3mos, 1yr and the most wonderful time of the year..

Back again, not quite returning at full health from the land of the walking dead, but cured enough that I can be a vital part of society, vital enough. My wife is grateful that I no longer have to be quarantined, and what timing. Last Sunday was our day of days, that first of many, our one year anniversary. And the day before that, our beautiful baby boy just turned three months old and oh how he keeps growing and growing, like a little weed . . . albeit an adorable lil’ weed. All of the above going on and I was taken out of the game on account of plague, and I hated being out of commission during this of all seasons. So, why didn’t I just suck it up and plow through, to some degree I did, although I am the first to admit how much of a baby I am when I’m sick. I could have my arm half way torn off and wouldn’t flinch a bit, but give me the sniffles, a headache or add nausea and I am completely useless. Still, I would say my quarantine was a tad selfless, I was trying not to share the wealth of germs with my wife and three kids, beginning a new cycle of suffering that would increase with each new infestation and possibly return with a vengeance to its origins.

However, our day was still one to remember and our little man as always continues to wow me with his growth, not just in size but in personality and dexterity. For a while I thought Davin might slow in his physical progression, but he continues to grow like he was bitten by some radioactive insect. He still has not an ounce of body fat on him, well maybe an ounce, he doesn’t look anorexic, there just isn’t an ounce of fat anywhere to pinch on the kid save his cheeks. Which is funny because I was a fat baby. Hey, I saw that “I’m not surprised” look. I grew up in various stages of portly and concentration camp kid, at least my little man doesn’t take after his old man in either of those extremes, while skinny, he looks healthy. He’s definitely a hybrid of my wife and I. I keep telling her how much of her there is in him and she never believed it until my mom brought over an album of my baby pictures the other day. Looking at my baby pictures, it’s easier to see not only how much of me there is in him, but also how much cuter he is because of my wife.

And while it’s fun to have my little mini me who is a vastly improved version thanks to my beautiful bride, the best times are those few times, lately (due to chances of outbreak), when I get to play with him: to see him laugh over and over again as I clap his hands together and watch as he tries to mimic my faces and in turn witnessing him giggle again at himself or me as he tries over and over to mirror the tomfoolishness in my mug. Lately he’s also been trying to hold his own bottle and he loves to look directly into your eyes as he eats, the intensity of his stare amazes me, the focus he has, and how he loves to take in his surroundings. Not to mention, his innately inherited endless supply of expressions, and how much I love his annoyed look, like my wife, you can tell when he’s annoyed. So maybe you can understand how much it’s pained me to not be able to go to him when he was bawling his eyes out and I was hacking up a lung. I swear someone put some voodoo magic on me long ago, because I cannot get sick without this stupid cough irritating me long after every other symptom dies off.

And then to top it all off, our one year anniversary came in the midst of my illness. My wife and I have beaten the odds, we’ve stayed together through one hellava year and we’ve remained happily and blissfully intact. It’s the kind of thing that she deserved trumpets and confetti and parades dedicated to her sainthood for putting up with this sorry sac of mucus, but all I could offer her was a simple date and my earnest love and thankfully it turned out to be an amazing day together. I won’t bore you with the details, in fact, I keep trying to tell you that we’re truly boring people. It reminded me of our first dates in our favorite park, just cuddling (smiles wryly, which reminds me of the night a police officer asked us to take our quality time somewhere else) and talking the night away and that’s where we ended up on our anniversary, at the end of the night we went to the Disney’s Grand Californian Hotel and sat in the lobby talking, it’s a different kind of intimacy that I love having with my wife. And so, in a funny and twisted kind of way, I am glad I was sick on our first anniversary, who knows if we had opted for the fancy and flashy (sometimes I, well I often go overboard on these occasions, but with the recent purchase of a house and my diseased state we went for the more simple) we would of connected on that little lobby couch in such an intimate way passerby’s would blushed furiously, faces flushing bright red if they happen to gaze upon our fierce interlude. *smiles*

And now tomorrow it will be Halloween: “Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.” I’ll bring a massive bag of cough drops and pop them like candy whilst I watch my little munchkins enjoy their night of dress up as they frolic from door to door and amass hordes of sugary goodness. Pushing my pooh bear along in his stroller and holding my wife’s hand and thinking about how much fall has become my favorite time of year.

that is all.

The world wide, wide world of Autism

Autism and the big picture. It is a vastly sensitive subject, and one that should not be taken so lightly and with that being said, it does not mean the end of the world for you or your child. There are so many horror stories out there. And the sad fact is: that there is much reality in the horror, but also much sensationalism and a vast majority of misunderstandings and stereotyping. And yet all of that, is in fact understandable. Much of what is known by the vast majority about Autism comes from movies like Rain Man and Mercury Rising. And thus, with only the extreme cases out there fictionalized with a certain amount of creative license, there is a large amount of pain connected to the word “Autism” when you hear that your child has been slapped with that label.

Imagine on the routine two year check up for that perfect and beautiful child of yours, the doctor pulls you aside saying he’s got something to tell you, your child has something “wrong” with them, or worse yet, he had no answers for the strange symptoms/characteristics your child is exhibiting. If you’re unsure of what I’m talking about, then I’m right there with you, I was ignorant to the subject of autism at one time. I went three decades knowing practically nothing about it, although admittedly I am still no where near the expert, nor am I a doctor of any sort. All I know, comes from personal experience and various written resources. I have read much on the subject in the past two years, since my oldest son is within the spectrum.

Autism, Asperger’s Syndrome, High-functioning Autism, Autism Spectrum Disorders (ASD) or Autism Spectrum Conditions (ASC) and Pervasive developmental disorder not otherwise specified (PDD-NOS or plain PDD); however you title or define this disorder, disease, evolution (or my favorite, the extreme male brain) of the human mind predominately found in males is on the rise, or is it? My own theory, from reading so many different accounts is that Autism is status in quo, the severe are as severe as they always were, and yet those not so severe and found in the Spectrum of Autism are indeed on the rise, or are they? Is it that we are seeing more and more of this epidemic, or that we are much more capable in recognizing certain behaviors attributed to their, we’ll go with my favorite, extreme minds.

In addition, there’s the other side of the equation, while I fully believe there are many cases within the spectrum out there, my own son included, people tend to jump on the band wagon and lump kids who do not exactly fit the criteria in the spectrum for a rainbow of reasons: they want the financial support, it’s easier than dealing with the diagnosis of oppositional defiant disorder . . . basically translated, they choose to be a brat, it’s the latest fad, they don’t know what else it could be. The same way, kids, in the spectrum have been lumped into various other diagnoses over the years. And for these, and a slew of other reasons, over the years there has been numerous forms of backlash to the problem. Likewise, when I was diagnosed with A.D.D. after having it for 17 years, many people believed and still do believe that A.D.D. doesn’t exist, that it’s merely an excuse. I was medicated for a time and I can tell you the medication worked, I was indeed A.D.D. and still am, although I had already spent 17 years unknowingly learning to deal with my specialness and or own extreme mind and therefore took myself off the medication because I already knew how to cope with my lack of single-minded focus.

So it’s out there, Autism is here and most likely here to stay. There are dietary restrictions that can be of help, I know Dean has far fewer episodes when he doesn’t drink a lot of milk. And there is always talk of finding a cure, talk that some find insulting, mostly I think because no one wants to admit that anything could ever be wrong with their kid, and believe me, as a father I understand that, and if those who didn’t had half a brain, well, they would too. Although again, on the other hand, I look at Dean, and minus the extra difficulties his extreme mind has to cope with, I cannot legitimately see anything wrong with him, there truly is nothing to “cure”. Dean is an exceptionally bright individual, remarkably observant (sometimes a little too observant), and one of the most caring and compassionate kids I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.

Wha? Autism kids can feel? And again, herein lies the main problem with Autism, the need for a spectrum, there isn’t one fit to the extreme mind as there are certain aspects that are alike within most cases. Many kids in the spectrum are high functioning, for them, autism is not a debilitating disorder. They can actually function quite well in society: in some areas better and in other areas not as well. While Dean is very loving and is completely capable of showing true and genuine emotions, he does not always see certain social cues. However, this is not to say that he cannot see when my wife and I are distraught or happy, nor does it mean he cannot feel those things himself. Sarcasm, and figurative language are lost on my little man, among various other language hurdles, I remember how proud we were of Dean when he finally started to grasp the correct use of pronouns.

Dean also needs to be shown the way at times. He learns best when things are modeled for him. When there is structure. When we mess with his schedule, something we never do intentionally, yet life happens, he can and will often melt down. And in that area, he doesn’t always deal with transitions well. While my mind is always off in a million directions, Dean’s mind is single-minded, he grasps onto things and isn’t always capable of letting go as easily as someone else would. Coupled with certain other aspects Dean has to deal with within the Spectrum, his melt-downs do not seem as strange as an outsider might imagine.

Consider a world where you were completely focused on one thing and yet could take in the whole world at once. Where you didn’t compartmentalized all the different sounds you always hear until they became an unnoticeable buzzing in your ears, you hear the typing on the keyboard, the buzzing of the air-conditioner, the various voices in the background in various conversations, the clutter of your co-workers opening up boxes and shuffling papers, the bright lights and constant movement around you and so on, and then consider as you are in the epitome of your focus (I know you parents get this, when you are deep in your thing and your kids always chose that moment to interrupt or anyone who would dare stop you in the middle of a favorite activity, you wouldn’t exactly be cheery about the distraction. Dads, when wifey asks you to take out the trash right in the middle of a game, it makes you kind of pissy, huh.), so imagine again you’re doing your thing while already having constant distractions, and someone stops you dead in your tracks, no warning, just stop and move along, even as an adult, most of you would throw a tantrum.

Now kids being kids, once a kid feels that mental state building, it is hard to stop that feeling freight-train of emotion. Once the tantrum starts, there are times it must simply run its course. Anyone knows, trying to talk to a kid mid-tantrum or even a spouse for that matter is not easy. Try to get someone in a truly emotional state to focus on reason, logic or anything that would be considered constructive when filled to overflowing with emotions. So trying to talk to a child, especially one in the spectrum, at that point could be considered useless. So, does that mean that you should never interrupt said tantrum and calm your child, by all means, no. It merely means that if you try to correct the child while in this extreme state, you won’t be getting anything constructive done and will usually heighten their emotions. The first step is to calm them down. There are various tactics to do so, in my opinion, asking them to calm down is the first and foremost. I usually point to Dean’s eyes and then draw those eyes with my fingers and my voice to my own eyes and ask him gently to calm down. Albeit, the first time, I wanted Dean to calm down, I held him over my shoulder upside down. That may sound funny and it kind of was, but the purpose was in the initial point of this paragraph, kids have a hard time focusing on more than one thing at a time, so all Dean could focus on was being upside down and calmed down rather quickly then started laughing. He also learned he could calm himself down, something I used positive reinforcement to encourage.

As most parents, hopefully, know: encouragement is a wonderful tool. Children are always looking for their parent’s attention and approval, and when they don’t get that attention, they will often seek negative attention. This attention is then ofttimes sought with undesirable behaviors: enter behavior modification. Sounds like something out of the CIA’s handbook, yet it’s much more innocent than that. It simply means instead of yelling at your kids over and over again, to give them a positive replacement behavior, something that is extremely helpful to a kid with autism who doesn’t understand what he is doing wrong. Say your child wants a toy out of their reach and sits there screaming for it until you or one of his siblings gets it for him. Instead of reinforcing the bad behavior, you can give him a replacement behavior: like modeling for him a positive action such as signing for the toy or asking for it, that’s going to give him positive reinforcement by obtaining the toy and not have you screaming like a banshee at him as he screams like a tortured child at you. Now he has a functional and acceptable way to interact with society and communicate his needs.

My wife has been ever vigilant with Dean and I have tried to help him as much as I can as well. And to that end, Dean has developed by leaps and bounds: I haven’t seen him have much stereotypy (repetitive movement) behavior of late; he still restricts his activities (gets preoccupied with single shows, toys, games) yet he can wait his turn and will even leave off his obsession with that particular item or object of his affection for another activity; he still has compulsive behavior (lining up objects or stacking them), but it does not rule his life anymore; he now sleeps through the night; he still loves his rituals, but can now cope with variances to his day; still has moments of self-injury when he’ll pick his fingers till they bleed but much less and will on occasion stop before we remind him; his motor skills have vastly improved as well as his coordination (he is a master of Mario Kart). And where before, he needed the Speech pathologist and other treatment interventions, his IEP now puts him at the top of his class and says he is completely ready for kindergarten. He has come a far way.

And therein lies the entire point of my ramblings, if you have or know a child in the spectrum, don’t give up and lose heart in the midst of all the horror stories and by all means don’t become bitter, give your still wonderful creation all the love and encouragement and understanding they’ll need while learning to cope with the things they lack and develop the advantages they have. And while early intervention can be a tremendous help, no one treatment method has been found to successfully improve communication and other skills in all individuals who have autism, save love and persistence. There is so much more to say on this subject, and luckily 100’s of specialized books to help.

On a side note, to anyone who doesn’t have or know an autistic child, if you ever encounter a child in the middle of a meltdown, it of course can be a truly uncomfortable situation for you and other onlookers alike, although as any parent knows, it is the most uncomfortable for the parent of a child throwing a tantrum in a public place. Still, if this situation occurs, please be understanding, don’t just assume what you don’t know, because, you don’t know all the variables, you don’t know if that child is utterly over-stimulated and is desperately trying to maintain. Either way, there is no reason to exacerbate things by harsh tones or dirty looks to a parent and child already out of sorts. And definitely don’t slap the kid in question, Mr Walmart man. Seriously.

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That is all

To give, or not to give..

Charity: the kindness of strangers, the good Samaritan, Santa Claus, a basic goodness in the world that makes life bearable in unbearable times. I just finished reading a book entitled “The Road”. An post-apocalyptic world where a father son team traverse the disconsolate and most the time frightening highways and byways in search of hope, food, answers, anything that will make their existence last a bit longer. The main search for “the man” is food, sustenance, safety and yet the exigency of unknown peril always causes him to keep moving (even within the one time he finds an overabundance of everything he’s sought). Uncertain jeopardy causes him to only consider his son whom he is always trying to protect. A motive I can empathize with being a father. Nothing in the world is as important to me as the safety of my family. And yet, The man’s son is always more concerned about “carrying the light,” he has a special kind of compassion for those he meets on the road. The son worries about more than just surviving. He wants something to live for, not to just make it to the next day. More intriguing is that, near the end of the story the son doesn’t want to hear anymore of his father’s stories with happy endings where the good guys win and help the needy: when the moral of the story is lost on their own existence.

I’ve known some extremely generous people in my life and some not so generous. In fact, let me toot some of their horns: my friends Matt and Mel who are never afraid of a little hard work and always help us move, going above and beyond, always staying till the very last stitch is put away. My friend Stephen who is kindly helping me fix my computer (the very last one he is doing before retiring from that line of work) who simultaneously decided out of the blue to build a entirely new system free of charge. There are also those who give in minuscule ways that essentially make a world of difference to the recipient: like the waiter at 1500 Ocean, he went out of his way to help my new fiancé and I with a quick photo shoot outside the restaurant (after I had already tipped him). My now wife who always refuses to wake me up, to take care of Davin, in the dead of night because she wants me to have a good night’s sleep. Recently, the lady in Idaho whom instead of being annoyed with my son, Dean, on the playground when wanted so badly to swing, put him on the swing and pushed him for twenty minutes as I played with Nate on the slides and the gentleman who took over for her. If I sat here long enough, I could write endless pages of examples and single out the kindness of various individuals, but you get the point, and I know when you read those things, part of you goes, “Aww,” or some reaction akin to the warm fuzzies..

To give, or not to give: that is the question. Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to give freely of one’s time or perchance to part with thine own resources . . . Either way giving makes life not just more bearable for the recipient but for the bearer (or witnesses) of such goodness as well. I believe that giving, in whatever form you allow it to be, enriches your life as well as the person to whom you give. In other words, it is better to give than receive, but both are good times. Giving to others doesn’t make you a saint or a better candidate for heaven or anything of the sort. It can make a difference, but overall, it’s just something that makes you feel good. I believe in giving, it’s my way and sometimes “my ways” drive my wife crazy. Not because she isn’t generous herself, she is abundantly more charitable, although she doesn’t always agree with my methods, like giving random strangers money. Of course I see her point and if I didn’t, it was illustrated right in front of us as I gave a destitute man, in front of Subway where we were lunching, five dollars and that man literally turned around and bought some drugs with that money. And yet, as I told my wife, the gift is between God and I, what they do with it is between God and them.

I choose not to worry about the end result, and maybe that’s what’s wrong with our country, that we habitually give to those in privation without worrying about the end result. A vast assortment of Uncle Sam’s programs are based on need and a multifarious horde of plebeians take advantage of the system simply because they can. Nevertheless, I additionally believe in a sort of karma, that those who live by the sword die by the sword, that folk who spend their entire pilgrimage scamming others do in the end receive their just desserts. And yet I am not completely naïve. I do have a fair amount of discernment in who I give to, even if five dollars is a lowly sum, it is good to use a fair amount acumen. And in so doing when you recognize a person in what you consider to be true need, help them if able, and if you are wrong you’re wrong. Don’t lose any sleep over it, simply take heart in the ones you’ve actually helped. The Bible (that old dusty book somewhere in the attic) says: “If a man will not work, he shall not eat.” Speaking of some in the day that were taking advantage of another’s kindness, but it also goes on to say in the same chapter, “never tire of doing what is right.” Of course welfare reform and other ideas that do not squander our means to then be able help those in dire straits by not spending it on the scam artists is never a bad thing. On the other hand, it is never wrong if we help someone in need and not just pass them by, not just look out for ourselves, not just tell stories about doing good and do good ourselves, to do unto others as we would want people to do for us, well, you get the picture.. such goodness improves the quality of life, it makes life worth living, it makes life more than something we do to merely pass the time until we die.

Or we can merely believe that, “Life is pain [and] anyone who says differently is selling something.” What can I say? True story, life is pain. Then we might ask ourselves as Hamlet would ask, why do we continue living when life’s list of torments is so vast? Are there reasons to continue the journey, to keep traversing in such a cold cruel world? Is it the fear of the unknown that stops us from ending our misery, that stops us from being who we want to be, that causes us to simply put up with our lives. That engender us to crawl up in our shell, that makes a man look at his wife and kids and say to the rest of the world, “us four and no more.” To me, the sentiment, life is pain, is all the more reason to be the good Samaritan. *steps off his soapbox* Is it really so hyperbole as to say it will be the end of civilization if we turn our backs on kindness, hell if I know? But I do know that kindness makes the world a much better place. I guess you could say my philosophy is: it is sometimes better to be the fool to some to be a hope to many.

That is all.

A vote for the Monkey is a vote for hope.. the future.. yourself.. against insanity!

Davin will soon be 12 weeks old and I can still remember when he was only 12 weeks a coming in the womb. We were on pins and needles having just recovered from a miscarriage (a truly horrible experience) and weren’t sure if he was going to take or even if he was a boy or girl. I was adamant he was going to be a girl, and no, I was not disappointed to find out otherwise, to be honest, I myself (I usually am myself) was a little relieved, for the most part because I figured since he was gendered as such I would at some point reclaim my sleep. Having a little girl, Daddy’s little girl, would indeed cement my voluntary insomnia into a permanent state. I will definitely be one of those double standard dad’s with Rodney Atkins’ “Cleaning this Gun (Come on in Boy)” blaring in the background every time a young man comes a courting with a real life shotgun in hand while standing on a bear rug in my boxer’s. Whilst also teaching her brothers how to scare off unfavorable young bucks with other various embarrassing and intimidating tactics. Yep, I may not get much sleep, but I’ll still have a little fun.

So, our little monkey was the perfect addition in many ways, though one thing I’ll never get over is how freaking good looking the kid is, of course, people will say I am bias, and you have that right, but come on . . . look at him. How in the heck did I e’er produce a presence so angelic. I look at my wife and that accounts for much of it, but still, all I can say is, “Damn, girls won’t have a chance with my three sons around.” And to that end, to swagger in his undeniable charm that gives most women a start in their uterus (seriously guys, don’t let your wives get a gander at this baby, he’s like crack, once they see him, they’ll have to have one (just keep yer mitts off my monkey or at least hand him back once you’re done holding him). And by all means, don’t let them hold him, it’s all over then, I’ve seen it happen.) I entered my monkey in a baby contest.

An entire blog written as a shameless plug for my little man, that’s right, I already said I have no shame. So, why are you surprised? Regardless, go vote for him once a day, everyday @this site. Although I would advise first using their quick registry so you don’t have to add any personal info, just do the first step and then click on this site to vote the first time. Then at some point click on the confirmation link they email you, and when you want to vote again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day and so on.. log in here and then go back and click on this site to vote once more for my precious lil money maker (I mean monkey). =p

That is all.

Twilight Revised

Photo by The Barefoot Believer.

This may be old news to some, although Johnny come lately as I am, I just read the newest “installment” of the Twilight series: Midnight Sun. No, it wasn’t released in stores, however, Stephenie Meyer, posted a huge portion of her Twilight’s last gleaming in answer to the “malicious” leaking of her unfinished masterpiece in rough form. It is convenient that the leaking of such work could possibly give her a huge boost in sales: new and renewed interest in her series. Akin to another Dumbledore fiasco where a writer sees wanning interest in their work and says something shocking to refurbish that reader vigor. On a side note, I could care less if Dumbledore is gay or not, it doesn’t read in the story and for a virtuoso of foreshadowing not to insert a hint of her private musings into the character and then later claim that it’s there. Well, there is a more than a bit of sensationalism either way, if it’s true, why now; if it’s not, the why is obvious.

The truth comes out and it’s hard to tell if it really is the truth or just a publicity stunt: Mackenzie claiming to have had “relations” with her father (now deceased and unable to comment) and has a new book to sell; “Danish Karen” on YouTube claiming to have a one night stand in Copenhagen and is online searching for the father of her baby, August: only it was a hoax by the country’s tourism board of all things. It is definitely difficult to sift the wheat from the chaff and know when the truth is really being put forth and when it is a outright lie to improve commerce.

I’ll take the high road with Stephenie Meyer and say she is “allegedly” telling the truth (everything is “allegedly” these days, even when you have 100 witnesses and video) that her book was leaked without her knowledge, but don’t be hurt for too long Steph. Maybe the monetary compensation will ease the pain of this vastly heinous crime. Seriously, no craftsman wants their artistry to be viewed by the masses before it’s finished. You may not empathize with this, but first impressions isn’t just a cliche, once a view is distorted a certain way, an opinion formed, it can be hard to judge that exploit without a certain amount of bias.

All that being said, I thought the rough draft you released in response to having your work stolen was extremely good. It is a fascinating concept to say the least, it has been done in movies, television, though I cannot remember reading a book twice along the same timeline from different points-of-view. Within the same book, numerous times. It was intriguing to see the entire story (up to the trip to Seattle) from another perspective. I honestly didn’t expect to be that captivated, having read her (I don’t truly think Mrs. Meyer will read this, hence the my own switch in POV) other take on the series several times, I figured the subject matter would be a little worn out, and yet, I kept reading until the last page and wished there was a little more “heroin” to sate my addiction to Twilight world she’s so adeptly created. It has a bit of genius to it, unlike a movie you can easily recreate your world, events, performances and then with the key a variegated mind brings unlock different nuances in the twin telling. Stalking Edward as he stalks Bella without apologies gave much insight and some understanding into his stalkerish ways. Although, I’ve never truly classified Edward as a stalker since the chase was mutual. Regardless the new information opens new avenues of thought concerning his actual motives and allows the audience to empathized even more with his plight.

Regarding the Twilight Series in general.. I’ve always enjoyed a good vampire story, although I am not usually on board with the hybrid versions of classic horror creatures: Zombies who can think strategically and move seemingly as fast as the speed of light (mostly known as the Rage Zombies), Aliens who practically have no weaknesses, demons without God as an adversary, Werewolves that have complete control of their facilities, Vampires who can walk in the daylight and have skin so hard a stake would never kill them. It seems in a world with varmint such as these humans would not last very long, food supplies would run out even for the ones of horror and then what.. game over (which is usually how these hybrid adaptations end). However, Stephenie Meyer deals with her mighty hodgepodge of horror in an interesting way. She adds limits to these limitless creatures and therefore makes her story more accessible to “reality”.

The only other opposition that initially curtailed my interest in these books, at first, was the emo-angstiness of the main character, even though I admittedly watched Dawson’s Creek when the whole Joey-Pacey dynamic was going on, the usual Felicity type whining of those teenage type shows wears thin very quickly, and yet, sometimes as in both shows there are characters that overcome their parameters of constant emoting and draw in the reader and or watcher with their true to life drama llamas. So Stephenie Meyer, a master of the love triangle (and is decidedly the only writer I know of to make a love triangle with only two characters, see The Host), is definitely an author I will definitely be looking for on the bookshelves, even if she declines to ever finish Midnight Sun.

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Why Idaho Falls?

Why not. Aly and I live in the hustle and bustle of SoCal and what better place to get away than the little (OK, not so little) town of Idaho Falls. Honestly, I never considered a vacation of such ease until Aly’s good friend, Katie, alerted us to an airline’s deal of the century, tickets from Vegas to a Northwestern Utopia for thirty dollars. And on spur of moment everything clicked: the high life and the slow life all rolled into one pretty package. Dontcha ‘love it when a plan comes together.’ Looking back, it was truly worth every cent, even if we spent those cents saved on Holiday Inn Express’s (you Grammar Nazis may think that was a faux pas, but really it’s just preference) complimentary A-1 breakfast buffet.

I’ve never seen Aly so relaxed. Not to mention, she got to see her beloved cows and visit her good friend (both unique occurrences). Whilst I, master of the wilderness, fed six baby bears. That’s right, no comment necessary. I cannot hear you over the sound of my awesomeness anyways. Now, I know what you’re going to say: “POINH” (pics or it never happen, the rest of you, try to keep up), though I’ll do you one better..

Overall, the trip went without a hitch, all save the mysteriously dead battery when we got to McCarran Airport’s long term parking lot. Really, dead, sigh. Twenty-two hundred hours, a four to five hour drive home and a dead battery holding us hostage. I was about to call Verizon’s roadside assistance for reinforcements, much more useful than AAA and yet still a pain in the butt, when my wife, goddess extraordinaire and exceptionally observant woman that she is, told me she noticed a sign on the way up saying the airport provides battery jumps. Sweet. I went over where I saw an emergency box and pressed the button, hoping this official looking contraption didn’t connect me to Reno 911, and got airport dispatch. Whew. They told me I was third in line, apparently, this happens A LOT.

Consequently, we were forced to postpone our trek home and killed twenty minutes with our three irascible young cubs in the Las Vegas cold. The cold seems to be Davin’s main form of kryptonite in his superman-like zen armor. How is this kid mine? He hates the cold, though I suppose if I was that small and had zero body fat, I would too. I do recall wearing my snow jacket when it was 90 degrees out and feeling no pain when I was a young pup, maybe it’s a kid thing. Woot, I guess he’s my kid after all. And just as I got my cranky bimbo (that’s baby boy in Italian) all snuggled in with a pacifier, airport personnel came to give our car some love. Quite the service, they do flat tires as well. In a jiff, our dark angel of mercy finished her work and we were on our way home. Home sweet home.

And yet, ‘I’m [still] on vacation.’ I took one more day off, @home, with the fam to sleep off our Norman Rockwell hangover. So here I am, slumbering to midday in never never land, trying to stave off the harsh light of early mornings, driving to work in the endless traffic of the 55 fwy and all the rest of the hustle and bustle of SoCal.

All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible. -Thomas E. Lawrence

That is all.

Back to the Vacay..

I left you last with a flashback of my first airline experience in approximately 12 years. Let’s do that again. “Four in the morning, Ugh.” At least my monkey is still sleeping, that or my saintly wife got up once again with him while I slept so soundly that in the old days I’d probably be well acquainted with the term, “saved by the bell.” I’m up now and so is the monkey, might as well feed him while my wife stirs and is up and at em stepping nekkid into the shower, hmmm, maybe a little early morning delight. ‘Waaaahhhhhhh!’ OK, maybe not. “Shh, I’m here little man.” It’s going to be a long day.

Flash forward.. the kids are ready, the bags in the car the night before. We’re off: on the road and no traffic. Our pre-dawn launch is paying off and it’s smooth sailing as far as the eye can see. So let’s skip this chapter of our Vacation DVD and get to the good stuff.. The monkey is wailing and we’ve got one more exit till were in Barstow. A good a place as any to stop and feed the chillins, a bathroom break wouldn’t go amiss either. Time for our greasy spoon pit stop.

“No way!” Bob’s Big Boy and they have a breakfast buffet (man, they are coming back with a vengeance). It’s the perfect place to begin our vacay right. Double time.. The food was good, the monkeys fed. “Let’s pay and get going.” The obvious being stated, I went to find their facilities and on my way back I asked my wife about the check and she said the waitress said it was taken care of, and thought I paid it already. “Wha? It’s taken care of? Maybe she meant she’s getting it.” My wife went to go confirm the waitresses’ definition of “taken care of” and came back not being able to pry out of our food dealer more then that an anonymous party had paid our bill and said, ‘Jesus loves you.’ That He does, but wow, Jesus bought us breakfast. Did we look like a rag-a-tag band of heathens? Or were we just some random strangers to bless? The world may never know.

What an embarkation to our expedition. I remember my first trip with Aly, the weekend I whisked her away to ask her to marry me in the most romantical way ever . . . and to commence that quest of true love, she shut the car window on my hand right after we left her driveway. That’s the usual preface I’m used to with Aly and I in these little getaways. Anyways, “Sweet, let’s go kids. VEGAS BABY!”

Fast Forward through the boring stuff.. Wait a minute, back it up a bit..

   ”Did you hear Nate, honey?”
   ”No”, Aly replied looking at me puzzled.
   ”What did you say Nate?” I called back.
   ”Wah wah wah threw wah wah wah,” he mumbled.
   ”He sounds like Charlie Brown’s teacher, I have no idea what he said.”
   ”I can’t hear him either,” Aly concurred.
   I looked back once more a bit concerned from his tone, but still couldn’t tell what he was saying, “We’re almost there Nate, hold on.” And after a few minutes of driving, probably much less, my mind decoded the secret Ovaltine message, possibly with the help of my trusty super-smell decoder ring. “Honey, I think he said he threw up.”

Several miles out from the Mecca of Sin & Debauchery so we trucked on as the smell started to permeate the car. The smell was the only evidence I had, from what I could see as I peered into the backseat everything was status in quo, but the smell told another story and so did Dean. We pulled into Vegas’ outlet center and pulled in front of the Disney Store. And Buddha, Nietzsche, holy cows of India – call the exorcist! Nate threw up . . . on everything BUT the seat protector. My lovely wife went to town on the car (there are some things my wife does that always causes me to be eternally grateful for, this is one of those things), and I took Dean and the baby into the Disney Store to find a five dollar shirt. Normally that would be impossible with Disney merch, but this is their outlet and there we have it, Camp Rock for $5.99.

The rest of the day consisted of your normal Vegas experience: blow, gambling and hookers. Hehe, not really, we are rather boring people. I did play the slots out of obligation, won forty bucks and took my family to the Hash House a go go. A must see, taste, love, digest, relax, poop experience about four miles off the strip. Words cannot express the awesomeness of this restaurant. We were in the promised land and heaven’s mana was laid out before us and ‘that’s all I have to say about that.’ And that being said, go to the go go, Yum.

That’s my amazingly gorgeous wife patiently waiting for her amazing griddled french toast dipped in banana cinnamon cream w/ pecan maple syrup.

The rest of the day was your clichesqe blur, picture the airport movie montage: getting checked in, the scanning of shoes and other airport silliness. Seriously though, they scanned my shoes and then let me take on about 25 DVD’s and CD’s and all other kinds of things that could be turned into highly effective weapons, but deny that evil bottle of water in my possession. Not that I have terrorists tendencies, but those things are so much more dangerous in my mind than water and nail clippers. Nonetheless, I’ll shut up now before the government catches on and were flying the friendly skies in our underwear.

Idaho Falls here I come.

That is all.

Leaving on a Jet Plane..

Flying on an airplane, for what’s got to be the one hundred quintillionth time. Even though the last time was over a decade ago. And for my children, it’s the first time they’ll ever remember flying. Nate is sitting to my left asking a quadrillion questions (I figured I’d stick with the super big hyperbole of numbers). ‘Are we going backwards,’ his little voice quivers with excitement as he also states every obvious motion of the plane. Ahh, give the kid a break, it’s his first time and this is big time. Likewise his older brother, Dean, is just as exuberant, even though he once flew at six months old. Nevertheless he’s a born again virgin in the world of aviation not being able to recall his earlier experiences as he nervously tries to hold Aly’s hand as she’s trying to feed the baby, refusing to look out the window. Nate, on my other hand, is curiously looking out the window and trying to take in everything at once.

And now for an announcement from your friendly stewardess (I know what you call them). She starts and from the start bumbles through the information no one would ever recall in the slightest during a real in-flight emergency, I tell my boys the one true safety measure everyone must know: how to pop your ears for take off. And of course as kids will be kids: Dean all of a sudden gets ornery and starts yelling, ‘I don’t want to pop my ears!’ You may think he’s being naughty, really, I just think he took me a little too literally as most kids with his condition tend to do, I say that now, but at the time, I wasn’t as superdad to think so logically. Yet, as fast as any truly sarcastic dad would, I calmly replied to my crazed little man, “then they’ll explode.” Dean’s eyes almost popped as he stop dead in his tracks and starting opening and closing his mouth and swallowing like mad. Crisis averted. Now, you may think that was mean, but I fell asleep once during a touch and go and it felt like my ears did explode.

Anyways, all this hoopla made me reminisce about old family vacations with my parents and oh how the tables have turned. We didn’t often fly on these wondrous vacations. They usually consisted of mind numbing hours stuck to the horribly hot vinyl seats of a station wagon and pit stops at your local greasy spoons. “Did the plane’s tires actually screech trying to stop going at a speed slower than a golf cart taxiing down the runway.” Yikes. For some reason, Aeroflot comes to mind. Well, I didn’t see any patches on the tires and at least it’s not snowing, at least I think it’s not where we’re landing. The stewardess continues to drone on in my memory, her constant fumbling of her “vital” speech haunting me, thinking about budget no frill flights and hoping the no frills aren’t skimping on the vitals.

We’re still taxiing into place to take off and Dean abruptly looks up and asks, ‘Are we going to drive to Idaho?’ My wife laughs agreeing that it certainly feels that way. Then just as unexpectedly, were kicked back in our seats and Nate literally screams in delight crying out, ‘We’re going fast!’ Ahh, my little captain obvious. He gets it from his mom. Some people however never see the obvious. Like the girl who was sitting next to me at the beginning of the flight who was flirting up a storm. I tried several tactics to avoid this very thing the moment she sat next to me and gave me that come hither look. It’s got to be the glasses. I tried to make my wedding ring more noticeable as I plugged in my iPod and only placed the earbud only in my left ear all the while trying to send a few picture texts. She still insisted on talking to me and kept on keeping on until my wife, God bless her soul, called me honey from across the aisle and I finally unplugged the iPod and conversed with my wife and three kids. I think it took a second or two to sink in and the girl finally got the hint, then the obvious was instantly more than obvious and she went exit stage left rather quickly at that point, citing that there were plenty of empty seats in the back. Now my wife is not a jealous woman and trusts me explicitly, so I wasn’t worried of any consequences of this woman blatantly flirting with me right in front of my beloved, it’s just when you have a goddess sitting to the right, right next to you, mere mortals lose their flavor. No, I’m not kissing up, my wife rarely reads these things. Well, more now than before, but still. And yet this was nothing compared to the Costco incident, when I was hit on by a guy who asked me out to a movie I don’t even think was in production at the time.

The engine continued to roar and I dosed off next to Nate, much better company than an over zealous stranger. Bang, boom, “Would you care for a snack or drink?” Wha? Oh, drink service. Strange, I’ve never been on a plane where the snack cart was filled with such sugary like goodies, am I in a Harry Potter-esqe train? still dreaming? Then I quickly noticed the money stuffed into a cylindrical container and my split-second internal dialogue ceased. “I’ll just take an apple juice for the little guy and a Diet Coke for me.” The evilly sly stewardess waited till I popped the top on the juice and said, ‘four dollars please.’ Wha!?! Damn, she got me. I shelled out a twenty and got back my change shaking my head. I think even Aeroflot gave first drinks free. Hmm, that seltzer water wasn’t much of what I would call drinkable, it was wet though.

Not long after that, I felt the plane lurch and we immediately started our decent. Nate was already opening and closing his mouth and squeezing his eyes shut a few times, then went back to excitedly looking out into the darkness and the spray of city lights, as I sat back in my chair, that I never did figure out how to recline, and thought, “Ah, survived another flight.” My before nerve wracked wife telling me it was a given with five babies on board, a theory I often told her on the way to Vegas, that we had our own little insurance policy: since Davin was traveling with us the plane couldn’t crash. And yet, I’d have to agree, with five of them in flight, they’d have to be the future Hitler’s of America for our flight to of gone down.

What a drama free beginning to our vacation. Wonder what adventures await our arrival to the slow paced life of Idaho Falls. In Bill Cosby like fashion, all I have to say is, “I’m on vacation!”

That is all.