/copier/aggrivator machines in our office. Initially disappointed that I'd have to listen to the beeps and chirps emitted by the copier all day, I positioned my monitor such that I can stare out at the copying world without them realizing I'm reading espn.com at 9am.

What I have quickly discovered is that I actually have the best seat in the house. People behave in extremely bizarre ways when they are outsmarted by a machine, and I can now chronicle these events in this blog while they are actually occurring!

For example, yesterday I watched an individual place a document in the feeder and begin typing on the copier keypad. He was apparently transcribing the first 100 pages of Moby Dick, a beep emitting with each keystroke. After several minutes of typing and staring, he leaned back and confidently slammed the green, backlit "START" button. The machine proceeded to warm-up briefly and then do nothing.

It was brilliant. I couldn't have made the situation any more pleasurable if I myself had been controlling the copier's response. What was even better was that the individual went through the entire process a second time (using the same procedure, no doubt) and got the same result a second time.

Another thing I quickly learned is that copier manufacturers have had to wise up about helping people remove jammed articles from the copier bowels. Our new copier has step by step guides that walk you through what colored lever to pull and which way to turn which knob to get your latest paperwork out during a misfeed.

As I watch people down on all fours trying to follow these instructions, frequently unsuccessfully, I imagine the copier quietly beckoning, "Closer...closer...closer..." before latching onto their victim and hosing them down in toner. Surely I can rig this up...

Care Package

My visa is in process; we've sent in our paperwork, so the next logical step: shopping for the baby girl. We sent miss Gracie MinWei a care package today complete with a photo album of all of us back home, a blanket, the elephant above, all kinds of goodies for her foster family and two disposable cameras (which we hope to get back with pictures)!

I have a few posts in the works about Grant, so stay tuned.

The Grace Timeline

I realized after a round of questions from some friends and family that we had failed to explain the most important part of the Grace adventure: bringing her home!

This is what we do know:
1. We signed and returned our Letter of Acceptance officially accepting Grace. This document is now in China, and we are awaiting the CCAA (governing body in China in charge of all domestic and international adoptions) to give us Travel Approval. We could get this travel approval in two weeks or six weeks. Let's hope for two weeks, people.

2. We will get a "window" of when we might travel when we get our travel approval, but our official dates will not be ready until 7-10 days prior to departure. So much for cheap tickets!

3. Once we get travel approval, our agency here in Colorado will ask for an appointment at the US Consolate in Guangzhou, China. Grace will need a visa to enter the United States, and as the last step, this appointment sets up the entire itinerary of our trip.

4. We'll be in China for 14-16 days. Bret is going over early for business, and I am meeting him in Hong Kong. We'll tour Hong Kong and then move mainland to visit his work. Then, we are going to take the train to Nanchang. Our agency has strongly urged us against traveling on our own, but what's life without a little adventure. We'll be in Nanchang for about a week before heading to Guangzhou. Finally, somehow braving 24 hours of travel and flight time with a one year old, we'll make it back to the Hoosier state.

5. Grace will be a US citizen (the United States will not let her keep dual citizenship) the minute she steps on United States soil (which will probably be the airport in New Jersey!).

6. We could travel as early as late July... or as late as late August.

So, there's the run down of what the next few weeks hold for us. We are busy with load and loads of paperwork, visa applications and money wires. In addition, we have to have gifts for about ten different officials and orphanage workers, so I'm trying to get those together. I spend a lot of time researching other adoptive families who have traveled to Nanchang to make sure I have everything I need.

This sure isn't the most interesting post, but I hope it will quell the questions that seem to be popping up the most.

More Backyard Fun

We've had the playhouse for a few months now, so these pictures are a wee bit old, but you get the idea! Grant grills us chicken sandwiches all the time! But, for Grant, the water tubs are the hit!

Where's my pillow mint?

This weekend, we've been hosting some old friends at our home. Prior to their arrival on Friday, Erin informed me that she was going to do some cleaning around the house in preparation.

When I arrived home from work on Friday, our house was spotless. I mean SPOTLESS. All of the toys were gone. There were fresh sheets on the beds, and they had all been made. On the guest beds, there were little pillows with soaps and shampoos in those little bottles, just like a hotel. There was a little dessert buffet on the island in the kitchen, featuring cookies and a bunch of other foo-foo crap that no self respecting dude would eat if there were other options. It was immaculate.

Apparently you can convert a Rodeway Inn into a Hyatt in just under eight hours.

Backyard Fun

How do we pass the summer days until little miss Grace shows up? A makeshift waterslide... that's how!

More Grace Information

I just accosted the FedEx man who pulled up to hand me the package with two more pictures of Grace and all of her translated health and life information. The information is from her seven month check up, so we're not sure how much of it is still relevant.

A few notes from the information:
1. Grace is said to love music (Daddy grinned), laugh out loud and smile readily.
2. It said Grace was a "deep sleeper." Rock on.
3. It warned that Grace was obstinate. That's my girl.
4. Grace is very small. On the US growth charts, she's in about the 5th percentile for height and weight. She's a peanut. Grant weighed at three months what Grace weighed at about eight months.
4. We found out that Grace has been in foster care since she was a week old. This news is beautiful news. It's bittersweet in that we will be pulling Grace from the only family she has known, a family that she has bonded with and has bonded with her. But, we also know that Grace knows how to attach, a problem for many kids who are in an institutionalized setting like an orphanage. We are so thankful to this family, a family who has loved Grace through all these months, feeding her, changing her, waking up in the wee hours with her, and playing with her, all the while knowing that she would be leaving one day. It's a sacrifice we cannot comprehend or repay, but it is one for which we are exceptionally grateful.

We will get an updated medical history (including information about when and where Grace was left by birthparents) in a few weeks. We should get some new pictures then as well.

But, today, we received two new pictures (from when she was seven months old), and I could just die at how sweet and cute she is! She's bundled up in layers and layers of clothes (a Chinese custom that sometimes translates to up to nine layers of clothes on kids), but, despite the layers of clothes, you can still tell that she's just the sweetest little angel!


I don't know what's up with the grapes (or the fact that the "beach" picture has: 1. animated pigs and mushrooms and 2. Grace dressed up in layers of very "unbeachy" clothes), but come on, you know she's the cutest thing ever! That little double chin, the "what the heck is going on here" stare, and those polka-dot penguin booties are just about the cutest things I have ever seen.

Introducing

Grace MinWei Hawkins (pronounced min-way)

She is from Tonggu, a small village in the Jiangxi Provence of China. Her birthday was yesterday, June 21, so she's a year old.

And, here's the best part... her picture! This was taken back in January...



We are so thankful for all the love and support that many of you have given us over the years. We are thankful to our God who is the giver of such good gifts. We are in love beyond measure.

Not Funny

The phone just rang... and my heart stopped.

But, it was just card member services letting us know that we need to call them urgently as we might qualify for a lowered interest rate on our credit card.

Ring, Phone, Ring

We're expecting our referral phone call (and subsequent email with pictures) today. Our agency should start making phone calls around noon our time (Eastern Standard). Bret is sick in bed with the flu, and Grant and I are just going to have to burn off some energy out of the house this morning; if I stay, all I will do is check the clock every two minutes.

If you're looking for pictures and information, start checking with us after noon.

Bittersweet

There are so many good things going on in our lives right now, so many reasons to be happy. Tomorrow, we expect to see Gracie's little face. We're so excited to see our little girl, to gather more information about her, and to share our joy with our friends and family who have been so supportive on this journey.

In addition, today is Fathers' Day, and Bret and I are both blessed with fathers who love us and are exceptionally generous to us and our little family. Bret, himself, is a father of substance, a father who cares deeply for Grant and Grace and shows them that love on a day-in-day-out basis.

But, with all of the happiness swirling around us, we received hard news yesterday. My grandmother passed away after a hard-fought battle with leukemia. She was almost 89 years old, and, thankfully, I was able to visit with her just a few weeks ago on my trip out west. My grandmother and I were very close, and I am thankful that I have many, many, many memories of the two of us together. She was the person who took care of me when I was sick and my mom had to head off to work. She was the person who knew my favorite blanket (the soft blue one), my favorite foods (vegetable beef soup and pancakes with peaches), my favorite way to eat ice cream (chocolate syrup mixed with chunky peanut butter), my favorite way to play (cutting out toys from the Best catalog). My grandmother's history is a fascinating one, growing up in the deep south, living at the New Llano colony during the depression, taking a long train ride out to Los Angeles, and marrying my grandfather after being "matched" together by my grandfather's sister. I'm thankful that my grandmother's history is interesting. I'm thankful that while growing up in California that we lived so close to her, as it means that I saw my grandmother weekly. I'm thankful for the many ways she was generous with me, the many ways she made me feel special. I'm thankful that she got to meet Grant and play with him several times in her last years. But more than anything, I am thankful that my grandmother was a woman of faith because it makes this moment, the moment where I miss her, so much easier. I know she's in a better place, a better place that's not just a figure of speech. I know she's at peace, and I have complete confidence that we'll meet again someday.

I'm thankful that my grandmother had an unwavering trust in Christ. And as much as I miss her, and will continue to do so in the months and years ahead, I'm thankful that she's gone home.

Here are a few pictures from my recent visits out west... I can just hear my grandmother scolding me for using pictures of her, pictures she would look at and ask, "Do I really look like that?"

Grace

We should get our referral any hour now (with it being Friday, we might have to wait the weekend)! We're excited to see that little face; it's surreal that this four year journey is about to come to fruition. For our dear family and friends (and extended blog family), we'll be posting pictures and information the minute we are able to do so. Stay tuned!

My not so fun morning

This morning, I had to convince Grant that the pantyliner he had found in my purse (which he had been wearing as a band aid all morning) was--indeed--not a band aid. There were tears as I pulled the pantyliner off his leg and threw it away in the trash.

Then, we went to an indoor play park (think McDonald's playland times ten [minus the dirt and discarded french fries]). Grant proceeded to climb up FOUR stories before he looked down, only to realize that one slip in that mesh netting could end in toddler death, and he started crying. After much coaxing (and finally sending a young girl up to help him), Grant came running toward me, just to fall, lip first, of course, and bust open his lip. After the blood, he proceeded to tell everyone that he "led with his lip."

Then, at Trader Joe's, I made the mistake of letting Grant push around the child-sized cart. Rookie mistake. Near the end our our trip, he bashed that cart right into a display of salsa. It wasn't good. At all. Let's just say there was glass (and plenty of salsa) in my shoes.

In other news, we should have information about Grace by next week (including her picture). We're so excited.

Job Security

A couple of days ago, I got a call from the resident Executive Assistant at our company asking what my title should be on my business cards. (My company is in the process of moving, therefore we all get new cards. They're great for jamming under the wobbly leg of a table at Denny's or throwing into a ceiling fan.)

Since I haven't known what my official title is in years, I told her I'd get back to her. I asked what my title was shown as on the official company org chart, and she informed me that my name was followed merely by a question mark, rather than a title. This is not good.

I'm no dummy, and I'm fully aware that being the question mark in a struggling economy can't be a good thing. My only hope is that somewhere in our office there sits a slightly less important exclamation point or even better, a frown... :(

I inquired with my boss to see what my title should be, and he told me to make something up. I thought about it for a few minutes, and after eliminating all deities and other blasphemous names, I came up with my selection. When I told the Exec. Assistant what I had decided on, she looked unimpressed. "Really? You don't want something longer?" Nope. This will do.

While I wait for my new cards to arrive (undoubtably with my first name featuring two "t's" instead of one) I need to get to the bottom of the question mark. I need to at least be a check mark to make it to Christmas.

Terror

As I was driving home from work today, it occurred to me that teaching Driver's Ed might just be the worst job on the planet.

Actually, I had this thought as a yellow car with a driving school billboard on the top began to pull out in front of me on a county road. I was driving, shall we say, above the speed for which the road was designed. Additionally, it was raining gently onto the blacktop, effectively quadrupling my stopping distance.

As I slammed on my brakes, I saw two things. First, I saw a clueless, high-school aged male with the glimmer of my Hyundai headlights in his eyes. And I saw, presumably, the clueless one's instructor slumped down in the seat next to him as if acting in a Zapruder sequel. The man had obviously assumed the "go limp" position which would insure the least bodily damage after befriending the hood of my car.

I can only imagine the feeling of shock, terror, and complete lack of control felt by the instructor. I can't fathom how someone could put themselves through this feeling on a daily basis. Perhaps Driver's Ed teachers are recruited at bungee jumping locations or other "extreme" sports venues. Perhaps these individuals actually ENJOY the adrenaline rush of nearly being killed on an hourly basis. Not me, man. I couldn't own enough pairs of underwear to do that job.

After I avoided the accident (thanks to my own good Driver's Ed instruction -- the subject of another blog post in the future), I considered how terrifying teaching me to drive had to be for my dad. I can't imagine trying to teach Grant to drive. When we put him in one of those battery operated Jeep's, he simply pushes the pedal to the floor and lets his arms hang loose. No steering. I'm in deep, deep trouble.

Eating Outside the Box

There's no systematic, daddy engineer gene in Grant.

Last Bathroom Post of the Week

This morning, we had an all-employee meeting to discuss my company's impending move to a new office facility. One of the downsides to our new digs is that the men's restroom features a single urinal and a single toilet. This is problematic for a NUMBER of reasons (mostly #2), but I'll save that for another blog.

Incidentally, the women's restroom features five toilets. Keep in mind that that is one toilet per woman at our company, versus one toilet for 25 guys in the men's room.

During the staff meeting, I put forth the idea that we swap the signs on the men's and women's restrooms, thus eliminating the shortage of toilets for the dudes. We could then put M&Ms in the feminine hygiene products dispenser and turn the urinal in the ladies room into a contest.

At least I laughed.

L.A. Wrap Up

On Sunday, we took Peter Pan's understudy (nee Grant) to Disneyland. Now you may be thinking, what two year old goes to BOTH Disneyland and Disney World within the same 6 month span? That would be an excellent question, and my only answer is GRANT.

As expected, he had a ridiculously good time. He got to ride on the Matterhorn, his first real roller coaster. And of course he got to ride many rides with NeNe (Erin's mom), which he loved.

Here's Grant sporting his "Honey, I Shrunk The Audience" 3-D glasses:



And here's Grant and me in the back car of a coaster...


I made two observations at Disneyland when comparing it to Disney World. First, the apparently "refurbed" Space Mountain at Disneyland is a VAST improvement on the one in Florida. It is MUCH darker than it's Disney World counterpart...far more exciting as a roller coaster. My other comment is that Disneyland's castle looks like a suburban home outfitted with turrets. It's tiny. I was pretty shocked when I saw it. Old Walt must have decided his studio apartment sized castle wasn't cutting it when he later built Disney World.

Here's Grant tuckered out in the rental car, post-Disney, with his favorite new appendage from Peter Pan:



On Monday, I dragged Erin around to some Los Angeles based Beach Boys sites. She was unimpressed. She apparently had no interest in seeing the house where Brian Wilson lay munching Animal Crackers in bed for several years or where Dennis Wilson hosted luaus with Charlie Manson. I guess we simply have different interests.

Next we headed over to the Santa Monica Pier to let Grant ride some more rides. The kid really is turning into a ride junkie. We bought him a pass to ride all of the little kid rides, and he had a blast. He kept the staff well entertained also.




Monday evening we had dinner at a Mexican restaurant in Santa Monica called Lares. I ordered a chicken dish in chipotle sauce which was indicated to be "very spicy." Having been lured by this before, only to find out it's "very spicy" if you think Taco Bell is "very spicy," I was shocked to discover that my meal was, indeed, freaking spicy. I couldn't feel my tongue or lips. I was drooling margarita onto my shirt it was so spicy. The flavor was excellent, but I almost couldn't keep it in my mouth long enough to enjoy it.

At the conclusion of our meal, our server came over, looked down at my plate with a big grin and said, "Not bad! Not bad!" I replied, "It bwas bewwy beweey gwood."

On Saturday we took a drive up the coast through Manhattan Beach and the world's largest "Say No To Drugs" display, better known as Venice Beach. Anyone who walks through Venice Beach and exits the other side thinking, "Man, I'd really be happier if I had a joint" is obviously not paying attention.

After Venice, we made our way to Tony P's for dinner in Marina Del Rey. As I looked out the window at all the boats, I noted to Erin that this was the exact set of docks where Dennis Wilson drowned. Having had enough Beach Boys trivia for a lifetime, she threatened to throw me overboard, so I kept my other facts to myself.

All in all, it was a nice trip, but I'm glad to be home. Erin and Grant return from Sacramento on Saturday...hopefully I can get the house cleaned up by then.

Stuffed Shorts

I had a long layover at the Atlanta airport yesterday on my way back from L.A., and it was made even longer when I voluntarily was bumped off my initial oversold flight. (Hey, they give me $200 to get into Indy 55 minutes later...not too bad...)

The extra hour gave me just enough time for a nature run, so I made my way to the nearest restroom. Let the eye-rolling commence.

Upon entering the first unused stall, I reached for a "seat protector" to protect my ever-delicate backside. I noticed there didn't appear to be any of them left, but when I looked into the dispenser, I noticed what appeared to be a cleaning rag stuffed into the bottom. I didn't really think anything about it until I recalled a story my uncle told me a while back.

Apparently he went into his place of employment one day and discovered that the bathroom had flooded. Upon further examination, it was determined that someone had stuffed a pair of slightly destroyed underpants into the TANK of the toilet. With my eyes now opened, I realized that the "cleaning rag" I had encountered at the Atlanta airport bathroom stall was actually somebody's underwear.

Again, I ask, am I missing something here? Is there a website called www.wheretostuffyourcrappyshorts.com that I haven't seen? For crying out loud, people. Have some dignity. If your soiled shorts are no longer viable as clothing, you can kindly throw them into the trash. Don't create a "natty underwear scavenger hunt" for the rest of us. Ick.

Pictures from California

We've done quite a bit on our mini-vacation to California, so I wanted to get some pictures up before I head home. I'll try to post more about what we did during my layover in Atlanta on Wednesday (thank you, Delta).

On Saturday, we had a wonderful breakfast with Erin's cousin Kathy, her mom, her husband, and their two adorable kids. Grant fell IN LOVE with their daughter Andrea. IN LOVE. We met them all at a little place called Dinah's in Culver City, which looked like a HoJo's from the 1960's. It was great. Here are some pics of Grant and his long lost cousins, Andrea and Justin.




The traffic during our stay has been very un-L.A. like. This was the view on our way to Disneyland on Sunday (perhaps someone warned them of our arrival).



Here are a couple of pictures of the Grantster at Disneyland. More to come...

Surreal

Last night, Erin and I attended the "SpikeTV Guys Choice" awards. This might qualify as the most surreal night of my life, for any number of reasons. Since I can't really figure out a good way to interpret what I saw, I'll just provide some facts.

Fact: Mel Gibson did, in fact, ride in on a horse at the beginning of the show.

Fact: The waitresses wore black undergarments and open tuxedo shirts. Nothing else.

Fact: Ben Stiller, Halle Berry, Jaime Fox, Clint Eastwood, Clinton Tarantino, Robert Downy Jr., Mickey Rourke, Brad Pitt, and Ed Norton were all present.

Fact: Celebrities don't actually sit in their seats during these things. Apparently they are "placed" appropriately for when the camera shows them jumping up out of their seat to receive their award. Then they go home.

Fact: I was supposed to be in the green room backstage for part of the evening, but due to a change in security, I was not allowed back there.

Fact: I was the only person present wearing clothes from Target.

Fact: Erin was the only person there wearing clothes from Dress Barn.

Fact: At one point, there were more people surrounding our table who were NOT wearing pants than were.

It was a disturbing evening to say the least. Nothing in L.A. is real.

L.A. Trip Part, Like, Number One, Dude

Yes, yes, I'm a bad father. I sat in first class while my wife, kid, and mother-in-law sat in coach. I figured I'd just be a 3rd wheel with Erin and her mom, and Grant would sooner get vaccination shots than talk to me when NeNe (grandma) is around, so I sat in first class (but only on half the flight). I didn't feel guilty about the decision until I heard a familiar voice holler "My ears! My ears!" while we were landing. I dabbed the corners of my mouth with my cloth napkin and kindly asked the flight attendant to shut the curtain between us and coach so I wouldn't have to listen to that unruly youngster's cries. Guilt assuaged.

Upon arrival in Los Angeles, Erin took me on a brief tour of the area where she grew up. She always makes it sounds much worse than it really is, now that I've seen it. So when she tries to convince you that she used ta be a gansta, don't buy it. She's a white girl who now drives a Kia minivan.

We had a well above average dinner at Novecento Pasta & Grill in Culver City, close to our hotel. While we were hanging around waiting for the restaurant to open at 5pm, I encountered my first celebrity of the trip, none other than Dr. Rocket Romano from ER. I tried to get Erin to notice him, but she thought my nudge was directed at some poor Chinese lady trying to push her daughter along in a stroller. (Grace really does need to get her sooner than later...this is getting embarrassing.)

In any case, Paul McCrane had what I can only assume was his son with him, and they apparently were stopping for ice cream. He didn't seem to understand when I acted out the full scene where he gets his arm chopped off by the helicopter blade at County General, complete with slow motion screams. I was about to move into his role on "24" when Novecento finally opened.

After an exhausting travel day, I'm looking forward to going to work tomorrow. The "Guys Choice" awards honor such noble artistry as "Hottest Girl on the Planet" and "Deadliest Warrior." I'll take my camera...

California Bound

Bret found out on Wednesday that he was needed in Los Angeles over the weekend, so with some last minute scrambling (and, boy, do I mean scambling), Grant and I decided to join him for an extended stay. Before we head up to northern California to visit with my ailing grandmother, we'll get to see some family while out in LA (I mean, I am a California native after all, a distinction I think few in California can claim), we're going to go to Disneyland (yes, Grant is spoiled), and Bret has to work (which is a blog post in itself as we'll be "red carpet guests" at the Guys' Choice Awards. Never have two people screamed: "they don't belong here" than Bret and me at the Guys' Choice Awards. Never).

We'll be blog able, so you'll have to tune in for Bret's reflections on sitting next to Hugh Hefner and other such quirks to our Saturday night.

The Church Hunt

A few months ago, we embarked on a new challenge, a challenge we had yet to do as a couple: find a new church. We were both really sad to leave Common Ground, a church that had been my church home for ten years. Bret and I were married at Common Ground; we painted the walls at the new (now old building); we made dinner for the worship team; we (read: I) taught in the toddler room for years, and more than anything, we had friends that were near and dear to us.

But, with another house church (a group we met with weekly) coming to an end and moving in separate directions, Bret and I could not deny the pull and the desire to be involved in a church in Brownsburg. We knew we wanted to serve with, to worship with, to bump into around town with the people of Brownsburg. And, we wanted any effort on our part to help the people in this community.

So, with conviction but sadness, we left our church and have been searching for a church every week. It's been very enlightening for us to embark on this process together, as Bret and I process very differently. We made a list of every church in the area, crossed off the ones that were either way too big or way too small (like "didn't have a class for Grant" kind of small), and then started visiting. We'd visit one church, then another, then go back to the original, then a new church and so on. We prayed a lot.

In the end, we have landed on a new church home: The Bible Church of Brownsburg, and I am so excited to plant somewhere, even if it is new and hard. It's very different (in some ways) from our old church, which can be a hard adjustment, but we're confident that we've made the right decision. Our new church is small (70 families total), centered (on what really matters: the person and work of Christ), challenging (but it's good to get smacked around a little with challenging stuff), and in here in Brownsburg (about five minutes from home).

It's really a leap for me to be in a church so small, a church where everybody really does know everybody, but I'm excited to get my feet wet. We will forever think fondly of our friends at Common Ground; it's been sad and hard, but we knew it was the right choice to leave, and for awhile we were so concerned that we'd never find another church home (like when we went to the church with four families), but we did. We're thankful and excited!

Cincy, IKEA, and Dinosaurs

Since the arrival of little miss Grace is imminent, we decided to use some of our free long weekend to make a run to the IKEA in Cincinnati to pickup some more kiddy gear. In reality, we picked up some cool beer mugs and a plush shark for Grant, but it was still a good trip.

But prior to shopping in elegant splendor at IKEA, we made a quick run to Jungle Jim's. This place never ceases to amaze me. They have an amazing selection of virtually every type of food, AND you get to see a singing Campbell's soup can. How could you ever top this?

Between Jungle Jim's and IKEA, we had dinner at an AMAZING little Italian place in the Cincy suburb of Madeira called Ferrari's Little Italy. Holy smokes, was this some good food. We had your basic spaghetti and meatballs so that we'd have something Grant would eat, plus their pollo basilico. I can't say enough good things about the pollo basilico. At least two of us at the table agreed that this was the single best Italian meal we'd eaten EVER, so that tells you how good it was. Wine was drunk, noodles were slurped, and Grant ate several platefuls of spaghetti. It was a good night.

On Saturday, we made our way over to the Creation Museum. Now I know this is a controversial topic, but I'm pretty sure nobody reads our blog to engage in meaty debate (of which, I believe, there is plenty regarding this topic). So I'd just like to touch on this as an experience.

As I made my way past the "Biology book burning" on the way into the museum, I was immediately struck by just how crowded the place was. Obviously this place has turned into Disney World for the "homeschooling, can I borrow your bonnet?" crowd. These ticket agents heard "family of 13 with 1 on the way" more than anywhere else in America. It was pretty eye opening. I actually felt a little out of place in shorts and sandals...Mostly because my shorts didn't touch my ankles.

I did note that they have the world's largest collection of art featuring human beings playing cards and smoking cigarettes alongside the dinosaurs, so that was entertaining. We wandered through the museum and took in all the displays, including a large replica of a section of Noah's ark and a replica of the garden of Eden.

In case you're wondering, all of the "pre-apple-tasting" displays featuring Adam and Eve showed the lovely, unclothed Eve seated with her long, flowing hair perfectly placed over her front. I'm fairly certain that there were not even breasts sculpted underneath her lengthy locks, for fear of the potential consequences.

After seeing the museum, we then made our way out back to the petting zoo and gardens, which were actually quite lovely (the gardens that is...Petting zoos rank right up there with nosebleeds as entertainment to me). All in all, it was an interesting experience. And it gave me more than enough material for a blog entry.

Is there something you people aren't telling me?

Do you ever get the feeling that there's something about you that everyone who knows you is aware of, but they're unwilling to tell you?

When I answer the phone for telemarketers or the Am-Vets lady, they frequently refer to me as "Ma'am" until I correct them. This leads me to believe that I must sound like a woman on the phone. And apparently I'm not a cute young lady, but rather a middle-aged mother of four.

I have had the same occurrence on some of my teleconferences with Asia. Occasionally a new member of the team (if that's what you call a worldwide collection of semi-disgruntled employees) will join our calls and refer to me in the feminine. Not cool.

When I was a kid, I had the voice of a castrated angel. I sang in choir and proudly displayed my pre-tenor abilities around the world. But I fear that I must still sound like I'm castrated on the phone. Can somebody help me here? Does my voice really say "ma'am" instead of "dude." This is distressing.

On the Horizon

There's some good news on the horizon (nothing definite) that international adoptions in China might pick back up sooner than expected. We'll have more news in the coming days, but it looks like we might see Gracie's picture as soon as two weeks (or as late as early July). There are still lots of problems with travel, but the thought of seeing those two little eyes is just divine.

We'll fill you in when we see something definitive. We're happy beyond measure!

Church Windows

On Sunday, we visited yet another church in our community with the intention of smoking out witches, snake handlers, and poorly prepared casseroles and Jello salads.

Something I have noticed over the past couple of months is that church windows are never clear. In other words, it is virtually impossible for me to daydream and stare out the windows during the sermon because the view is always obscured.

This practice started long ago with the use of "stained" glass. (And remember those old churches with the really high pews that you couldn't see out of?)

Who did these guys think they were fooling? Stained glass had nothing to do with art. It was developed, no doubt, by the guy in the Big Funny Hat at the front of the cathedral who was tired of Lance and Anselm staring into the courtyard watching Maid Marion pick daisies (and slowly die of The Plague).

As people caught onto the scam, church builders began reducing the size of the windows. First we had smaller stained glass:


Then we had simple narrow slits for windows (these were easily found at the local prison supply store):


And now, it seems that most every church we visit has used some variant of the material used to keep people from peering in at you while you're on the toilet to cover their windows. Some call it "frosting" and others call it "translucent window covering" but I call it, "Preacher's-Ego-Can't-Handle-Me-Zoning-Out-After-35-Minutes Blinders."

In any case, it's clear to me that eventually we're all going to look like this poor bloke, sitting on hard benches with no windows to stare out of, looking at Powerpoint slide #45 of #2305 on why it's bad to poke people with a pointy stick until they give you all their money...as if we haven't all heard that one before.

She Will Pay

Erin put a bag of prunes AND a Fiber One bar in my lunch today. Apparently she thinks I'm an 80 year old woman. She will pay this evening.

Personal Trainer Hell

As some of you may know, I am meeting with a personal trainer twice a week. This morning was especially painful, which prompted this post. Here are my observations of our short conversations:

My least favorite word: Again.
My least two favorite words: Pulse it.
My least three favorite words: Make it count.
My least four favorite words: Keep your core tight.
My least five favorite words: I will see you tomorrow.

I'm dying. I am so sore!

Our Little Comic

Grant is growing into quite the comedian. As you'll see in the video, his current mode of joke is switching the words in songs, changing your name, or messing up on purpose. But, my favorite thing Grant does comes after he's said something funny. If you laugh at something he says, he immediately turns around and asks, "what did I say?" because he's just dying to know how he can make you laugh. But, don't you dare tell him because then he will, with no exaggeration, say it 100 times. If you laughed once, people, you're bound to laugh again!

Here's a video to prove my point. He insists on calling me Mamaw (his grandmother), which he thinks is just the funniest thing ever. He switches the words in both "Jesus Loves Me" and "Raindrops on Roses" (don't know official title, which is sad because I know every single word from the Sound of Music, much to Bret's chagrin. It's a long video, so it's really only for grandparents, and even then, only if they are bored or lonely.

10 Things You Should Ask Your Mother

In celebration of Mother's Day, CNN ran a story today listing the top ten questions every person should ask their mother now. I found the story mildly interesting and decided that I would offer up what I think my mom would answer. (I could actually ask her the questions and let her provide the answers, but I suspect she'd answer most of them with a slightly confused look and a "Yeah!?" or "Just a sec, let me ask your dad" which provides little entertainment.) Let's proceed.

1. What's the one thing you would have done differently as a mom?

I suspect my mom would say that she would have placed some of her sock money in Breyer's stocks. She bought enough "mint chocolate chip" to fill in the Grand Canyon while I was living at home. At least she could have gotten something back (up until the past year, anyway).

2. Why did you choose to be with my father?

"Just a sec, let me ask your dad..."

My mom is not a pinnacle of decisiveness. My dad provides their relationship with a great deal of balance in this regard. My mom can't individually decide which side of bed to crawl out of in the morning, so it's good that she has dad to consult. If only he could hear her...

3. In what ways do you think I'm like you? And not like you?

I think my mom would say that I picked up some of her indecisiveness, so it's good that I have Erin to balance that out. I think she might point out that she has a complete lack of gluttony, so who knows where that came from. (When my diabetic tremor starts, and I reach for my third piece of chocolate cake, I'll always think of my dad saddling a box of Christmas cookies while watching the History Channel.)

4. Which one of us kids did you like the best?

Duh.

5. Is there anything you have always wanted to tell me but never have?

I don't have any interest in worrying about NEW horrors of history. I feature enough genetic anomalies as it is, therefore I shall avoid asking this question.

6. Do you think it's easier or harder to be a mother now than when you were raising our family?

My sister and I were pretty easy kids to raise, so she probably would say it was easier back then. She only had to drive me 40 miles round trip to choir practice three times a week, so she really had it pretty easy on the whole.

7. Is there anything you regret not having asked your parents?

Sheesh...both of my mother's parents are still alive, so if she has regrets in this regard, she needs to give them a call. This question makes it sound like my mother must be at least 80 years old, and I'm fairly certain she's at LEAST five years shy of this.

In reality, my dear mom asks everyone she encounters the same basic questions:

"Did you know they have gas for $1.96 at the Speedway on Meridian?" or

"Do you have a coupon for $1 off ground chuck at Meijer? It was in section C on page 5 of the Sunday paper." or

"Did you see that the price of milk has gone up by $.06 this week? Better stock up! We have a Democrat in office!"

8. What's the best thing I can do for you right now?

"Point me to your bathroom" is probably a likely candidate.

9. Is there anything that you wish had been different between us -- or that you would still like to change?

I would hope that my mom would think very carefully before answering this question. It could have a strong bearing on when and where she goes when assisted living is necessary. It's her call. She can either be sitting under a flickering 40 watt lightbulb watching "Gunsmoke" reruns into eternity, or she can be sipping a smoothie in a leather recliner, waiting for the charter bus to take her on a day trip to go shopping. These next few years will be decisive.

10. When did you realize you were no longer a child?

This is a dumb question. Who ever thinks about this? For me, this moment was about 30 seconds before "I do"...just as a little bit of sweat (or maybe it was pee) ran down my leg. I suspect my mom entered adulthood far more gracefully, but who knows?

In any case, happy Mother's Day, Mom! Your cheese log is in the mail.

A Whopper of a Temptation

Tonight, Satan took me up on the mountain for my temptation, and this time, it came with a side of fries.

On our way to go shopping tonight, Erin and I decided that we couldn't wait until after buying the week's groceries to eat dinner (as that might cause our stomachs to growl for at least 30 minutes...unacceptable), so we stopped at Burger King (my choice) for a healthy and delicious meal.

When we eat fast food, Erin inevitably asks questions like "Are the tomatoes grown locally?" or "Can I get that with some of the mustard on the top bun and some of it on the side?" These questions usually garner a blank stare and occasionally reveal that the individual taking our order actually speaks no English beyond "cheeseburger," "fries," and "Sorry dude, I don't have insurance."

So tonight at Burger King, she requested that her Whopper come with no onions or mayo, simple requests. Upon receiving our order, I began devouring my sandwich when Erin opened hers to find no onion and globs of mayo, despite being correctly marked "No Mayo" on the wrapper. Frequently in these situations, Erin just sucks it up and eats her food, not wishing to have a confrontation with a vacant high school student (at least not on her weekends). But tonight, she did NOT want mayo, so she headed rightfully back to the counter.

As I watched the exchange occur between Erin and the individual behind the counter, I noticed her sandwich sitting there, lonely, on the counter. I silently prayed to myself, "God, please let that lonely, discarded Whopper make it into the trashcan or an employee's dinner. Whatever you do, Lord, don't let Erin bring it back with her."

Just as I saw the employee hand Erin her new sandwich, I noticed Erin also pickup the old one. As she walked back, I was about half finished with my original Whopper. She threw her first Whopper on the table in front of me and began eating her new and improved, no mayo sandwich.

I finished up my sandwich and stared longingly at the extra Whopper on the table. I had finished my fries and sandwich, and I was actually pretty much full, but the Whopper looked so forlorn, laying there already unwrapped on the table, like an uninvited guest at the party.

Eventually I told Erin, "You know, I've always said I could eat two Whoppers."

"No way" she replied.

"Oh sure I could. Watch me."

And with that, I began the 2nd Whopper.

Almost immediately, I began to feel my dinner building up in the top of my stomach as though trying to climb out of my throat with a rope ladder. I would have tried to push the food down manually, but I was too busy trying to regain the feeling in my left arm.

I slowly finished Whopper #2 and let out an exclamation, letting our fellow Burger King patrons know how proud I was of my achievement. I waited for Erin to congratulate me in astonishment. She was astonished alright, but all she could say was "You're gross."

As I type this, there is a small army of Tums the size of a toy poodle keeping my Whopper's at bay. I shudder to think of what will happen when I go to bed later, or even worse, the bathroom.