Me, taking off my shirt, to Teresa: “Hey, you’re not watching.”
Teresa: “Well, I’ll see the aftermath.”
Me: “That’s a pretty good name for my body…”The Aftermath.”
Me, taking off my shirt, to Teresa: “Hey, you’re not watching.”
Teresa: “Well, I’ll see the aftermath.”
Me: “That’s a pretty good name for my body…”The Aftermath.”
This morning I awoke at 5:45am because I am an idiot.
My sister is a runner. She’s done a couple marathons. Not halves, like losers do, but full marathons. When she moved into my neighborhood, I kicked around the idea of running with her. Lucky for me, she had fallen out of practice with the move, and was interested in short runs again. She also lamented a couple times about not getting back to it yet, so I figured I’d be a good brother, and get her started again by volunteering to go with her.
I just finished reading Don Miller’s A Million Miles in a Thousand Years which talks about kicking off your life’s “better story” with “inciting incidents”. This was mine. If I do it with Page, I may actually stick to it.
So we ran. I know enough people who run to have heard about all the little things that go with it. I can say that, after my 1.5 mile run this morning, it all makes sense.
About 200 yards in I began to beg Jesus for my second wind. Shortly there after, maybe around the quarter mile mark, I felt my nipples begin to chafe. Once we hit a mile, I started to feel a little better. My shoes felt more comfortable as my toe nails fell out. And then I crapped my pants.
So really, I think I covered the gamut of what runners experience. I certainly see now why they enjoy it so much. I never got the “runner’s high” but I imagine that comes once I lose feeling in my hamstrings. Lord knows that hasn’t happened yet.
All in all, I’d consider it a success. I did survive. I spent the rest of the morning bored from being up too early. Even after showering I was sweaty, so that was fun. Nothing like wiping your brow in between bites of cereal. Will i do it again? Well, Page has said we should try again on Wednesday. We’ll see.
You know how when you’ve got a runny/stuffy nose, the best thing to clear it out is a good sneeze? Second, you know how you can pretty much guarantee a sneeze if you look up at the sun? OK, lets bring it all home now. Ever notice how cold and flu season coincides with overcast, non-sunny weather?
THIS IS GOD MOCKING YOU.
My mother once told me that if you couldn’t say something nice, you shouldn’t say anything at all. Yep, she was the one who came up with that.
Luckily I didn’t listen, otherwise this blog wouldn’t exist.
So two days ago I posted about Desi and our family and how we were sick. Little did I know that within a few hours of that post we’d be in the ER. Desi has a fever. Teresa burst into tears like we had already failed him as parents, and I went into “let’s get done what needs to happen” mode, and got us to the hospital tout suite.
So generally, in medicine, the way they find out what’s wrong with you is by seeing how your immune system is fighting. The problem with this method is that 2 week old babies don’t yet have and immune system, so there’s nothing to check. So what they have to do is take blood samples, then put them in petri dishes and try and grow various bacteria. If it grows, then it’s in his blood. If not, then he’s clear. This is a process that takes 2 days. So we get to stay in the hospital for 48 hours. To top it all off, they have to check for spinal meningitis. Yep, spinal. So you know what that means?
My son, at the ripe age of 2 weeks, got a spinal tap. This means Noah is going to have to step it up if he wants to kee the “I survived my father” title for long. If Desi keeps on this course, he’ll be fighting giraffes by 3 months.
Your move Noah…your move.
So Desi has been in the house for 10 days and we’ve already gotten him sick. I knew this would happen when I started feeling my through hurt the last day in the hospital.
Tree and I tend to play parasite ping pong, then Noah came, and with the addition of Desi I guess we can now play doubles. It’s good to know that we’ve informed him that he’ll always be safe with us, his new family, as long as he can weather the minimum of one-per-season cold that I get, and then spread around the house.
Last night was awful. Tree and I had been dealing fairly well with the less sleep thing, but last night was bad. Desi had gas, and I suppose starting to feel the cold too. He was miserable, and was sure to let everyone else know about it.
Upside, Noah spent his first night in underwear. He woke up around midnight to use the bathroom, and made it the rest of the way through morning without incident. This would be more exciting if he had pooped in the past two days though. He pees fine, but he will run around demanding a diaper to poop in. He simply doesn’t understand the idea of popping in the toilet. He will openly admit to preferring to poop standing up, hiding behind a curtain like that ghost kid in Three Men and a Baby. That’s a not a joke. I’ve actually caught him standing behind a curtain, with that blank stare cats have when they poop.
Today I’m back at work, Tree’s first day alone with the boy. Noah is at school. Personally, I’m envious of the woman. She’s probably sitting at home right now with an unconscious kid on her chest, watching Arrested Development on Netflix Streaming, dozing in and out of consciousness.
Meanwhile I’m here, at work, working my fingers to the bone. Yep. Busy, busy, busy.
Looks like little Desmond is doing just fine. All this commotion was simply a perfect storm of circumstances that brought up a lot of questions, which couldn’t be answered until today.
So, Bullard Baby Watch 2010 is officially downgraded from magenta to puce. You can all sleep sound tonight.
Note: This was supposed to have gone up at around 2pm yesterday, right after the tests, but it would appear my phone failed to upload it successfully.
You may recall from my last post, I quickly mentioned this:
“So despite sleeping horribly last night, interrupted by a vomiting toddler…”
Now, many of you may have read this as the whining of a jaded, careless parent. But no, you’re wrong. That right there is what is called a narrative device. More specifically foreshadowing.
Any amateur writer can come up with a story and use foreshadowing to create intrigue about a plot point he devised earlier. But imagine the sheer creativity, neigh, genius it requires to foreshadow an unknown future event. Some may call it luck, some coincidence. Those people can leave, cause I call it tonybullard.com.
(You can tell how serious I am by all these italics. ITALICS!)
So on to the point. Yesternight (the proper term for “the night before last night”) Noah threw up. I was sure he did it because he got to worked up crying and screaming, coughed to feign sickness, and gagged himself. Yes, he’s just that scheming. So I blew it off. You know, ’cause I’m fricking parent of the year.
JUMP CUT TO: Tonight. Noah refuses to take his vitamins. He usually chows down on these things like it’s the end of the world and we’ve given him anti-zombie tablets. In my effort to coerce him, I eat one. It’s a kids vitamin, I doubt it will kill me. This tactic doesn’t work. We basically force him to eat the thing. Thumbs were pressed into mouths.
Within 3 minutes I feel what can only be described as “gross.” This is fairly low on the scale of “Fine” to “Chest Burster.” None the less, it’s no fun. I say to Teresa, “no wonder he doesn’t like them, I feel kinda gross.” (See that folks? that’s called “consistency.” It’s also known as “doesn’t own a thesaurus.” ITALICS!)
OK, so prayers, lights out, I sit at the computer while Teresa settles him into bed. I here “Tony?” faintly from Noah’s room. I poke my head in.
“How gross did you say that thing made you feel?”
Then, as if carefully planned, I hear the indistinguishable sound of vomiting.
“Geez! Not that bad!” is the first thing that pops out of my mouth. Lights come on, Noah has covered his bed in his dinner, and Teresa runs from the room claiming she’s going to join him in his “Ode to Leftovers.” Cleaning, Changing, blah blah blah.
So there you have it folks. We, Teresa and I (if I go down we all go down!) force fed our child a vitamin that made him vomit. If we can do this, brag about it on the internet, and not get arrested, then anyone can have a child.
Here’s lookin’ at you future parents!
Another year has come and gone.
Forgive me if I don’t have a cheerful holiday tone in this post. I’ve not been motivated enough to post in a long while, and I’m essentially forcing myself to write this one. So to those who yelled at me about posting again…happy holidays. Here’s your gift.
About a month ago I was given the treat of being able to sleep in. This is a very rare occasion, as Teresa would probably starve herself to death if she knew she could get a few weeks uninterrupted sleep. The only mornings she gets up before me is when she works, and Noah tends to wake up from her moving about the house, so even my weekends start pretty early. I rolled around in bed waking every so often, trying to ignore the growing worry. Something was amiss. Teresa NEVER gets up before me if she doesn’t have to…
So there you go, for those who don’t already know, we’ve got another one in the hopper. August 5th due date. Birthday will be right after mine. Hope he/she doesn’t get too jealous when we blow all the party money on my birthday each year. Them’s the breaks.
So Christmas happened. I wanted to say that this year went off without anyone vomiting through the night like last year, but Tree is pregnant, which means there’s plenty of it happening.
Noah got more presents than God. Our den looked like a wrapping paper monster committed seppuku. He literally ran from present to present, trying to figure out how to devour as much fun as possible before it somehow slipped away. He was like someone at a radio station event in one of those cash snow globe things. And this was before the in-laws came into town. Two days after I cleaned the house, finding wrapping paper bits like sand in your body after going to the beach, it all happened again. It took Noah about 40 minutes to lose his favorite toys. We spent hours looking for them. Since Christmas day I’ve spent most of my days searching for some toy Noah can’t find. It’s maddening.
Seeing the Korte’s was nice. I didn’t get to see them much because of work, but I know Teresa appreciated having someone else around to take care of Noah while she was sick, and I’m sure they loved hearing her complain about being hungry, but unable to eat anything. Their visits are always good and bad. Good, because they leave behind things like half eaten Hershey’s Chocolate Cream Pie. Extra good cause with tree being so sick, it’s all mine. But bad because, despite their host’s many objections, they continue to use the ice crusher in our fridge door, which leaves crushed ice for 3 days following their visit. So every time I get something to drink I’m attacked my ricocheting ice pellets that end up on my floor, later to be soaked up by my socked feet. But you know…then there’s pie.
So New Year’s came and went. Tree and I celebrated the clock turning by sleeping/sitting at the computer. You can guess which one of us did which.
I managed to miss my 1500 mile cycling goal by just 74.42 miles. I tried hard to finish it, even learned that i could do 20 miles in just over an hour (which surprised the crap out of me) but the last 3 days of the year were bitterly cold, and I simply don’t own the right clothing to go biking in 20 degree weather. So I’ll reset the 1500 mile goal for 2010. February last year I barely road at all, so I’m sure if I just try to avoid lulling months I can overcome it pretty quickly. That, and now that I’ve discovered riding 14 miles straight to the train station in the mornings, skipping the bus, is quite refreshing, I’ll probably do that more often, which will certainly up my daily mileage.
(This is why skipping the bus is worth the extra 8.5 miles)
Oh,there’s also this:
Princeton.edu defines “Vacation” as “leisure time away from work devoted to rest or pleasure.” It defines “Torment” as “intense feelings of suffering; acute mental or physical pain.” One of these things happened this past week.
It didn’t start with a V.
For me personally, everything Started Saturday morning as I participated in my first ever bike race. FM24 was a 24 hour Alley Cat race in downtown Atlanta. From noon Saturday to noon Sunday my 5 man team had a man on the road. By the end we had done 32 laps total. That’s just under 400 miles in all, 83 Miles personally. Needless to say, I was tired. Despite this, we took off Sunday afternoon, after the race, rather than try and travel through Monday morning traffic.
Everything was moving along fine until about 7:30, when my car headed up a hill, and seemed to refuse to change to a higher gear. I cut off my cruise control and as I began to slow down I heard a rattling sound coming from my engine. Yay. My oil pressure light came on. I pulled into a station, checked the oil, it was very low. Funny, the oil change the month beforehand said everything was working fine. 3 quarts of oil later my dipstick finally said I was at full, but it was too late. My hopes that enough oil could drown out an klinking engine were in vain.
We found a hotel and stopped for the night. This is where the adventure began. I’ll try and keep this brief.
Morning. Hotel guy recommends a mechanic. We go into town at 15mph, klinking along. Can’t find the guy. We pull into the first shop that appears open. Two men walk out of the garage with the most pained looking faces I’ve ever seen on a man not currently suffering kidney stones. They say bad things like “melted bearings” and “replace engine.” They send me over to “the only other guy in town I’d trust.” Oh, that really instills hope.
We find THAT guy, he seems to know what he’s talking about. Teresa comments that he’s completely unlike any other puhy mechanic she’s ever talked to. Ray of sunshine in the storm. Thanks Scott of Mike and Sons. We call up some rental places and everyone is out of cars until the afternoon. We find one that has a single car on the lot. I bike over to them (Thank GOD I had my bike with me, so useful throughout all this) and get a van. 500 bucks. Oi. At least we have plenty of room for people and luggage.
We finally get to St. Augustine. The condo is wonderful, literally across the street from the ocean. Monday goes on just fine.
Tuesday starts, and both Teresa and Noah feel bad. Noah is coughing up a storm. Tree soon follows. Sore bodies and fevers.
We find out fixing the car will cost us 3 grand. We go for it, figuring I’d rather spend 3 grand on MY used car than buy someone else’s used car for 8 grand. Also, the new engine is 30,000 miles less than the current one. So we’re a couple days into our ‘vacation’ and we’ve already spent about 4 grand. Yay! The time we spend in Historic St. Augustine is always cut short by Noah looking over-heated and barely conscious.
We finally decide Noah has been sick for too long once Thursday comes around. We go in to a walk-in clinic, and Noah is diagnosed with Swine Flu. We can only guess that we picked it up from the hotel. Upside, it’s just Tree and Noah. Still got one guy up and running to care for the others. (Consider this foreshadowing.)
Friday is spent sitting around the condo. The rest of the gang go down to Daytona Beach. I realize that cable really isn’t worth paying for. We decide to cut the vacation short and leave Saturday. After all, moping around home is always more satisfying than someone else’s place.
Saturday comes, and I wake up with a cough. Yay! We spend the day in the car. 7.5 hours to get home. Everyone is miserable and couching and generally no fun. Every time we stop we have to keep Noah and Teresa out of the public as much as possible. This is more difficult/annoying than it sounds.
We get home. Toby practically mauls us all night. We sleep.
It’s now Sunday. We awak slowly, mull around the house till noon, dreading the trip BACK to Valdosta to return the rental car. Yeah, since everyone else was out of cars, we went with the local place, and now we have to return it ourselves. we think it’s a 3 hour drive. It’s actually a 4.5 hour drive. A second day with three sick people in a car for 8 hours. Yay!
The drive down is wonderfully uneventful. I burn 5 CDs so I can be entertained on the ride down, but I find the CD player in this crappy rental barely works. By barely I mean it plays the first 20 seconds of the first track of each CD. Another day of listening to awful radio going in and out.
So, after all this, we finally arrive in Valdosta, pull into the rental place, find the key drop-off box, and it turns out God is not yet done with trying to kill me. The big, fat keyless entry key does not fit into the envelope-thin drop-off box slot. Awesome. We call several numbers (Thank God for internet enabled phones) and finally get a hit when we dial the number on the top of the credit card receipt. “Andy” tells us to hide the key somewhere. I just know the car will be stolen and this “Andy” character will no longer exist and we’ll have to buy them a van.
4.5 hours back. We’re home. All three still sick. I have to take off work now that all my vacation time has been used up by this week of wonderful family time.
And sometime next week I’ll have to drive all the way back to Valdosta to pick up my car. Yay!
I stepped off the train with my bike, ran down the length of one car, and tapped on the window rapidly, trying to get my son’s attention. He had his usual “I’m just here, doing my thing” expression. Teresa had her over-joyous mom smile on, “Say bye-bye to daddy!”
I hate when she leaves. It always feels like a tragedy. I’m always convinced she’ll be kidnapped at a rest stop, or in this case, the plane will crash. Something.
So now I have 4 lonely nights ahead of me. I tried to fill them with nights out with friends, but Juan has been struck down with the grade school plague known as Pink Eye. Yeah, I know, next thing will be chicken pox and maybe lice. He should get cool adult illnesses like me. Prostatitis is where it’s at.