Week 77 Pictures

For more Christmas fun, click here. Sorry about the lack of entries lately, but between the holiday fun and trying to buy a house, we've been swamped!

Week 76 Pictures

Christmas fun is viewable at the Smugmug site. Happy holidays to all!

Like casting pennies into a wishing well...

Today, I had to fire our broker.

Though she was a nice woman, and had driven us all over St. Petersburg last Sunday, she just wasn't getting the job done. When I fired her, she cried, and it made me feel terribly guilty. I had to step out of the office for a moment and remind myself why I had to fire her; how buying a home is one of the most important decisions of one's life and not the sort of transaction left to someone who is "almost good enough."

Still, my karma felt low. Since I re-injured my knee earlier this week, I've felt a bit unlucky. After the spectacle the broker put on over the phone, I had bad feelings swarming around me.

A few minutes later, I logged off my computer, hopped in my car, and drove off to pick up Reilly at daycare. I had made it about a mile when I realized that I had a flat tire.

I had a flat tire in one of the worst neighborhoods in Tampa. To whit: a homeless man "helped" me change my tire. In between cursing and gasping from the pain of my knee, I couldn't help but think of the broker, who was probably at that moment wishing something bad would happen to me, something that would help her get even. I almost called her to let her know that her wish had come true.

Week 75 Pictures

Click here for week 75 pictures. One week until Christmas!

Week 74

Week 74 pictures are now up at the Smugmug site. Please click to here view.

My favorite word

This morning, Shawn called from New York and put Reilly on the phone. After some coaxing, Reilly said, "Dadddeeeeeeee!" I almost drove off the road.

Maybe I should get Reilly her own cell phone for Christmas?

Hope

The other day, I was instant messaging with my friend Ellen about something I had witnessed on the drive to work. While at a stoplight, I was reading the bumper sticker on the car in front of me. The small, round sticker said, "Obama in '08." I smiled. What made me smile is that the car was one of those big Lincolns that the retirees drive, and sure enough--there was a grey-haired man behind the wheel. A white, grey-haired man. And so it gave me hope that in this conservative, Republican-heavy red state that there was one person outside of the normal Democrat demographic who would be willing to vote for a black man.

Today, while on my drive home, I saw the bumper sticker again. The sticker was on the same bumper, connected to the same car, driven by the same old man. I felt the same way as I did before: hopeful.

Hopeful that in this big city, a small world coincidence might be the sign of change to come.

Zone vs. Man-on-man

In honor of Monday night football, a football analogy:

When Reilly first started walking, I followed her around the house in what might be called man-on-man defense. Since any step could be a misstep, I had to be within arm's reach of her at all times.

Now, I just occupy the space around Reilly, making sure she stays away from the dog bowl or the computer mouse. Her proficiency at walking has allowed me to start playing a zone defense, which is a hell of a lot easier on this aging sports-star.

Week 73 Pictures

Welcome to week 73. Click here to enter Reilly's world.

Big Bird

This morning as I was driving over the Howard Frankland bridge on the way to work, I saw a bird of prey perched up on one of the light poles that overlooks the bay. I want to say it was a hawk, but it could have been a falcon or a raptor or some other bird with a cool name. It strikes me that hardly a day passes that I don’t see a large bird of prey, be it on my commute, in a park, or just walking around the neighborhood with Reilly.

On Thanksgiving, there were a few of us sitting outside on the deck, eating pie, when I saw a large bird flying in the distance. I noticed its large dark silhouette in contrast to its very white head, and I knew at once that what I was seeing was a bald eagle. I told everyone around the table to look, and my brother-in-law said, “Good eye, Brian. That was awesome!” It was awesome, indeed. And that is something that Florida is good for—bald eagles (and pie on the back deck in late November).

5 Things You Might Not Know about Reilly

1) Reilly's lexicon is growing by the day now. Her old words can be found here. Her new words include:

Reilly (pronounced eye-lee)
Mama
Daddy
Baby
Danny (pronounced nannie)
Dip
Banana (pronounced ah-nuh-na)
Cheese
Please
Up
Apple
Dog
Truck
Eat
More
Bubbles
Chalk
Hot
Hello
School
Shoe

She is learning a new word every few days now, and will try out new words at random. For example, today when we were outside for a walk, she approached a plastic Santa Claus on a neighbor's lawn, and I said, "That's SAN-tuh!" And she said, in her cute little voice, "Santa."

2) Reilly is also learning some non-verbal communication. She has learned the signs for the following words:

Cat
Frog
Bunny
Pig
More
All Done
Eat
Drink
Bib
Apple
Cereal

3) Reilly likes to hold hands now, which is really awesome. There is just something so sweet about the way she reaches up for my hand when she wants to go for a walk. When Shawn and I are together, she will reach up for Shawn's hand, but not wanting to leave me out, will reach up for my hand also. She is very kind that way.

Once she has us both by the hand, she will use her body weight to "drive" us where she wants to go. For example, if we are going in the wrong direction, she will lean back and pull on our hands in an attempt to turn us around. For her, I imagine it's a little like flying one of those two-handed kites you see at the beach.

4) Reilly has a new found fascination with adult goings-on in the bathroom. The other day when we were at the Botanical Garden, Reilly (who had us by the hands) kept trying to steer us to the public restroom there. As if that wasn't enough, she kept saying, "Poo-poo, mama?"

This forced Shawn to say--out loud, and in public--the following phrase, "No, no poo-poo right now, Reilly."

HAHAHAHAHA!

5) When the phone rings in the house, Reilly will start saying, "Hello?"

This morning, Shawn told me that she picked up the phone from the table and said, "Hello? Daddeee? Hello?"

So, Shawn called me at work, told me the story, and put Reilly on the phone. I said 'hello' back to my daughter, but got no response. When I asked Shawn what happened, she told me that Reilly had waved at the phone when she heard my voice.

Week 72 Pictures

Click here to see Reilly eating her Thanksgiving dinner, nose to nose with a canine, and in the vicinity of a large plastic camel.

For now, your picture of the week:

Hide and Seek

Last night, I was playing with Reilly in the back room at my dad's house. She had pulled out a plastic Barbie kitchen playset, and we were taking turns putting little plastic cans of beans and jars of pickles back on the little plastic shelves. All we needed to make the scene complete was a Barbie doll. Sadly, there were none in sight.

At one point, Reilly accidentally kicked the playset, and amongst the plastic playthings that flew everywhere, a couple of AA Duracell batteries also popped out.

I should pause for a moment to say that AA batteries are Reilly's favorite banned plaything. One of her favorite games over at Grandma's is knocking the batteries out of the TV remote and then trying to get them in her mouth before I catch her.

So when the batteries popped out last night, her eyes lit up and she grabbed them. She looked at me and said, "Bay-doo!" And I said, "You're welcome, but I didn't give them to you. Can daddy please have the batteries back?"

Reilly ignored me and edged her way over to the bookcase nearby, where she surreptitiously hid the batteries. She looked back to see if I was watching, and I quickly averted my eyes. Satisfied that she had hidden them well, she went back to playing with Barbie's kitchen.

A few minutes later, though, she caught me looking over at the batteries, and ran over to the hiding place to put them back into her clutches. Unfortunately, she went straight to her mouth with the double A's, so I had to take them away.

She's getting to be a smart little sucker.

Week 71 Pictures

I always promised myself that I would not let Reilly become one of those kids who insists on walking up the slide...

I submit the following photos as proof of my failure:

Click here to view the rest of Week 71 pictures.

Bubble Girl

Early this morning, Shawn and Donna left for New York, which meant that when Reilly woke up a few hours later, it was me who got to get her out of her crib. Yay!

I opened the door and said, "Good morning, Reilly."

To this, Reilly answered, "Bubble?"

It's tough to admit it, but clearly in Reilly's world, she favors things in this order: Mom, then bubbles, then Dad. I'm really slipping down the rankings.

Daddy's little girl

I love getting Reilly up in the morning. She is so sweet as she comes out of her foggy slumber, and I love that first warm, clingy hug of the morning. Shawn also likes to get Reilly up for the same reason—I think it’s her favorite part of the day.

When it is time to get Reilly up, Shawn and I try to be diplomatic about it. For example, this morning I asked Shawn if she wouldn’t mind if maybe just possibly I could get Reilly up. She kindly said “yes.” So, I went into Reilly’s room and picked her up and gave her a hug, with Shawn trailing in behind me. But when Reilly saw Shawn she nearly leapt out of my hands to get to her mom.

Daddy’s little girl my ass.

Week 70 Pictures

Reilly has been expressing her myriad emotions through facial expressions this week. Click here to see her making faces. Meanwhile, your picture of the week:

Woo-woo-woo!

This morning, I woke up as I do many mornings--to the sound of Reilly crying. Through my grogginess, I walked to her room and opened the door, but was surprised to find that she was sound asleep. I then realized that the sound I was hearing was not Reilly, but an ambulance passing in the distance.

I went back to bed and got under the covers, and I couldn't help but marvel at how closely the siren of the ambulance mimics Reilly's cries. I wonder if this was an intentional choice by the inventor of the siren? If you think about it, there is nothing that gets your attention like a crying baby--or a screaming emergency vehicle.

5 Things you might not know about Reilly

1) Reilly is crazy for bubbles. Whenever she sees the purple bubble container on the kitchen counter, she will say, “Bubble?” over and over until I take her outside to play. The sound of her saying the word is just so cute that I can’t really resist. The thing is, she doesn’t actually blow the bubbles, but instead just likes to stir the wand around and around in the container.

As much as I like this newfound hobby, there are two distinct problems with the bubbles. One, she has a total meltdown every time we take the bubbles away from her, and two, she will rub her eyes during the meltdown and the bubble solution on her hands gets in her eyes, which only furthers the strength of the meltdown.

2) Reilly loves to use the soap in the bathtub. Once she gets into the tub, she will hold out her hand and say, “Uh, uh, uh.” (She doesn’t know the word ‘soap’ yet.) On this cue, I will then squirt some J&J soap onto her hand. At this point, Reilly will tub her hands together, getting a lather up, and then will rub the soap on her belly. When all the soap has come off her hands, she’ll look back to me and say, “Uh, uh, uh.” Wash, rinse, repeat.

3) Reilly can now identify the following body parts if prompted: nose, ears, toes, and bellybutton. Also, if I say, “Where is your boo-boo?” she will point to her knee, which is perpetually scraped.

4) Reilly has put her IQ to work for evil once again, and has now learned how to open the bathroom door. (It is the lever style handle.) Damn, she’s smart.

5) Today when I dropped Reilly off at daycare, she didn’t cry. She just gave me a kiss, I said “bye-bye” and walked out the door. That really made my day. (That, and the Dems winning back the House.)

Week 69 Pictures

Reilly had another fun week, from Halloween dress-up to playing in her Maytag house. Click here for Week 69 photos.

The terrible 1 and 1/4's

This is an excellent series of three shots taken by Donna that exhibit the exceedingly strong willpower of our almost 16-month-old daughter. Here she is trying to find a way over the fence that was specifically installed to keep Reilly out of the pool.

Miss Jekyll:



Miss Hyde:

Happy Halloween!

Halloween costume #1, the "fairy princess":


This is a picture of Reilly at her daycare, where they had a Halloween party today. Isn't she just so sweeeet? Awww. Too bad that our little fairy princess was more of a devil in disguise. When Reilly started tearing off her wings, Shawn switched her to the "Bucs Cheerleader" costume. Rah!

Overall, Halloween was a great success. Reilly did a few trick-or-treats at our house and once at Merrideth's house, where we went for a little Halloween party. When other kids came to the door, Reilly would greet them with her basket outstretched, not quite understanding that when you are inside, you give the treats, whereas when you are outside, you get the treats.

Click, Click

Motherhood, in two frames:

Week 68 Pictures

Here is this week's installment of Reilly's photos. Click here to see her wandering the pumpkin patch, dusting the house, and meeting a dog three times her size. Meanwhile, your picture of the week:

Sicky-wicky

In the life of every car, there is a moment where the car goes from being a “new” car to a used car. At that moment, you can actually hear the sucking sound of wind as the car begins its rapid descent of depreciation.

The moment is different for every car—it could be your first door ding, or the first chip on your bumper as the gravel truck in front of you rains down tiny rocks on your car.

The moment my car lost its newness was this morning, when Reilly projectile vomited curdled milk all over the backseat of our car. Friends of the internet, I wish that I could properly describe the smell that is now imbedded in the upholstery of the Camry. It is foul.

Many of you are probably thinking, but what about poor Reilly? Who cares about the stupid car when wonderful baby-waby Reilly is sicky-wicky? I’ll have you know that I did not panic or curse when Reilly barfed in the backseat, but rather calmly removed her from the car, soothing her all the way back to the house, where I handed her off to grandma while I quickly returned to the car with towel in hand.

The worst part, and the part I feel truly bad about, was that I had to put her back in the car seat that she had just thrown up in. Yes, I put down a towel, and no, she did not get any additional barf on her. But the stench of the car was almost enough to make my eyes tear up, and I imagine it’s not pleasant to be sitting on the source of that smell.

Ah, the joys of being a parent. There’s just nothing like it.

Stall Tactics

Two nights ago, I checked the clock in the kitchen and noted that it was 7:30pm. Bedtime for baby. I walked into the living room where Reilly was playing and told her that it was time to go to bed. She looked at me, then went over and picked up a book and gave it to Shawn. Shawn laughed and said, "She's got her stall tactics down already."

Last night when I walked into the living room, Reilly was reading her book Five Little Pumpkins with her grandpa. I waited until they were done with the book, and then told Reilly that it was time to go to bed. She looked at me, then quickly turned away and snuggled into her grandpa's chest, trying to evade me once again.

As I type this, Reilly is behind me sipping on her bottle, watching The Big Comfy Couch. In just a moment, I am going to tell her that it is bedtime. I can't wait to see what she tries this time...

The Great Pumpkin

Yesterday, we went to the local pumpkin patch to seek out the Great Pumpkin. Despite the excessive heat, we were able to pretend it was fall long enough for Reilly look for and settle on the perfect specimen shown below. (The Great Pumpkin purchase came to total of $7.00. )

When we arrived home, we took the Great Pumpkin out back, along with some newspaper, a knife, a crayon, and a spoon. I took care of carving a hole in the top of the pumpkin, then played photojournalist while Reilly and Shawn cleaned out the inside of the Great Pumpkin and then carved it.*

*Reilly wasn't too keen on sticking her arm into the slimy pumpkin, but she did enjoy picking up the seeds and dropping them into the bowl (for dad to toast later).

Later that evening, just before it was time for Reilly to go to bed, we turned off all the lights and lit up the pumpkin. Reilly sat very still and concentrated on the face staring back at her. She kept her eyes fixed on it until we turned the lights back on. Reilly smiled up at us, and the three of us enjoyed one of those Family Moments.

If you're wondering who carved suck an awesome pumpkin, all credit goes to Shawn.

5 Things I Hate about Reilly's new Daycare

1) As some of you might remember, Reilly had a very difficult transition from breastfeeding to the bottle. The same is holding true in her transition from the bottle to the sippy cup. As I mentioned here, it's just not happening.

The first day of daycare, we brought in Reilly's food and her bottles. "Oh no," the director said, upon seeing the bottles. "It's against Pinellas County regulations for us to feed her from a bottle. She'll have to use a sippy cup." Though I tried to explain to her that Reilly would simply not drink milk from a sippy, she wouldn't give in. So, every day, Reilly has no milk between the times of 7:30am and 5:30pm (by her own choice). Consequently, she has sprouted devil horns by the time I come to pick her up. I just don't understand what the big deal is about the bottle. The way I look at it, it's just a vessel that dispenses milk, just like a sippy cup.

2) The hours at the daycare are 7:30am to 5:30pm. The morning hours are fine. What I am having a hard time with is the 5:30pm pick-up time. 5:30? What kind of working professional can make that pick-up time? I have to leave work at 4:30pm every day to ensure that I am not going to be late, and lo!-- should I be late, they'll charge me $3 for every minute after 5:30pm.

So, every day I leave work in a hurry, and spaz out in traffic worrying about being late, and honestly, after a long day at work, who needs that kind of stress?

3) The teachers don't love Reilly. One might say, well, it is not the teacher's job to love Reilly. I agree. But Jenya--Reilly's old primary caregiver from The City--loved Reilly. She had nicknames for Reilly, she hugged her, she encouraged her to walk, she gave her all of the loving attention of a parent.

I remember there were times that I was afraid that Jenya's affections would sway Reilly to her so much that our daughter wouldn't have any love left for her real parents. Now, I wish I had that problem.

4) Last week, Reilly was sick, and she got some wicked bad diaper rash. When I brought in some diaper cream for her, the director said that they couldn't apply it. When I asked what the issue was, she again said that it was against the Pinellas County daycare regulations. The fact that she said this really, seriously pissed me off, mostly because I thought the woman was lying to me, and that she uses the whole Pinellas County regulations excuse every time she doesn't feel like doing something. I had a few words with her and stormed out of the daycare, leaving my poor, chapped ass baby there to be miserable all day.

5) Every afternoon, when I go to getReilly, she is always the last to be picked up, or the second-to-last to be picked up. (See #2 above for the reason.) One day, I picked Reilly up early, and noticed how when I opened the door to the classroom, all the kids run to the door to see whose parent is there. The lucky kids gets swooped up by the parent, and the rest mope back to their seats to wait. This was a difficult realization for me--to know that Reilly runs to the door nine times every afternoon, looking for her dad, only to be disappointed.

I hate that she gets picked up last. And I hate this daycare. HATE.

Week 67 Pictures

Click here to view another round of RGO cuteness. Your picture of the week:

Blog Burnout

It has been hard to get to the old blog lately, what with having a new job and a long commute and a few dozen other excuses. Another reason for my lack of posting is what I term “Blog Burnout.” Blog Burnout is a condition that affects writers such as myself, who at some point decide that their blog is boring and stale and really, what is the point of all this writing and sharing?

I’ve also been struggling with the fact that my very public blog hampers my ability to put into words exactly what I am thinking. I used to take pride in the fact that I rarely use curse words on this site, but now I find it to be a bit of a cop out. It’s this self-censoring that really gets to me, and in the end, it feels dishonest when I hold back.

I’ve always admired Amy Storch—of Amalah.com—for being brutally honest and never censoring what she thinks or feels. I think it is that freedom of speech (and her obvious talent) that makes her blog so incredibly successful. When she quit her job several months ago to focus on her writing, I was surprised, and a part of me worried for her, but I think now that move only served to free her up for more honesty. Without having to worry about being dooced from her job for her opinions, she is now able to channel more of her true self through her blog.

(What is ironic is that Amy recently went through a pretty severe case of Blog Burnout, but was able to recover from it by stoking her creativity by creating a new blog.)

Well. With all that said, where does it leave me? Two-thirds of the way through a new entry, ha, ha, ha.

The other third of this entry will come in the form of a little story:

As I mentioned previously, Reilly had three shots last week at her 15-week appointment. At the same time, she was getting over a cold. In addition, she isn’t napping very well at daycare. Finally, she is teething again. All of these factors combined on Monday night into a tantrum, a tantrum so fierce, in fact, that she decided it couldn’t wait until the morning, and thought that it would be best to wake up and have it right then, at 11:45pm.

She would not be calmed by the normal soothing techniques. She would not take a bottle, or a pacifier. She just cried and cried as I walked her around the house, so much so that it was starting to worry me. At one point, as I paced the kitchen with her in my arms, she pointed to her highchair and yelled, “AH!” When I asked her if she wanted to sit down in her highchair, she said, “Ah, Ah, AH!”

So, I put her in it. She pointed to the cupboard, and I brought out some Goldfish and placed them on her tray. She gobbled them up, had a slug of water, and I just had to laugh. I turned to Donna and said, “Can you believe this kid?” She just shook her head.

After a few more handfuls of Goldfish, I asked Reilly if she was ready for bed, and she reached out her arms. I walked her back to her room, placed her in her crib, and she fell fast asleep.

From the Archives: October 17, 2005 - Age 26

This week we had a momentous “first” from Reilly—she laughed! Shawn was holding her, and her dad and mom were making silly noises and faces, and then Reilly wiggled and said, “ah-ha!” I mocked her, and said, “ah-ha” back at her, and it wasn’t until Shawn said, “She just laughed!” that I realized what our little girl had done. Though Reilly has yet to repeat this feat, Shawn and I have not let up in our acts of silly persuasion.

Reilly has decreased her spit bubbles this week, instead increasing her “conversations” with us. She will talk to anyone and anything. She will talk to her mom, she will talk to her doll, she will talk to her dad cooking dinner and she will talk to the pot that he is stirring on the stove. Her favorite thing to do is stick all four fingers in her mouth and then talk a blue streak.

We’ve been watching with interest and some trepidation as Reilly becomes more adept at rolling herself over. Though she has yet to complete the process all by herself, she seems on the verge. This morning she nearly had it while she was playing in her crib. She threw up her leg, twisted under her arm, and made it to her side, teetered there for a moment, then fell backwards and cried in frustration. As a result of this soon to be developed skill, Shawn and I have to watch Reilly closely when she is in her swing, her changing table, and on the bed, lest she finally decide to roll over when we’re not looking. Yet another thing to worry about!

At 14 weeks, Reilly has become proficient at taking a bottle, a duty that usually falls to me, since Shawn has to pump simultaneously. As parents, this new development is key, as it now allows Shawn to leave her baby for more than four hours at a time (not that she ever wants to). In fact, I write this entry as Reilly sits next to me in the swing, drowsing in the warm room, as her mother has dinner with her friends Kristi and Christi, who came to visit this weekend. (More spoiling from her “aunts!”) Reilly’s ability to take a bottle is also important for her transition to daycare, which is coming sooner than we all want to admit.

Shawn and I toured our first daycare (FedKids) this week, and though we felt comfortable with the location, facility, and teachers, it was still difficult to imagine her all alone at the place. Of course, this is not a hang-up for Reilly, but for her parents. Shawn and I still can’t believe we are parents, and it would be nice to get used to the idea before we begin to let others parent our baby for two days a week. Then again, if we don’t get going, we’ll never find a place to enroll Reilly anyway—FedKids declined our application—the daycare was already full for January 1, 2006!

“Full?” we asked.

The woman who had led our tour looked back at us. “Yes, we’re full until next September.”

“I guess we should have started earlier,” I said.

The woman looked at me with arched eyebrows, and it made me feel a bit unworthy to be a father. This parenting stuff never gets easier, does it?

Proof of her brilliance

Yesterday, Reilly broke into the child-proofed kitchen cabinet. She did it so deftly, and with so much intelligence, that I knew at once she was her mother's daughter. Since the cabinet contains not just the trash, but also every chemical cleaner in the house, we spent a good part of yesterday evening rearranging the cabinets so that the dog food is now where the Clorox used to be.

At least now the worst that could happen is that Reilly eats a little dog kibble, and it's not like that hasn't ever happened before.

I leave you with the photo proof of Reilly's brilliance, in two frames:

Week 66 Pictures

Click here to see Reilly chalking up another week!

The Fifteen Month Check-up

This morning, Reilly had her fifteen month check-up at the doctor's. Of all the changes that we have gone through since moving back to Florida, our transition to a new pediatrician has been the smoothest. Not only did they accomodate us for our emergency visit, but they also happen to be the nicest, most professional office I've ever been in.

Our old pediatrician, West 11th Pediatrics, was a dream--great doctors, great sick policy, and a wonderful nurse, named Doris. To say that our new pediatrician, (Pediatric Health Care Alliance) is better, is quite a statement. Everything at PHCA is electronic: the nurse took Reilly's stats on a laptop, and gave us a quick survey from the same machine. Later, the doctor came in with the results of that survey and used it to help qualify where Reilly stands developmentally.

For example, she said, "I see that Reilly is walking and says over fifteen words and drinks from a sippy cup. Can you tell me a little more about her diet?" I was blown away by the effectiveness of this sort of communication. Whereas normally you repeat the same spiel with the nurse, and then with the doctor, in this case it was as if they were the same person. As I talked to the doctor about Reilly, she took notes on her laptop. When I mentioned that I had brought in Reilly's paper medical records, she said, "I know, I scanned them in and am viewing them now."

I wanted to hug her.

Today Reilly had to have two vaccinations and a flu shot. She was seriously pissed off. What was calming was that at the end of the visit, the nurse handed me sheets describing each shot, the reason for the shot, and any side effects that the vaccinations might cause in Reilly. When I asked the nurse to write down Reilly's stats so that I could share them with the internet, she said, "Oh, I've already printed them at the bottom of your daughter's 12-18 month information sheet." I looked at the sheet. So she had.

I'll make you wait no longer. Here are Reilly's stats, according to this percentile calculator:

20.19 lbs = 10th percentile
2 feet, 6 inches = 30th percentile
18.5 inches head circumference = 77th percentile

For the most part, these stats show that Reilly is still on her own growth curve, and is in line to be a top heavy child, prone to falling over at the slightest breeze.

To review her past stats, click here for her one year check-up, and here for her nine month check-up. (I can't seem to find her six month check-up and three month check-up. Sorry!)

Like Father, Like Daughter, Part II

(Note: I wrote this entry on Monday, but am just now getting the opportunity to get it online. Stay tuned for my next entry on this topic, which I am tentatively naming: "Three things I hate about Reilly's new daycare.")

A first day at a new job can be tough. There are new names to learn, hands to shake, directions to follow. Since I like to be on time to the nth degree, I am now sitting in the parking lot in front of my office at 7:45am, 45 minutes before my first meeting.

I was feeling a little nervous on the drive to work, and feeling a little envious of Reilly. Today is her first day too--first day at her new childcare facility. And even though we told her she was going to "school" this morning, she doesn't know enough about what we're saying to be nervous. She just blinked her eyes at us in the early morning light and whined for her bottle. For Reilly, it was just another morning. She doesn't have to have nerves at the prospect of her new day, though it pains me to think she might be afraid when Shawn leaves her behind at the daycare this morning. I calm myself with the knowledge of how independent she is, and how much she loves other kids.

Well then, off I go to Human Resources for orientation. I can only hope that Reilly understands that though first days can be tough, and there is much to learn, there is also much happiness to be found, and new friendships to be made.

Nontoxic

The other day, Donna gave Reilly a pen and a piece of paper. Reilly proceeded to scribble a bit on the paper. At that moment, she became a Drawer. At once, I was surprised and not surprised--an event that happens quite regularly for this dad.

Motivated by her new found skill, the next day I gave Reilly a large crayon that Shawn had brought back from Germany. She was able to draw a few faint lines on a piece of paper, but the pressure required of the waxy crayon was a little much for her to overcome.

The same day, I bought Reilly some sidewalk chalk to try out. Later, Shawn sat her down at the city park and opened up the box of chalk:

Reilly got to work right away, and she was pretty good at it, getting about 50% of the chalk on the pavement, 40% on her clothes, and about 10% in her mouth. Good thing Crayola makes nontoxic chalk. Reilly's spit was blue for ten minutes afterward.

Week 65 Pictures

We are a 1 camera family, and Shawn has the digital on her business trip, so I have but two pictures for you this week.

Last Sunday, Shawn and I took Reilly to Gulfport to get a cup of coffee and putz around. Here are the shots I snapped outside the coffee shop:

From Green Tea to Calgary

I was just in the pantry, looking for some green tea, which made me think of my old work pals Ellen and Adriana. At my old job in The City, every day I would get a hankering for green tea around 1:30pm. Since Ellen and Adriana were big tea drinkers, I would walk over to one of their offices to “borrow” a tea bag.

Which person I chose to visit was dependent on the type of tea I was in the mood for. Ellen had the real deal green tea straight from China. The name on the teabag was too strange to not be authentic: “Prince of Peace.” If I wanted loose tea, however, I would go to see Adriana, who had some really fragrant Twinning jasmine tea. To this day, I’ve never had jasmine tea as good as the stuff Adriana had.

The pantry also made me think of Shawn, who is in Calgary today. Shawn is a sucker for any products that say “new” on the label, or that otherwise are outside of the normal realm of the food store. Me, I’ll take my same old box of Triscuits each week, but Shawn likes to be adventurous. I often make fun of her for trying new things, because more often than not, she doesn’t like the special product she bought, and we end up with a half gallon of some strange juice from Africa that tastes like dirt.

For example, today when I was looking for tea, I came across a big tin of powdered Ovalmaltine, which apparently is the Swiss version of Ovaltine. Shawn picked it up when she was in Switzerland, thinking Reilly might like it. Reilly took one sip, opened her mouth, and let it dribble down her chin. No surprise there.

The good thing about Shawn’s adventurous food choices is that sooner or later, she brings something home that is awesome. Right now, I am enjoying a Basler Leckerli with my cup of green tea. The little biscuits taste like licorice flavored shortbread, and are damn tasty. She also brought home bar after bar of Finnish and Swiss chocolate, which is the best I've ever had.

Yesterday when I talked to Shawn, she was in Calgary. She said that she was missing Reilly, and asked me to send her some pictures. When I asked her what she had bought, she said shoes and clothes. Hopefully, she’ll come across some interesting food item and pick it up for us to try. (If not hon, get me some of those ketchup chips chips while you're in Canada. You know how much I like those things.)

Anyway, in honor of Shawn’s request, here is a little photo strip of some of my favorite shots of her and Reilly:

Front-facing

As I've stated in a previous entry, Reilly has had some difficulty adjusting to the car seat. By "difficulty" I mean that she cries from the moment I put her in it until the moment I remove her. Sometimes I can bribe her to be quiet with some goldfish crackers or some cheerios, but for the most part, driving with Reilly in the car is torture. I've tried playing her favorite CD, I've tried singing to her, I've even tried drowning her out. Nothing really works.

Both Shawn and I have postulated that the reason she gets pissed off in the car seat is because she is facing the rear of the car. For those who don't know, you are supposed to face a child to the rear of the car until she is 12 months old or 20 pounds, whichever comes last. As you all are aware, Reilly is closing in on 15 months, but she is also only in the 4th percentile for weight, so we've been patiently waiting for her to hit the 20 pound milestone.

I've considered feeding her doughnuts to get her to put on weight (worked for me).

The other day, grandma Donna took Reilly to the local grocery store. When she returned, she pronounced that Reilly was 21 pounds fully clothed. When I asked her how she came to this measurement, she stated that she had weighed Reilly on the Publix scale. The accuracy of said scale withstanding, I decided that was enough for me.

Yesterday, I turned Reilly's car seat around in the backseat and clipped her in. I drove to the playground. She did not cry. When I tilted the rearview mirror to see if she was still awake, she looked right at me and smiled. Later, when I checked her again, she was staring out the window. Turning around the car seat has transformed my devil baby back into her little sweet self, and has turned her harried, grumpy driver daddy back into his NPR loving, safe driving self.

Like father like daughter

Reilly and I are sharing a common problem today: pain.

For Reilly, it is teething, once again. I'm not sure what is coming in now, but the telltale drool and irritability is back with a vengeance. I'm guessing it's her eye teeth.

For me, it is a sore right knee and an equally sore left ankle. Last night I came out of retirement and joined Team TBD for a night of 8 on 8 men's league soccer. I'm proud to say that I scored the first goal. I am less proud to say that I was so out of shape that I had to play goalie for the whole second half.

Our team ended up winning 3-2, which places us at 1-0 on the season. Stay tuned for a report on next Monday's game. For now, it's Motrin for me, infant Motrin for Reilly.

Good Fortune, and her sister, Guilt

I am sitting at the computer, looking through the sliding glass door to the deck outside, where the shadow of the oak tree shimmers with the breeze. The house is quiet; Reilly is taking her nap, and Leia is next to me on the tile floor, somehow hoping a crumb from my sandwich will fall to her. I am trying to enjoy these moments of quiet and freedom, since I begin a new job next Monday.

Last week I was hired on at a local nonprofit. I am truly thrilled about the job--it's a great fit for me, the people are great, and the pay and benefits are also excellent. Throughout the long and sometimes torturous job hunt, I had up to five different organizations interested me, and ended up with three offers on the table at the same time. I felt fortunate to have three good options to choose from, and also a little proud that I was valued at a potential employee.

It took me two months to find a new job. That seems to be a reasonable amount of time. Since the actual searching, applying, and interviewing only took up about 5% of my time, I had the opportunity to spend the majority of the two months with Reilly. As she approaches fifteen months, I feel fortunate that we have had this time to get to know each other better. She is such a great kid, so smart and sensitive and caring, and so full of energy and life.

Shawn's experience in the last two months has been the opposite of mine. She has been traveling for her job for long stretches of time: gone seven days, home two days, gone five days, home three days, and son on. True, she has had the opportunity to visit Finland and Denmark and Germany and Switzerland, but she has had to walk the streets of Berlin without her daughter, and that makes her sad, and it makes her feel guilty.

Still, her salary has kept us afloat, has helped us pay off our credit card, which was stretched thin in our last few months in The City. Yesterday, her salary helped us buy a new car.* With our good credit, we were able to get a good loan and quick approval. When I looked from the room we were in to the room across the hall, I saw another young couple. They were having trouble financing their car. Their faces were clearly pained as the salesman explained their dwindling options. Once again, I felt fortunate.

This morning, Reilly woke up and I brought her into bed with me for a little snuggle. When she saw Shawn wasn't here, she slid off the bed and walked around the house looking for her. A short time later, she gave up. She didn't seem sad or concerned, but the scene made me feel sad, and a little guilty, that Shawn has been financing my free time; my busy afternoons at the playground, and my quiet moments, such as this.

(*We didn't actually buy a new car. We bought a new used car, a 2003 Toyota Camry LE, white, with 23,000 miles on it. If you're in the market for a used car, try Carmax. We were very impressed with their operation.)

Week 64 Pictures

Reilly's 64th week has come and gone. Click here see Reilly violating a raspberry and pimpin' the pearls.

It's the little things

When I tell someone that I've recently moved from New York City to the suburbs of Seminole, the first question I often get is, "Do you miss it?" When I answer in the affirmative, the follow-up question is always, "Well, what do you miss?"

I tell them that I miss the diversity, the culture of walking, and the restaurants. Oh, and the intangibles; the little things. Yet, when I'm probed to name one of these "little things" I often come up blank.

So, here is an example: Yesterday evening, I stopped at the local grocery store to pick up some fresh mint and limes. I had promised my mother-in-law, Donna, that I would make her a mojito before dinner, and I needed these two ingredients. I also needed some seltzer to use as a mixer, but I didn't remember this until I got back home. (How can a guy go to the store for three things but only come home with two of them? ARG.)

The mixer is vital to the making of any alcoholic drink, so I ran back out to pick up a can of seltzer. I stopped at the Hess gas station. No seltzer. In fact, no plain, bubbling water of any kind. Same thing at the Mobil station. Utterly flabbergasted, I ran into a CVS, which had a bottle of Perrier, which I bought with a sigh of relief.

In The City, every corner store not only has seltzer, it has a section of bubbly water, from the cheap to the pricey. This is something you can count on in any store. I know this because Shawn is a big fan of seltzer, an addiction she picked up in her pregnancy with Reilly. Her favorite brand was Vintage, which we would buy by the case if we could. Sadly, it is not sold in Florida.

And so, next time when someone asks me what I miss, I can say, "The seltzer. I really miss the seltzer." That should get an interesting reaction, no?

From the Archives: September 27, 2001 - Age 25

(This was the first of many "Mafia Den" entries.)

Here’s an idea of how small our new apartment is:
When we wash the dishes, the fragrance from the soap pervades our whole apartment. Even with the windows open.

Here’s an idea of how long we have been without TV:
I finally got the TV to work today around six, and we have but one fuzzy channel—CBS. It has been on since then.

Here’s a story for you all:
Between 206 and 208 Sullivan Street, there is a double door painted black. Its only decoration is a large brass padlock. The place blends so well into the surrounding buildings that a person walking by would hardly notice it. Perhaps this is for a reason. At first I found the doors nondescript. Then they became complex and curious.

One day when I was walking by the place I was startled to see the door open. The room was simply decorated and looked not unlike a small, out of date diner, shut down around 1973. The focal points were a few recliners, a sink in the back, and a card table with four chairs.

In the four chairs were four men, barrel-chested and meatball-stomached Italians who were smoking cigars and throwing cards. I got all this in a long smoke-tinted gaze before a man glared out at me and shut the door.

Shawn passed by the place a day or two after me, and took in a similar scene. A man was in the back doing dishes, two men were reclining, another two were standing nearby.

Now, one could assume this is a 55+ gay bar, or simply a group of friends hanging out in their co-op apartment basement, but Shawn and I are convinced of a more romantic plot…they’re Mafia men.

We now call the place “The Mafia Den” and like to slow our step and let our eyes linger when we pass by the unmarked black door, imagining what business is taking place inside.

Stay tuned for further developments…

That's how I thought it would work

Back when Reilly was three-months-old, we started the process of teaching her to take milk from a bottle. She stubbornly refused the bottle at every feeding, crying her little guts out until mom proffered her breast. Yes, we tried starving Reilly out for a feeding, thinking she would give in to her hunger and concede to the bottle. Nope. We tried about a dozen different bottles, thinking that was the issue. That didn't really help either. This continued for a full month.

Reilly ended up taking a Dr. Brown's bottle, which was unfortunate, since we had a few dozen Avent bottles and an Avent sterilizer that we had received at our shower. I laugh at naive Brian who thought he would be the one that got to choose the bottle his baby would take. HA! Anyway, I forget whether it was Shawn or me who finally got her to take the bottle, but I do remember we used a bait-and-switch method devised by Shawn's mom, in which we would let Reilly have her pacifier, and once she was sucking away on that, we would quickly pop out the paci and pop in the bottle.

We are currently struggling from a similar transition problem, while trying to get Reilly to switch from taking milk in a bottle to having her milk in a sippy cup. When I give Reilly water in a sippy cup, she tilts it back and chugs it like a college student at the keg. When I give her milk in a sippy cup, she sucks it into her mouth, and then after making a face, opens her mouth and lets the milk dribble down her chin. One would think that milk is milk, and that Reilly would recognize the taste of it regardless of the vessel it came in. Wrong.

Yesterday, I saw a woman with her one-year-old daughter at the park. The young girl was chugging milk out of a sippy cup. When I asked the mother how she got the girl to take milk from the sippy, she looked at me a little askew and then said, "I just put milk in there and handed it to her."

It was my turn to look at her askew. "That's how I thought it would work."

Hangin' in the diner

This morning, Reilly and I ventured back to the local diner for another father and daughter breakfast. We chose the same table, had the same waitress, and nearly the same breakfast, though this time I got Reilly rye toast instead of a biscuit. Reilly has been devouring bread lately, and after some trial and error, I've found she likes rye and pumpernickel best. When she was over at my mom's the other day, she was eating marble rye like it was going out of style.

Since it was so early, there were only a few other customers there--a table of two next to us and a bearded man at the bar. Reilly was on her best behavior this morning, which really means that I was giving her my undivided attention. For the majority of the time, I distracted her with my orange juice. Since Reilly eats so much fruit, we never give her fruit juice--it would be redundant. But on special occasions I go ahead and let her take some sips from my straw. She was enamoured with my orange juice, and it is funny--though we don't give her juice, she knew the word, and would point to my glass and command me for more "juisss."

Due to Reilly's quiet state and the relative emptiness of the diner, the place was relatively silent, which is why when the bearded man at the counter started yelling at the waitress, it jolted me out of my happy father and daughter moment. I could hear the man babbling something about "If you make me lose my job, I'll make you lose your job." The waitress was politely laughing at him, probably because she had no idea if this guy was kidding or serious. Unfortunately, the laughing enraged him, and she shouted, "Don't laugh at me!"

At this point I instinctively started to get up from my chair, but then I saw Reilly--hesitated--and sat back down. Normally, I would have got up and walked over to see if I couldn't help diffuse the situation, but with Reilly at the table with me, I was caught in a sort of quandary of responsibility. Help the waitress, or protect my daughter? By sitting back at the table, I showed you where my priorities are, but as I sat there, I was truly divided of mind.

(I should pause here and say that though I might be coming off as some sort of macho man here, I'm really not, and I've never been in a fight in my entire life, but at the same time, I'm not going to let some weird bearded dude physically harm the waitress.)

After the whole "Don't laugh at me!" line, and the dead silence that ensued in the restaurant, the bearded man realized he had gone too far, got up from his stool and left. I'm not quite sure if he paid his bill, which might have been the reason for the outburst in the first place.

A short time later, the male owner of the restaurant showed up, no doubt to protect the two waitresses and the matron behind the counter who clearly saw that if things got hairy, no one would come to help them.

Week 63 Pictures

Shawn brought the camera on her trip to Switzerland/Germany, so I only shot a few photos of Reilly this week. Click here to view Reilly enjoying her 63rd week on this earth.

In anticipation...

In anticipation of beginning a new job in the next few weeks, today I began visiting daycare centers in earnest. Of the seven daycare centers I visited, only one was a place that I would actually send my daughter. I don't know if my standards are too high, or if I was spoiled by the quality of care that Reilly received in The City, but the daycare centers I visited today were poor. Just poor.

I ended my visits feeling very disheartened. To lift my spirits, I will now share some of the more shocking moments from my day:

1) At one daycare, the front door was open. By "open" I mean not only unlocked, but actually cracked open a good six inches. There was no barrier between the classroom and the front door, which was about twenty feet from a four lane road.

2) At the same daycare, Donna (who had bravely offered to be my right hand woman in Shawn's absence) asked the woman about the sick policy at the facility. The woman was bullshitting her way through the answer when I saw one of her charges had--and I do not exaggerate here--a six-inch strand of snot hanging from her nose. By the time the woman noticed, there were only two inches of snot left. Where the other four inches went I will leave up to your imagination.

3) At a different location, the director was explaining how she is very careful to not let anyone pick up the children without a photo identification. I though, okay, that makes sense. And then she added, "Because several of the children are in Protective Services."

4) We were touring the toddler room in another facility where the teacher was the most sullen woman I've ever met. What was worse was that she was changing a child on a WOODEN BOARD. No cushion. No pad. Not even a towel or blanket. I was pleased to see that she at least sprayed down the board with disinfectant when she was done.

In general, the children in these facilities were so unhappy. I cannot talk about the facility I liked because it was so clean, so beautiful; a place where all the children frolicked on the playgrounds singing happy songs. It was daycare nirvana. It had accredidation, it had well-educated teachers, and it had a ONE YEAR waiting list.

The Mirror Project

Somewhere along my search for the end of the internet, I found this site: The Mirror Project.

Inspired by the photos there, I decided to submit one of my own, and my entry was accepted. You can view the photo here.

In lieu of pithy musings

Shawn is away in Europe on business, and I am truly swamped with job interviews and the ever elusive hunt for a quality daycare facility, so I will wrap up this very long run-on sentence by posting a picture of Reilly Grace, who got to spend the day with her loving grandma Donna.

From the Archives: September 19, 2001 - Age 25

(I'm interviewing all week, so I've no time to write up anything new. Here's another installment from 2001, post-September 11th.)

I’m exhausted today. I was up until 4am finishing the book and paper that I should have been doing last week. (I have to read the paper as a class presentation.) But last week I couldn’t do anything but think and absorb and feel. Not to mention that the book I have to read is titled, “The Great War and Modern Memory.” How ironic. I was able to finish the paper today at work, which was excellent. I wrote it comparing the Great War and the advent of the New War. Scary that it even has a title.

Aside from writing my paper I did some filing and phone answering and worked on my computer which I found this morning with 942 virus infected files. What a nightmare.

Right before I got off work I got an email from my professor stating that class had been cancelled until October 3rd. (This is for my literature class.) So, all my work was for naught, and I gained a reprieve from my paper and presentation. Normally I have to rush home on Monday’s and Wednesday’s in order to eat and get to class, but since class was canceled, I was able to meet up with Shawn and walk home with her. The walk proved to be the most eventful part of the day. (I guess I owe you all a story here, since this entry is decidedly boring so far. I’m tired, okay?)

As I said, we were walking down the street, 5th Avenue, to be exact, near 34th St., were all the illegal goods are sold, from fake Oakley sunglasses to faux Rolexes to jewelry to (lately) American flags, bootleg CD’s and videos. All these items are displayed on a flattened bag on the sidewalk or a makeshift cardboard box table with a sheet over it so that if the cops come through, they can quickly snatch up their items and run for it. Which is exactly what happened. Right as we hit illegal row, people were running like the buildings were falling, which they did because there is a hefty fine for selling goods on the street without a permit. What I saw next was pure theatre; a young cop running after them, kicking over their makeshift tables and generally trying to scare them away. It was a full-on shakedown and rather fun to watch. Now, that sounds callous.

These sidewalk sellers, I don’t know. They are selling illegal goods that draw money from legitimate businesses and raise customer costs. They don’t pay for permits and they don’t pay taxes. But I’d rather have them selling illegal goods and at least working for a living, be it honest or not. Otherwise they’d be on the sidewalk corner with a paper cup. Which is worse?

Anyway, due to my stay of presentation, we went to the Belgian Beer Bar on West 4th St. between McDougal and 6th Ave. The bar was really cool, nicely lit, and full of interesting beers for us to try. The only problem was that the waitresses were inattentive, but we didn’t mind much. We had a couple of drinks and talked about (what else?) terrorism and bombing and war. Yesterday was an emotional low for our spirits, but over spirits we managed to wade our way through our complicated feelings on all these new issues.

Five more things you might not know about Reilly

1) The other day, I taught Reilly how to do a “high five.” If I put out my hand and say, “Give me a high five!” Reilly will oblige by giving me one or two soft pats with her open palm.

2) Every evening either Shawn or I will give Reilly a bath. Lately, Reilly has taken to drinking her own bath water. Though we discourage her from doing so, she will fight us to the bone to get a sip of that sweet, cloudy water. I’ve always considered my daughter to be a bright kid, but this development throws everything into question.

3) In a previous entry, I mentioned how Reilly has learned a dozen or so words. She now uses these words in a variety of contexts. For example, if we see a duck at the park, she will say, “duck.” In addition, if we are reading one of her books and there is a picture of a duck, she will point to the page and say, “duck.”

4) Reilly is beginning to follow (and disregard) our commands. For example, if I say, “Reilly, bring me that ball,” she will walk over to the ball, pick it up, and give it to me. Or, if I say, “Go get your shoes,” she will go get her shoes, then back herself up to me so that I can put them on. More and more, I’ve found that she truly understands what Shawn and I say to her. Of course, budding right along this ability to understand is her free will, which she exercises from time to time to show that she understands, yes, but that doesn’t mean she is listening.

5) Shawn and I have been teaching Reilly how to run the wooden bead all the way along the wire on this toy. Today, for the first time, she did it. Pretty smart for a kid who drinks her own bath water, eh?

Week 62 Pictures

This week's pictures are now up at the Smugmug site. Please click here to view.

Don't touch the mascot

This morning, I decided to take Reilly out to breakfast at the local diner. Lately, we have fallen into too much of a routine in the morning--wake up at 7:30am, bottle at 8:00am, breakfast at 8:30am, to the playground by 9:00am--so I decided it was time to mix it up.

The diner was neither cute nor boring, and was decorated in that odd beachy style that is synonymous with Florida and somewhat resembles a bistro crossed with a Tiki hut. We sat ourselves in the middle of a bunch of regulars and I looked over the menu. There was only one waitress working the joint, a pretty woman who lit up at the sight of Reilly. After answering the usual opening salvos (How old is she? What is her name? etc.) I ordered a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich on an english for me, a biscuit for Reilly.

While we waited for our food, Reilly snacked on Goldfish crackers and made friends with the locals. She was waving and smiling and playing cute with everyone. In no time, she had become the mascot of the restaurant, and the regulars were watching her every move, laughing when she threw her spoon to the floor, tsking when she crumbled her biscuit and used it to decorate the table. (The biscuits were great, by the way, homemade and cooked like a muffin.)

At one point, a man approached Reilly and said something along the lines of, "Aren't you so cute!" and gave her leg a gentle pinch. Reilly looked at me for approval, and I smiled to show her the man was okay, even though inside I was screaming "Don't touch the baby!" The man mentioned he had two daughters of his own, blah, blah, blah, I couldn't pay attention because I was trying to decide what the story was with the whole touching the baby thing.

In The City, no one would dare touch someone else's child--but down south people have no problem touching Reilly's face, arms, leg, whatever. Even though Reilly initiated contact with the man, I still think it is appropriate for a stranger to ask the parent before grabbing some thigh fat.

The thing is, I like how familiar southerners are, how they make eye contact, say hello to strangers, and make small talk without any pretense. But I have to draw the line at the baby touching. Even if my daughter is the mascot of the restaurant.

When it is the parent who really needs the spanking

Last Sunday, Reilly and I headed out for our morning session at the local park, as we do every day. The park was very busy, and I was surprised to see that there were many fathers in attendance--a rarity around these parts. It wasn't until I overheard a conversation between two of these fathers that I realized what was going on:

"Wife made you take the kids out?
"Yeah. Gotta wear 'em out before football comes on."
"I hear ya."

It was a little sad for me to realize that the other dads were at the park almost as a punishment for the afternoon they were about to spend before the television. Even sadder was the fact that they weren't really playing with their kids, just sitting on a bench and watching them. One young girl asked her dad to ride the purple dinosaur with her. When he refused, she whined a little, and then he punished her for whining by making her sit on the bench with him. Sad.

At one point, I was watching Reilly as she "drove" the wheel bolted on to one of the playsets. As I stood there, a young girl (maybe five years old) came over and shoved Reilly off the wheel, causing her to fall.

Instinctively, I said, "No, no, no, young lady! That is NOT nice!"

Her father, who had witnessed the scene, rushed over, took her by the arm, and said, "You're going to get a spanking!" and proceeded to bend her over his knee, right there, and spank her ass.

Now, I'm not going to get into the whole spanking debate, but I will say that I have no intention of hitting my child, and that the whole scene made me feel very uncomfortable. I was so nonplussed that I lifted up Reilly and walked back to the car to go home. The whole way, I kept my eyes to the ground, not wanting to have the other fathers see how embarrassed I was.

Of them.

From the Archives: September 11, 2001 - Age 25

(It feels odd, being away from the City this year, on the five-year anniversary of September 11th. Somehow, I can't bring myself to write about it it. In some ways, this is a good thing. In the past, I felt compelled to write, so overwhelmed was I with the emotions from that event. This year, I will post something old, to show that though this day lives with me, it is a wound that is closing.)

Tuesday, September 11th, 2001

Of course, I write this entry with a heavy heart. Usually when I relay my writing from paper to print, a certain amount of editing is done. Today, I will copy my entry exactly as I wrote it in my journal because it clearly shows the chaos and panic infused in each second. There were two TV’s, several radios, and a few working internet lines and phone lines where my information was coming from--so much of it is incorrect now. The quotes are overheard conversations. All errors are in brackets. After-the-fact commentary is in parenthesis.

Well, if this isn’t a journaling opportunity, I don’t know what is. For once this is outside of my experience.

On my way to work this morning [saw] as I hit 47th and Madison, someone yells, “My God! The World Trade Center is on fire!” I looked up and stopped dead in the middle of the street gaping, every hair on my body on end.

When I got to Bear Stearns the news was flooding in—people were panicking, calling wives, friends, all huddled around one office TV.

On the radio the panic was evident, all airports, bridges and tunnels were closed, rumor of hijacking spread, I wondered if the 737 had people on it.

The sight is still with me, my heart remains somewhere digesting in my stomach, to see such an immense building the fire and smoke was tremendous from some 50 [?] blocks away. I wondered why I heard no sirens, then when I got to work I found that it happened just minutes before I saw it. (I witnessed the event at 8:55am, right between the two plane crashes). The ambulances had yet to respond.

I hope everyone at the trade center was late for work today, but I know this to be impossible.
The radio broadcasters are panicked and spreading panic blaming Guiliani, blaming FAA, calling on the president, calling for war.

The sirens are constant now.
I'm at Bear Stearns—no one is working, the market is closed, our Internet, which runs through the trade center, is down, the phones ring but no one answers, we’re all in shock.

The sirens are constant.
“My wife is…”
“My sister is…”
“My ______ is…”
“…working there today.”
“I can’t get through!”
“The Pentagon is closed.”
“The White House is evacuating.”
“I saw it on TV. The second plane, it went right through the floor!”
“I can’t work. John, I’m going home, my husband…I can’t work. I CANNOT WORK! It’s too creepy.”
“The whole city is shut down. Good luck, then.”
“Okay, bye.”
People are in shock, people are crying on the radio. The Pentagon was hit by a plane now. People are calling for a nuclear strike.
This is out of hand.
“The biggest travesty of our lifetime.”
“This appears to be escalating very rapidly.”
United nations has evacuated.
My thoughts turn to my brother.
“It’s getting ridiculous, it’s getting bad.”
“My cousin…”
People’s faces are slack, pale.
My greatest fear, justified, is that right now someone’s finger is hovering over a big red button.
“My son’s school is across the street.”
The secretary is frantically ransacking her desk, crying. I hear shuffling and sniffles.
“I can’t get through.”
“Hello, Fred McConkey’s office” (That was me.)
“This is his brother, is he in?”
“No.” (Me)
“Is this unusual?”
“I don’t know.” (Me.)
“He lives in Greenwich Village, is he safe there?”
“Yes, I live there, he’s out of immediate danger.” (Me.)
“Okay, thanks, take care.”
“Did he leave a number? DID HE LEAVE A NUMBER?” (The secretary, looking for her son, who goes to school next door to the WTC.)
“Two more planes just hit the South Tower!”
No one is working but the secretaries, who are frantically fielding phone calls from family.
I hear a radio in the background. I want to turn on mine but was yelled at for doing so.
I’m getting news now that the building has collapsed.
“If we haven’t declared war, someone is at war with us.”
“We’re getting reports of a suspicious airplane.”
“The capitol was bombed—car bomb at state department.”
“I think they just bombed a building in Jersey.”
The second building just fell. I saw this one live on a black and white TV.
“Part of the Pentagon has collapsed.”
“Large plane crashed in West Pennsylvania.”
“Hijacked plane circling Virginia.”
Suddenly this is starting to feel very, very real. Just yesterday I was telling someone how cool it was to see the Twin Towers and Empire State from my street.
Second plane heading for Pentagon.
People are walking over the Brooklyn Bridge to get out of The City.
This is not real. This is real. This is not real.
Nervous tittering. Hysterical laughter.
I’m afraid the [bu]fire will spread. We’re only a mile or two away from there.
Again I fear for my brother.
I hear war cries everywhere.
This is a terrible day to forget my cigarettes.
Shawn is okay, according to Craig. I just can’t reach her.
MoMA was evacuated.
Soot has reached Canal St., which is at Ludlow.
Amazing that I could think of it at a time like this, but I am afraid I won’t be able to get work.
People are growing numb.
“What about Charles? Charles works in the Trade Center?”
Thank god I wasn’t temping there today.
I think of the plane passengers—I think many do.
“Taliban news conference soon.”
People are [assaying] assigning blame.
This will change everything.
I’ve heard Palestinians are celebrating in the streets.
Almost everyone around me knows someone who is dead.
“The mayor witnessed people jumping from windows when he arrived at the World Trade Center.”

We’ve been released from Bear Stearns. I’m going to get Shawn at MoMA, the streets are wild and we want to stick together.

Pay phone lines long, no cell phones working.
All [Arab] jewelry stores on 47th closed.
People huddled on sidewalks reading the FOX (electronic) news banner.
Bars are full of people, shoulder to shoulder.
People in the streets look stunned.

We have heard from Chirag, Cindy, Shannon, Jason. Still waiting to hear from Rae and Ian. (We would later find out all immediate family and friends survived.)

Fighter jets circle overhead, which rattles everyone’s nerves, but especially Shawn’s, since she heard the first fatal jet fly right over our apartment as if right on top of her, heard the explosion, called her dad when NPR cut out, and then heard the second explosion, louder. Craig told her what all of America has seen by now, the second plane flying directly into the WTC. She took a picture of the burning building, moments before it would stand for the last time. And so when planes fly overhead it makes her a bit nervous. (This condition has persisted, for both of us.)

Jennifer and Jordan’s. (Shawn’s cousins. We were afraid to go back to our apartment, as the fires were still raging.) I envy Olivia. At age one she has spent the last half hour playing with blocks, blissfully unaware of today’s events.

The streets are empty, it’s like a ghost town. No traffic anywhere, especially (heading) downtown—eerie. I just walked across Broadway. (Without having to pause for traffic, since there was none. This is the rarest of all New York experiences.) Radio City has its lights off (also very rare), Rockefeller closed, everything closed with the exception of a few restaurants and bars.

After visiting Cindy and waiting for the fire to die down a bit we walked through the nearly empty streets to St. Patrick’s Cathedral on 5th and 51st St., the only busy place in the city. Shawn went inside to light a prayer candle and I watched a news conference with some religious authority figure (on the front steps) outside.

We took the S Train home—the subways were free to ride. I feel like I’m in an altered dimension. It is easy to watch this disaster on TV, but very hard to see the plumes of smoke live as we walk down the street, burning buildings and buried people. It is very sad for us. (And we both cried openly on the street, just totally fucking overwhelmed. Curse words were the most frequently used modifiers today, by all.)

The police are (on every corner and) in riot gear. Looting is always an unfortunate factor in situations such as this.

We spent the rest of the evening catching up with family via the jammed phone lines. Neither of us can imagine what tomorrow may bring. Neither of us can fathom sleeping tonight.
I met George, a neighbor. He offered me a Valium, which I refused, but he looked awful happy with his dose.

“They flew a fucking plane through the World Trade Center.”

This is real. This is not real. This is real.

Trash Duty

Whenever I take Reilly to the local playgrounds, she typically plays on the equipment for a maximum of twenty minutes before deciding that the local flora and fauna are much more interesting. As she roams the grassy areas surrounding the playground, she often stops to pick up bits of trash that were carelessly dropped by other children (and their accompanying adults).

Typically, I'll take each piece of litter as Reilly hands it to me, put it into my pocket, and then throw out the lot when we return home. Yesterday, just as an experiment, I took a photo of all the items before throwing them away:

Clockwise from the right: empty CapriSun juice box, cigarette butt (the item most often picked up by my daughter), a torn snack wrapper, a candy wrapper, and one blue balloon, orange ribbon still attached. Choking hazards abound!

Week 61 Pictures

This week's pictues are now up at the Smugmug site. Click here to see Reilly eating a lemon, wearing pearls, and staring at the sea.

The Lemon Takes Flight

Throughout the summer in Florida, the Tampa Bay area gets thunderstorms with torrential rain--like clockwork--every afternoon. With the exception of a few years of el nino (or was it la nina?) the afternoon thunderstorms have been a fixture in my life since I was a boy. In fact, while I lived in New York City, I often found myself feeling nostalgic for these storms.

Oddly, for the last three days, it has rained ALL DAY. The weather patterns remind me of New England in the spring. Grey all day. Sprinkles of rain interspersed with downpours. Once again, I find myself waxing nostalgic for those rapid, powerful, and BRIEF afternoon thunderstorms of old.

The big problem with the wet weather is that I can't take Reilly outside. We typically go out three to four times per day, so cutting that down to a quick rush outside between rain clouds has put quite a damper on both of our moods. Reilly had so much pent up energy yesterday that I thougth she would explode. She was getting into everything, just tearing the house to pieces.

At one point she crawled up on the coffee table and stood there, smiling at me, defiant. I gave her the whole "no, no, no" routine and redirected her attention to her stroller. She turned right back around and climbed the table once again. This battle of wills went on for a few more rounds, at which point I swept Reilly up, stuck her in her highchair, and pulled her into the kitchen so that she could watch me prep dinner. (This was intended to be a form of punishment.)

Surprisingly, she seemed to enjoy the distraction. I gave her some Veggie Booty to keep her quiet and went to work. At one point, I was slicing a lemon, and she started pointing and whining at me, so I de-seeded a slice and gave it to her (but not before recognizing my duty to the blog and grabbing my camera).

Here is Reilly's first bite of lemon, in five frames:

Reilly considers the lemon.

Reilly bites the lemon.

Reilly's initial reaction to the sourness.


Reilly's second reaction to the sourness.



The lemon takes flight.