Three Cups of Tea

I just finished Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin.  Mortenson's work building schools in Pakistan and Afghanistan is inspiring and heroic.  The book is the first of two chronicling his journey from a wayward, altitude sick climber at the foot of K2 into a force of nature - working alone to raise money to build a single school in one of the poorest regions in the world, and eventually into the creator and director of the Central Asia Institute which has as of 2009, established 130 schools in Pakistan and Afghanistan, which provide (or have provided) education to over 51,000 students, with an emphasis on girls’ education.

Jumping headlong into fatherhood, I have questioned the kind of world in which we are bringing a child.  A world in which ignorance and hate are rewarded by talking heads; where the less you seem to know the more you are lauded as a "front runner" for a presidential run... for the presidency... of the United States... all of it.  I watch my television screen aghast that there are people who so readily believe any blatant lie told them despite the mountains of evidence to the contrary.  I wonder how, in an educated society such as ours, we've lost the ability to see the forest for the trees.  We are so deeply entrenched in our beliefs and it is stunting our growth mentally and psychologically and we have been overrun by a small group of very very very loud, hate spewing, xenophobic ideologues. 

And I am bringing a child into this.

But Mortenson's story gives me hope.  One person can make a difference.  One person can reach into the abyss of ignorance and fear - fear of "the other"- and change the entire world.

Mortenson was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize and lost to President Obama.  This was a grave mistake.  President Obama had not accomplished much to deserve the accolade in his first year, as he himself noted.  Greg Mortenson went quietly about his business of taking on religious fundamentalists a world away without firing a single shot.  He has empowered the people of the tribal regions of Afghanistan and Pakistan - people we only see on the evening news programs as "terrorists" and "the enemy" - and made them allies of us all.

He builds schools and he is changing an entire generation.

Having finished Three Cups of Tea, my hopes for my child remain the same, but my fears have abated.  I know that deep down, the concerns of a parent in New York are the same as the concerns of a parent in St. Louis, or Salt Lake City or San Diego, are the same concerns as a parent in Paris, or Moscow, or Kaampen...  or the Korphe village in Pakistan or the Wakhan Corridor in Afghanistan.

If you don't think one person can change the world, read this book.  If you don't think people halfway around the world have the same concerns, the same hopes, the same dreams for their children... read this book.  If you are a living, breathing human being on this planet... read this book.

Under attack

Month eight.

It has occurred to me that my wife's body is now under attack.  She's been a trooper and has not complained at all throughout her entire pregnancy, but lately she's been feeling it.  The boy is just big enough that when he kicks, we can see limbs.  When he rolls around, he moves organs.  When he stretches, he pushes her diaphragm and compresses her lungs and she finds herself unable to catch her breath.

All of this is painful when he's riding high.

So we play him music, we do our BabyPlus, and he moves down a little.

Then when Angie gets dressed to go to work, she says, "Can I officially stay home when my shirts sit high?  He's so low, that my shirt looks like a belly shirt."

This is the first time she's complained.  I think she's ready for him to be out and in the world.

I don't know how people do it...

I've started working a new gig and I'm not sure how people do it AND spend any kind of quality time with their families.  I know they do.  I'm just not sure how.  Get to work before 9am and don't leave until well after 7pm.  Maybe you get to grab something downstairs at a Cosi or deli that you then take back up to eat at your desk.  Take into consideration the commute and you get home around 7:30 or 8.  Throw together dinner and by the time Rachel Maddow signs off, the wife is asleep and the cat needs to be fed and I'm done.  We're out and in bed by 11pm.  That's 10 hours at work and three hours at home.

And that's not out of the norm.  I am not judging.  I'm just amazed. 

Now, there is part of me that says, "what are we doing?"  What we do has become the definition of who we are.  When we meet someone, we ask, "what do you do?" before we ask about their families, their lives...  It just seems a little odd. 

I don't know how people do it.

My wife

If you haven't read my wife's blog lately, you should.  The link is on my banner:  The Actor's Wife.

If you have read it, you'll see that she's written a couple times about me.  I think I'll return the favor.

Much of the fun of this pregnancy is watching her go through it.  Her style statement is Composed Grace and it fits her.  She has managed to find a way to make being pregnant very simple and very elegant.  We have not hand any major issues and the pregnancy has been going smoothly.  Lately our wee one has been kicking like crazy.  The other day we watched a foot poke against her skin again and again.  Last night she jolted upright around 4 a.m.  He kicked her hard in the ribs.  I laughed, saying, "of course he's kicking." 

She then put her hand on me, finding my lowest rib.

"Rib?"

"Yes."

"Bottom one?"

"Yeah... Why?"

She then punched me.  "That's what it feels like."

That's the girl I married twelve and a half years ago.

She sits next to me and watches football.  She gets the joke.  She can keep box scores at a Yankees game, something I don't know how to do.  She can know what I'm thinking before I think it.  We can look at each other and have an entire conversation.  She is strong, smart and has allowed me to be a bit crazy with the whole baby thing.  She is willing to entertain any crazy idea I have, hence the reason she has a fanny pack style contraption making various heartbeat sounds strapped to her belly twice a day.

And she's been willing to be an actor's wife for twelve years.  That, in itself, deserves an award.

We have needs here...

I have not blogged in a little bit.  Feeling a little overwhelmed at the moment.  But there is one thing that has been bugging me.

I may be callous, but I'm feeling Haiti overload.  There are American's here who have no jobs, are homeless, children who will go to bed hungry tonight, people with serious diseases who have no access to health care, a government and politicians who are more interested in keeping score and winning some arbitrary numbers game - and there's a telethon on almost every single channel for Haiti.  They need help, sure, but there's no telethon with celebrities for people without health care, or to raise the billions that are being cut from American education budgets, or to help people who have lost their jobs.  We're being asked to give money.  What money?  We don't have any.  I can't look past the man sitting next to me, who rides the subway to stay out of a blizzard, and give what little I have to aid earthquake victims on an island thousands of miles away.

Give if you can, but please don't forget those aid organizations who are working just as hard to help the people in your neighborhood or city.  Their need is no less great.

Get here already!

I've been having a lot of fun with my wife's belly.  It hasn't been as much fun for her, but it's been a gas for me!

He's stretching.  A lot.  I saw a foot.  It's crazy.  Her entire stomach moves.

He stretches and is moving a lot lately and it's causing her a lot of pain.  I never thought of it, but when he kicks, he's kicking organs.  He stretches and he pushes on muscle and skin.  It's a tough gig carrying a kid. 

Several times my wife has said, "I wish you could just take him for a while."

I'm sure by around June, when she goes back to work and I rotate into stay-at-home dad mode, she'll be saying the opposite. 

I'll suddenly be the bad cop.  I get to be home doing all the poop clean up and chasing him around, keeping him from playing in the kitty litter or killing the cat and she can come home and bathe him, play with him, read to him - as I try to find an adult to talk to... to have an actual conversation longer than five words.  She'll be the good cop.

And I think that's okay. 

We're just ready for him to get here.

nesting

I'm knee deep in paint.  Re-painting our front room (a big dark blue wall was not a good idea in a light starved room), painting the kid's room, choosing colors, trekking to Home Depot, then waiting in line for paint, forgetting my wallet, trekking back in the cold, getting it, back to Home Depot, getting my paint, putting up color samples in 2x2 squares, rethinking our color schemes, trekking back to Home Depot, avoiding getting hit by a car, scrubbing the paint from my brushes... why won't it all come off...? 

The trick is to nest, paint and have the apartment clean before Angie comes home so she can relax and rest while I make dinner and brownies.

I kind of love it.

Yesterday we spent two hours looking at strollers.  Three of them.  We narrowed it down to three of them.  Two hours.  And we still don't know.  Each had a flaw.  Maybe we're too picky.  Who knows.

But the nesting is rather fun.

Home again, home again...

We're back.  After a much needed vacation, we're back.  I could use this post to write a screed about AirTran and their shoddy customer service, but I won't.  Instead, allow me to wish all of you a healthy and happy 2010 and to recap what I learned over the holiday.

First I learned that I love show shoeing.  The solitude suits me.  I also found out that no matter what happens or where I live, the mountains call to me.  There is something appealing to living in the granite embrace of the Rockies.  I would like for my child to experience that one day.

I would like to climb a fourteener.  (A peak above 14,000 feet.)  I think I may have passed my window on that one, but I'm sure my brother would be game for taking me and teaching me the ropes, so to speak. 

I would like my son to do it, or at least aspire to it. 

I learned that I still love to drive long mountain passes to loud music.  My wife doesn't mind it and apparently, from how much he kicked, my child likes it, too.

I learned that I really miss my family.  Both my own and my wife's.  Family is important.  I always say the most interesting stories are about the families we create, but the ones we're born into are pretty amazing.

I learned that an xbox 360 should be played in moderation...   just like wine, good beer and my mom's cooking...  An overdose of any of them will make me tired, drunk and very, very heavy.  (I reeeeeeally like my mother's cooking.  Where do you think I learned.)

I learned that making fresh pasta with my father is a gas.  Since it was our first time, you can imagine we were a little clumsy, but it worked out. 

I learned that even at six months pregnant, my wife still looks pretty hot in her show shoeing outfit - borrowed boots and parka and all. 

I learned that cats communicate better and with more complexity than we know.  Ours was upset, then disturbed, then demanded an explanation, then purred in a way I have never heard before.  All of this after we came home from two weeks away.  Thank you Vincent for taking great care of her.  I learned that you are a true friend.

I learned that the BCS is truly a disaster.  I think I already knew that.

I learned that there is nothing as spectacular as the first view of NYC from 25,000 feet.

I learned that there is no shortage of books on parenting...  I think I now own them all.  They do make wonderful Christmas gifts. 

I learned that my family really keeps secrets well.  Especially when it involves a surprise baby shower.

I learned that babies need a lot of stuff.  Stuff I'm still working on assembling.

I learned that in the end, my life is not about what I do, what I own... It's perfect with my wife next to me, head on my shoulder, our child growing inside her belly, kicking and stretching.

For 2010, we've got big things coming.   First up, PCP's Welcome Mat, then a new play to finish, scripts to write, perhaps my final performance on stage before taking a brief hiatus to enjoy the arrival of our first child in April.  

Then... who knows, but it'll be perfect.

Snowed in, tracking packages and being upset about it solves nothing.

We have been looking forward to taking our holiday vacation to Colorado to visit both my wife's family and my family.  With Angie pregnant, it's important to us that they are involved and this year will be the first year we will be with our entire family, both sides.

However...

The airlines had other ideas.  AirTran, the airline with hands down the worst customer service phone system in the world, decided to preemptively cancel all fights leaving Sunday, December 20 and Monday, December 21.  Our flight was canceled on Saturday the 19th.  We, fortunately, booked through Orbitz.  They informed us.  AirTran did not.  

(BTW, ORBITZ IS AWESOME!  They tried to help us right away, looking for alternate flights, but AirTran locked them out of their system, making them unable to look at flights or access refund information...  Big ups to Ahmed at Orbitz... the only superstar in this entire story.)

Back to our tale.  We sprang to action.  We immediately started calling AirTran.

AirTran's phone system is set to run you around several automated prompts and then they hang up.

I know this because that is what I dealt with for almost two hours, redialing over and over.

My wife was doing the same.

When we finally did reach someone he told us the only option we had was to reschedule the flight.  When prompted, he admitted that he could give us a refund.  We considered paying for a flight with another airline, but it did not guarantee we'd leave Sunday.

My wife and I come from a snow culture.  I hope one day my son will be able to live out there, to experience it.  Utah has the most beautiful snow and you can smell a big storm.  We didn't smell a big storm.  We knew flights would go out and this would be considered a huge fizzle.

We rescheduled for Tuesday, since AirTran decided to cancel, not only Sunday's flights, but Monday's flights as well.

The next morning, when our flight was supposed to be taking off... there were flights taking off.

Of course there were!  Our sidewalks were clear (our super had shoveled them earlier) and the streets were dry.  There were piles of snow from snow plows and there was about 6 inches of fluffy snow on the cars.

Flights were leaving both Laguardia Airport and JFK.

We began calling AirTran again, to see if we could get out Monday.

Again, with two phones calling, it took us two hours each to finally be put on hold.  Two hours of a phone system designed to simply hang up on you.

DO NOT FLY AIRTRAN.  That's my advice, in case you didn't catch it.

I was the first one on hold.  My wife was put on hold about five minutes later.

Her call was picked up first.  So much for "in the order of your call."

When we finally got a human being, after two and a half hours, that human being said, "You should have called earlier."  (It was 11 in the morning.  We'd started calling at 8:30 a.m.)

She said it was our fault for not getting an earlier flight when we called the day before...  when the earlier flights were all canceled.

I know... the logic is dizzying.

We explained that we had a Tuesday flight already but were looking to depart on Monday.  She said she could get us on a flight...  Wednesday.

Why in the hell would we want a Wednesday flight if we already have a flight Tuesday?  Either this woman is a complete moron or she's just being a bitch.  We figured it was the latter.

This seems to be a trend.  The corporation can tell the individual to "get bent."   Their employees have been empowered, not to help you, not to solve your issue, but to tell say, "screw you, what are you gonna do about it?" 

We have no recourse but to blog about it, write a letter that will get read and then tossed in the trash.  We are essentially powerless.

Need another example?  I had a package sent to me via UPS.  It was my wife's Christmas present.  I tracked that thing for days.  Suddenly the tracking site says it was delivered.

I did not receive it.

I live on the first floor.  Right next to the door.  I can hear him put his finger on the buzzer, which is not quiet...

I did not get a buzz, I did not have a package, here was no package left for me, there was no note or delivery notice from UPS.  Nothing.

Online, there was a notation that the package was left at the side door.

I don't have a side door.  I live in an apartment building.  We are connected to twenty other buildings.  A side door would be the front door of the bodega down the street.

And I was home!  Why wouldn't you just buzz me or knock?

I asked the neighbors next door... no one had dropped anything off.

I called UPS.

Their answer?

"Sorry.  We did our job.  We delivered it."

Yes....  TO THE WRONG PLACE!

I was told I had to call the company from which I ordered the item.  They would contact UPS to do a trace, then they would start an investigation which could take months.

Why not just ask the driver?  That would be far too simple and UPS really doesn't care.  As long as the package get's delivered... somewhere.

So, I went through the trouble of contacting the store, putting a trace on the package, reordering the item so they could send me a new one, getting a refund on the first one - it was a pain.

An hour later, a neighbor from upstairs on the second floor came down...  with my package.

On the front it had our address and the apartment number:  1L.  Written underneath - "delivered to 2R."

Why?  Who knows.  He never even came to 1L.  Why not put a note that says, "left at 2r"?  Because he doesn't have to.  He could have tossed it at the building as he drove by and that'd be okay.  Why?

He's backed by a corporation.  As long as he delivers it, the rest is not his problem.

In the eighties, The Supreme Court gave corporations the right of person-hood.  A corporation has the same civil rights as a person.  I don't agree with it, it's been the subject of much debate and pointed to as the cause for many problems, but what are you gonna do?  It's like fighting a giant... and you're a gnat.

So, AirTran or UPS, or any corporation for that matter, was granted the rights of a person...  But I don't think that necessarily gives them the right to act like assholes. That's always been the sole consolation for our lack of real power... We could always have our righteous indignation, we could be very nice and then, be upset because, doggone it, we still matter!  It was our only way of standing up to the man.  a single finger raised high (you choose the finger) and a string of words strung together colorfully.  This "person," still in its infancy, would apologize, help you reschedule your flight and give you vouchers for a flight anywhere.  This "person" would say, "We're so sorry, Mr. VanDijk, let's find that package for you."  That's what I would do.  That's how I was raised. 

This "person" has grown up and now knows that we individuals have no real power against the rising tide of corporate indifference.

Heaven help us all.

We are NOT those parents... I swear.

We are NOT those parents who are applying to schools before our child is born.

We are NOT.

We are NOT those parents who are pushing our child to read by four months, to speak four languages by three. We are NOT.

We are NOT those parents who have already enrolled this unborn child in basketball camp. Or baseball camp. Or soccer camp.  Or football camp.

We DID buy a babyplus system... We want him to self soothe, be active and alert at an early age... the fact that children who are exposed to the babyplus curriculum do read earlier and develop language skills early have nothing to do with it...  swear.   (the fact that a five month old fetus is on a curriculum is NOT strange.  Seriously.  Because we are NOT those parents.)

We ARE playing him a mix of Mozart, Beethoven (Ludwig Van!!!!), The Beatles, Miles Davis, Celtic Music, Django Reinhardt, Indonesian traditional music, and flamenco guitar...  We have our bases covered.  I really wanted to put together some Led Zepplin and Van Halen... but I was vetoed.  Because we are definitely NOT those parents.

We've put this music together and purchased huge headphones to place on Angie's belly, not because of the benefits of music to a fetus' brain development but because we'd like to bond with the baby... I mean, it's something we do... sit around and listen to Beethoven and traditional Indonesian music... it's part of my Dutch-Indonesian heritage...

Seriously.

We are NOT those parents.

Stay at home dads

I've been reading a lot about being an expectant dad and there's lots of information out there about what to do once your baby is born.  Much of it is from the woman's perspective - what to do as a new mom.  For stay at home dads it's sort of been - "Do the same... only without the breast feeding."

Stay at home dads come from all walks of life. Many worked corporate jobs, I've known some who were grad students, professors, recently unemployed, artists... I'd fall into the latter category. I was not downsized. We do not have a traditional two income household and my wife definitely makes more money that I do.

I'm an actor.

My writing partner will tell you I'm a writer. I am. It's becoming more and more what I do. But that's mostly because of a stubborn persistence in making my own work. I have recently made the decision that I am finished with the bullshit involved in acting in New York. I do not kiss enough ass, nor, apparently, do I kiss the right asses.   I am finished with dealing with the gatekeepers to this work, to which I have dedicated my life, who treat actors like they are stupid.  Those rare champions of actors (you know who you are) have made working in this town a joy.  But I am finished with getting my hopes up during final call backs to have a movie actor walk in and take a job. I am finished with pleading with self important pricks half my age, attempting to prove to them that I am worthy of their representation. My time and my talent are far to important. I will do it, stubbornly, on my own.  (I said I was done with the bullshit, not with acting.)

Because I'm an actor.  Persistence defines who we are. 

My wife and I had this exact conversation - the one many artist have when they bemoan their career choice and wish they had gone into finance or some soul-less yet lucrative career or that I hadn't taken her up on her offer to drop out and join the peace corps before starting a family.  Something meaningful.

My wife said, "You're going to be raising a child.  What could be more meaningful?"

In the end, you can't take any of this with you.  None of it.  The paycheck, the swimming pool, the big house.  In the end what you leave behind are the lessons you share - the things you teach your children and the people they become.

Actor...  Writer...   The occupation I'll be most proud of is Dad.

Here's where I give a shameless plug to a friend's book.  A fellow stay at home dad.

Joe Schatz from Dad Blogs has a new book out.  It's not a how-to.  There are plenty of those.  This one is nine years of "things I've learned as a stay at home dad."  I'll be reading it.  The title alone is worth the price of the book.

Go support one of my fellow stay at home dads.

post often...

I've been breaking the first rule of blogging:  post often.

If my life were that interesting, trust me, I would post every day. 

It's not.

I did learn a new rule today.  Don't ever ask a pregnant woman if she's sure she isn't having twins.  If she were, she'd tell you.  This question came from a woman who probably thought she was being cute.  She wasn't.

I'm married to a woman who has gone from a size 4 to a 2 to a zero.  (much of this has to do with the new sizing system in America... It's more about making a woman who is a size 12 feel better about herself by saying she's really an 8 - not about my wife shrinking). 

That said, my wife is just small.  She's petite. 

And she works out.  She's on the ball every morning, doing her yoga, slinging my kettlebell around, trying out my TRX... I see her.  She's in great shape.  From behind, you wouldn't know she's five months pregnant. 

She is. 

Pregnancy is traumatic.  Your body goes from this fit machine to suddenly looking like you've swallowed a pumpkin... whole.   Everyone is staring at you.  She feels self conscious.  She's fragile.  There is a tiny creature inside her that wakes her in the middle of the night, moves around when she least expect it.  It's a strange thing. 

It's beautiful.

So don't make stupid comments that you find cute.  They aren't.  

Tiger, Tiger burning bright, driving your car into a tree at night.

(This is part of the Dad-Bloggers project)

9 Irons, and Tigers and car wrecks - Oh, my. 

Through out this entire epic saga I have been asking myself the same question:  "Whose business is it, anyway?"  I would hate my personal life to be played out in front of the world. 

I'm sure there are many of you who say, "He's a public figure and therefore..."

No.  His job is one which involves us as spectators.  He is paid a great deal for doing his job in front of a very critical/adoring public.  When he goes home, he goes home.  It should be the same for all of us.  We don't follow a clerk home from the store, our dentist, our priest... 

There are women in bikini's now standing on the road with signs for Tiger.  "Tiger!  I'll be your mistress!"  What do these bimbo's want?  For him to pull over for a quickie? 

He still has a family and whatever decisions lead to him cheating are known only to him.  What they do now is also known only the he and his wife.  As a husband and a father to be, I would hate the kind of scrutiny they are getting. 

None of us are perfect, though some scream and pontificate as if they are.  This scenario would never play itself out on the evening news for a ninety-nine percent of us.  Let's give them the same opportunity.

It's time we stopped goose-necking and left them alone.

Odd Wifely behavior.

My wife hums when she's asleep. 

This is new but it does not seem to be cause for alarm.  She just hums.  It's never really a song I recognize.  She hums a little tune to herself and the baby. 

She's been having such a difficult time sleeping so rather than wake her I just let her do it.  She's always been able to sleep through anything.  Not this.  This is an entirely new thing. 

I have passed my insomnia on to her. 

However, when she does sleep... she hums.

Flutters!

We're in the middle of the really cool part of the pregnancy - lots of firsts.  We've just had our first flutters.  Angie feels these little flutters and she grabs my hand and suddenly I'm feeling our baby doing kicks and dancing around.

He apparently likes Irish dulcimer music.  At least that was what he was dancing to most in the 42nd Street Subway Station.   He went crazy.

Angie said it's like she feels a sloshing - like a swimmer doing a kick turn.

I've been reading Daddy books.  Part of the reason for doing this blog has been to possibly collect thoughts and ideas for a book from the perspective of a first time Dad who is going to be a stay at home father.  Unfortunately all the books so far, despite being informative, give advice to Dad's who are obviously going to be in the workforce five days a week.  There's lots of advice on how to bond during the first few months, after you get home from work, kick off your shoes and wait for dinner... 

I'm going to be the stay at home and my wife will be the 9-5'er.  We've been talking about the schedule we'll set up when she returns to work from maternity leave.  We're working on making sure she has that time, but what about the father who is at home all day? 

There are lots of us.  There are even places that cater to us, like Dadgear.com, the coolest dad bags ever...  (shameless plug... please give me a free bag...!)

Perhaps I'll have to write the book.

The Boy's Club

People have strong feelings about finding out the sex of their child before it's born.  Some feel it's one of the few surprises in life.  We didn't need that surprise.

We found out we're having a boy.  I know these things can be wrong, but we got a pretty good view during the full body scan at the Fetal Evaluation Unit at Roosevelt Hospital.  Boy.

In fact, on the print out of the scan, right next to my son's schpoondle, is the word BOY.  The doctor typed it in, just in case we weren't sure what was in that photo.

I know Angie is excited.  Five months of calling this child "she" are morphing into calling him "he."  I'm glad we found out.  I've heard of women who have a hard time after nine months convinced it's one sex then giving birth to another.  It's not that they don't love the child, but that their expectation was so different.  Angie only took a day to truly wrap her head around it.

Then she said something that nearly broke my heart.

"Just don't let it become the boy's club, okay?"

I never thought of us having a boy suddenly making her the odd man out... or odd woman out, as the case may be.  In fact, I never thought of any kind of exclusion because of the child's sex.  (I will be praying for a girl next time.  Balance.) 

I do understand her feelings. 

I'll be at home with my son most of the time.  After Angie does the heavy lifting of the pregnancy, I'll get to do all the fun stuff with him and she'll be the "girl" of the group.  None of this occurred to me because I was raised, like most people our age, with my mother at home.  When I was older, my mother worked but I'd do homework in the kitchen, helping her cook - only because my dad's office at home was boring and he'd be working on things that didn't interest me:  most involving math.

I hate math.

But my mother's kitchen interested me and that's where I was.  We spent time there.  My father and I spent time naturally, because as men, we do have common interests.  He'd take me to soccer and basketball, coach little league, take me fishing.  But my mother and I had time.  There was a balance.

I don't want her to feel left out.  She will be reading him all the classics, The Swiss Family Robinson, Huck Finn...  she gets home, it's their time.  We'll play catch during the day, and I'll teach him how to run a fade route and play defense in the post - Angie will teach him to be centered in the evening, doing her yoga with him playing on her mat, teaching him to love language, art, music and dance.

Food is my area.  He'll be shaping baguettes by the time he's 3.  

Time.  I will have the gift of time with my son.  But my new goal is balance.   I want to make sure she has plenty of time alone with him.  There's no reason there can't be a girl in the boy's club.

Criminitny it's been a while.

Sorry for the amount of time that has passed, faithful reader.  (Mom)

I've been swamped with another writing assignment.  Our first pass at the latest screenplay is finished.  Thank you to everybody who read it, did our reading and put up with us during the two weeks of intense work... I've gained a good 10 pounds from doughnuts, coffee, croissants and apple pie.  (most places make you eat or drink to use their free wi-fi, I drink way too much coffee when we're working and I need to do something with my hands in the down time... hence the pie...)  Anywho... DONE!  All that's left is to wait for notes and begin re-writes!

I have been contemplating my impending new life as a stay at home dad.  There is going to be ample time to continue writing and I am excited that this new phase of my life is about to begin.  I have my writing space set up and it's a cozy place just off the baby's room.  Perfect.  Not to mention, I'm blocks from a cafe that is extremely stroller friendly so I can sit with all the moms and work.

I realized I had fully embraced this whole child rearing thing when I wrote a character who often has a baby sling on or kids running around.  It's the part that I wrote ostensibly for myself.  A part that I'd love to play.  As such, it became a reflection of how I see myself and how I see my life evolving.  I am a big brother, a goofball, passionate, easy going...  I will be a cool dad.  Not "skinny jeans" cool, but rather "strap goggles on my kids when I serve them pancakes because syrup is going to go everywhere" cool.  I will be the guy who has on a baby sling during a game of touch football and doesn't see anything wrong with it.  It's touch football!  What's the worst that could happen?  This world I was co-creating on the page was the world I was envisioning for myself, not just to do it on screen, but actually living it.

My writing partner, the brilliant Ambarish Manepalli - newly minted holder of a French visa... congrats! - let me indulge in this little fantasy.  He actually fed it.  He pushed me to find those moments when the character does "Chris dad stuff."

Looking at this first draft, it's incomplete, but pretty close, which is perfect.

But... We HAVE Health Insurance...

My wife is getting the run around.  For an ultrasound.

It's a long story but the insurance company has denied the claim, then approved the claim, then denied it, then said it's pending, then paid it, then said it's denied and now pending again.

No one seems to know what is happening.

And we have great insurance.

We need a serious change.  The public option for a small number is not enough.  The status quo is unacceptable.  My wife said, "I don't understand how we have a public education system that basically says we have found a way for every child in the U.S. to have an education...  but we can't figure out how to get everyone health coverage."

Health care is a right.  It should not be a for profit business that gives incentives to deny you care... Care you and your employer pay for.  Care that is there to make you better, but is more interested in keeping you sick. 

We have insurance and we're still nervous.

An Only Child

It's very early, I know, but I have been thinking about how this first child will be, for a while, an only child and whether it might be forever.  I'm not sure, yet.  I know it's early.  My wife said it was waaaay too early to be thinking about a second.  Maybe we could adopt.

(This was said during one of the peanut's hourly hot flashes that she lovingly shares with my wife.)

My in-laws were visiting this weekend and my father in-law was watching the family of feral cats that live behind my building.  The kittens were rolling around, playing, chasing each other.

My little cat, (okay, she's not so little...) sat on the couch.  Uninterested.

She's a little socially awkward.  She loves us and she curls up next to us, purring, all the time.  When I write, I will occasionally sit at my wife's desk next to the bed.  The cat will sit on the bed behind me, curling up so she is leaning against my back.  She's adorable.

She's also quite a bitch to anyone else who steps foot through our door.  She hisses, she swats, she growls, she hides, she bites.  She's not nice.

An opened front door is not an invitation for her to leave.  At one time she would skittishly approach the door and look out.  Now she does not.  She's uninterested.

I blame myself.  Angie and I never had people around in our little Salt Lake apartment.  The cat was never around people other than us.  She also was an only child.  She had no one to play with, or more importantly, to socialize with.  (If cat's socialize.)  And I treated her like she was a puppy for a while.  She was good at playing fetch.  But I also traumatized her, I think.  She's a cat, not a bulldog.

I don't want my child to be like that.  I know it may be a strange thing to think.  I'm pretty sure my child will be just fine, even if an only child.  But still, I think about it.

I want my child to be able to love, to play, to want to experience more of the world then exists within the walls of our apartment.

New Photos are up

There are a couple new photos up on my photo blog.  Click the link at the top.