Homeboy

Who taught my son to refer to himself as a "homeboy"? Fess up.

Kate? Clint? Aunt Barb?

I'm on to all-you-all!

American Idol Pool

Every year we have an American Idol pool at work. Since I don't watch the show regularly, I haven't previously joined. But this year, because I'm feeling especially social, I threw in my few bucks.

Who did I draw? Siobhan Magnus.

Does anyone know anything about Siobhan? How do you say that name? "Show bun?" "Chow ban?" "Ain't gonna win?"

Methinks Grant's college fund just got a few dollars lighter...

Lucky Number 13 and Geek Toys

The other day I was entering Qdoba when I saw a young lady wearing a coat which prominently featured the number 13 on the back and sleeve. I thought to myself, "Hmm...what could possibly cause someone to put a 13 on their coat? NASCAR fan? Wilt Chamberlain fan (or offspring)?"

It then occurred to me that it was a letter jacket and she was graduating in 2013. How in the crap are kids graduating in 2013 now? I'm pretty sure '13 will never mean 2013 to me. I will always think of men with handlebar mustaches riding bikes with giant front wheels whilst smoking pipes when I think of '13 (although a brief search on Google suggests that perhaps I'm off by 30 years, but hey, it's my memory...don't mess with it.)

In other Hawkins family news, we finally got our new PC at home, which has resulted in endless tinkering by yours truly in an effort to get it working properly. I used to enjoy the geek thrill of setting up and playing with a new PC. Now I just find it to be a time sink away from the real things which interest me in life, namely sleep and booze.

I think I've finally got everything up and running again, but I'm still finding my way around Windows 7. I find myself frequently saying nonsensical things like "Dagnabbit" and "Doh!" and "Screw you Microsoft."

But in between these things, I have discovered some cool new stuff. One is the ability to "throw" movies from my computer to the network enabled TV in our bedroom. This is much cooler and easier to setup than I expected.

I've seen ads on TV for this, and you can read about it here on Microsoft's site. And while the quality isn't quite what I would want to watch a full movie over, it works great for showing the kids a quick episode of Bob the Builder whilst trying to shave. (Nothing quite kills a good shave like a small Chinese person clawing at you to pick her up.)

Hopefully I'm done tinkering for a while, and I can go back to the way I spent my evenings at the beginning of January when our old computer died -- lying on the couch watching Tivo while my kids try and start a fire in the kitchen.

Getting Back to Normal

We've been sick, computer-less, and trapped by snow, and despite the fact that it's still snowing, we're healthy (for the most part) and have a new computer (for the most part).

So, since we've had so few pictures (thanks to an absent computer), here is out last month in pictures.

I'll update soon with new info about Grace (her crazy half-Mandarin talking skills) and Grant "I've hit the terrible twos a little late" when I have a chance.

Why does my Mommy insist upon dressing me up to look like a dork?
Cute V-day smiles

Playing "knights" with their "helmets" (aka valentine gift boxes)
I die for those pigtails.
Grant "helping" me in the snow.

She wants to be just like Grant. We're raising a tomboy (thank goodness!).
Watching Sesame Street... finally friends!
Grace now says "cheese" when you take her picture, but you get this strange smile with it.
This is normal. Grant is so happy to be with Grace; Grace=the jury is still out. But, look at those cute pink converse my Mom get Grace for Christmas.
We're unofficially potty training. More on that later! The real stuff begins in March. She's already such a trooper; it should be easy (did I just say that out loud?).
Birthday boy turns 3!
"Mommy, hurry up with that toast!"

Happy (almost) Birthday, Erin!

Well here we are on the edge of Valentine's Day 2010 -- and Erin's birthday.  There's plenty of evidence within these pages that I'm not always the most stellar husband to Erin, although I (mostly) try.  Despite my efforts, occasionally Erin rolls over in the morning and mutters (audibly), "Oh great.  You're still here."

Despite all of our joking, it is true that I do manage to drop the ball sometimes.  The problem is that Erin does such a great job of keeping our lives in order that I sometimes think to myself, "She obviously has it all together.  Why does she need my confirmation?"  In other words, I forget that despite her strong willed "I ain't no Disney princess" exterior, she still has insecurities and needs me to tell her how great a job she's doing (if for no other reason than I want her to KEEP doing such a great job so that I never have to change a diaper or make my own lunch.)

So with all that, I just want to tell Erin how great a job she does as both a mother and wife.  I could never have imagined when we got married almost eight years ago how great she would be with our kids.  She truly does everything possible for them, including telling them when it would be in their best interest to ignore what their father tells them.  We have a beautiful family, and I'm amazed on a daily basis at how much our kids learn from their mom.

And let's be honest -- as good a job as Erin does at keeping the kids in check, she does an even better job dealing with me.  I know I'm not always the easiest person to live with.  In addition to being generally obnoxious and hard to deal with, my 34 year old body is in the shape of a 94 year old body; pieces are locking up or falling off all the time.  I can't get out of a chair without groaning, and my right arm can predict thunderstorms.  So Erin not only gets to deal with kid issues, she also gets to deal with someone who's elderly and grouchy before his time.  Despite this, she always puts the rest of us before herself, and she genuinely attempts to keep everyone happy.

So we're headed off for a date night this weekend.  We're leaving the kids with the grandparents, and we plan to party until the sun comes up (assuming it decides to come up at around 9pm).  I wouldn't want to spend the evening, or the rest of my life, with anyone else.  I love you, hon, even if I don't tell you often enough.

Take That Disney Princesses

Grant's fascination with all things Disney continues, and his love of the Disney princesses is still going strong. Grace received a chair with the Disney princesses on it for Christmas, and Grant steals it all the time to talk to his girls. He tells them about how he loves them and plans on saving them.

But, I don't really like many of those princesses. They are weak, needy, and not at all want for my son (or my daughter). Belle, for example. What does she teach? That you should stay with an emotionally abusive man, trying to see through to his "softer side"? No thanks. Or Jasmine? If your true love happens to be a thief who doesn't work, you shouldn't judge him? If Grace brought home her true love who happened to be an unemployed petty crook, I'm going to have something to say. Or Snow White. That girl is dim. She obviously didn't listen to the "you can't trust everyone" lecture, and that kind of stupidity is--well--stupid.

I do like a few of the "princesses." For example, I think Mulan is pretty wicked (and not just because she is Chinese). She saves her family and the whole country of China. I think it's a shame that she has to pretend to be a dude to do so, but at least, she has a mind and isn't afraid to use it. And even Pochahontas. I think it's a lame movie, but at least she's willing to choose the "not so happily ever after" because she recognizes that she has responsibilities.

What it comes down to is this: I don't like or respect weak women. I want to scream: have a backbone! Stand up! Make a decision!

So, this morning, when two-herniated-backed-gum-surgery-recovering Bret looked out the window to our drive way covered with snow, I took it as an opportunity to show my kids that Mommy ain't no whimp. There were parts of our driveway covered by 16 inches of snow, and so, after I bundled Grant up, I grabbed a shovel, and my son and I went out to labor in the cold.

I want Grant to grow up knowing that women are strong and capable individuals. We're not afraid to get muddy. We're not afraid to work our tails off in the freezing cold. And if he meets a woman who can't or thinks she's too much of a princess to sweat it out, she's not quite the fairy tale he had imagined.

Gummy

I had gum surgery yesterday. 

That's really all you have to say.  You don't have to really give any additional details for people to go, "Yech.  That blows."  All in all, it was a relatively easy procedure.  I was supposed to have a gum graft done, but the periodontist (an excellent doctor from South America...the 2nd South American to do surgery on my gums...) was able to "reposition" the existing tissue with the help of a fork and knife and prevent any further damage that might have been incurred while grafting the tissue from another site.  Delightful, huh?

So while I'm not in pain, this greatly limits my Super Bowl eating and drinking.  The doctor joked that I should go "wine & cheese" instead of "chips & soda," a suggestion I'm more than OK with.  In the mean time, I'm keeping ice on my cheek and waiting for our new computer to arrive (next week...it's in the mail!!)

One other thing I saw today that made me laugh.  I started to leave a comment on a music blog that I read, and as verification that I was "human" and not a spam-bot of some kind, it put this before the "Submit" button:

? = 7 + 4

I had to answer this question to submit my comment.  I realize that the goal here is to make people enter something that only a human would be able to do and not a robot.  But based on my experiences in the past few years, I'm guessing this eliminates more than a few stupid comments as well.

Disappointment

I have caught my kids' vomit in my bare hands so many times now that it doesn't even phase me.

Like today, when we were standing in the lobby of the world famous Indianapolis Children's Museum after hours of talking about how fun it would be (needless to say, Grant was a bit excited), and Grant threw up. Again. Again. Again.

He hasn't been out in weeks (some kind of bronchitis crap), so he ran circles upon circles just to get to the lobby, so you can imagine the mess I had on my hands (no pun intended) when he discovered that his vomit party was going to lead to us getting right back in the van and heading home.

He was manic, naked in his carseat, and--perhaps for the first time in his life--experiencing true disappointment.

I smelled like vomit, which anymore, is all in a day's work.

Side Effects

One of the side effects of Erin's current trend toward "deal-based consumerism" is that we never have the same brand of any given product twice.  In general, this doesn't bother me at all.  In fact, it's sort of exciting in a "I'm middle-aged with two kids and a house covered in siding" kind of way to wake up and use Crest one morning and Aquafresh the next.  It keeps things spicy.

There is one area where I find this troubling -- toilet paper.

I know, I know...not another bathroom blog.  But next to sleep (and only slightly ahead of my job), the bathroom is where I spend most of my day.  And let's be honest -- everyone desires consistency in the bathroom.  It's why old people eat cereal made from packing material and young people refuse to do the "big job" in strange places.  We all long for consistency.

The problem with Erin's shopping is not that we end up with different brands of toilet paper.  I couldn't care less if I'm using Charmin or White Cloud.  (My only request is that our toilet paper not be made from "recycled" materials.  I'm all for saving the earth, but I'm more in tune currently with saving my a**.  The earth doesn't make riding a stationary bike at the gym uncomfortable.  Find me some fluffy recycled materials, and I'm game.)

The problem lies in that we end up with different thickness and ply in our various bathrooms.  As each roll in each bathroom runs out, a new roll, a new brand, and a new thickness goes in.  This leaves too much room for error.  I frequently find myself zinging off enough TP to make my arm look like an oversized Q-tip, only to discover that in THIS bathroom on THIS particular day, we're using some sort of 8-ply product with super fuzzy softness, leaving me with enough paper for 10 trips (and too much to, uh, fit for just this one trip).

Even worse is the converse.  I pull off a couple of sheets, fold them over gently, and quickly discover that I'm doing a home cancer screening of some sort because we're using a single ply paper meant only for RVs and stadiums.

I know that in the grand scheme of things, this seems small.  But you can't deny that there are few worse ways to start your day than a) plugging up your bathroom toilet with 5 pounds of Ultra Charmin or b) making first contact with yourself in an undesirable way.

Any One Want In..

I want to buy a quarter of a grass fed cow. Any one want to split it with me?

Not joking.

Updates

Again, sorry it's been so slow here the past couple of weeks.  We are STILL waiting on our new home PC to arrive.  It's due to arrive the first week of February, so hopefully we'll get back to more regularly posting then.

The other big thing going on with us right now is that our kids are, again, sick.  It started last week with Grace, and now Grant has it.  Colds, fevers, runny noses, coughing all night.  It's making all of us extremely tired, although right now Erin and Grant are in the worst shape.  Never before have I been so ready for winter to end.  Poor little Grace's face has been chapped since October, and we're on at least our third major round of illnesses for the winter.

I hope everyone is doing well, and we look forward to getting back to more interesting posts in a couple of weeks!!

Nemesis

A new antagonist has made its way into our house.  It's an air freshener.  It's one of those new fangled air fresheners that only goes off when someone enters its line of sight  or when it hasn't gone off in a while.  I do not like this thing.

First off, it makes a really fearsome hissing noise when it goes off.  Phhhtthfffft.  Followed by what sounds like some gears grinding.  It's very disconcerting.

The air freshener is currently placed in the bathroom within our bedroom.  I will not comment on why Erin chose to place it there.  Perhaps she has a problem of some sort that she needs to disclose.  In any case, I frequently forget that that air freshener is in there, and as I enter, I get the "Phhthhhtffftt" as it decides to emit its fragrant spray.  I feel like it's judging me.

And finally, when I need to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I have learned that the air freshener will not go off in the dark.  This pleases me.  At least I can have some peace in the middle of the night. 

Unfortunately last night I needed to take some medicine, so I flipped on the light, only to immediately receive a blast of fragrance, the sound of which scared me into needing to also use the toilet.  The thing is right at eye level, so you literally feel as though you've been fragrantly maced in your nighttime stupor.  Not cool, I say.  Not cool.

Go Colts!

Dear Troy and Riley,

Tomorrow, when the Colts v. Jets AFC championship game is a few minutes from starting and the cameras are panning the frenzied Lucas Oil Stadium crowd, as they pass over Section 409, Erin and I will make sure to give you guys a hearty wave.

I'll even eat an extra hotdog for ya...  :-)

Bret

Gee, it's awfully quiet in here...

...and that would mostly be because our home PC died a painful death last week.

Erin mentioned to me casually one morning last week that our computer wouldn't come out of Standby mode.  I went over and took a look at it, and when I reached down to push the Power button myself, I got a nice big static shock.  So whatever was left of the PC probably went kaput when I zapped it.  In any case, we were able to recover all of the data, and now we're just waiting for our shiny new PC to arrive.

We promise we'll get back to our zany posts ASAP, but in the mean time, here are a few pics from Grant's 3rd birthday party, courtesy of my cousin's husband Paul. You can checkout his website here!

(And you can always keep reading Erin's new blog -- Get Real Family until we get back up to speed).

Vegas Finale

You know, I'm a pretty safe guy to be around, especially when compared to some of the other individuals who inhabit Sin City during any given week.  But my last full day in Vegas proved that things can go wrong, and you can still land in hot water through sheer ignorance.

Things started off well enough.  At the end of the show, most of our boxes arrived from storage early, so we were able to pack up most of our gear for the convention before the end of the evening.  This meant that in theory, we would have little to do the next morning, outside of packing up a few last things and turning it all over to the shipper.

As the show had reached its close on Sunday, people had started inquiring about purchasing some of the TVs we had on display.  We made some inquiries and got the needed paperwork, so we told a few people to return the next morning, and we'd make them a deal.  It was a win-win.  We didn't have to ship the stuff back, and they got a good deal.

So on Monday, one of the bikini models from the show arrived bright eyed and barely clothed to pickup TVs with a couple of girlfriends.  While she waited for her ride to arrive, several other guys, primarily union guys working the show, came by to discuss making purchases.  Since some of them had helped us get our boxes out of storage quickly on Sunday night, we had no problems making them a good deal.

Eventually we had sold most of the product, but it was still sitting around waiting to be picked up.  The bikini girl waited a couple of hours before her ride arrived, and she was able to use her feminine wiles to get a guy to haul her stuff out on a forklift.  (The shirt she was wearing gave him a view to next Christmas, so I doubt it was a tough sell.)

Another lady called and said she'd be by in a few minutes with a truck to get her stuff.  It was shortly after this that a policeman walked into our booth and yelled, "Which one of you is Bret Hawkins?"

I looked over at my boss, and I could see him thinking, "Nice work.  After you left us last night, what did you do?  Cheat somebody?  Get in a fight?  Snort coke off a hooker's back?"  As he finished this thought (and while I was busy trying to keep from filling my shorts) the cop called his name also.  The officer's next question was, "Which of you is in charge?" at which point I began bowing and stepping away backwards from my boss.

During the discussion, a small crowd of other officials began to gather.  Some were officials from the show, some were security guards, others were policemen. I marveled at the various modes of transportation -- some had walked, others were on bikes, one was on a Segway.

Eventually, we were informed that there had been some issues with our sale.  Apparently you can't do what we did, per convention rules.  We also got a lengthy lesson regarding sales taxes and business licenses.  Who knew?  Apparently people who work at the show can get into trouble for buying stuff, so hopefully we didn't get anyone in trouble with our attempted good deed.  (In our defense, we saw a lot of stuff being sold toward the end of the show, so we thought it was fine.)

As it turns out, as the original group of girls exited the convention center, the guards took note of my name on their bill.  Soon after, another individual parked their pickup in the loading dock, blocking semis taking equipment out of the show, resulting in a complaint being filed.  What a mess.

The police took some names and info from us (which I'm sure will somehow inhibit my ability to get a passport in the future) and informed us that where possible, we needed to refund the cash.  (They were probably laughing at the idiot Midwesterners who found the one way to get in trouble in Vegas.)

This was fine with me, except that it meant that I now had to locate all these union guys to give them their money and explain the situation.  This only took a few hours which I could have spent enjoying lunch on my last day in Vegas, but alas.

A little while after we left, glad for the ordeal to be over, my boss got a text on his cell phone from one of the ladies, asking if we could get a TV out of the convention center and then meet her on the street to sell it.  We figured this was probably some kind of sting, and Chris Hansen from Dateline would pop out asking us if we knew who he was.  No way.

The story might have been better if we'd actually landed in jail, but the whole thing was painful enough as it was.  I can't afford a conviction right now...I need to be able to get a job in the future.  It's just unfortunate the several angry union guys from Vegas are now staring at my business card...waiting...

Look Who is Three or What the HECK?

I can hardly believe that our sweet and funny little boy is three years old today. I know everyone says it, but it does seem like just yesterday that we were bundling him up to bring him home from the hospital.

Grant has brought such joy to our lives. We love how hilarious he is, how big a heart he has, how he can play with such boy energy. He is our beloved son. We are thankful to his birthmom for the gift of Grant, and we are thankful to God who is the greatest giver of gifts.

We'll have pictures from Grant's superhero party (which is Saturday) later in the week. Grant's favorite part of every birthday has been when all eyes turn on him to sing "Happy Birthday"; we'll see if the presents outweigh the song this year.

From 2007

From 2008

From 2009

Would you like some WHINE with that...

Now, I know what it is to miss family. I know what it is to work long days without any love from the boss man. I know what it is to be in limbo about future plans.

BUT, don't feel too sorry for Bret; after all, he's in Las Vegas on the company dime. He's staying at a nice hotel without having to ask for a pack-n-play. He's eating really, really nice meals, ones without sippy cups, dropped forks, or cold food because you've spent the first fifteen minutes cutting up food into manageable bites.

I'm eating chicken noodle soup out of can. On a good night. This morning, I woke up to Grace covered down (no joke... moms do not joke about such things) to her socks in poop. I have changed THREE outfits this morning because of poop.

So, if you're starting to feel a little sorry for homesick Bret, let's remember little old me here with two runny-nosed toddlers and a house covered in marshmallows (thank you, Papaw and Mamaw for getting Grant a marshmallow gun for Christmas) and load upon load of poopy laundry.

So, honey, we can't wait for you to come home. You better take all the uninterrupted nights on high thread count sheets and glasses of free wine you can get... because when you get home, I need a break--at the very least, I want to go the bathroom by myself.

Halfway there...

 

So this is how things turned out for our booth at CES.  It was fairly amazing to see the transformation after seeing how it looked at the beginning of the week.  Other people with more CES experience tell me that it always seems like a miracle has to occur for the displays to turn out so well, but they also agreed that this year's miracle seemed particularly mind boggling.

Despite the booth looking good, it's been a hard week out here.  As always, I miss my family, and there's been a lot of "job stuff" (for lack of a better term) swirling around that has made the week particularly trying.  It's been difficult to even be interested in what's going on with the rest of the show, partly because I'm exhausted.  I'm eating lots of great food and seeing some cool stuff, but none of it is having much of an impact on me.

So with that, I'm going to try to get some sleep tonight and regain some energy for the rest of the show.  Perhaps if I write an entry tomorrow, I'll be feeling a little more positive.  Tonight I feeling like I'm just trying to get by...albeit with a good steak from Les Artistes aiding the process.... 

Ready To Roll

Tomorrow is the opening of CES in Las Vegas, and I couldn't be happier to actually get the show rolling.  We've had a relatively miserable couple of days trying to get our booth together, but things are looking good now, and I'm ready to go.  The above picture is the "before" shot.  I'll send the "after" later this week...

In celebration of keeping the local union guys from killing any of my Chinese colleagues ("Get off that ****in' ladder right now, or we will kick you out of this show!!!!") our team had an amazing dinner at Wolfgang Puck's Postrio.  I had, I kid you not, spaghetti and meatballs, but it was pretty amazing.  Plus I ended the meal with some amazing Bananas Foster.  It was a very nice conclusion to a rotten couple of days.

Here's a shot of the crew hoisting one of our logos overhead. The ability to maneuver these gigantic arms without destroying everything in sight is an amazing skill. (The operator, in this particular case, possessed both this amazing skill as well as approximately 20 piercings in his face. Both features were truly amazing.)

And finally, you love it when your sign unintentionally obstructs a major competitor:

Welcome to Paris!

...Paris Las Vegas, that is.

I have arrived in Vegas for the International Consumer Electronics Show.  While there are perks to getting to spend some time in the desert in a nice hotel (it IS supposed to get to 60 degrees here today), there are definitely some down sides.

Since we're staying in Paris this year, the first thing I'm having to get used to is the use of what I'll term "hack French" on every sign.  "Le Buffet," "Le Garage," "Le Machine That Eats Quarters."  It's a little over the top. 

I understand wanting to provide ambiance, but couldn't they have just piped in some body odor and had a "Hurl Insults at Americans" booth in the lobby?  (I keed, I keed.  I worked for some delightful French people for many years.  Until they sold me to China.)

This morning I got up and got dressed for a workout.  Since my back has been such a mess, I have worked out faithfully.  And since I'm going to be on my feet for the next week, I wanted to be sure to not let that lapse.

I headed down to the 2nd floor where the workout center was located ("Le Spa.")  Upon arrival, I was informed that I would have to buy a daily spa pass at $25/day in order to use the elliptical machine for 35 minutes.  Uh, no thanks.

I did what any good midwesterner would do and told "Le Attendant" that I thought that was sort of a crock.  It didn't seem to phase her since there was a line of willing suckers already behind me at 6am.

And this is the problem, as I see it, with Las Vegas today.  Our cabbie on the ride to the hotel lamented the days when the mob ran things here.  At least then you could get a cheap room and a cheap meal, and in between you could dump loads of untraceable cash into the casino. 

Today, you just get robbed at every turn.  It'll cost me $20 for a bowl of oatmeal and a coffee this morning, which leaves a taste in my mouth which is, well, "Le Crappy."

One of My Favorites

Wei Wei does one of my favorite things, and it has to be a by-product of being adopted at 14 months. When she came to us, she had no idea how to kiss. It was, no pun intended, a foreign concept. Now, she kisses all the time... and anything. She'll kiss the table, the lamp, the floor.

But, the best part is when you ask for a kiss or tell her to go kiss someone. To Grace, a kiss on the knee or the elbow is just as common as a kiss on the lips, probably more so. I kiss Grace everywhere: on her tummy, on her eyes... so, of course, she thinks that's the norm.

So, if you're lucky enough to get a kiss from Wei Wei, you best expect it to land just about anywhere.

A New Year

I can't believe that it's 2010; I remember thinking (when I was of the ripe ol' age of 13) that the year 2000 seemed sooooooooo far away, and when we got to Y2K, I'd be sooooooooooooo old. Things look different when you're on the other side of Y2K by a decade.

But, this isn't a nostalgic blog post. Yes, 2009 was great. Yes, we finally got to meet our daughter. And even though I value reflection, if the ringing in of 2010 has taught me anything, it's that time is fleeting. So, get a move on.

First off, don't forget to check out my new blog, which launched today. Fun and free stuff! Link to the right: Get Real Family.

On a housekeeping note, I should recount a few stories from over the holidays; these stories are more for me (and my record keeping) than for you, but hey, if you're here, and you're reading this, and you've already made it this far, you might as well keep reading.

1. Grant continues to be so easy in some ways. I remember at about 22 months when we moved him out of his crib--straight to a twin bed. No issues. Pacifiers? The pacifier fairy came one night... no issues. Potty training (I shouldn't admit this out loud, I know) took two days at 27 months. Easy. And now, we just took his guard off his bed, and he fell out once the first night... and, you guessed it, hasn't since. Easy. There is a terrible karma that happens to parents when they say these type of things out loud; the next kid will be a royal terror to transition.

2. One of my favorite things Grant said this Christmas involved music and his cousin Mary. Mary, a good 12 years Grant's senior, was trying to introduce Grant to rap music through the song "I'm so hood," which Grant sang at high volume. But, then, being the good student of music that Grant is, Grant asked Mary if she had any "folk music." We didn't know that he knew what "folk music" was, but hey, the kid knows that anything folk has got to be better than anything with the lyrics "I'm so hood."

3. Presents. Let's just use one word: ridiculous. The spoiling of these children is out of control. For future reference, in lieu of presents, please make checks payable to Grant and Grace's college funds. I'm just kidding. Kind of.

3a: Presents continued. Grant couldn't tell you his favorite present if he tried. He received sooooooooo many toys, and with his birthday a mere 13 days away, we're pretty sure we might as well convert our dining room into a playland, giving up any hope that our house isn't outright owned by Fisher Price. Grace, who received many, many toys as well, was far more interested in the candy and the two dollar microphone in her stocking than much else.

3b: Presents continued. No, really. Consider the college fund.

Here are a few pictures of Grant and Grace... to finish out 2009.

One More Day

No, really. My first few days are soooo good! Free stuff, cheap stuff... it's going to be great! So, starting tomorrow, check out Get Real Family (link to the right) every day! Yeah!

Maybe Get Real Family could be your new year's resolution... an easy one to keep, I promise.

Two More Days

The launch of Get Real Family (link to the right) is just two days away. I've got some great deals lined up, so I don't think you'll want to miss the blog's launch. I'm so excited.

Christmas in Pictures

Merry Christmas!!

We've already had two Christmas celebrations, and it's not even Christmas day yet! We are so thrilled to have Grace home with us this Christmas, so thrilled to be a family of four with our talkatively funny little boy, so thrilled to be celebrating seven years of marriage, and so thrilled to be loved by God so fully and so graciously.

Merry Christmas...

Personalized Video From Santa

Grant watched his personalized video today (it had his name, his hometown, his picture, his gift preference). It was so cute watching him get so excited. If you're interested, the video is free, and it took me about 3 minutes.

The info is here if interested. Just passing it along...

Christmas Pains

As has been well documented on this blog, I am continuing to have problems with my lower back, a problem exacerbated by my toddlers who insist on abusing me at every possible juncture.

On Friday, I was lying on the family room floor, trying desperately to get my back to loosen up enough to get to work.  The pain was akin to driving a screwdriver into the lower left side of my back, resulting in pain radiating around my waist and down my left leg.  It was not good.

Grant has begun mimicking me as I do my stretches, and he frequently tells people that his back is hurting.  It's cute, and it brings me joy.  Grace, on the other hand, does not yet understand that daddy lying on the floor does not mean it is playtime.  Therefore on Friday morning, she took the opportunity to toddle into the room and drop, full weight, onto my pelvis.  I explained to my children that these were tears of joy, and I couldn't wait to spend Christmas with them.  I think they bought it, and I'm sure I'll regain the feeling in my toes eventually.

On Sunday, having gradually recovered over the course of the weekend, I went to retrieve Grant from his car seat, only to find him staring distantly into space.  I kept trying to snap him out of it, but he just continued to stare, as though practicing for the stage production of "Awakenings." Finally he returned to normalcy, going instantly into hysterics, only to inform me that he was "pretending he was in a coma."  I have no idea.

New Blog

Don't forget to check out my deal blog as we gear up for its official launch on January 1. You can find the link to the menu on the right: Get Real Family.

Grant, Grant, Grant

Today I took Wei Wei in for her 18 month check up (75th percentile height; 60th percentile weight [a jump from the 20th percentile she was only four months ago]). After the appointment, I had to run a work-related errand on the opposite side of town, and through the course of the two hours we were gone, Grant had two funnies.

Funny #1.
Poor Wei Wei had to get a host of immunizations this visit, but she and Grant both needed the flu vaccine booster. So, Grant and I talked a lot about being brave. I told him that--if he was really brave--I would take him someplace special for dinner. He asked where we would go, and I told him we might get to go to Taco Bell (I know, but he's two), to which he responded, "No, I want to go somewhere specialier." Smart cookie.

Funny #2.
We were ordering at Arby's (which I guess to Grant is "specialier" than Taco Bell) when the very old lady taking our order engaged Grant in a conversation about his Curious George shirt while I glanced over the "menu." I wasn't paying too much attention until an exiting patron starting laughing hysterically at Grant. I looked over to see that Grant was showing the old woman his Batman bandaid, a special adhesive strip he received from the nurse after his flu shot. The only problem: to show the lady the bandaid on his legs, Grant had pulled down his pants and his underwear. There in all his glory was a naked boy Grant and his very Batman bandaid. Thankfully, the woman chuckled like she was a grandmother who understood.

Christmas Cards

This morning I grabbed the final batch of our Christmas cards with the intention of getting them wrapped up over lunch. Erin has written approximately 40 of these so far, so I figured I could pitch in and do a couple.

Erin and I have far different approaches to Christmas cards. In fact, Erin's approach to cards in general varies greatly from the approach taken by my relatives. In my family, you relied heavily on whatever the card manufacturer had written prior to you purchasing the card. That was the whole point of spending 10 minutes looking at cards in the store -- to find the one that said what you wanted to say. Why else would you spend $4.95 on a card, if it weren't to pay for some artful poetry?

My mom has written, "Love Mom & Dad" inside a thousand cards, and I pretty well understand the sentiment without being walked through why or when they started loving me. And more impressively, she did this while spending only $0.49 on her cards. She even finds deals on sentimental prose!

In Erin's world, you spend 20 minutes in the store, and then you write a small novel inside the card, in addition to whatever brilliance was already placed there by Hallmark, et al. When I write, "Happy Holidays, Bret, Erin, Grant & Grace" and begin sealing the envelope, I am always informed that I have failed to do my duty. I must write something to personalize the card. (I thought the delivery address covered this base, but alas.)

So when you open your card from us and see whatever I've written, just know that it was written under duress. Happy Holidays.

The other delightful piece of this year's card is that the cover has glitter on it, which means my desk at work, my hair, my sweater, and my crotch (over which I authored my Christmas wishes) is now all sparkly and glittery.

When I trudge through my office this morning, people can now assume that either I've been writing Christmas cards or that I've had the breakfast buffet at a local strip club. Hopefully my cheery, festive demeanor does not lead them to the wrong conclusion.

Now I'm the one who must have brain damage...

Sunday morning, Erin reminded me that she was going to be at work for a few hours in the evening and that I would be left in charge of the children. I love my kids, but I'm never entirely convinced that them being left in my care isn't going to result in me being tied to a chair and discarded on the lawn as they ransack our house.

After thinking about it for a while (not long enough, obviously), I decided that I would take the kids to Chuck E. Cheese, single parent style. I can see all of you rolling your eyes and saying, "What were you thinking?" But I thought it would kill lots of time, plus we had tokens left over from a previous visit so it wouldn't cost me much. I obviously put too low a price on my sanity.

We arrived around 5pm following the Colts game on Sunday, and luckily the place wasn't packed. Upon entering, I purchased a small pizza, one soda, and the salad bar. Total price? $22.50. What the heck? $22.50? Erin says it's for the experience, but nobody charges me to poke myself in the eye, do they?

We made our way to a table right in front of Chuck E., and after getting the kids out of their coats, I decided to grab some salad. It was then I realized that I couldn't go to the salad bar without taking the kids, so I picked them back and up and returned to the bar.

When I got to the salad bar, I put Grace down, and she immediately began screaming. It is nearly impossible to carry a salad plate and a small child and actually put food on your plate at a salad bar. I would put some lettuce on the plate, and in trying to pick it up with Grace squirming in my arms, it would immediately fall off into the olives or potato salad.

After spending 10 minutes getting my salad, I said, "OK, Grant. Let's go back to our table." I looked down to where he had just been, and he was gone. Not far, but far enough that a small corner of my heart exploded in the three seconds it took for me to locate him. It wouldn't have been so bad, except that this went on all night. Every time I would locate Grant, I would lose Grace in the few seconds it took to find him. It was a vicious cycle with no conclusion except for me to have a small heart attack.

But the kids enjoyed the whole experience, and Grant sang Happy Birthday to numerous kids who he didn't know. He loved it. I would just like it noted that Chuck E. Cheese is no competition for Showbiz Pizza, the similar place we had in Indiana when I was a child. Showbiz had multiple dancing characters with lights and three stages -- not just a single rat whose head moves 6 degrees in either direction. Additionally, Showbiz had every video game ever released (approximately 6 in 1982). Chuck's has the claw game and skee ball.

Like many things, I rue the fact that my kids won't get to have the Showbiz experience in their life. Instead they're stuck with Chuck E. Cheese and a father with a blown heart valve.

Home Four Months

Sometimes, it's hard to believe that we've been home with Grace for only four months. She's such a part of our family, like she's always been here. But, in other ways, it seems so long ago, as she has changed so very much. Every two months, we experience a huge leap in her attachment. In October, she stopped some concerning behaviors. Now, she is super affectionate. Baby steps, really, but it's so fun to witness her growing and trusting more.

She continues to be a handful at times, as she can be pretty obstinate. But the hardest part about Wei Wei is the screaming. She screams all the time. Sometimes, she wakes up at 4 am, screams at the top of her lungs, and starts giggling afterward. She screams if Grant looks at her. She screams if she wants something. I have never been so ready for a child to speak! She does have four signs she uses (please, thank you, more and all done), and she says quite a few words: mama, dada, nene (my mom), all done, mine, hello, bye-bye, cracker, bunny, Elmo. My favorite two things she says: "I do" (said when you ask her a question like, "do you want to go eat something?") and "good girl" which she says as she does something (usually closing a door to a forbidden room) she knows she should. She has these two word phrases, but she still doesn't have a word for Grant. We'll see what she decides on that later.

She is a major trooper when it comes to sleep. She only naps for about 1.5 hours a day, but she goes to sleep around 6 pm and gets up around 7 am. She sometimes wakes up to scream (for fun) or to talk to herself and play in her crib, but the majority of time, she's out cold. She takes no "prep" time for bed, though it is one of my favorite snuggle times with her. She'd be "fine" without it, but I have to at least get a few minutes of rocking time with her.

She continues to eat almost anything. She still does not like breads, crackers or cookies (Mommy just does not get it), but she loves rice, grilled chicken, french fries and noodles. Like Grant, she's not a real sweet tooth (no really, what gives), but she has had a McDonald's soft serve ice cream cone, and she thought that was bliss. I have never seen her cry so hard as when I had to take away the dripping cone (just to do some clean up on it).

She has started to really have a preference about her toys. Her favorite: stuffed animals. Grant has never cared for stuffed animals, so Grace has inherited all of his, and she carries them around the house all day. She MUST have one to go to sleep at night, but she's not picky yet. She does love a talking Elmo doll leftover from Grant's first Christmas, but it took one 4 am "Elmo loves to go up up" sing-a-long for Mommy to decide that Elmo was a daytime toy.

She continues to grow and to change, and while this post sure isn't funny, it's important for me to note, as often as I can (though not as often as I would like) how our little girl is changing.

We're so thankful for out little Gracie!

Ham and Church

During our weekly trips to Kroger, while Erin peruses the fruits and vegetables, I make my way to the deli counter to carefully select the meat which will inevitably makeup my lunches for the following week.

Erin and I are both in favor of spending a little bit of extra money on deli meat. As I've grown older, I've lost my youthful exuberance for things like pimento loaf and the products of Carl Buddig. Therefore I try to select meats that are "non-slimy," to use an Erin term, and not pre-packaged.

So each week I pick a basic, but not too cheap, ham or roast beef for my lunches. On several occasions, I've heard people order "tavern ham" at the deli counter. This stuff is pricey (in the $8/pound range), so I haven't tried it, but this week I thought I'd give myself an early, pork-based Christmas gift, and oh my, is this stuff wonderful.

The ham in question is Boar's Head Tavern Ham. This is the Filet Mignon of the ham universe. So much flavor...so little slime. The perfect tenderness. Erin and I actually simultaneously called each other at our respective jobs, both wanting to discuss the greatness of this ham. Now I look forward to lunch everyday. Thank you Boar's Head.

Now about church. This week, I went to church on Sunday on my own, since Erin and the kids were all recovering from various ailments which would prevent them from entering most civilized countries. As I got dressed and ready to go, I realized how much I dislike going to church alone. (Due to my own ailments and traveling, I hadn't been to church in about a month, therefore I didn't feel right playing the "Get out of church free!" card this week.)

The basic problem for me is that I'm not very good at face to face communication, something apparently valued by other Christians. (Erin covers my deficiencies in this area very nicely, so when she's not around, I'm in a world of hurt. So much can go wrong for me in so little time, "Gee Mavis, I didn't realize you were still alive! Nice mole.") Therefore I left the house with just enough time to get to services so that I would minimize the mingling.

Historically, I have had an amazing knowledge of the streets and neighborhoods surrounding whatever church I attend. I know to the minute how many loops I need to make in order to kill six minutes. Occasionally I have fallen asleep in the church parking lot awaiting the passing of at least one opening song and perhaps a prayer or two.

This Sunday, I arrived just before things got rolling and took my seat at the back of the auditorium. A woman initially came in and placed her Bible a couple of chairs down from me, but when she returned to see "the alone guy" sitting at the end of the row, she shuffled a few seats down with a slight smile.

My least favorite part of any church service is the "turn, shake hands with thy neighbor, and try to ignore the festering wound on their person as you slowly pull your own, now sullied hand from theirs." It's even worse when you're by yourself, and you have a couple of minutes of chit-chat to kill. I discovered on Sunday that my identity in our new church is defined entirely as "the guy with the Chinese kid and the black kid." Until I mentioned that, I might as well have been the meter reader.

I don't blame anyone but myself for this. My answer to "So did you have a good week?" will always be, simply "Yes." And "How are the kids?" will always be returned with "Good." Therefore I don't expect anyone to know that I like 90's indie rock and have a penchant for tavern ham.

In a church made up 90% of families, I always feel bad for the few single guys around the room. For whatever reason, I think a stigma follows single guys at church, perhaps unfairly.

Any time the sermon involves drinking too much, you can sense the eyes slipping over to the 24 year old in wrinkled khakis, flipping through the maps at the back of his Bible. Same goes for sermons on pre-marital sex. You know those poor guys can feel the heat of the stares saying, "Stay the hell away from my daughter, single dude." I had this thought on Sunday as I glanced at Paul's 2nd and 3rd missionary journeys.

Following the service, I was the first one out the door. I was three blocks away before the preacher got to the back door for the post-service meet 'n greet. And when I'm without my family, that's just how I like it.

So You Think You Can Dance

Sunday morning, Erin informed me that we needed to get some videos of black kids dancing. I had no earthly clue what she was talking about, but we proceeded to have a discussion about it, and by the end, I was in full agreement.

Last week we were given nearly-free tickets to see Disney On Ice at Conseco Fieldhouse. Grant nearly has a heart attack at the sight of any of the Disney princesses, so we knew that seeing them skate around in a darkened room full of seductive music would pretty much put him over the edge. So we packed up the van and made our way to the 5pm show.

But when we arrived at 5pm, we were informed that Erin's careful fact checking (think "IRS calculation checker" rather than "George Bush grammar checker") had failed to note that there was no 5pm show on Saturdays, only a 3pm and a 7pm. Having already missed the 3pm by an hour, we made our way to the Circle Centre Mall to kill some time, followed a dinner at Rock Bottom.

Rock Bottom was uncharacteristically awful. It was one of those meals where you were left thinking, "Did they hear Gracie shriek and think, 'We can outlast them.'?" The fries were soggy, the beer was slow, the server screwed up our order. It was bad. But we tried to rectify the situation by stopping by Dunkin' Donuts for a donut on the way back to the show, only to discover that the donuts you get five minutes prior to closing can also be used as flint.

Disney On Ice turned out to be a lovely experience. The kids were entranced. As each new song started with new characters heading out onto the ice, Grant would excitedly turn around and announce the name of each person. It was really adorable. Erin and I were both tearing up at the pure excitement he was experiencing. I'd highly recommend a trip to one of these shows if you can get cheap tickets, as both of the kids really loved it, despite it being a little late for them.

At intermission, Grant hopped up to make friends with the row behind us while I investigated the availability of alcohol at a family show. As it turned out, there was a very nice black family with three kids seated directly behind us, one of which was a little boy a couple of years older than Grant.

Grant is a desperately social creature, so he immediately began befriending the little boy. Grant genuinely tries to converse with everyone he meets, but occasionally he doesn't have the realization that not everyone is immediately interested in a discussion regarding the tree on his shirt or who bought him his pants.

In this case, Grant first tried "I know my numbers!!" as a conversation starter. He then began demonstrating his skills by calling out the numbers on everyone's seat. The four year old behind us was unimpressed, but Grant was undeterred. At this point, he brought out the dance.

For anyone who hasn't seen it, Grant has developed a dance over the past few weeks where he begins by knocking his knees together ala Elvis and ends by crossing his hands back and forth between his knees ala the Charleston. In other words, you'd be more likely to see his dance done in blackface than by a black kid.

Eventually he made friends with the family behind us, but it definitely left us a little shaken. We want Grant to feel like he fits in with everyone, but if he keeps pulling that dance out in public, he's going to end up looking more like Carlton than the Fresh Prince.

So this leads us back to Erin's request to find videos of black kids dancing. And we're thinking more James Brown than Gregory Hines, to be honest. Perhaps if we can introduce Grant to some dancers better than Erin and myself, he'll be more impressive when he decides to bust a move.

Rough Morning

This morning I was on extended daddy duty.  Erin had to be at work by 6am, so I was charged with taking care of the two extra-terrestrials that reside in our house until they were to be dropped off at school around 9am.

Of course, the minute Erin raised the garage door to leave, the kids started taking turns at being awake.  First it was Grace.  She would just yell at the top of her lungs for 10 seconds, then stay silent for 5 minutes.  Next it was Grant, who needed to go potty. 

I attended briefly to each of them, but then I informed them that I needed a shower, and I needed to take it without a snotty nose pressed against the frosted shower glass awaiting my damp return.

After getting myself cleaned up, I got them both up and dressed.  Grace, as it turns out, had apparently not gone #2 in approximately three weeks, for when I got her diaper off, I was greeted by a rather large gift.  After 30 wet wipes and screaming, "Please Gracie, do NOT put your hand down there!" about 100 times, I managed to get her cleaned up and dressed.

I grabbed a cup of coffee and headed for the recliner for a moment's peace before loading them up for school.  I got six seconds of rest before Grant walked over and said, "Hey Daddy...I'm gonna put some snot on you."

And then I got to go to work...

Tiger, Tiger, Tiger...

Normally we keep this blog pretty much apolitical and devoid of social commentary, but this whole mess with Tiger Woods has been keeping the guys around my office glued to SI.com waiting for the latest updates.  And as a guy who's almost exactly the same age as Tiger and has followed Woods' career as a fan for the past few years, I'm finding myself more prone to watching this play out than all the other celebrity garbage being posted on TMZ and the like.

So with today's revelation that apparently Tiger was indeed playing some games after he finished golfing each day, I have to ask, "What the heck is wrong with you, dude?"  You make a zillion dollars per minute, you have a lovely wife, two healthy kids, and you can hit a golf ball further than I can run -- is it really worth embarrassing yourself and your family to get a little action on the side?

I feel bad for his kids, no matter how this winds up.  As if there wasn't enough scrutiny just for being part of Tiger's family, now I'm sure the microscope will be ratcheted up for the foreseeable future.  They won't be able to push another kid down on the playground without there being pictures of it on the Internet within the hour.

And how about the irony of Tiger getting the crap beaten out of him being helped out of his SUV by a woman wielding a golf club?  It's like Colonel Sanders being flogged with a crispy leg and thigh.

In any case, I realize Tiger's human, and we all make mistakes.  I hope he's able to get himself straightened out and make things right with his family.  Otherwise following his next domestic dispute, he may find himself needing the help of a proctologist rather than a caddy to find his 5-iron...