¶ Here's to twins: If one kid is a challenge, imagine two.

Unlikely though it may seem, we're not the only ones in our extended family staring at a newborn. Erin's cousin Adam and his girlfriend had twins just about a month before Jonah was born. Along with the Bernard and Liz, we took a trip to Portland to the see the new family, and celebrate with the Starrs and the Robins. The twins, Noor and Lucy, are tiny. Like Jonah, they are very cute, and I was saddened that my cold prevented me from holding them (the same way it's kept me from Jonah in the last week).

That last point deserves some expounding since it's driving me nuts. When Jonah was first born, I was happy to hand him off to whomever wanted to hold him knowing that ultimately I was going to see a lot more face time than they were. Well, having been forced into a separation from Jonah for a week in effort not to give him my stupid head cold, I can appreciate why people enjoy holding infants: They're so cute it's unreal. I'm increasingly unhappy not to be able to do more than stare at him and talk to him from a distance.

Anyway, the twins were also outrageously cute, and I'm glad I had a chance to see them if nothing else. As the years go by I'm less and less happy with my immune system. Somebody needs to tell it to get with the program. It's not listening to me.

¶ No time like the present: Historic lows in the home loan market are driving thousands of people to refinance their homes. After a long time on hold, that includes me.

When we bought our house in October 1999, we got in at a mortgage interest rate of 7.75%. That wasn't bad in the grand scheme of things. "Decent" is what I'd call it. But when we refinanced in April 2001, we were ecstatic to lock in at 6.125%. By historic standards, it kicked butt and took names. Plus, even with our monthly prepayments, we shaved $22,000 in interest off the original loan and, just as importantly, were looking at owning the house free and clear in another 12.5 years.

It's been just over two years since that refi, and rates have continued to plunge. Indeed, the mortgage market has been the only area of the economy to do well under the Bush reign. Unless you have unusual financial circumstances (which you very well may), now is an excellent time to look at refinancing an existing mortgage. Usually rates have to be 1 to 2 percentage points lower than your present loan in order for a refi to make sense, but with 30 year rates at 5.25 percent or less and 15 year rates sub-5 percent, that may be the case. It was for us.

After multiple redials and a lengthy phone hold time this morning, we locked in a rate of 4.897%, which will cut another $7,000 in interest off the life of our mortgage. We're looking at having the house paid off in just under 8 years. There are even better rates available if you're willing to go through a mortgage broker, but I didn't want my loan to be sold, I needed to be able to prepay (not all mortgages allow this without penalty), and I trust USAA. Consider me a happy camper (head cold or not).

¶ Several ideas at once: I can't decide what to write about. I don't have enough material to make a full-length article out of any particular topic. Bullet points here I come.

Thank God the Lillys have been here this week. My illness means I have to stay away from Jonah, meaning without Bernard and Liz there would be only one set of hands to hold the boy.

Staying away from Jonah sucks. I don't think prior to this I noticed how much I enjoy holding him. Being so deprived, I think Jonah is looking even cuter than ever before.

Jonah can track people moving across the room and has started holding his head up a little bit. He should be recognizing that his hands and feet are his own pretty soon.

Howard Dean, MD for president. I can't say it often enough.

One of the notable features of President Bush's ill-conceived, budget-busting $350 billion tax cut is an increase in the child care tax credit from $600 to $1000. Most taxpayers will eligible for this credit will receive a $400 check within the next several months. This credit does not exist for high income taxpayers, but the surprise today is that it doesn't apply to low-income families either. In short, families with incomes between $10,500 and $26,625 aren't going to see any help. Thank God we had room to cut capital gains and dividend taxes, though: The unbearable burden of the wealthy must be lightened!

Bernard and I made good progress on nursery today. The baseboard heater is in, most of the baseboard trim is finished, and the primer coat of paint is where it needs to be. We'll be painting the final coat tomorrow and if it's dried finishing the trim. I can't wait to have it done.

I've only heard samples from Apple's iTunes Music Service, but Coldplay's A Rush of Blood to the Head sounds like an album for the ages.

Having now seen every SportsNight episode ever produced, you'll find the DVD collection on my wish list at Amazon.com.

¶ Memorial Day soccer match: A litany of ailments can't keep me off the pitch or stop me from whining.

Sleeping is one way to pass the afternoon and not a bad one when you feel as lousy as I do. The headcold or flu or SARS or whatever the bug is seems to be persisting at a reasonably low level. I'm tired, moderately congested, a little sneezy, and sore throated. I'm not sure that "throated" is a verb, but I'm gonna use it anyway as a sign of just how much this illness has impacted my mental state. Actually, I'm not sure "sneezy" is a verb either. Lordy, I'm losing it altogether.

Despite all this illness, it still didn't keep me from traveling up I-5 with Bernard so I could play in this week's co-ed over 30 soccer game. Given my condition I actually played pretty well. Dennis repeatedly came up huge in goal, and we won 2-0 on a penalty and a direct free kick right outside the box. I had a lot of chances and gave others a lot of chances that I'd like to think might have gone in had I been closer to 100 percent. Right now I'm just happy to have nothing on my personal sports schedule until next Monday's game. I need to feel better.

¶ A spinning circus of Lillys: Christine goes out, Bernard and Liz come in.

Christine, Erin's sister, has been helping us on the home front since she arrived last Tuesday. Having her here has been a godsend. She's tackled every household task imaginable (including a few I didn't imagine), and made the week a much more manageable one.

My cold is worse, not better, and it's hard to believe that my plan of drinking more soda pop as a curative has failed to speed my recovery. It seemed genius at the time. Or maybe I'm confusing "genuis" with "carbonated." That seems to happen a lot when I'm not thinking clearly and even sometimes when I am. I'm likely looking at another week of illness given my medical history. What a life.

Happily, it was only a few hours after I'd dropped Christine off at PDX that Bernard and Liz drove into town. They'll be with us until next Sunday, again insuring that we eat well and that Jonah is well looked after.

¶ Cold and flu season: Why oh why am I so suseptible to colds? I deserve better, but I never seem to get what I deserve. Or do I and I just don't know it?

The sore throat started coming on last night. While Erin and Christine went shopping (and picked up items priced in the Deal of the Century range; those Lilly girls love a bargain), I crashed out and tried to recover. We sadly canceled a trip up to Portland to see relatives as I attempted to recoup.

I've been downing some Fresca, a Coca-Cola product based on grape fruit concentrate, as I try to get more citrus into my system. I figure it will be at least as effective as every other medicine I've ever tried, which is to say that nothing has ever worked because modern medicine has no cure for the common cold. So Fresca can't be much stupider than the next thing. Equal, maybe, but not more so.

¶ The return of the king: I came back from the Rose City just in time to hear 91 people get confirmed in a Catholic church. The next day Joe and I again tackled the nursery. No linkage whatsoever except that I was there, and, oh yeah, this is my web site.

My business in Portland concluded for the week, I jetted down I-5 yesterday evening to join Erin at Queen of Peace where she was the sponsor for a confirmation candidate. For the most part, Christine, Jonah, and I hung out in the foyer during the proceedings. Some 91 candidate confirmations plus a full scale Mass equated to one long service. Jonah was his regular docile self except toward the end by which time he was hungry and pretty peeved not to be eating immediately. Tough life, kid.

This morning I whipped out to Home Depot to pick up materials and discovered they had in stock almost none of the trim I wanted. Ultimately, this was to prove less of a deal since Joe and I got knocked sideways by the closet door jamb before the room's trim ever became an issue. In short, the bifold closet doors wouldn't fit, so we had to rebuild the frame around the closet so that they would. Add in work framing the window, and there goes the afternoon.

In the end, we got the doors installed except for the handles to the doors (which I'll need to think about a bit). They look and work great, though they'll obviously work even better once I put handles on them. The sill and frame around the exterior window we built looks sharp. I insulated around the area as well. Finally we started trimming the room and installing the baseboard heater. We didn't have the tools we needed to get those things working, so rather than push into the evening, we called it good for now.

The nursery is undone, but gosh we're getting close, and, perhaps more importantly, I'm learning an awful lot about how a room comes together. Knowing nothing about finish work before starting a remodeling project has made me feel even more aimless than normal, and that's not the kinda guy I like to be. With Joe's patient assistance, I've been getting much better educated. Once again, a big league thanks to him for all his help!

¶ A little more SportsNight: Working in Portland, staying over with Dennis, watching hours of SportsNight. Catatonic or not, I'm thinkin' life is good.

Worked in Portland today, and it's more of the same tomorrow, so with Dennis' kind permission I crashed out at his pad, ordered a pizza, and plopped down for some more SportsNight. I also brought Dennis a Canon G2 digital camera from work to mess around with, an ingenuis plot that worked both ways since I needed to learn about the thing and Dennis loves playing with photography equipment. He had everything diagnosed and fiddled with in short order. I plopped down in front of the TV and went vegetative in even less time. Man, I'm more mentally exhausted than normal. That can probably be abbreviated as "I'm mental."

¶ Going well until...: Any day that ends in a shower of sparks can't be all good.

After a couple more episodes of SportsNight in the morning, I met my friend Julie (aka Aazura) at Red Robin by the Oregon Convention Center. We had a enjoyable and leisurely chat about work, life, etc. She's in town for a convention of museum directors and art gallery management types, apparently the largest confab of any kind that the convention center has seen. Her conferences on copyright, art labeling, hazardous materials, and so forth all sounded interesting to me. Next time the group is in town, I'm gonna have to crash the party.

One downside to parenthood is, understandably, the sleep deprivation that builds up over the course of the weeks. This manifests itself in strange ways. Today, it was me forgetting to pack dress socks. So I'm in this relatively nice get-up while wearing stylin' white athletic socks. If this is a start to a trend, I could be in trouble. Next time I may very well show up without pants.

Other example of sleep deprivation occurred when I went to pick up my sister-in-law Christine at the airport. I blissfully drove down I-84 right past the I-205 (airport) turn off and didn't realize there was a problem until I was half way to Troutdale. The last time I missed an I-84 turn off was Erin's and my fifth anniversary. I kid you not when I say that we almost ended up in Idaho. Again, I'm not sure this bodes well.

Christine and I had a very pleasant drive down I-5, and I thankfully didn't miss any more exits. After Christine was settled in and able to greet Erin and meet Jonah, I slunk off to the office to try to catch up on all the business, correspondence, and bills that had accumulated over the course of the past few days.

Now the smell of smoke is never a good thing with electronics. It means something's burning. Today, that something was my 19" Princeton monitor, which died in a shower of sparks. Fortunately, Trinity—connected to the CRT at the time—seems to have suffered no ill effect from the experience. Me? I'm a little bummed that my technology budget for the year is going to have to increase from somewhere between $500 and $1300 dollars. Otherwise, honestly, it was a pretty good day.

¶ A lot of miles, a lot of hours: Pacific City to Salem to Tualatin to Portland. That's too much car time if you ask me. Dennis to the rescue.

Erin experienced a little nausea last night and again this morning. Since there's not much anybody could do that wasn't already being done, we just let Erin stay in bed to the greatest extent possible. That saw me up with Jonah at 5:30 AM, but it also highlights just how lucky we've been to be surrounded by a group of people who've been happy if not ecstatic to take care of Jonah while Erin and/or I do other things (like sleep, shower, or eat).

Our gratitude to our friends in that respect is only part of a larger thanks to everyone who came to Pacific City and helped to make our weekend a fun and memorable one. Bringing Jonah along on his first big outing was something of a shot in the dark, but our impression is that it worked out very well thanks to the support we received. We're grateful to all those helping us continue to live something of a life since Jonah arrived.

By the time we left Pacific City at 11 AM and headed for Salem, Erin was feeling better. The pretty drive home was made more so by a sleeping infant and a spouse who had returned to health.

Once in Salem, I cleaned and returned the rental bike, caught maybe an hour of a nap, briefly updated this web site, packed, and jetted up to Tualatin for my soccer game. There, I was surprised and delighted to find Robyn and Jared (members of our Reach the Beach weekend group) had turned out to picnic and watch the game. [An aside: I enjoy it when people come to watch my soccer games.]

Given the audience, I am thrilled to report that I played well. Dennis booted a long ball that I was able to run under and, after a couple passes with teammates, launch into the back of the goal. Then toward the close of the first half, I headed in a corner kick. More than that, though, my play finally approached what it should have been all season. We won 5-2, but I'm happier that I played well than anything else.

After the game, I followed Dennis to his place in Portland where he kindly let me crash out for the night. Unfortunately, he also introduced me to SportsNight, the three-time Emmy Award-winning Aaron Sorkin series which proceeded The West Wing. Dennis has the complete 6 DVD set. I stayed up to about 1:30 AM just watching the first two. Outstanding stuff. (Potential gift givers take note: The SportsNight DVD set now appears on my Amazon.com wish list.)

Thanks to Dennis for letting me stay over. I think another 60 miles in a car would've done me in.

¶ Recovery is a big sand dune: There are a lot of ways to recuperate after a long hard bike ride. Climbing a giant hill is an odd one.

About half our beach house contingent returned to the "real world" today, leaving Joe, Carol, Susan, Dave, Eileen, Erin, Jonah, and me at Pacific City.

We packed Jonah into a Snugli, a carrying pack for infants, and walked down to the beach. With the sun shining brightly and a cold wind blowing, Jonah burrowed himself down into my chest and was presumably lulled to sleep by the beat of my heart and the jostling of my steps. One way or another, he was passed out for almost the entirety of the walk.

I gave the Jonah and the Snugli to Erin before Joe and I climbed the dune. Susan, Carol, Erin, and Jonah waited below while Joe and I hoofed it to the top. Quite a view from up there, and a bit of struggle to make it that far, but Joe and I both tend to love a challenge (particularly those which require effort but are ultimately surmountable). Truth be told, I'm already looking forward to the day when Jonah can join us in making the climb. That's probably not more than 2-3 years off. If I continue to ride Reach the Beach, he'll probably even climb the dune faster them I will.

After our return to the beach house, we played a game of Worst Case Scenario, wherein teams attempt to guess the correct way to handle one dire situation after another. For example, a card might read, "How to treat a poisonous snake bite" with the choices being (a) start running around really fast to get the venom out of your system; (b) attempt to suck venom out of the wound, dress it, and proceed to emergency care; or (c) attempt to bite the snake back as this will transfer the venom back to the snake. Many times the solution was obvious, but some times not, and a few times the group concensus was that the card's answer was wrong. Nonetheless, I would be remiss if I didn't mention that I was somehow persuaded to allow our team (Erin, Eileen, me) to answer "slap the victim on the back of the head" to the worst case scenario of "What do you do when someone gets something in their eye?" That's not just wrong, that's embarrassing. And funny.

In evening, most of the group turned to Phase 10—the world's longest card game—while Erin and Jonah slept a bit, and I did some reading. I'm not sure how late we all stayed up, but it was past 1 when I finally turned in. The card game was still going strong.

¶ 55 miles from Amity to PC: A very different bike ride this year. My case that the apocalypse is nigh. Tell me I'm wrong.

Mile zero: Dennis, Mike, Joe, and I leave Amity at 9:45 AM. I'm on a rental bike this year, hoping that the slick tires will make up for my John Goodman-like exercise routine over the winter. Last year I had a bike with treaded tires which rolled with all the efficiency of stone age square wheels. This year will be different! Nonetheless, I could have sworn I heard cries of "dead man walking!" as I headed up to the registration table.

I ask Mike, an ancient history buff, for an inspiring motto like the Romans might have used before charging into battle. He offers up Carpe Diem, or "seize the day." A good phrase, that, but I think to myself, "If I try to seize the day today, the day will grab me by the lapels, turn me upside down, and shake all the loose change out of my pockets." I decide that I might just tap the day on the shoulder, and say "excuse me" instead.

Mile one: Quick pitstop for a seat adjustment. The bike seat, not mine. Though if tradition holds my seat is going to be sore before mile 35. A quick survey of my body reveals aches starting in my calves, quads, butt, feet, lower back, upper back, neck, shoulders, arms, forearms, hands, and fingers. No problem, only 54 miles to go.

Mile five: The nifty rolling tires are proving insufficient compensation for my lack of conditioning. It is painfully clear that I'm ill-prepared to spend 55 miles on a bike. If my calculations are correct, we're going to be in danger of being DQ'd by missing the 5:30 PM finish line cutoff. Poor Dennis (and to a lesser extent Mike) is courteously hanging back and making sure that I've not bailed on the race entirely. Dennis could probably ride this race twice before I'd finish it once. It dawns on me that if we were a herd of gazelle, lions would already be feasting on my carcass. Oh happy thought.

Mile 14.7: Rest stop #1 at Sheridan. We passed the federal penitentiary on the way into town. I muse about who has life better at the moment, me or the prisoners. Six one, half dozen the other. Joe asks how the ride is going for me. I tell him Dennis is really slowing me down, a particularly funny joke since if Dennis had wanted to he'd have Reached the Beach, packed up, and been home by now.

Mile 17: A light rain starts to fall. For reasons that remain unclear, Joe challenges Mother Nature to put up or shut up. Mother Nature instantly responds with heavy rain, stinging hail, thunder, and, I'm pretty sure, a plague of locusts. With Joe leading the charge, we cycle onward through the hailstorm as other riders pull off and seek shelter from the downpour. I tell Joe that with all the cyclists temporarily out of action, we have a chance to win if the hail holds up long enough. Pain from the hail helps distract from the burning sensations elsewhere throughout my body. Perhaps because I'm so goaded on, this ends up being my best leg of the ride.

Mile 26: Joe pulls a Starsky and Hutch and wipes out crossing some railroad tracks. Amazingly, he is totally uninjured and the bike completely undamaged. This astounds all who witness the accident. Joe may have a future as a stuntman.

Mile 28: The cold, wind, and rain have sapped Joe's energy and mine as well. Joe stops for a coffee at a Food Mart. I join him in the heated building and grab a hot chocolate. Dennis thinks this may be an ill-advised stop.

Mile 28.1: Both my quads cramp, proving Dennis almost instantly right. Luckily(?) the cramps work themselves out, and I'm able to continue the race. This ends up my biggest moment of worry in the ride. Dual quad leg cramps would probably be a show-stopper for me.

Mile 30: Rest stop #2 at Grand Ronde. Lunch is half-cooked noodles from Pizza Schmitza, a name I'm probably spelling wrong but who certainly did not earn a correction with the quality of their fare. Bad Pizza Schmitza! We riders expect better! Or at least we should expect better, even if we don't really and are far too tired and sore to complain to whosoever is in charge.

Only Mike and Dennis had the foresight to bring gloves, so Joe and I have been contending with frozen hands up until now. Claiming he knows a trick to take the edge off the cold, Dennis gets the EMT staff at the rest stop to give us latex surgical gloves. An number of proctologist jokes follow.

Mile 30.1: Dunno about Joe, but for me at least Dennis is right about the gloves.

Mile 31: Joe stops momentarily at St. Michaels Catholic Church. I resist the temptation to ask if my prayers to St. Jude have been answered. Given the strong headwind we've been riding in since about Mile 2, I doubt it. Five miles or so now after his wipe out, Joe's showing no ill after effects, which is good because Joe's also the person in our group most qualified to treat any medical problems.

Mile 35: My deoderant fails. If I open my riding jacket now, people will die.

Mile 40: Rest stop #3 by the Little Nestucca River. Much of the last leg has thankfully been downhill, but somewhere I've blown a spoke. The back tire is no longer rolling true, and the wobble is enough to contact the brake pad slightly on each revolution. I wonder if this would be an adequate excuse for my poor showing. (Alas, no.) We're about an hour off last year's pace.

Mile 55: Like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (I've got dibs on Pestilence), we cross the finish line aboard our trusty steeds and terrify the assembled populous with our mud-splattered clothing, intense body odor, and horrifying helmet hair. Every horseman is met shortly thereafter by their respective significant other who, through some massive summons of will (and likely repression of good sense), celebrate the completion of our journey with kisses and hugs. With each of the respective riders, not amongst themselves, in case that wasn't clear.

My heartfelt thanks to my fellow cyclists Joe, Mike, and Dennis for their camaraderie, patience, and goodwill. Additional props to Mother Nature for calling off the hailstorm despite Joe's challenges to "bring it on," and, finally, to St. Jude, the patron saint of lost causes, for being an attentive listener. This year I had a 55-mile tale to tell.

¶ Off to Pacific City: Preparing to Reach the Beach.

Believe it or not, Erin, Jonah, and I are headed to Pacific City this weekend so that I can ride in Reach the Beach, a 55-mile bike ride. We planned to arrive at 3 PM. We came in at 5:30 PM. It continues to amaze me that we could be so late. I will note that we were only 10 minutes tardy to Jonah's appointment yesterday. Not sure that's something to be proud about, but for now we'll take it.

After unloading everything at the rental house, a group of us (Joe, Carol, Dennis, Maria, Erin, Jonah, and me) went to dinner at the Pelican Pub. I had the Haystack burger which, unless I'm mistaken, is exactly what I had last year. Pretty good eats.

The full contingent (Joe, Carol, Dennis, Maria, Erin, Jonah, me, Mike, Teresa, Dave, Eileen, Jared, Robyn, Susan, Linda) assembled at the house in the evening. I wanted to stay up with everybody—and some folks were awake until 3 AM—but I ended up crashing out almost immediately. It had been a very tiring week, and, heck, there's a bike ride tomorrow in which, for some reason, I'm a participant.

¶ Hanging out at the five-star: Works takes me to Portland. Friends and fun take me to Battle Ground.

I've been away from the family farm for a couple nights on assignment in Portland. Joe and Carol have helpfully offered to let me stay at their five-star in Battle Ground since it cuts my commute time by more than half, and last night I got the first solid 8 hours of sleep I've had since, oh, before Jonah was before. I wish Erin could experience the same, but it can't happen until after we switch to a breast/bottle feeding combination, and that's a few weeks off. In the meantime, while I'm gone at least we have my parents and several friends dropping by for extended periods so that Erin can sleep soundly while Jonah is looked after. It's only been 24 hours, but I miss them both already.

Not that I'm having a bad time in Battle Ground. After Monday's soccer game debacle where the other team and referee didn't show, Joe, Carol, and I hung out and chatted into the night. Last night, Joe BBQ'd some burgers for an excellent dinner. Then he and I fiddled with a Wacom tablet and Apple's handwriting recognition technology while Carol was at her book group. I started reading Joe's copy of The Not So Big House by Susan Susanka, a book on house design which I must say looks terrific. Joe started reading my copy of Mac OS X Unleashed, which I just picked up used at Powell's Tech Books (always a dangerous place to go with a credit card).

In short, it's been a fun, relaxing time. A big thank you to Joe and Carol for making it so.

¶ Stupid is as stupid does: President Bush is at it again. Help stop this "conservative" from spending money the country doesn't have.

Tomorrow, May 14, has been designated a national call-in day for contacting your representatives and senators about President Bush's insanely stupid tax cut proposal. Both TrueMajority.org and MoveOn.org will allow you to send faxes to Congress for free, and I strongly encourage you to make use of their services or to call the Congressional switchboard directly. I don't know if it will make a difference, but not doing anything certainly won't work.

The US will likely run a $300 billion deficit this fiscal year before counting the Bush tax cut which benefits mainly the wealthy. Although personally there are elements of the plan (the expanded child tax credit and the partial elimination of taxes on dividends) which would reduce my tax liability dramatically, I am unalterably opposed to a proposal which (1) increases an already record deficit, (2) does nothing or very little to help states in fiscal crisis, and (3) benefits mainly the richest people in society. For me, a sound tax cut proposal is (1) deficit neutral (meaning you find spending cuts elsewhere), (2) helps states deal with their budgetary woes, and (3) benefits the majority of people—those in the lower income brackets. This tax bill is evil, and when I say evil, I mean what I say.

I urge you to contact your congressional representatives and tell them the same.

¶ And one more thing : A minor mea culpa over yesterday's post. I know you'll understand. You're cool.

Yeah, look, I only forgot one thing when I said yesterday that life with Jonah has been surprisingly grand, and that is this: Life is grand only because our family and friends are the coolest folks you'd ever want to meet. They've been loading us up with dinners and assorted meals, coming over to watch the kid now and again so we can sleep, doing little household chores here and there. Sure we're sleep-deprived, we have a 12 day-old infant. But life would be so much harder without the help of all the fine people who've pitched in to help ease our burden, that I can't even conceive of how a single-parent with limited resources would handle it. We are so lucky to have the support we do.

I didn't mention that as directly as I wanted to yesterday, and I've been feeling somewhat guilty ever since, because if I want to cultivate any sort of attitude in my life it's one of gratitude. Whatever people might say about me, I hope one of things that comes up is that I am thankful. I don't always communicate that as well as I'd like, but it is how I feel. If I didn't make that clear yesterday, I hope it is today. Erin and I are deeply appreciative of all the wishes, gifts, and assistance we've received.

¶ A week in the life: Not a lot of slumber for anyone other than Jonah, but we're doing OK.

It's been a pretty interesting week with Jonah dominating our waking (and sleeping) hours. On Sunday Erin had two students drop by and while Erin was taking a bathroom break, Jonah needed a diaper change. With this audience I'm changing the diaper solo for the first time. Then, laying on the changing table, Jonah starts burping up milk—out his mouth and nose and all over everything. I start dealing with that, then he kicks off the diaper and sends a yellow urine stream shooting across the room. I swear, all he needed was smoke coming out his ears, and he would've had every orifice covered. God invented laughter for moments like these.

Speaking of burping up milk, Jonah's done his share. A few nights ago, after his first bath, he brought up a lot. Erin and I opted not to worry about it. As long as he continues to fill his diaper (proof that stuff is going through him), we'll be taking it as no big deal. The proof is in the pooing, I always say. We're wondering if it might be related to Erin's diet since we've been told that can change the taste of the breast milk. Dunno.

Jonah's cord stump fell off. He doesn't seem to miss it, which is good since we're not exactly prepared to glue it back on. If anything, his tummy is now more attractive (since the stump was relatively hideous), and we don't have to be quite so careful around his belly button when we're changing his diaper. While he had no reaction to my comment that it might taste good in tartar sauce, I confess this was said more to distract him from the diaper change that was happening. He just looked me blankly for what, I'm sure, will not be the last time.

His face is changing. His eyebrows are darkening; his nose is narrowing and losing the milia that covered it; his eyes are opening wider and he's taken to intently studying complex patterns in clothing. Erin and I almost feel like he should be at toddler stage already he seems so different. I'll have some more recent photos posted soon. Maybe ya'll can check them out and see if we're hallucinating down here in Davisonland.

We were over at my parents' place so I could update their Power Mac G3/300 when Jonah got his first bath. Jonah didn't seem to mind the face washing or the hair shampooing. He was more curious about it than anything else. OMG did he hate the rest of it, though. He started shrieking like the end was nigh, and no number of distractions or other inducements could convince him that bath time wasn't the worse experience of his short lifetime. Obviously I can hardly wait to bath him again. If you meet our kid and he looks like Charlie Brown's buddy Pigpen, this is why.

But all of the above might paint too dark a picture. The truth is that so far, despite a little sleep deprivation, life has been surprisingly grand. Both Erin and I are finding parenthood to be easier than we anticipated. I say that with the acknowledgement that two weeks with an infant is only the first step in a very long journey. There remains plenty of time for us to decide that this was actually a lot harder than we thought it was going to be. I guess my point, and I do have one, is that so far, so good. That, and sleep deprivation really impacts my thinking and my writing. Of course, by now you apprehended that last bit, didn't you? Don't tell Jonah.

¶ What's in a name: The why and how of picking Jonah Patrick Davison as a name for our son.

Naming our kid wasn't an easy process. Erin and I waded through lots of alternatives, both brainstorming on our own and reading through baby naming books we borrowed from Carol. We had an easier time with girls names, which I understand is fairly common. There are a lot of pretty girls names out there, and we came up with two or three which we liked a lot. Who knows? We may use them next time around. It was much harder with boys names, but we're ecstatic with our choice, and happy to share how "Jonah Patrick Davison" popped out of the lottery machine when the time came.

I'll start with the last name first. "Davison" is, as I was once told by a thick-brogued taxi driver whilst driving around the Loch Ness, "a fine Scottish name." Indeed the clan's patriarch was Scotsman Daniel Davison, a British prisoner of war who was shipped to the colonies, achieved his freedom after a period of indentured servitude, and went on to sire the largest line of Davisons in the world. His Davison descendants have fought on the American side in every major war, excluding perhaps Vietnam. We've been farmers, soldiers, doctors, college professors, pioneers, businessmen, general contractors, and so on. We're a solid middle class bunch who have helped build this country. If you'll forgive a touch of genealogist's ego, we're good folk, and Jonah's lineage is a proud one.

For first names, Erin and I were somewhat at odds. We both wanted something out of the ordinary. I also wanted it to be somewhat traditional, possibly even biblical. For example, we both like names such as Joshua or Jacob, but they're very popular names right now, and we wanted our kid to have something uncommon. Erin can happily say that in her years of teaching she has never had a "Jonah." (Also important because many times a name may be ruined by association with an unruly student.) In Jonah, we have a name that is recognizable, traditional, and uncommon.

It's also biblical, and I want to talk about that, because I enjoy that fact quite a bit. The Book of Jonah is a short comedic parable in the Hebrew Scriptures. The story goes like this: Jonah is an obscure Galilean prophet who receives a call from God to preach in Nineveh. Jonah hears this and runs in the opposite direction. He boards a ship which gets caught in the midst of a raging tempest. Jonah sleeps in the midst of the storm. The sailors accuse him of being evil; Jonah agrees to be a human sacrifice to appease God. Famously, Jonah is swallowed by a whale. Once in the belly of the beast he sings to God a hymn of thanksgiving. Ultimately the whale spits him out and he goes to Nineveh to preach as God commanded. The Ninevites repent as he urged them to. Jonah complains about God showing mercy, the very thing he thanked God for when Jonah disobeyed God and was swallowed up. Maybe it's not Robin Williams or Jim Carrey doing stand-up, but it's pretty funny stuff in a religious context.

Whether this humor is appreciated or not is likely dependent on a person's interpretation of the bible. Let me quote Lawrence Boadt, a biblical scholar, on the subject of The Book of Jonah:

...the author of the Book of Jonah knew that his audience would enjoy the story and not be forced to choose whether it could actually have happened or not, or whether the fish was a whale or a shark. Only in modern times have Christians forgotten the ability of the Bible to tell stories to make its points, and tried instead to explain everything "scientifically." Jonah is a rousing tale of a prophet gone off the deep end, so to speak. The author makes some important points about prophecy and the nature of God without ever losing his sense of humor while creating his outrageous tale and its several separate plots. (Reading the Old Testament: An Introduction, 468)

The irony is rich as Jonah exhibits behavior opposite of what we would expect from a prophet. If that flummoxes modern day fundamentalist Christians, so much the better as far as I'm concerned. Among other things, the Book of Jonah is a reminder that the bible contains all manner of literary styles. I love that it uses devices like irony and humor to make its points, and further, I love the points it makes. Again, Lawrence Boadt:

...The story of Jonah has several lessons that work on many levels as we read it:

(1) it presents the universal love of God even for Gentiles;
(2) it shows God's control over all of nature and all peoples;
(3) it ridicules some of the narrow nationalism in Judah;
(4) it is satire on the actions of many prophets;
(5) it affirms that God is not merely "just" in his actions;
(6) in fact, God acts in strange and sometimes humorous ways;
(7) and we cannot figure God out according to our desires.

In short, Jonah is both entertainment and lesson....(ibid, 470)

It's fair to say that the tradition behind the name of Jonah appeals to me greatly.

Erin and I debated middle names quite a bit too. The criterion that decided things was meaning. Her family has a history of Irish names, and "Patrick" certainly acknowledges and builds upon that tradition. For me, though, "Patrick" was an homage to my best mate Dave, whose middle name is also Patrick. Dave has stood by me through grade school, middle school, high school, college, and beyond. In giving my son the same middle name, I'm expressing my hope that Jonah, too, will find the same kind of life-long friend that I've found in Dave.

¶ On fatherhood, part 1: Thoughts flitter and flit their way through the transom of my sleepy mind.

When I told people with kids that Erin and I were having a child of our own, they were universally ecstatic. Part of me always thought that behind their broad smile and hearty congratulations they must have been thinking, "Whew. What a relief that I'm not the only idiot. This poor sap's joining the club too." Whatever their motives, I no longer have that same half-joking cynical view on their comments. And I think I might know what they were getting at.

Because along with the kudos, parents told me that when I had kids my life would change. What I long assumed they meant was that time would becomes more fluid, with days and nights flowing one into the next. I expected that I would be sleep deprived (and boy howdy am I). I anticipated climbing an initially steep learning curve as I was initiated into the world of boppies, kick-and-plays, and poopy diapers. When parents talked about life changing, this is what I thought they meant, and certainly I wasn't wrong. Erin and I are presently living an existence that's only slightly less weird than Jonah, and he just came out of the womb six days ago. One the day-to-day practical level, a lot of things are upside down.

What blind-sided me, though, was love's shifting boundary. Prior to Jonah's arrival I would have told you that I could not love Erin any more than I do. Now that Jonah is here, one of my discoveries is that I was wrong. Love is mysterious, and it is difficult to convey the depth of any emotion, but what I feel now for Erin is a love much deeper than I knew existed. It's as if I've undergone a (re)birth of my own, moving into a heretofore unimaginable realm. "Awestruck" continues to be a reasonable description of my state of mind.

It's dawned on me, of course, that if I could be so surprised and overwhelmed by love now, after almost nine years of marriage, that perhaps even this just one stage on the way to even greater intensity of feeling. It's hard to imagine that I could feel a magnitude of love greater than I do at present, but I would've said the same before, so all bets are off. In fact, if it's true that God is Love (and that's about as accurately as human language allows us to communicate divinity's nature), then what would surprise me least is to find in the end that there are no boundaries to love whatsoever.

And what of Jonah himself? A person could reasonably wonder if there are an pangs of jealousy as my time or, even more so, Erin's time is taken up by Jonah's needs. So far the answer is "not even close." It is so perfectly beautiful to watch her care for Jonah, and I find our little monkey so cute and wonderful that, again, love simply expands to envelope him. While it's not like I ever saw love as something hidden in a box to be carefully parcelled out lest I deplete my supply, it is now more obvious than ever that love is a thing of potentially infinite availability. My life, as they said it would, has changed.

¶ Sleep, feed, poop, change, repeat: Erin and Ty meet the cycle of life at its most basic courtesy of their 5 day-old.

There seem to me to be three distinct parts an infant's world: Sleeping, feeding, and changing. I'm sure there are additional elements (bathing comes to mind), but at its core, the kid can live life pretty happily for a long-time if we get these steps right. We're working on it.

Right now I'm busy trying some trickery to insure that the sleeping happens as readily as possible. Babies dig white noise, and Jonah is no exception. I can get him from full-throated cry to docile wonderment in under 30 seconds by carrying him into the bathroom and flipping on the bath fan. That won't solve the problem if it's a diaper issue or if he's hungry, but if Erin or I just need a moment to think without a kid wailing in our ear, it's a nifty trick.

I also assembled the Kick-and-Play earlier today, and we're hopeful that its rhythmic swaying will help lull the little fellow into a deeper stage of slumber He took an afternoon nap there reasonably well, so we know it's possible. Whether that's the start of a fortunate trend or a fluke happening, we'll see. Either way, Jonah's sleeping in roughly two hour chunks, which is enough for his parents to get some things done, but not enough to get any really good sleep ourselves. A great many things are very, very funny when sleep deprivation hits. Because it seems to have hit and stayed for the duration, we're having a good time.

Since we're breast feeding exclusively—and by "we" I mean Erin and Jonah—I don't have the right answer when Jonah asks the frequent question, "Got Milk?" Erin, however, seems to be getting straight A's on this, as Jonah is latching on and gulping down. It is a starkly beautiful sight to behold, though I confess that I'm also looking forward to the time some weeks hence when we start to integrate some bottle fed breast milk into the routine, and I can play a bigger role in this area of Jonah's life.

One area I can do something about is changing the diapers. Lucky, lucky me. So far Erin and I have been tag teaming the kid, like we're station workers doing an oil change on an '86 Ford Festiva. I'll get him locked down on the changing pad while she unsnaps the onesie. I'll grab the legs, and undo one side of the diaper while she gets the other. One of us will slide the poopy diaper out of the way while the other covers the kid's penis with a cloth so he doesn't squirt at us in mid-change, something little boys are known to do (and which Jonah has done already). Erin will wipe him down while I hold his squirmy little legs, then one or the other of us will put the new diaper on and snap everything back together. We're not pros at it yet, but given a few weeks I'm sure we'll be working this like an Indy pit crew.

That'll be good, because thus far I've not soloed in the diaper-changing arena. To my way of thinking, you can pass all the written and oral tests you want, but until you actually do the deed by yourself, you can't get the merit badge. I'm gradually working my way up to that, thinking it's a doable proposition. Given that diaper changes are needed so often, I'll have plenty of chance to practice with Erin's assistance before I take the plunge. If I get it right and do it well, I figure when I'm 90 Jonah might return the favor.

¶ Jonah comes home, milk comes in: Erin and Jonah were released from Salem Memorial Hospital yesterday at 4 PM. After a short little drive, we pulled up to our house, opened the garage door, and Jonah was home.

I have nothing but superlatives for the doctors and nurses of Salem Memorial Hospital. The competence, care, and compassion we received during every interaction was remarkable. They're all just terrific professionals and terrific people. Further, I need to acknowledge the incredible support Erin received during the birth from Mary Gregory, RN. Mary stayed with us through the entirety of the birth—literally beyond the call of duty since her shift ended some 4+ hours before Jonah was born—and her help was invaluable. We feel so blessed to have had her assistance in delivering Jonah into the world.

The birthing process was a little rougher on Erin than we originally thought. For Erin, that's because the epidural made it impossible for her to feel anything. For me, it was probably that I was so captivated by Jonah and Erin that I didn't notice. (I didn't see the placenta get delivered either, but obviously it was.) Erin's been literally sitting on ice and taking pain meds and anti-inflammatories as she heals and makes her way back to normal. So this isn't an easy time, but she's slowly on the mend. We are very eager to introduce Jonah to everybody, but we appreciate your understanding if this takes longer than either you or we would like.

We had the Mother-Baby follow-up visit at Kaiser this morning. Missed the appointment time by 30 minutes even after allotting 2 hours to get ready for it. That does not bode well for our punctuality to future events! Nonetheless, we did get to Kaiser eventually and the nurse checked Jonah over and pronounced him in good shape. Erin got a couple breast feeding pointers as well, but on the whole that's been a non-issue. Jonah latches on really well, and Erin's milk has come in

We let Jonah sleep in bed with us last night, and we'll probably continue do it that way in the short-term. He also naps nicely in the car seat, so I don't think he end up snooty about where he's placed for a nap. The bed is just very convenient for Erin and Jonah since both can doze after a feeding. Initially I was a little uncertain about this arrangement, but upon reflection, I decided that having the infant sleep next to Mom (or Dad) would likely be normative for the species. That sounds high fallutin' and I don't mean it to. All I'm saying is that, like breast feeding itself, infants sleeping with parents seems like the most natural approach to it, and that's a strong criterion for me in judging the merits of any particular parenting practice. Before too long we'll be moving Jonah into a bassinet then a crib then a bed. We'll enjoy this for now.