Emotionally Taxing

This past week has been, shall we say, emotionally draining. You see, I have made a variety of mistakes which have created high blood pressure, hypertension, and a general desire on my wife's part to beat me about the head and shoulders with something heavy and blunt. I'll relate one such story below, but there have been other things in the past few weeks -- adoption paperwork snafus, new tires on the car which caused it to do donuts in the driveway without driver intervention, and any number of failed home improvement projects over the past few weeks. I've learned from my mistakes, but it's probably best to document these situations in a public forum for future reference.

The first moment when it became clear that she was in for a roller coaster ride was last weekend at approximately 7:30am. We were already somewhat tense with each other over a "discussion" from the previous evening. Nothing big, but we both awakened a little grouchy. I got up before Erin and made the first poor decision. We had received Erin's W-2, but mine had not yet arrived. Erin had been discussing what she might do with the refund we would receive on our taxes (paint the baby's room, buy some new clothes, etc), but in the back of my mind I couldn't help but wonder if we had really withheld enough throughout the year. I mentioned this to her a few times, but her unwaivering faith in my ability to put a zero in the right box on our withholding paperwork assuaged any fears she might have had. I decided to go ahead and do a quick and dirty trial run of our taxes, just to see if things were going to shape up ok in the end. I figured it wouldn't be hard, since I'm a die-hard Quicken fan. I figured Quicken could spew out my earnings for the year, as well as how much had already been withheld, I'd slap that into TurboTax, and I would have a reasonable estimate of our taxes. So off I went. I used last year's taxes as a guide for our deductions, put in Erin's W-2, imported my wage info from Quicken, and voila! "You owe $3800, Mr. Hawkins! Might we suggest the Comfort Inn on I-74."

Crap! This can't be right?! $3800?!? How could it be so far off. I began feverishly checking every number against last year's taxes. I found nothing. Oh no. I knew Erin was already mad at me, and she looked so peaceful sleeping. I had to tell her. I had no choice. I entered the room once, but turned and ran away -- squealing a little bit as I did so. I couldn't do it. No, I had to. I reentered the room. I gently slid the lamp away from her nightstand, relocated a pair of nearby scissors, and gently tried to wake her. As she came around, she said, "What is it?" I said, "We have a small problem."

"What is it?"

"Our taxes. We owe $3800."

I could immediately see her begin to have to restrain herself from calling me a variety of names, most of which might be defined as an "unintellectual posterior." She asked if I checked everything, and I explained how I came to this conclusion. After fuming at me for a couple of hours, she informed me that we were going on a strict budget. I agreed, and we spent a couple of hours creating a budget for the next year to get us through taxes, adoption, and any potential hospitalizations I might require (my friends and family will understand that this is a required line item on any budget Erin and I create). Erin cut down on big things for her including a few luxurious grocery items such as this oat-nut bread she likes as well as higher priced cleaning supplies for the house, while I cut out an iPod, my requisite five CDs per month, and at least one steak per weekend. Everyone has their limits. In any case, we both agreed that we would get through it, and that we had done what we had to do.

Now here's the funny part of the story. I received my W-2 Friday evening. I compared my guess entries in TurboTax to my real W-2, and I was off by a little bit. Just a little. Enough that we get a $50 refund, rather than owing $3800. Sorry, hon! My initial thought was that perhaps this was God's way of getting me to analyze our budget (and by analyze, I really mean create) -- a request of Erin's for approximately the last three years. It was a good exercise, and I think we're still going to use some of it, but we're definitely not in the bad spot we thought we were. Erin was surprisingly calm when I told her about my blunder. We even managed to laugh about it...well I was able to laugh once I got her hands off my throat.

Moral of the story -- There is a relatively high percentage of voodoo involved with figuring out your taxable income for the year. Don't try to guess it -- just patiently wait for all the W-2's to arrive.

And to my lovely wife's credit, she handled the whole situation with her usual patience and grace. I, too, handled it with elegance and grace. I'm sure my digestional tract will go back to normal eventually.

The good news is that I'm still on track to get an iPod by summer. That'll keep me occupied when I'm waiting in line for a CPA to do our taxes next year.

Bret

Adoption Hurdle Crossed

January 29 kicks off the Chinese New Year—the year of the dog, and as a beautiful New Year surprise, Bret and I received our official immigration pre-approval paperwork this week. Now to understand the gift we’ve been given, one must understand that most couples wait an average of EIGHT weeks for their approval. Ours, miraculously, was finished in ONE WEEK (absolutely unheard of)!!

What does all this mean in adoption terms? Our dossier (collection of official paperwork) will be sent to China much sooner than expected. We hope to be logged into the Chinese Adoption Affairs system by the end of March (pray for the end of February). The wait from Log in Date to referral is now longer than expected (between 8-12 months), but we are hopeful (and prayerful) that we still might be traveling in 2006.

It’s a long pregnancy, but the wait will be worth it. We now know that we will indeed be receiving a girl (maybe twin girls), but we had to remove our names from the “either sex” category because of a weird paperwork glitch (that would have caused a delay).

It’s hard to believe the paperwork chase is almost over. There will be much celebration and relief once China has all of our paperwork, and while we will STILL be waiting almost double the time of a biological pregnancy, we are excited to start the fun stuff: deciding on names, painting the nursery, and buying books (the most important toy [at least to this English teacher]).

All in all, I am touched at the amazing thing that is adoption. There is something beautiful about taking a child, alone and afraid in this world, without much hope or love, and bringing her into our home as our own dearly loved child. It’s beautiful to understand, in a fresh and unique way, how the two most important needs of my life have been met through adoption: I’ve been adopted into God’s family, and now a little baby girl from China will be adopted into ours.

It’s fun for me to think that other parents will tell their children that they waited nine long months and traveled to the hospital to have them. Bret and I will say that we waiting even longer and traveled half way around the world to find our baby girl.

Public Enemy Number One

In light of Bret’s experiences during our most recent excursion to Homeland Security, I feel it necessary to let you all know, based on my own experiences during fingerprinting, that your association with me could be detrimental.

Now, I know you all think I am kind, sweet, funny and bright, but I think the Department of Homeland Security, in conjunction with the FBI, might consider me armed and dangerous.

I avoided most of the trauma described by Bret, but yesterday had its own fear factor for me. This is what I know. I’m standing in a windowless room, several Homeland Security Agents standing ready, and this massive, speed dial-to-Washington, fingerprint machine is standing between me and my baby. No sweat. A few stretches, and I’m ready.

However, for EVERY SINGLE print, a large red warning crossed the screen: MATCH WARNING. I imagined my print being immediately checked against the list of America’s Most Wanted and coming up with a MATCH!! I start thinking: traffic ticket in 1997, car towed in 2000…. Nope, no murder. Nope, no fraud.

The officer in charge of my fingerprinting appeared calm, as if these MATCH WARNINGS appeared all the time. However, I assumed her calm demeanor was standard operating procedure outlined on page one of the official US Guide to Fingerprinting Fugitives. I half expected US Marshals, the like of Tommy Lee Jones, to enter in with guns pulled.

I made it out alive—no guns, no marshals—but I think the bigger fear now is that there is someone out there, someone in the great beyond—a not so nice person—with whom I share a special bond. John Walsh, if you’re out there, let’s find her fast!

Fingerprints

Yesterday we had our big fingerprinting appointment with the local office of the Department of Homeland Security. Even simply having to appear at this office seemed like an eerie prospect, and the experience did turn out to be somewhat surreal.

First off, the letter which arrived a month ago detailing our appointment date and time was very specific about a couple of things. First off it stated, in bold print, that we were NOT TO ARRIVE ANY EARLIER THAN 15 MINUTE BEFORE YOUR ASSIGNED APPOINTMENT. Okay, fair enough. I've relished the opportunity to sit in a plastic, government appointed folding chair for the past month, but I can give that up.

Second, we were NOT TO BRING ANYONE OTHER THAN OURSELVES with us to the appointment. Again, the potential for an afternoon out with the boys at the offices of a local government agency seemed intriguing, but I can give that up as well. The reason given behind this request was that there would be limited seating in the waiting area. I imagined something like a small doctor's office with 5 or 6 chairs and a TV. When we arrived at the office, there were something like 40 or 50 chairs and maybe 5 or 6 people waiting. I'll assume it's busier at other times...

As we arrived at the doors to the suite where we were to be fingerprinted, we were greeted by two friendly security agents. Prior to performing the usual metal detector sweep with a wand, they asked me to empty my pockets of anything metal. Fair enough I tossed my wallett and car keys to Erin, at which point the guard says "Whoa...they're not going to let THAT in there." I thought back trying to recall if I was carrying anything like a machete or perhaps even a lighter. Nada. What I did have was a Swiss army knife on my keychain.

Now I use this knife every day at work for SOMETHING, usually something on the order of performing step 2 on my Healthy Choice microwaveable lunch -- "cut slit in plastic." I occasionally turn a screw with it, and even more rarely I dig a piece of said lunch out of my teeth with the tooth pick. So I say to the guy, "Ok, can I leave it out here with you until we're done?" No can do. So I head down to the lobby of the building. I asked the same question of the young lady manning the help desk in the center of the ground floor. Same answer. So I trudged out to my car in the snow to drop off my $9, dull, pocket knife. I would have just pitched it, but it would be the 3rd one I've pitched in the last 4 years -- the others at the hands of the airport screeners. To their credit, the guards in this case stated very bluntly that they understood my frustration and even agreed with it. I think one of them even commented after I was gone that you could do more damage with a pencil than that pocket knife, but alas. At some point in the not too distant future, I really can envision trapsing naked through a metal detector to get fingerprinted, board an airplane, etc. You thought crowded airports were uncomfortable now, wait 'til you're trying to shimmy naked through that metal detector with the Cal State women's nordic ski team watching you jiggle from the back of the line.

Once we were inside the office, it took only a few minutes of interfacing with some entirely humorless people before we were whisked into the room with the fingerprinting machines. This was a pretty cool process, from a technological standpoint, but again, I managed to run into issues. You see, anyone that knew me growing up knows that I bit my fingernails as though there was gold under them until a couple of years ago. I've worked very hard to stop, but my cuticles are still sort of a mess, and they dry out badly during the winter. As the lady was rolling one of my fingers over this machine to take my prints, she had to try it several times to get a good image. Each time she squeezed a little harder and pressed down a little harder on my finger. Eventually a tiny bit of blood seeped from my cracked finger. Not good. Suddenly Band Aids are flying, rubber gloves are being changed, and next thing I know, they're pouring alcohol over my dry, chapped finger. After about 3 more tries at taking my print on this finger, they were successful. But I could tell that they were not pleased with me. They handed me a comment card and told me to fill it out. I quickly checked all of the "EXCELLENT" boxes and handed it back to the lady, comment side up so she could see how excellent her service was (despite drawing blood and making me say "Mommy" when she hit me with the alcohol.)

Fingerprints done. Now we wait. Hopefully we'll get the A-OK on these in the next four weeks, at which time we'll get it stamped by the secretary of state, stamped by the Chinese consulate in Chicago, and finally sent off to Denver for transmission to China.

Now where's my knife...I have a nose hair to trim with those teeny tiny scissors...

Bret

It ain't exactly cold fusion, but hey...

So some of you may remember my posting concerning patents a while ago. Well I got some good news in my mailbox at work this morning -- I've been awarded a patent! I've filed a hefty pile of patent disclosures over the past five years, but none have become actual patents until now.

Here's the link to the patent and associated documentation (you'll need to scroll down to see the majority of the patent). The brief description is that if you were watching a show on your TV -- say "24" for the sake of my inlaws -- and midway through it you decided you'd like to record it. Some TVs and cable/satellite boxes will let you hit the RECORD key on your remote to start an immediate recording. My patent was to bring up a box telling you something like "This program will air again at 6:00pm on Friday. Would you like to record that one?" thereby insuring that you get the whole program, rather than just the rest of the program you're currently watching.

It won't cure world hunger, but hey...

Bret

More fingerprints...

Woo hoo! We finally got our fingerprinting appointment from the Department of Homeland Security! Jan. 18 is the big day. Unfortunately this means we'll probably be pushed a little further out in the timeline than we had hoped, but hey, what can you do? I think by the time this whole process is over, we'll have been fingerprinted more than O.J...

Update to previous post...

Editor's Note: After a couple of comments from readers, I must mention that the gentleman discussed in my previous post concerning my trip to the post office was NOT illiterate and therefore having his child read for him. He was not disabled in any way (unless you consider poor parenting choices to be an indicator of disability). I may be impatient, but I'm not cruel... :)

Bret

Bret Goes Postal in the Post Office

It's the weekend before Christmas, and in the spirit of the holiday, our house church has put together a care package for some former members who have moved away. I was tasked with the job of packaging these items and taking them to the post office. I was fully aware this morning that the post office would look like a New York subway car during rush hour, but I was not prepared for what I encountered.

When I got to the post office, there were approximately 20 people in line at the main counter. Luckily, our post office has one of these new self-service machines (which I dearly love), and there were only 2 people (!) in that line. (People here in the heartland still fear computers enough to keep them away from such a machine. It might give you "the radiation.") In any case, the choice to enter this line seemed obvious. But as I approached, I began to understand the error of my ways.

You see, there was a gentleman with an approximately 5 year old daughter using the machine. He had 4 packages piled up next to him, and when I arrived, I heard the sound of his daughter attempting to read the screen in front of him.

"Does...your.....package contain...any.....flameables....or...live stock...or"

Now imagine that there are 30 lines of text on this particular screen, and she's on the first one. Reading......very.......slowly. Then at the end of the screen dad says:

"Honey, which button should daddy push?"

"No?"

"That's right...push no."

And then we wait 10 seconds for the poor little parent-less child to find that button on the screen and push it. On to screen 2 of 10.

I about lost my mind. I muttered to myself, "This is unbelieveable," to which the lady in front of me returned an approving smirk. About that time another couple came in and entered the line behind me. The lady says "oooooh...This line is short. This will be quick." I turned to her and in a voice loud enough that everyone heard me said, "Don't count on it." I was ignored, as expected, by the gentleman monopolizing the machine.

About this time the machine asked for his credit card. He starts fumbling around in his wallet and says "Honey, go ask your momma for a credit card." Momma was out in the van. Oh man...Smoke is coming out the ears. All Christmas spirit has abandoned me, and all I wanted to do was go at it with this guy. I'm holding packages lovingly created by my house church, but if there had been anything with any weight in those packages, I might have opened them. I'm a pretty even keeled guy, and I have a long fuse, but I'm not sure I've ever been closer to losing it than I was in this instance. Every part of me considered saying something directly to the guy about the decision-making process behind his actions when there are 50 PEOPLE IN THE POST OFFICE THE WEEK BEFORE CHRISTMAS.

Ok, I feel better now. A little eggnog, a dozen cookies, and I'll be as happy as Frosty the freaking Snowman.

Merry Christmas.
Bret

Can you still get "government cheese?"

I work in the consumer electronics industry as a software engineer. For anyone familiar with the field or its labor practices, jobs are about as stable as a one-legged man on a unicycle. In the past week, my company has been going through a layoff process. They were kind and offered a "voluntary" layoff for a few days prior to the "involuntary" layoff. The "voluntary" package gave better severance than the "involuntary" would. Since the percentage of jobs being eliminated was to be relatively high, many people began looking at taking the offer.

Now, the obvious place to look for a job is the OTHER consumer electronics company that exists in my building. The one from which my company was spawned a year and a half ago. Old friends, former managers...it seemed like a good bet. So the rats started jumping off our ship...onto the old ship. But today it was reported that the old ship, our former employer, is looking for a buyer for its consumer electronics division. And now the rats (especially the ones who jumped) are confused and moderately annoyed. The article said that they would "try" and keep those jobs here. I find little solace in a major company saying "we'll try." That sounds like "what else can you do besides software?" to me.

The whole thing has left lots of people tense and irritable, which is making for a fun few weeks before Christmas. In the immortal words of one of my co-workers, it's pretty sad when so many people say "My wife, 2 kids, and I will take our chances on the street" rather than sticking around.

So please go to your local retail outlet and buy at least a 32" TV between now and Christmas. You can think of it as a donation. :)

I'm a certifiable Rainman...

So Monday I took a half day off at work to deal with getting some of our paperwork shipped off to various Chinese Consulates of America, as well as getting the paperwork "certified" by the Indiana Secretary of State. So what does a Secretary of State really do? Well apparently they themselves don't do any "certifying." But I'll get to that later.

First off, it was about 3 degrees in Indiana on Tuesday. I had to park at a meter, so I put in enough change for about 25 minutes and headed into the Indiana Government Center. I didn't think this trip would be difficult or long... For one thing, Indiana is the only state in the Union which doesn't charge to "certify" things. What a deal, right? I had called ahead and was told they were open from 9-5:30pm Monday through Friday. In and out. No sweat.

My first nemesis -- the signs leading me to the Secretary of State's office. I walked down a long hallway with a huge sign over it pointing to the Secretary's office down a hall to the right. I followed this hall all the way to a set of doors which led back outside -- never saw the Secretary's office. Turned around. Followed same path. Turned down same hallway. Hit same doors. Yeah, doors. 57 steps to the doors. 57 steps. Don't want to miss the office. 57 steps then doors. 5 plus 7 is 12. 7 days in a week. Five doors. Can't find the door. Yeah. Wapner at 4:30. Can't miss Wapner. Back and forth.

Anyway, on a whim, I decided that the one thing I had walked past in my pacing was an elevator. I jumped in, but still no directions. Headed for the basement. Lucky break. There was the office. Would it be so hard to put a sign next to the elevator stating such? I have a strange feeling that footage exists of my walking back and forth mumbling to myself with a pile of birth certificates and medical records in my hands. 4:30... Wapner at 4:30. Yeah.

Now that I was in the office, I thought I was set. There was one person at the counter, and one other lady waiting. They informed me that I was next up. I went up and said, "I have 9 documents that need to be certified."

"Oh yes, Shirley does the certifying."

"And I'm to presume that your name ain't Shirley?"

"No, I'm Sue. Shirley's gone."

"When will she be back?"

"Dunno...She went to lunch."

"But it's after 2:00pm?"

"Yeah, Shirley is a busy bee."

"Is there someone else in the office who can help me?"

"Oh no, Shirley is the only certifier."

"Really."

"Yep...The only one."

"And you don't know when she'll be back?"

"Nope. Probably in an hour."

" Ok. I need to go put more money in the meter."

"But you'll lose your place in line?"

"But I'm the last one who got here?"

So I went back out into the snow to put 2 hours worth of change in the meter. Better safe than sorry. When I went back into the building (quickly heading to the elevator this time) and walked back into the office, the other lady who was waiting ahead of me was handing a large stack of paperwork (including birth certificates I could see) to a nice, younger lady.

"Oh great! Shirley came back early? (tee hee)"

"Oh no, (this is Sue again) that's not Shirley. That's Denise."

"Ah...So she's not getting certifications done?"

"No, she is. Denise is doing them for her."

I really thought I was losing my mind.

"But you said only Shirley?"

"...And Denise!"

Fine. About that time the REAL Shirley reappeared from lunch and immediately took my stack of documents. After that, it was smooth sailing. I headed for the Post Office, and about $600 later, including Consulate Fees and mailing costs, I was headed for home. I thanked Shirley (and Sue) and headed out...leaving in my wake 2 lovely state employees and a meter with 1 hr, 45 minutes left on it.

You know, I'm sure my experience at the Indiana Secretary of State was a cakewalk compared to other more, er, populous states. But these little experiences definitely leave me wondering if our beloved state is a little, you know, slow.

Who steals socks?

Just a quick update to let everyone know that the draft of our home study came back, and we're in the process of making a few adjustments. Hopefully that will get turned around quickly, and we'll have one more piece of the puzzle in hand. Erin's birth certificate has been stamped by the secretary of state in California and is on it's way back to Indiana. The next step is to get everything stamped by the secretary of state here in Indy, and then everything will head to the Chinese embassy. We're still hoping to have all of the paperwork on its way to China by the end of January. I think we're on track!

Also, I just want to thank the California based portion of Erin's family for their hospitality at Thanksgiving. We had a great trip, and it was nice to see everyone in one spot! It was also fun getting to hang out in San Francisco with Erin's parents. I even managed to take everyone on a driving tour of the city, and Erin only cried in fear one time.

I will say that flying over the holidays was a bit tiresome. When we arrived in San Francisco last Wednesday evening, we grabbed our luggage off the carousel and headed immediately to our hotel in San Jose. On Thanksgiving morning, I opened the suitcase and there was a lone brown sock where I could have sworn there should be 4 PAIRS of brown socks. Hmm... Did we forget to pack them? About this time, Erin discovered that her curling iron/brush/firestarting-wand-of-doom thing she uses on her hair was also missing. I was dejected at the thought of wearing dirty socks on a holiday, but Erin was even more inconsolable over the possibility of needing a hat. (And Deb and Dave can attest that when she first visited their room to alert them to this situation, she definitely needed a hat...) Luckily Deb came through with the curling iron, and Dave loaned me a pair of white socks. Only in California could you find a Payless Shoes open on Thanksgiving Day having a sock sale, no less. It's a holiday, people?!! I was grateful, none the less.

I guess we should have contacted American Airlines about where the heck our stuff went, but neither of us had the energy at the end of the weekend. And frankly, I think Erin was glad to see my brown Dickies industrial socks go into Luggage Purgatory.

Bret

Happy Thanksgiving!

First off, Happy Thanksgiving to everyone!

Here's a link to a Christmas display on a house in Louisville that is pretty unbelieveable. Apparently the sound and everything is real. This even dwarfs previous displays by Carefree's own Captain Christmas (or Drew Kringle as he's frequently referred to by fellow elves):

Click Here for Christmas lights.

(Thanks to this site for the crazy Thanksgiving picture...)

Congratulations, Eric & Emily!!

Congrats to Mr. and Mrs. Eric Long on the arrival of their daughter, Kaya!! Check out details and pictures at their blog. She's a cutie!!

Ah memories...

Erin and I made the papers!

Click here:
http://www.record-eagle.com/2005/sep/30ranch.htm

Adoption Waiting Game Update

Well, we got the letter yesterday from the home study agency that we're officially approved. Even my comments regarding The Hammer didn't derail our plans. So basically now we're waiting for the California Secretary of State to validate Erin's birth certificate, and we're still waiting for my birth certificate to arrive from Indiana (they cashed the check three weeks ago... Funny how they got THEIR piece handled quickly...) Other than that, we're waiting on one more form from immigration and the draft of the home study. Once all that comes in, we'll get it all validated by the Indiana Secretary of State and ship it all off to the Chinese Consulate for signatures and stamps. Only then will it get sent to the adoption agency for transmission to China. Shew...what a paper trail.

As an aside, has anyone ever dropped a brand new gallon of milk on a hardwood floor while standing in your underwear with a dry bowl of Apple Jacks in your hand at 5:30am? It sucks. A lot. It was like watching Letterman drop watermelons off of the buildings in New York... I'll admit it...I swore. A few times. Then I mopped. A few times. I need a weekend...

Bret

Thanks for lunch, Mrs. Tupper

My lovely wife has developed an interesting new hobby recently. Perhaps inspired by my patent discussion (although this started long before last week), she has begun inventing Tupperware-like devices in which to send my lunches each day. At first, she just bought tons of plastic bowls and cups. Apparently a gremlin in our house eats Tupperware lids (JUST the lids), as we ended up with 2000 pieces of plasticware with 3 matching lids.

So to rectify this situation, and save money, she moved on to recycling other items into containers for my lunch. Now this is nothing new to me. My mom's fridge was full of unidentifiable butter dishes which contained things like applesauce, green beans, or chicken fat (it was a sort of foodstuffs roulette when searching for a snack...) But now, my lunch contains a wide array of containers, none of which gives any hint as to the contents within. Today I had a "Blended Raspberry Yogurt" cup, which was actually applesauce. My favorite today though, and the inspiration for this entry, was that my wife (did I mention how sweet she is for packing my lunch?) sent along baby carrots in a Ziploc bag. She also sent some ranch dressing for dipping. What was the ranch dip stored in? (drumroll, please) A film canister. Yes, one of those tiny black cases you drop your film off in to be developed. I don't suppose there's a problem with this, other than scooping the last 1/2 inch of dipping sauce out of a 3 inch deep container using a 2 inch long carrot was very tricky. I looked like an idiot trying to scoop ranch dressing out of a film canister with my index finger.

Perhaps all of this is a brilliant weightloss scheme on her part. She's sneaky that way.

Bret

Fun with patents

There are a lot of things in this world that don't make much sense to me -- sweaters for dogs, why women go to the bathroom in groups, etc. Another thing I could add to this list is patents. There are patents for everything imaginable (quite literally). These include patents for a vehicle mounted toilet seat and underwear with a flatulence filter (I can see Erin thinking "Christmas Gift" right about now...). In any case, a guy at work showed me a site with a list of some of these crazy ideas. Pretty entertaining.

One of the things I've learned from my job over the past few years is how to write a patent disclosure. Now my ideas aren't of the brilliance of the "Beerbrella", but I have filed a pile of disclosures on various television related things. This same site lets you track down your own applications. Nothing of mine has actually become a patent yet, but hopefully soon. Here are a few from the past few years...keep in mind, ANYTHING is patentable, as long as it hasn't been done before.

Setup your TV from your PC

Closed Captioning that turns itself on when the volume in your favorite show goes too low

Record a show that already started

Useless ideas, you say? Perhaps, but does anyone really get to patent frosting half a donut?

Bret

Happy Land of Happy People

I hope our little girl is just as happy, creative, silly and musically gifted.

CLICK ON THIS LINK TO PLAY.


Thanks goes to the http://www.teagueadoption.blogspot.com/ for the borrowed link.

It's official--we're pregnant

I couldn't pass up the chance to post our latest sonogram picture. There isn't much movement from our baby yet, but as you can see, she is darn smart, spelling already. We expect big things from this little one. The "doctor" is saying that we can expect to wait about 10 more months, at least, and we won't get our first glimpse of her for another 8 or 9 months, but we just had so share our joy with you all now.

Thanks go to http://lilliansunying.blogspot.com/ for the link.

A Rose by Any Other Name

I know the day we hold our little girl is still months and months away, but believe it or not, before we travel, we have to have a name picked out for our little one.

As you can imagine, this has started a bit of a friendly war in the Hawkins' household.

Let's review what we have agreed upon at this date:

1. The name should be a girl name. Go figure.
2. Her last name will be Hawkins. Go figure.
3. We have decided to keep her Chinese name as her middle name. This name is, most likely, the one given to her by the orphanage, but we think it is important for her to have some connection to her heritage and her past. We will not know this name until we receive our referral packet, complete with pictures and a health exam.

Bret likes, and I mean he really likes it (and I am not kidding), the name Hannah Anna Hawkins. He think's it has a pretty sound. How am I supposed to have a serious conversation about the name of our daughter when my husband thinks Hannah Anna is a good option???? He also thought Hannah Barbara would be funny... what is a girl to do?

Names I like (and I don't want any feedback if you don't like them, but feel free to let us know the ones you like) (it's amazing to me how many people give you unsolicited opinions about names. I can say to a friend, "I like the name Grace," and for some reason, said friend feels the need to let me know that "she doesn't like that name and would never think of using it." Who asked you, anyway?)):

Grace
Gweneth (Gwen)
Anna
Lillian (Lily)
Julia
Olivia
Hannah
Ava
Sarah
Rachel
Laurel
Emma
Emily
Brooke

Now, don't those sound pretty. Anything is better than Hannah Anna.