American Mom
Aunt ButterflyLane
Aunt DJ Groovy Slug
Aunt Greeneyes
Aunt InMyLife
Aunt Kandy
Aunt Leigh
Aunt Leigh II
Aunt RustyMadGal
Aunt ugapeach
Uncle Aheadau
Uncle Howard
Uncle Jheka
Uncle Pooklekufr
Uncle Urthshu
Uncle Vernon
visited *loading* times
I've been trying to come back for the spirit of the reunion but it took me all day to upload pictures, crop them, resize them, and edit out AmericanGirl who swears she'll kill me if I put up one with her in it. I'm wiped.
Here's some pictures.
How can it even be possible that I'm about to post what will make back to back Halloween pictures? Have we really gone a whole year without updating? Bad, BAD parents! So bad, in fact, that I can't remember poor Hope's password to get into this blog, and neither can Ryan. (Jheka? Help?)
How about if I pinkie swear that I won't slack again. (Yeah, I wouldn't fall for that either.)
Heck, here's a Halloween picture!
Hope was the Princess and Carly was the Pea. Get it?
I heard a rumor that no one here has seen pictures of Carly since birth. How can that possibly be true? I'm annoyed with myself.
Now hush about it being Christmastime already. It is NOT!
And now, for some random cuteness:
There, all caught up! Stay tuned!
We're a little slow around here because there's been a great disturbance in the force which runs our lives. Maybe soon I'll take on the role of family blogger, but until then here's some Halloween pictures.
Dear Hope,
There's a story I've been meaning to tell you and today feels like the day to do it.
Once there were a bunch of guys making lunch in a firehouse. The kitchen was upstairs and if we weren't on the truck that's where you'd usually find us. When the bay doors were open people would sometimes wander in, so to keep an eye on things we installed a camera with a monitor upstairs. That day I looked at that monitor and there was this girl standing downstairs. It was a fuzzy black and white picture but it was enough to make me say something like "Who is THAT?"
(Keep in mind, baby girl, that these are exactly the kind of guys you're going to want to steer clear of when you get older.)
Your Uncle looked at the screen and said "That's my little sister, you a--" well, the conversation ended there for the most part. The conversation, but not the interest.
It turned out that Brian had locked his keys in his car that day and his sister had come to the rescue from downdown with spare keys. Most people have AAA or something like that for situations like these but that's not the way his family worked. They took care of each other.
She ended up staying for lunch since we were eating. She was wearing a black business suit with a purple top underneath and her hair was up off her neck with these chop stick looking things sticking out and she was completely out of my league.
Your mother claims to have very little memory of this, and I can't say I blame her because we were just a bunch of idiots and she was this amazing girl with a smile that lit up the room and a comfort level that fascinated me.
For one thing she could eat. I've always been pretty confused by girls who just picked at their food and insisted they never got hungry. This was no salad eating, lettuce flicking girl. She ate heartily and when someone, maybe it was me, commented on it she just shrugged and said growing up with three brothers would do that to you. You had to eat fast and keep the pace or you'd starve.
She leaned back in her chair and burped. This wasn't one of those cover your mouth with three fingers and let a little bubble out, I'm talking she blew us away. (You know what I'm talking about, don't you Hope?) Something moved in my heart as I realized that this was the girl of my dreams. Her brother shook his head and said something about how it was a wonder that she wasn't taken, and it really was.
The timing wasn't right back then, but I never forgot about her. We ran into each each other a few times after that at various parties, firehouse functions and things like that. Brian talked about her a lot so in a way I felt like I knew her but she really didn't know me.
A few years after the day she appeared on the fuzzy black and white screen came the Tuesday that broke all of our hearts. We wanted to take care of her family as much as we could but like I said they took care of each other and they didn't need us very much. When I saw her next at Brian's memorial service she was just a small, dark shadow of the girl she'd been. She was in a world of hurt and she wanted to be left alone so I respected that. I thought to myself that she wasn't going to recover. Her spirit was crushed and it was another tragedy in a long string of tragedies that sprung from that day.
That was the first and last time I've ever doubted your mom. She stayed away for a long time but then one snowy day two winters later she came back to the firehouse. She still wasn't the same girl, but the light was burning there behind her eyes and it's like she was coming to life again. She was changed but she was still the girl who captured my heart. I wasn't supposed to be there that day but I had switched shifts with another guy so I was and I really believe it was fate bringing her back to me. I called her a week later and asked her out we've hardly even stopped to catch our breath since then. When we do pause to reflect it seems surreal that the girl on the camera who got me smacked in the head for asking who she was, is mine now. I haven't done anything to deserve all the good that she's brought into my life, and yet here she is. Now here you are and soon your siblings will be here too and sometimes I'm just at a complete loss for words because I love you isn't enough and I'm just blown away.
I hope that on her birthday, we give mommy back just one tiny sliver of what she's given us. That's all.
Love,
Daddy
It's been a rough 24 hours here in the AmericanHousehold.
It started yesterday when Hope was sitting in the middle of our queen size bed checking out her toes. I was changing my shirt while looking right at her and in the amount of time it took for me to pull the shirt over my head she managed to fly across the length of the bed and land on the floor. Just when I thought nothing could break a daddy's heart more than a quick lesson in Gravity 101 from the School of Hard Knocks and the tears that followed, Mom appears. If Hope could talk she'd have said "Thank God you're here, this monster dropped me on my head!". That's what her expression said anyway.
After both my girls had forgiven me we went around the corner to my sister-in-law's house. The boys and I were roughhousing in the backyard like any other night but on this night there was a chain of events that I can't really explain that led to the little one smashing his head on the granite steps and drawing blood. You really don't want to be explaining to any kid's mom that foreheads bleed a lot more than the injury really constitutes. Speaking of Hell having no fury -- it's not just a woman scorned, it's a mommy scorned. From the looks on my sister-in-law's and my wife's faces, you'd have thought I picked him up by his ankles and swung him into a brick wall. Overall, not a very good evening.
Today AmericanGirl had a doctor appointment for routine pregnancy stuff including a trip to the lab to draw some blood which was uneventful. On the way out we were talking about where to get breakfast and she just went down. Nothing alarming -- Just a blood sugar issue that we also dealt with last pregnancy. She's fine as I'm sure you'll see at some point when she updates her blog and tells you all about how I've been tossing the kids she loves best around on their heads. There's just this one thing that I don't get. Coming on twelve years now I've been dealing with every medical issue that you can imagine. I wish my job was fighting fires all day long but far too much of it is respondiong to one health crisis or another. Given that, you'd think that AmericanGirl might say something like "I'm not feeling so hot." or even "Hey, there's a good chance I'm about to pass out." Nope. Maybe she feared I was gonna drop her on her head.
To take up blogging. Been having a lot of technical difficulties. That's just an excuse for being lazy coupled with living with a workaholic who doesn't easily loosen her grip on the computer.
Here's where I address previous comments --
Stories about my own childhood. Yeah. I have two brothers. One's seven years younger than me and the other is seven years younger than him. The problem here is two-fold. Getting into all torture I put them through might destroy that squeaky clean good boy image that I've somehow managed to create for American Girl. They're also old enough now to team up and kick my ass. When I stop suppressing that memory of the time I saved the little one from an oncoming Mack truck while we were helping a crippled old lady across the street I'll be sure to share it.
Hope's poo is rainbow colored with sparkles and smells lemony fresh. That's normal right?
Hope is pretty easily entertained. She laughs when we laugh and she's always up for a good game of This Little Piggie. She seems to think it's funny when American Girl sneezes too. She'd drop us in a heartbeat for any one of her cousins though because they know how to have a good time and appreciate the fine art of potty humor. Nothing gets Hope going quite like fart sounds made into both hands. If I had to describe her laugh it's more of a guffaw than a giggle. She also has a really high pitched squeal that doesn't sound human. Think the mermaid's language in the movie Splash. We're really hoping it's not going to turn out to be her regular voice.
Dreams for Hope -- That's a tough one. Of course I want her to grow old and wise and make a few less mistakes than I made. It would be cool if she chose good influences over bad influences, baseball over cheerleading, books over video games, and waiting until she's thirty or so to start dating. I hope she'll follow in our footsteps and find a career that she loves. I hope she still tolerates us when it becomes cool to hate your parents. I hope she turns out exactly like her amazing mother and I think she's well on her way.
Happy Easter to you too RustyMadGal. Thanks for the reminder that I've fallen way behind.
As for her career path, she hasn't clued us in yet. She's already hitting the books so I'm sure she'll have the world at her feet by the first grade.
In her spare time she's practicing the fine art of juggling.
I'm seeing front row center ring seats to Ringling Bros. Barnum and Bailey Circus in our future.
If there's such a thing as a competitive eating champion I'm in the wrong business. Wait a minute, maybe that's what we're doing down at the firehouse all day? And to think we get accused of having too much down time. It's all training.
On siblings -- we're working on it and these things take time. Till then Hope is enjoying her position as Queen Bee.
That's a negative on preschool waiting lists. I may not be the brightest bulb but I'm pretty sure we can supplement her regular average preschool academia here at home and make up for whatever it is they do at those fancy schools. I know my primary colors and can even tie my shoes on a good day.
I would go on but American Girl is back from her lunch date and needs the computer.
Turns out blogging is harder than it looks. How do you all come up with something new to say every day? I thought weekly posts would be a doable goal but a week has gone by and there's no new teeth to report. The only thing we have to show for this week is some little Snoopy band-aids on Hope's thighs from her shots and frankly, she'd rather not talk about it. AmericanGirl is off at a post Opening Day celebratory dinner so the computer is free and I'm feeling obligated to write an update that's just not happening. I could eliminate all this by just posting a cute picture but that doesn't seem to be working, so instead here's hope that next week will be more exciting. If not you professionals name the topics and I'll write about them.
You may recognize me from such blogs as American Girl, authored by my lovely wife. I'll be stepping in for a little while to keep this lonely, neglected blog slightly less lonely and neglected. I don't know much about blogging but when the last entry has comments about Valentine's Day and April Fool's Day, it's probably time for an update.
The big news around here lately is that Hope has sprouted two teeth, bottom center. Like the child prodigy that she is she took it like a champ. She might have been a little bit extra cranky, but who isn't? Since we're rookies, when Hope gets upset and the reason isn't obvious we start throwing out possible explanations. I'm pretty sure teething was one of them. She is ahead of her time in every aspect of her little life so we shouldn't have been so surprised to actually see teeth where there once were none. (Two months ahead of schedule, according to the Panel of Grandmas.)
And there they are. I guess that the worst part of teething is before they come through, because she's pretty happy now.
Of course having teeth can only mean one thing -- the ability to chew a steak. You can imagine her surprise when all that talk of her first solid food led to rice cereal.
If I didn't work from home, I'd totally be quitting my job tomorrow, rather than return to work. So we'd starve and eventually go bankrupt. Big deal.
This is a shout-out to all those moms out there who actually work outside the home. No matter what you do for a living, it is hands down the hardest job on the planet, and I'm filled with awe and respect for those who manage to pull it off.
Because seriously, who could leave a face like this?
I'm one month old today!
I expected ballons and presents and maybe a parade, but everyone around here is so tired all the time. What's up with that? Yesterday I got to go to some other house with some big kids running around, and the smallest of them gave me something red and squishy called Play-Doh to hold. Looked Yummy! But my mom took it away before I could even get a lick.
Parents; What a drag.
Now they're talking in quiet voices about a babysitter next weekend. Babysitter?! I'm too old to need a babysitter! Hopefully they'll send over that kid with the Play-Doh.
I hear there are presents and a pretty tree and a fat man in a red suit and crazy relatives and that mommy and daddy will take lots of pictures and did I mention presents? That's what I hear, anyway. If I had teeth, I bet there would be cookies and gingerbread and maybe a ham or something for me (maybe next year).
Merry Christmas, everybody!
I'm having a bad day.
But really, life is good and I'm just happy! 
Just pooped, if you know what I mean.
Life on the outside is HARD!
Someone tell me it gets easier.
Baby, oh Baby! What do you say on a day like today?
First of all, thank you Uncle Jheka, for the most thoughtful gift of a blog. You've clearly figured out what speaks to my heart. 
You'll be born in less than 24 hours, if all goes according to plan. It's hard to imagine what it will be like to see you and hold you and count your fingers and toes. I've experienced some life changing things, for sure, but nothing as phenominal as this will be.
Your grandma is frantic because she's knitting you a blanket and she's not finished yet. It's yellow and blue and it has animals on it, and the tails of the animals hang down loose, so that eventually, you'll probably yank them off anyway. I didn't tell her that, but I did tell her that you wouldn't mind waiting a few days for such a masterpiece. I happen to know that she took it to church with her last Sunday, and silenty worked on it under the cover of the pew in front of her. That, my baby, is love. You'll understand more as you get to know your grandma.
She thought she would have a few more days, but you have decided to come into this world upside down. That's ok. It's good to do things your own way. And whatever they are, I've decided that you have your reasons. This is why I didn't hold a bag of peas up near your head to try to make you turn down. (You're welcome.) What's nice about you being head up (which is exactly how I'd want to be carried around too, for the record) is that I can rub my belly in the spot that I know your head is in, right under my ribs cage on the right hand side, and when I do, or when your Dad does, you always stick your head out as far as you can, as if you're trying to get closer to that hand. Like a cat who moves it's head around making sure you scratch just the right spot behind it's ears. (And, more for the record, I've been known to do things like that too.)
We picked your birthday, tomorrow, because it's the day of the tree lighting in Rockefeller Center. That might sound like a silly reason to have a birthday, but it's special. Your uncles and I have attended the tree lighting almost every year since we were old enough to take the train alone and convince your grandma that they wouldn't lose me in the crowds. That first year, they called home from a pay phone in Penn Station and asked if I had returned on my own, even though I was standing right there, covering my mouth to keep from laughing. Those boys.
Of course, you'll never do anything like that to your poor mother, right?
Anyway, it became a tradition of ours. As we got older, it became less about the tree and more about us just spending time together. Not that we don't spend more than enough time together, but it was an excuse to leave everyone else behind and have it be just us. In 2001, a horrible thing happened to our country and our family, and your uncle Brian was taken from us. We'll talk more about that later. But that year, we didn't go. We didn't even think about it. To be honest, I don't even know for sure if there was a tree in Rockefeller Center that year.
The next year came around, and I didn't want to go, because I didn't think I could go on in a normal way without your uncle. It didn't seem right, our pack of siblings, minus one. It felt disrespectful and wrong in every way. So again and again, I asked your uncles to call it off. But still they made their plans, rearranged their work schedules so they had the night off, just like every other year, except for the last. Then that afternoon they showed up at my house looking serious. I kid you not, your uncle handcuffed me! First I was handcuffed to him, one on his wrist, one on mine. By the time he handcuffed me to the seat on the train, I was laughing. At that point, I was given two choices - come with them to Rockefeller Center, or stay where I was and end up riding back and forth all night. I pretended to think about it for the rest of the train ride, but they knew they had me. And we went to the tree lighting, and then to our favorite Irish Pub, which you'll probably visit some day when you're thirty or so, and it was good. On the way home, we sang Too-Ra-Loo-Ra-Loo-Ral, rather loudly, on the train in tribute to your uncle, and it's become a new tradition. We haven't missed a year since.
Well, until now, that is. Because you're about to be born! If I learned anything in 2002 while being handcuffed to a train, it was that life must go on. There's no more beautiful way to express that than by giving birth to your first child, who is so very cherished and yearned for and loved.
You don't forget, you can't possibly forget, but you do go on and live your life in a way that would make him proud. There's an Irish prayer that ends like this:
Perhaps my time seemed all too brief-
Don't shorten yours with undue grief
Be not burdened with tears of sorrow
Enjoy the sunshine of the morrow.
And if your uncle Brian were here, Baby, he would be so over the moon filled with pride and excitement for your arrival. And while he's not here, he will be watching and keeping you safe on your journey to this world outside the womb. This I know in my heart.
So what your way too long-winded mom is trying to say, is that THAT is why we picked tomorrow for your birthday.
You know, there's so much to say. But we have our entire lives to catch up. So I'll just say this - Your mom and your dad absolutely cannot wait to meet you. And, let's sleep well tonight, yes? 
May God give you-
For every storm, a rainbow,
For every tear, a smile,
For every care, a promise,
And a blessing in each trial.
For every problem life sends,
A faithful friend to share,
For every sigh, a sweet song,
And an answer for each prayer.
American Baby will be arriving in a hospital near you (if you're near New York) in just seven days. AB will probably start blogging on the crib-PC soon thereafter. In the meanwhile, you can leave messages for AB here.
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