Not So Famous…

So, as I go through my daily life, I occasionally take pictures of things that interest me. They either make me laugh, are stupid, or are just plain interesting. This post is me cleaning my phone!

Plastic Money? Can I buy stuff with this Plastic Money you speak of?

So one time, I had a birthday. My co-workers know how much I like opening boxes from Amazon, but that somehow translated into opening presents, which led them to individually gift-wrap everything on my desk. It was...hilarious.

Holy Margarita of DOOM, Batman! This is Kim, taking a sip off a margarita I ordered at Red Lobster. Thing was HUGE!

At Uno's Chicago Pizzeria, I happened to notice a slight error in their "Take Out Only" parking space. This IS California, but c'mon. Toke Out Only?

And, up close in case ya' missed it. That's right...TOKE OUT ONLY. lol

At one of my favorite hole-in-the-wall burger joints, they have Onoin Rings on the menu. I've always been scared to try them, since I have no idea what an Onoin is. Imitation Onion, maybe?

Until this point, I really had no idea what a pump does!!! I hope this was as informative for you as it was for me.

One day, I was driving down I-5, which is a tremendously boring drive. It was raining, which made it a little nicer. Then, I crested a hill, and was blessed with this sight.

This was a second pic, in case the first didn't turn out. Considering they were both taken on my phone, I thought they looked quite good.

This was the mother of all Peanut Butter Cups, given to me by a co-worker, who apparently wants to kill me. Sunglasses are in there for scale. The wrapper is about the width of my head, and the actual confection inside wasn't much smaller!

This was the darn thing unwrapped. Seriously was like 1/2" thick! I think my co-worker is trying to kill me, because she knew I'd eat the whole darn thing. I did, too.

I just wanted to drop a semi-quick line letting everyone know that things have been much better the last week or so.  Iain has been feeding well, and has been doing pretty good at night.  You parents out there know that this means that he’s up every 2-3 hours or so, wanting to be fed, comforted, changed, etc.  But that’s a good thing.  He’s eating enough, and he’s hydrated.  (And not yellow.  That’s definitely a good thing.)

Right now, of course, he’s crying and very unhappy for an unknown reason, but babies do these things, too.  It’s much harder to deal with when there appears to be no end in sight.  When Iain wasn’t eating, was always crying, and was obviously not doing so good, that was a little hard to deal with.  :)

Anyway, I wanted to let you, my readers, know that Iain is doing much better, and will be fine.  And we’ll be ok too, I think.  :)

There are many ways I could choose to end that sentence.  I’m sure my choice of endings would cause some to consider me a bad parent.  I don’t much care…sorry.

- My first three days as a parent have been exhausting.
- My first three days as a parent have not been enjoyable in any way shape or form.
- My first three days as a parent have caused me to wonder what the hell it was I thought I was doing.
- My first three days as a parent have made me weep…and not at all with joy.

I know, I know.  I’m a selfish bastard.  Whatever, Reader.  And I could care less if you’re a parent.  I’ve read enough books to know that every child is different; every child has its own set of challenges. I know that every parent is exhausted.  I know that every parent has a rough time.  I’m just saying what my experience has been.

And I’m not resenting not having time to myself.  When I signed on to this parenting thing, I knew that time was going away.  I expected it to go away.  I’m not resenting losing the attention of my wife…yet. I just wonder what the hell made me think I could do this.

Iain came into the world in a hard way, as most babies do.  Kim and I went to the hospital on Sunday night at about 11pm, when she started getting painful contractions.  (Like they told us to.)  She was at 3cm and 80% effaced.  (i.e. not ready to give birth.) We waited around, etc., etc.  They started her on pit to move her along in her pregnancy soon thereafter.

I don’t remember when, but I want to say it was 2-3 am or so when she asked for her epidural.  The contractions were getting quite painful, and we had planned for that epidural.  The epidural took a LONG time to get working.  It didn’t start working for longer than the anaesthesiologist expected, or seemed to expect.

At 5am, they started wanting her to push, but she couldn’t feel anything, so she couldn’t push.  By about 6am, they told her to stop, and she was already quite tired.  Wasted energy.  They decided to cut off the epidural.

By 7am, she started being able to push, and Iain wasn’t born until 10:18am.  3+ hours of hard pushing.  This was when I started wondering what the hell I thought I was doing. I can’t even imagine what it was like for Kim, and it killed me to see her in that much pain when I could do nothing about it.

Iain has not been an easy tyke, and we just got back from the Maternity Ward of the hospital trying to get him to breastfeed.  He has not taken well to the breast, and he’s not eaten well since he got back from the hospital.  And they were a little concerned about jaundice, so they did a heel prick.

At the maternity center, they got him eating quite well, and he got to sleep, but he’s been up screaming since we came home from the hospital the first time, and it’s been quite the ordeal.

I’m really just typing this to blow off some steam.  A few minutes ago, I was laying with my face down onto the back of the couch, crying. Kim says I’ve been helpful, and I appreciate the comment, but I really don’t feel helpful.  I want to help, but I can’t help Iain breastfeed.  I can put a sink in, but I can’t barely calm him down.  I can install a dryer cord, but I don’t know anything about being the father of an infant.  All I can do is watch helplessly while Kim weeps tears of frustration when Iain won’t feed.  And all I feel like doing when I watch Kim is cry, myself.  Because I WANT to do something, but can’t.  I can try to make her comfortable (poorly, and in vain), and I can try to get the house cleaned up.  I can sit in a chair with my son while he screams at me in frustration.

I can wonder again and again what the hell I was thinking, and how the hell I let myself get talked into this.

Iain, if you’re reading this down the road, I love you.  It’s not the emotional warm fuzzy feeling I thought it would be, Iain. I want to protect you from the world.  I want to help you make it through this difficult phase, but I FEEL like punching a hole in a wall.

What I DO have the warm fuzzy feeling about is my wife.  I don’t know you yet, Iain. About the only thing I know about you is that you caused my wife a great deal of pain.  You continue to cause her a great deal of pain, and I’ve never taken well to things that do that to Kim.

So there’s my horrible parent conflict.  On the one hand, I love my son, because I’m supposed to.  I am truly proud of you, Iain.  You can already hold your head up, and you can push yourself up with your hands.  You have very strong arms and legs. For how hungry you must have been up until an hour ago, you slept for several hours at a time. On the other hand, you’re making life difficult for Kim.

One day, I guess you’ll understand, Iain. When you have a wife of your own, and are having a child of your own, and are struggling with your own need to love and protect your wife, and are trying to get to know your own child. You’ll understand.

I’m feeling better, now.  I’ve gotten it off my chest, and my eyes are dry.  I think I’ll go rest for a little while before Iain wakes up and needs to eat again.  Prayers for Kim and I are very much appreciated.

Jesse grabbed his jacket off the peg next to the scarred door, threw it on, and checked his appearance in the mirror. Nothing showed, which was good. His eyes were alight with the eagerness which only came with a job. Life otherwise was infinitely dull. He bounced on the balls of his feet three times and stepped out of his apartment into the frigid December air, closing the locked door behind him.  Putting his hands quickly into his pocket, he began walking briskly to the bus stop on the main road.  He pondered his current job while he walked, his eyes darting to and fro; first to the darkness behind a shrub, wondering what the moonlight might not be revealing, now to a bum who appeared to be more engrossed in the burning barrel in front of him than the man walking quickly by. Anyone could be a threat.

Since the collapse of the economic system of the US, with California leading the way, danger on the streets had increased exponentially. Jesse didn’t have to worry about money. His occupation provided him with plenty of disposable income, though he tried not to be too flashy. An empty belly could provide more sinister motivation than fear, Jesse knew, and there was no sense in appearing to be as lucrative a mark as he, in reality, was.

Jesse arrived at the bus stop and looked each sullen and depressed human in the eyes before turning to look up the street for the bus. “An acknowledged thief is a discouraged thief”, came the words of his father, still surging to the forefront of his mind after all these years. He stood, waiting, and shrugged his shoulder to twist an errant strap. He still hadn’t gotten used to the feeling of wearing it.

As the bus materialized out of the thick fog, Jesse took another look around, feeling inexplicably that something was out of place. In the few months since he began accepting these jobs, he had learned to trust his gut, and right now, his gut was telling him that he was preparing to step into a box of danger.  He stepped out of line, and watched the nearly deserted street for telltale signs of a switch to “Plan B”. As a large woman shoved him out of the way to get onto the warm bus, he locked eyes with the driver of a van idling across the street. Had that van been there for long? Was it there when he arrived at the bus station? These questions quickly became moot as the driver opened the door, lept out of the van, and brought a small automatic rifle to bear on Jesse.

Jesse quickly stepped into the cover provided by the bus and drew one of his most valued possessions from the holster he wore under his bulky jacket, knowing full well that if he didn’t end this situation quickly, it would be ended for him, and not in a manner conducive to his health. The rapid staccato of automatic gunfire and answering call of metal and plastic being struck was the ticking of his own personal death clock, and Jesse wanted no part of the alarm that would ring when his time was up.

The bus began to move, and Jesse swore. The bus driver wanted to get his own rather large posterior out of harm’s way, and wasn’t about to stop to let Jesse get on.  The sound of large vehicle doors sliding open only heightened Jesse’s urgency, and he turned toward the vacant storefront that was his only safe mode of egress from this situation.  Multiple voices shouting orders chased him as he ran to the flimsy door and kicked it in, glancing sideways to see that his mobile cover was now far enough up the street so as to offer his four assailants full view of his retreating form.  He entered the building, and the gunfire stopped.  Jesse’s breath misted in front of his face, lit up by light from the ruined doorway, and he looked frantically for a way out.

His palms sweated, and he nearly dropped the subcompact Glock he held in his right hand. The room in which he stood was covered with debris, and there appeared to be no escape. After a quick prayer spoken quietly to a deity he was sure wasn’t listening, Jesse groped in his jacket pocket for his other equalizer, and held it up to the light.  The hand grenade seemed to draw all light from the room as he realized the magnitude of what he was about to do.  His enterprise was named Deadly Shadows.  His motto was, “A shadow makes no sound.” He was about to act in a very un-shadow-like manner, but felt he had no other option.

With the hand that held his pistol, he tugged on the pin, hard, until it came out. He held the spring down in the “death grip” with his thumb, and waited with his back to the sturdy doorframe until he heard voices.

In a matter of seconds that felt like years, he heard whispers coming from the newly dismantled doorway. He leaned out and chucked the grenade so it rolled just outside the doorway, and quickly leaned back to the safety of his cover. The silence was deafening.

When the 2 second fuse elapsed, the explosion shook the walls, and Jesse made his move.  Rolling out of cover and bursting through the doorway, he saw the mutilated bodies of two of his attackers lying on their faces. The other two on either side of the door were just getting up, and in a quick, 3-second maneuver, Jesse hit the assailant to his right with a controlled pair at center mass and spun to perform the same combination to the assailant on his left. After a quick look up and down the street to make sure there were no more, he holstered his weapon, adjusted his jacket, and strode purposefully up the street, away from his apartment, knowing that frantic running would only draw more attention. The underfunded, understaffed and fearful police would be a long time in coming, anyway.

“Minimal risk my ass”, said Jesse bitterly. This would cost his employers, to be sure.