Just a side note...
I just found out the medicine I've taken for the past three weeks for migraines, that the lovely nurse practitioner gave to me for free, costs $350. Are you serious!!??!! What has this world come to that I am forced to pay 1/3 of my paycheck for medication that doesn't even fix my problem, but only curbs the symptoms.
And don't get me started on government's involvement. It won't get any better with some bureaucrat sticking his nose in my business. It would be much better if people were less greedy and created with the intent of healing mankind instead of lining their pockets.
$350. Geesh. I have a mouth to feed. And my wife and daughter get hungry every once in a while, too.
11.24.2008
Bing and Chewy Jesus
We surprised Cricket while she took her afternoon nap yesterday: we set up the Christmas. Not the entire tree, only 3/4 of the tree; with a one-year old and her toys, we have run out of room for the necessities in life. Necessities like the aforementioned tree and garland and stockings and a non-chewable nativity scene. So we put our daughter to bed, stashed away her not-so-used toys, and began the process of creating a winter wonderland in our living room. But before my wife and I could rearrange our downstairs for the Christmas season, we had to get into the mood. We needed a little Bing Crosby.
In the six-and-a-half years of marriage, my wife and I have carried on a Christmas tradition of putting up holiday decorations while watching the beloved classic, White Christmas. Since last week, we have watched the movie five times, and will probably watch it at least two more times before Thanksgiving arrives. It is not only a tradition; it is an obsession. The Mrs. and I cannot get enough of Bing and Danny acting like girls in the song "Sisters" or the foursome singing "Snow". In our minds, it's priceless.
So, for the better part of our adult lives, we have started, stopped and re instituted family traditions that only we would recognize as sentimental. We have changed the arrangement of the furniture around to accommodate for the full Christmas tree, searching for the perfect place in the house to place the artificial monstrosity. We would dress the front-porch railing with lights and garland and the door with a fake wreath. The yard would also light up at night with Santa and two reindeer attempting to push off from the frozen ground. We had years to put much thought into the arrangement, and we kept tweaking it, looking for the right arrangement for our quaint home.
Now, we have a waking daughter, new to the traditions of a stable family. What do we do? Do we keep up with traditions we have already made, or do we scratch the old traditions and make new ones with her? I think it's a mixture of both old and new. There's a little room for chewable nativity scenes and Bing Crosby to coexist in our household, and hopefully we have many years to figure out how they do.
In the six-and-a-half years of marriage, my wife and I have carried on a Christmas tradition of putting up holiday decorations while watching the beloved classic, White Christmas. Since last week, we have watched the movie five times, and will probably watch it at least two more times before Thanksgiving arrives. It is not only a tradition; it is an obsession. The Mrs. and I cannot get enough of Bing and Danny acting like girls in the song "Sisters" or the foursome singing "Snow". In our minds, it's priceless.
So, for the better part of our adult lives, we have started, stopped and re instituted family traditions that only we would recognize as sentimental. We have changed the arrangement of the furniture around to accommodate for the full Christmas tree, searching for the perfect place in the house to place the artificial monstrosity. We would dress the front-porch railing with lights and garland and the door with a fake wreath. The yard would also light up at night with Santa and two reindeer attempting to push off from the frozen ground. We had years to put much thought into the arrangement, and we kept tweaking it, looking for the right arrangement for our quaint home.
Now, we have a waking daughter, new to the traditions of a stable family. What do we do? Do we keep up with traditions we have already made, or do we scratch the old traditions and make new ones with her? I think it's a mixture of both old and new. There's a little room for chewable nativity scenes and Bing Crosby to coexist in our household, and hopefully we have many years to figure out how they do.
11.22.2008
Catching Up With Cricket's Shadow
This has officially become my favorite picture of Cricket (to the right). Taken at Market Square, while her mother visited some of her girlfriends, my daughter sauntered around the ladies, enamored by her shadow on the concrete pavement below her feet. In what seems out of an Aristotle philosophical dialogue or a J.M. Barry story, my daughter found great joy following this grayed flow of a creature around as it snaked along the ground, and caught it just long enough for it to stand still with her for this photo. What makes this photo so special to me is the look of delight and freedom on my one-year old's face. She has no care in the world, only the satisfaction of catching her shadow as it attempts to outrun her on the concrete blocks of Market Square.
11.20.2008
Free Night
Since basketball season began, I have had the luxury of spending only a handful of uninterrupted nights at home with my family. Last night, as I entered the house around 5:30, until Cricket went to bed around 8:00, we proceeded to portray a household of mass chaos and disarray. Imagine a one-year old screaming because her mother is ignoring her, while mommy is making a mess in the kitchen, baking four pies for a college basketball team that will arrive the next day. Also imagine a father running around to keep up with his daughter, taking her with him to pick up dinner at Zaxby's, giving her a bath to calm her down, pushing the play button on her favorite singing-cow 20+ times, and putting her to bed before she became obstinant. In all, it progressed as a hectic evening, but it was perfect. At one point, I looked at my wife, wrist-deep in chocolate-creme pie filling, and said:
"I've loved this evening."
"Really? Even with a cranky daughter and a neglectful wife? What could possibly be good about it?"
"I'm home."
I'm home. Let the breathing begin.
11.19.2008
"95"
Never, in my wildest dreams, did I ever imagine that I would be on the losing end of such a lopsided loss. Never, in my life, have I been so embarrassed by such a talented team in such a meaningless game. Never, in the history of Lindsey Wilson athletics, have the Blue Raiders won by such a large number.
The score?
122-27
No typo. We lost by 95 points.
The three-and-a-half hour drive home seemed to take forever as I thought about all the time I could have spent at home, with my daughter: crawling on the floor, throwing the ball at each other, feeding her dinner, giving her a bath, reading her a book, and putting her to bed. Instead, I was helping make history... for Lindsey Wilson.
We returned home around 11:00 PM, and I went straight to the weight room to let off a little steam. I exercised and lifted weights until midnight, asking God what I had gotten myself into? Why was I becoming a mockery to people in Columbia, KY, while my daughter seemed to be growing up not seeing her father?
But I know the answer to that question. For this season of our life, I am forced to work the field of life. I am forced to be "Adam" so my wife can raise our daughter in our loving home. And in March, when basketball season ends, I will be there for those memorable moments, making the most of my time with my daughter. Until then, I'll work hard and fight for any time with her I get, and hold my breath a little bit longer. I can't afford to breathe just yet.
The score?
122-27
No typo. We lost by 95 points.
The three-and-a-half hour drive home seemed to take forever as I thought about all the time I could have spent at home, with my daughter: crawling on the floor, throwing the ball at each other, feeding her dinner, giving her a bath, reading her a book, and putting her to bed. Instead, I was helping make history... for Lindsey Wilson.
We returned home around 11:00 PM, and I went straight to the weight room to let off a little steam. I exercised and lifted weights until midnight, asking God what I had gotten myself into? Why was I becoming a mockery to people in Columbia, KY, while my daughter seemed to be growing up not seeing her father?
But I know the answer to that question. For this season of our life, I am forced to work the field of life. I am forced to be "Adam" so my wife can raise our daughter in our loving home. And in March, when basketball season ends, I will be there for those memorable moments, making the most of my time with my daughter. Until then, I'll work hard and fight for any time with her I get, and hold my breath a little bit longer. I can't afford to breathe just yet.
11.04.2008
The Reason I Vote
I voted twice on Tuesday.
No, I did not affiliate myself with any organizations that affiliate themselves with nuts. It could have happened to anyone. The man sitting behind the desk innocently pressed the wrong button before he handed me my four-digit code, branding me as a Knoxville city native instead of a country resident. Because of this mishap, the computer left off perhaps the most important vote on the ballot: the amendment to allow restaurants to serve individual alcoholic drinks within the county limits.
That's right, my most important decision this election year concerns the subject of serving Mai Tais to those not living in the city limits. It dictates whether my area will receive a good restaurant or leave me choosing between eating dinner at I-HOP or the Subway in Wal-Mart. Am I shallow? Contrary to your own personal opinion, I don't think so; therefore, I called the election volunteer over to my booth. The kind old man sauntered over with a small crinkle of a smile on his face that revealed a sense of naivety and a willingness to help me in any fashion I so chose. I explained my predicament privately, letting him know I really wanted to vote for the liquor. He proceeded to tell me "this problem hadn't happened in two years", and looked up the answer of how to fix the issue in the trusty, handy-dandy election notebook. Within five minutes, my initial vote, complete with my presidential, senate and house nominees, was reportedly wiped from the voting system, and I stood in line once again with a new four-digit code, ready to vote again. And this time, my vote would count for the liquor amendment. In all, the experience took close to 90-minutes, but I didn't mind. I received extra miles out of the "voting twice" story all day long.
I don't want you to think I took my right to vote with any flippant attitude. The decision on who to vote for in the presidential race did take some time and thought, well before I stepped into the voting booth. But a light bulb finally went off in my head this year as I contemplated my one and only vote: neither the executive nor the legislative branch controls my life. Congress may unanimously vote on a bill that affects my wallet, and the president may sign bills that give or take away some of my national freedom, but the last time I checked, I still make my own decisions on how I live my life. I still choose how I spend my money, who I am compassionate toward, how I spend my free time, etc. Government does not place me in debt, or force me to sit idly in front of my TV. Sure, I may not always agree with the decisions of government, and their votes and signatures may force me to tweak how I live my life, but I am still in control of my own faculties. Until government comes to my bedroom, shuts off my alarm clock, pulls back my covers, lifts my legs out of bed and onto the floor, takes off my pajamas (scary thought), turns on the shower to the right temperature of 110 degrees, bathes me, brushes my teeth, shaves my face to a nice polished shine, dresses me, hands me a cup of coffee and an apple, sits me in my car and points me in the right direction, then I will not worry about who sits behind the desk in the Oval Office. Life is much bigger than that.
Instead, I'll learn how to control my own life and responsibly affect the world the best I can. If I do that, hopefully others' lives will be blessed and bettered by my actions. This is the way I hope to live. This is the way I hope to raise my daughter.
If you would like to discuss this with me, let's get together soon... preferably after they build a good restaurant in my area of town.
No, I did not affiliate myself with any organizations that affiliate themselves with nuts. It could have happened to anyone. The man sitting behind the desk innocently pressed the wrong button before he handed me my four-digit code, branding me as a Knoxville city native instead of a country resident. Because of this mishap, the computer left off perhaps the most important vote on the ballot: the amendment to allow restaurants to serve individual alcoholic drinks within the county limits.
That's right, my most important decision this election year concerns the subject of serving Mai Tais to those not living in the city limits. It dictates whether my area will receive a good restaurant or leave me choosing between eating dinner at I-HOP or the Subway in Wal-Mart. Am I shallow? Contrary to your own personal opinion, I don't think so; therefore, I called the election volunteer over to my booth. The kind old man sauntered over with a small crinkle of a smile on his face that revealed a sense of naivety and a willingness to help me in any fashion I so chose. I explained my predicament privately, letting him know I really wanted to vote for the liquor. He proceeded to tell me "this problem hadn't happened in two years", and looked up the answer of how to fix the issue in the trusty, handy-dandy election notebook. Within five minutes, my initial vote, complete with my presidential, senate and house nominees, was reportedly wiped from the voting system, and I stood in line once again with a new four-digit code, ready to vote again. And this time, my vote would count for the liquor amendment. In all, the experience took close to 90-minutes, but I didn't mind. I received extra miles out of the "voting twice" story all day long.
I don't want you to think I took my right to vote with any flippant attitude. The decision on who to vote for in the presidential race did take some time and thought, well before I stepped into the voting booth. But a light bulb finally went off in my head this year as I contemplated my one and only vote: neither the executive nor the legislative branch controls my life. Congress may unanimously vote on a bill that affects my wallet, and the president may sign bills that give or take away some of my national freedom, but the last time I checked, I still make my own decisions on how I live my life. I still choose how I spend my money, who I am compassionate toward, how I spend my free time, etc. Government does not place me in debt, or force me to sit idly in front of my TV. Sure, I may not always agree with the decisions of government, and their votes and signatures may force me to tweak how I live my life, but I am still in control of my own faculties. Until government comes to my bedroom, shuts off my alarm clock, pulls back my covers, lifts my legs out of bed and onto the floor, takes off my pajamas (scary thought), turns on the shower to the right temperature of 110 degrees, bathes me, brushes my teeth, shaves my face to a nice polished shine, dresses me, hands me a cup of coffee and an apple, sits me in my car and points me in the right direction, then I will not worry about who sits behind the desk in the Oval Office. Life is much bigger than that.
Instead, I'll learn how to control my own life and responsibly affect the world the best I can. If I do that, hopefully others' lives will be blessed and bettered by my actions. This is the way I hope to live. This is the way I hope to raise my daughter.
If you would like to discuss this with me, let's get together soon... preferably after they build a good restaurant in my area of town.
11.03.2008
My Daughter the Drunk
As a preface to the writing for the day, all should know that Maggie came through the ear surgery like a real trooper... a real trooper with a drinking problem.
This morning, before the sun woke up, we bundled our little baby up and gently placed her in her car seat, making the trek to Children's Hospistal for a routine surgery to place tubes in Cricket's ears (maybe I will tell you in a future update why I call my daughter "Cricket"). Routine seems such an oxymoron when it comes to surgery, but the morning could not have gone better. Upon arriving at 5:30 AM, the nurses placed Jodi, Cricket and I in a room, equipped with ESPN (for daddy), and a great little concoction the nurses like to call "happy juice". The syrupy liquid, fed through a small syringe, quickly sent Cricket into an almost comatose slumber, snoring and twitching as she lay in her mother's lap. Before we knew it, they whisked her off for the surgery. On the journey to the surgical room, Cricket woke up just enough to question her whereabouts and how she had arrived on an elevator, in a patient crib, with a weird-looking nurse. The look on her face gave the perception of a drunk man, forcefully taken away from his bar of choice, only to find himself in an odd alley where he had never ventured.
This look would follow her for a little while after the surgery as well, which took just long enough for daddy and Mark Nelson to walk to and from the local Starbucks a block down the hill. By the time I arrived back in Cricket's baby Hilton, mommy informed us the doctor had finished the surgery, tubes now found new residence in our little girl's ears, and she would return to her room shortly. As we found out, Cricket needed the tubes. As the doctor made an incision in her right ear, he noticed that she produces glue ear: a painless condition that occurs when thick, sticky fluid (resembling glue) collects behind the eardrum. Because of it's thickness, it does not drain like normal liquid that can form behind the eardrum; therefore, it just sits there and remains for quite some time. The condition results in temporary hearing loss. Imagine sticking your fingers in your ears and attempting to listen to conversation; you can still hear, but everything seems muffled, unclear. Glue ear does just that.
But enough with scientific explanations. From a non-scientific viewpoint, the day worked itself out miraculously. Cricket returned to us in that groggy state, holding a newly-acquired bear the anesthesiologist gave her. She had this distant look in her eye, like the sedative had not completely wore off, yet she seemed like she did not care; she sort of liked the free, relaxed feeling it had forced her in to just an hour earlier. We joked about her drink-of-choice for the morning, then cracked more jokes as the nurse brought her a grape-juice chaser to go along with her drugs. Soon, our visitors left, Cricket showed signs of recovery, and the hospital gave us our discharge papers. In all, what we initially feared would evolve into a miserable day, began and ended well after just three hours.
Now, my daughter sleeps in her own bed upstairs, my wife has entrusted me with taking care of her while she runs to the pharmacy, and I... well, I still have not breathed. Maybe tomorrow.
EPILOGUE: Mark and Monica Nelson: a deep thank you echoes from our souls as we think about the time you sacrificed this morning.
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