Letter to Lilah

Few times in my life have emotions taken away my ability to fully articulate my feelings in one way or another. Most recently that way would be on paper. I seem to have found my inner ability to channel my thoughts and feelings onto paper which, for better or worse, will be able to remain indefinitely. Frozen in the time I authored them. Few times indeed. One of those times happens to be the birth of our first child, Lilah. As I’m writing this, she is currently four calendar months and three days old. Technically speaking, it’s been seventeen weeks, four days since her birth, but I believe such measurements of age are really only important to mothers. After the first four weeks, she became “months” old to me. I could never understand the weekly counting anyways. But I digress. This particular writing isn’t intended to focus on the ways we tell people how old our child is. The intention is to attempt to write about what I have been unable to so far. I don’t think it’s been hard for me to write about her birth due entirely to emotional reasons. It’s been more about undertaking a task that is larger than I feel I could complete in a way which I would be satisfied. The fear of not being able to fully explain the circumstances, events and feelings that all went on at the time. Many of the intricate details of her birth were lost before they had time to take residence in my memory, so while some of events of her birth may not be 100% accurate, you can have peace in the fact that I’m writing them as I best remember them. I suppose my drive to finally take on this project is the fact that she will undoubtedly read this at some point in her life. When Annie approached me about writing the story for and to Lilah, I was a bit hesitant. Multiple drafts of this finished work have been created, edited and rewritten. Whether or not she’ll be able to make sense of my ramblings is another issue. Hopefully she will reread this multiple times over her life and take something new away from it each time she does. For every story I write, I write with at least one particular reader in mind. The particular reader in mind for this story is Lilah. Please enjoy, daughter.

I can’t recall the exact day we found out, but I do remember feeling particularly comfortable in bed that morning. Perhaps I shouldn’t be caught up in the timing aspect of such things, but as I’ve learned, timing is everything. I’ve always had a bad habit of staying in bed until the last possible minute necessary to still get myself ready and make it to work on time. I remember hearing the bedroom door hastily being opened and Annie yelling “Jeff!” I was able to pry open one sleep sealed eye and make out the vague figure of Annie dressed in her bright pink bathrobe with a towel on her head. “I’m pregnant!” she exclaimed. At this, I sat up in bed, still trying to make my eyes open but not having much success. She came over and we shared a brief embrace, and just sat there on the bed. I remember Annie was shaking as we silently stared at the positive test. Slowly the weight of the new revelation began to sink in. I was going to be a dad. We were going to be parents. We were going to have a child. It’s impossible for me to put into words the vast range of feelings I was experiencing at the time. Excitement, joy, elation, none of them can fully describe what I was feeling. All day, my mind kept returning to thoughts of raising a child. I kept thinking how excited my parents would be to find out that they would finally have a grandchild in town, and how excited Annie’s parents would be to find out they would have their first grandchild. One of the hardest parts was not telling anyone our great news. We decided we wanted to wait until after Annie’s first doctor’s appointment before we told anyone. So the hardest part of those first few weeks was keeping this a secret from everyone (save for our immediate family, of course), and only being able to talk about it with each other.

We decided to tell our parents the day we found out. This was our chance to come up with creative ways of telling them. For Annie’s parents, we wanted to go with a “fishing” theme, so we purchased a kid’s size lifejacket that our child would be able to wear on fishing trips with his/her grandparents. We took the gift out to them, and got to experience their joy as they found out they would be receiving their first grandchild. Of course they were as thrilled to learn the news as we were to be able to tell them.

For my parents, we opted for a simple baby bib. We found one that stated “Grandma never says no”. I remember the timing must have been shortly after Mother’s Day, since I was touting this gift as a late Mother’s Day gift to my mom. When we arrived at their house, my mom was downstairs working out, so we visited with my dad for a short while. Soon she returned to the living room where we gave her the gift. She seemed overwhelmed by the news and began to cry. Again, we got to experience their joy and excitement as they found out we would be having a child.

It wasn’t until two days later that I learned while we were upstairs visiting with my dad on that day, my mom was fielding what was undoubtedly the toughest phone call of her life as my dad’s doctors explained there was nothing more they could do for my dad, and he didn’t have much time left. I know that it had to have been a complete rollercoaster of emotions for her that day, but I can’t help but think our news’ coincided in perfect timing for a reason.

Throughout Annie’s pregnancy, I made a personal vow to attend every doctor’s appointment she had. I wanted to be there to hear the heartbeat for the first time, and see the ultrasound picture of my child for the first time. I wanted to be there when we found out if we would be having a baby girl or a baby boy, and I was. I remember getting to see that first ultrasound picture, and the technician pointed out where the head, legs and arms were. We even got to see the heart beating. She then asked us if we wanted to know the gender, which we did. That’s when we learned we would be having a little girl. From then on, I found myself continually thinking about all the things me and my daughter would be able to do together. From playing soccer out in the yard to working on the Camaro together in the garage (that’s right, just because she’s a girl doesn’t mean she needs to only play with Barbie dolls!).

Shortly after that appointment, we got to work on the nursery. We decided to turn our old “office” into a nursery. We cleaned it out and painted it. I’ll have to say, that was one chore that I dragged out as long as possible. I hate painting, and I’m not very good at it. Couple that with a wife that decided to change colors on me after I already started, the room took the better part of a month to paint. Annie was great about being patient with me throughout that, however. The due date was fast approaching, and I knew she had to be worried the nursery would never be done in time. I just like to cut things close, that’s all. After the room was painted, I put together the furniture, and we decorated the walls with collector Disney plates Annie’s grandmother had given her. The only thing missing from that room was our daughter, but the time was near.
Not long after we found out we would be having a girl, we decided on a name. We wanted to go with something fairly unique and something a bit old fashioned. There were multiple names we liked, but a lot of them were becoming more and more popular. We finally settled on Lilah Grace Honea (what we thought at the time would be a unique spelling of Lila). Her middle name was something that just fit so well, and it also happened to be my grandmother’s middle name. That was really only a bonus, as we didn’t set out to specifically name her after anyone.

In our typical style of keeping suspense alive and well with the pregnancy, we decided we would keep our daughter’s name a secret from everyone. Our friends Rob and Lily had done this with their child, and we loved the idea. There were a few different reasons for keeping the name to ourselves. First; we didn’t want someone to decide to undercut us and use our name before we could. It sounds silly, but it’s happened! Second; we didn’t want anyone inserting their opinions. It’s quite possible someone might not care for the name, and not everyone has the best poker face. That would lead us to second guessing, and one more added stress that we didn’t want, nor need. Third; the surprise element made it fun for everyone around us. Sure, we got badgered non-stop for a good 6 months, but it was generally fun for everyone. We found ourselves referring to her as “the baby”, even when we were at home alone. We wouldn’t even say her name to each other so we wouldn’t be in the habit and accidentally slip up in front of our friends or family. I’ll have to say, it felt a little weird to actually refer to her as Lilah when she was finally born! It just felt funny to say the name out loud.

Annie’s pregnancy seemed to go very well overall. I am a bit reluctant to brag about how easy of a pregnancy it was, due simply to the fact that I wasn’t the one experiencing it. She didn’t seem to have the morning illness effects, nor did she complain about much pain or discomfort, even into the later months. We stayed moderately active and even went on a trip to Hawaii when she was 6 months along. She did well to watch what she ate, and she researched everything an expectant mother should know about caring for her unborn child. As the father of that unborn child, I couldn’t be prouder of her.

Finally, after 9 months of waiting and planning…we found out we would be waiting just a little bit longer. Annie’s due date came and went. We went to the doctor for another checkup, and he decided he would set a date to induce her in 5 days. That would put Annie a week and a half overdue, but at least we would have a definite date; February 3rd. After the check-up, we decided we would continue to try all the wives tales in the book to send Annie into the throes of labor before our scheduled induction date.

On Sunday, January 31st, we continued our normal routine of waiting the pregnancy out. Annie even took a trip to her parent’s house to soak in the hot tub for a little while. All night she continued to have minor pains that she attributed to “Braxton Hicks” contractions. She seemed to power through those without much complaint. She went to bed that night, and I stayed up. I could tell she wasn’t very comfortable, because she kept getting up and alternating between baths and showers. I decided to try to get a little bit of sleep while she tried to keep herself comfortable in the bath. Before long, I woke up to her lying beside me in quite a bit of pain. She said the pains kept getting closer together, and growing in intensity. I asked if she thought she wanted to go to the hospital, and at first she declined. By the next wave of pains, she decided it might be a good idea. We got dressed, and got everything ready. I loaded up the suitcase and baby car seat, started the car and went back inside to collect Annie. When I returned inside, I found her on her knees with her head on the floor and rocking back and forth. I was pretty confident that this was the real deal. I let her ride out the current contraction, then we were out the door.

On the short trip up to the hospital, my mind was racing. I was skeptically hopeful that this would be the time. I was trying to stay as calm as possible, if not for Annie, for myself. I was a wreck inside, but there wasn’t any way I was about to show it. I must say, I’m a bit hazy as to the time we actually arrived at the hospital, but I am thinking it was around 4:00 a.m. As soon as we pulled into the hospital parking lot, Annie promptly exited the vehicle. The pain was so intense, it actually made her physically sick. Again we waited out the current wave of contractions, and continued inside through the Emergency Room entrance. On the way into the hospital, I assured Annie that we would not be leaving without our daughter in our arms. I know she was a bit worried that they would tell us to go back home until she was further along, but I was fairly confident she was ready to have the baby.

Once we got checked in, we were quickly led to a birthing room. The hospital staff was wonderful, and very attentive. Within minutes of our arrival, Annie was dressed in one of those jaunty hospital gowns and hooked up to machines. The nurse on duty at the time made a comment about the possibility of having to send us home due to a lack of space. That was, of course, until she checked how far along Annie was. She told Annie “You’re at a 5 (cm dilated). You’re not going anywhere”. To which Annie replied (and I’m quoting here) “I love you!” She then requested an epidural. Through the whole pregnancy, I never knew what the “glowing” a pregnant woman was supposed to show was all about. I suppose she could have been glowing for the past 8 months, but then again I’m not a very perceptive person. I can honestly say that after the nurse reported how far along she was, there was a noticeable glow about her. Perhaps it was the first time in the last few days I actually saw her look relieved, relaxed and genuinely happy. Whatever the reason, we were both extremely happy to hear our daughter would be here shortly.

After they got Annie hooked up to an IV, things started to slow down a bit. We each made our phone calls to notify our family what was going on. I remember just finally being able to relax a little bit. Everything had happened so fast, and now that we were here, it all came to a screeching halt. I remember sitting there at the time watching the clock. It seemed like an eternity of waiting, but at the same time, it seemed to be happening so fast. I know that’s a contradiction, but it’s the only way I can think to explain it. Our families arrived and visited in the birthing room for a while. We were glad our immediate family members would be there to share our special day with us. I also think it helped Annie to relax and take her mind off things for a little while. I’m not sure when the anesthesiologist arrived to administer the epidural, but I can remember Annie affectionately telling this man she loved him as well. Boy, she was just full of love today. I thought “This bodes well for me when it’s show time”.

Our initial nurse was replaced at shift change with another nurse, Cheryl. She was about as wonderful a person as we could have hoped for. She appeared a seasoned veteran in the field of labor, and her mere presence put us both at ease. Her calm demeanor, her confident manner; it was more than we expected and a true blessing. Teamed up with our doctor, Dr. Bratz, I can truly say we had the best possible care available.

Around 1:15, our nurse decided it was time to start pushing. I was amazed at how the relaxing birthing room soon transformed into center stage on Broadway. The dim ambient lighting gave way to a bright spotlight focused on what would be the center of attention. The once moderately comfortable looking bed was broken down into what looked like a big chair with stirrups. The spacious seating area was now occupied by various carts with neatly positioned medical equipment, drapes, and blankets. I was by standing by Annie’s side at the time, holding her hand and occasionally mopping up her sweaty forehead with a damp washcloth. Our nurse Cheryl took charge of the situation, and gave clear but direct instructions. I was to hold Annie’s left leg, and let her push against my shoulder for leverage. I was then given the task of counting out loud for Annie to push in 10 second intervals.

The entire process was more of a contradiction than that mentioned earlier. I was happy and excited, but in pain and agony. I hated to see my beautiful bride in so much pain, but I knew the end result would be a miracle larger than anything I’ve ever witnessed. I kept telling her how wonderful she was doing, and how strong she is. I kept repeating the same things over and over, knowing it was probably getting on her nerves, but not wanting her to confidence to falter, even for a second. I think I may have even been “shushed” a time or two, but I was unaffected. I wasn’t going to relent, and I knew I couldn’t. After another session of pushing, I heard our nurse say “I see hair. Look dad, there’s hair”. I looked down, and sure enough, for the first time I got to see my daughter. I saw a patch of dark hair showing through, and felt my heart jump into my throat. If it wasn’t real before, things suddenly got a whole lot more real, and quick. After a short while of pushing and with perfect timing, Dr. Bratz entered the room, and took a seat in the middle of the action. I continued to do my job, and let him do his. Dr. Bratz would update us on the progress in his usual calm, cool manner. A couple pushes later, I watched as our daughter’s head emerged into daylight for the first time. I watched as Dr. Bratz suctioned out her nose and mouth, and heard those first beautiful cries. I looked up and told Annie “She’s beautiful! You’re almost done! You’re doing it!” Another round of pushes, and I witnessed the most amazing thing in my life, as Lilah fully emerged. I couldn’t hold back the tears of joy as they cleaned her off. I was given the scissors and got to cut the umbilical cord. She was wrapped in a blanket and promptly placed into Annie’s arms. I was still overcome with joy, and just looked on as the two loves of my life got to know each other. Lilah was born the picture of perfection, and the most beautiful baby I’d ever seen. After a short period of acquaintance, they took Lilah and placed her on the warming bed to clean her up. I remember seeing those large, alert dark eyes taking in the scenery of her new world for the first time.

The first time I held Lilah in my arms, I could do nothing but stare at her beautiful face and marvel at the miracle that just took place. I was finally a proud father, and I knew that looking on from beyond was another proud father; her grandpa Honea. I would be lying if I said the day wasn’t just a little bittersweet. I sure wished my dad could have been there, but I felt good in knowing he was there with me in my heart. That’s what kept my spirits positive and allowed me to fully enjoy the wonder of this perfect day.

The events immediately following Lilah’s birth were pretty ordinary. Our families got to meet her for the first time, and we got to spend our first night with her. I remember not getting much sleep that night, but that fact was due mostly to the night nurses who seemed unable to allow us even a little bit of privacy or peace. After we returned home with our new bundle of joy, things got progressively easier.

At the time of this writing, Lilah is changing every day, and developing a personality of her own. It shouldn’t come as much of a surprise that she seems to be emerging as somewhat of a comedian. She seems to enjoy performing for us, and will usually give us one of those sly grins afterward as if to mark a punch line. It’s all in the timing.

Our Honeymoon Adventure

Due to our original shared blog falling by the wayside, I’ve decided re-post one of my very first posts. After almost 3 years, I still come back and relive the experience we had with our honeymoon trip, and it brings a smile to my face each time. I’ve left the entire story intact as was originally posted (complete with typos and grammatical errors). Please enjoy.

The following is a true story. It has been told the way it actually happened.

This is not intended to sound negative, or take away from my overall experience which was simply amazing. I merely wanted to share my story of the adventure we endured attempting to enjoy our long awaited honeymoon. Besides, you couldn't even make this stuff up. As some of you may know, Annie and I got married on June 16th, and planned a honeymoon to Jamaica. From here, our story begins…

June 17th – One day wed and anticipating our honeymoon in a tropical location.

Of course, neither of us had ever been anywhere exotic. We had our passports, we were packed, we were ready. Following a storybook, dream-like, picture perfect wedding, we just knew Jamaica would be the same. After saying goodbye to all of our families, we were off. Our great friend Sarah agreed to take us to Reno, drop us off, and come pick us up when we returned on Saturday. This was a tremendous help to us because we didn't want to have to pay for airport parking. Our flight was scheduled for 7:56 p.m. and we arrived in Reno around 4:30. We had plenty of time to grab a few last minute items at Wal-Mart, and a bite to eat at the Olive Garden before we had to be at the airport. We arrived at the airport around 6:45 and got checked in. Everything was going perfect. Our flight was slightly delayed, so by the time we boarded and pushed away from the gate, it was close to 8:30. I wasn't worried however, because the flight to LAX only takes about an hour and fifteen minutes, and we didn't have to catch Air Jamaica till 10:47.

Now this is where the story starts getting interesting. We board the Delta plane, and I immediately notice this is not like any plane I've flown before. On my right, there is a row of single seats. On my left, there is a row of double seats. I become a little concerned because I think I've seen a plane much like this in the Buddy Holly movie. No problem though, as long as we make it to LAX. Finally the plane takes off and we start taxiing to the runway. I didn't notice anything unusual until after about 5 minutes we were still taxiing. I looked over to Annie and told her "we're just gonna drive there". Still in good spirits, we had a little laugh over it. Finally after what seemed like forever, we were in the air. I looked down at my watch and noticed it was 8:45. The flight went well, and the pilot was able to shave off a little bit of time in the air (or so he said). When we landed in LAX it was about 5 minutes till 10:00. I'm a little concerned that we will be cutting it close having never flown internationally and not knowing what to expect. The good thing is that our bags will be transferred, so we won't have to check any luggage. As soon as we land the pilot comes on the speakers and informs us that the gates are all full, therefore we must taxi and park in the hangar, then take a bus over to the delta terminal. Now I'm worried. We taxi for a long time again, and by the time we come to a stop, it is 10:15. Our next flight leaves in about 30 minutes. When we finally come to a stop, the pilot again comes on the speakers and tells us that there are two other planes in the same situation as us, so as soon as they get them unloaded and taken to the terminal, they will offload us. There is nothing we can do but sit there at this point. Finally it comes our turn to unload, and get on the bus. It's about 25 after 10 by now, and we are very worried. Everyone loads up on the bus, and we take the ride over to the terminal. Now, I must say, I had no idea where we were supposed to go, but we were running anyways. By a stroke of luck, we took a correct turn and ended up in front of the Air Jamaica desk. It is now 35 after 10, and our plane leaves in 10 minutes. I quickly found a Delta representative and asked him where we check in for Air Jamaica.

This…guy…ugh. He looks at me, and says I'm sorry, they closed the desk for check in, the plane is about to leave. He gives me a sort of chuckle and turns around. I say "wait no, you don't understand, our plane was delayed coming in from Reno, we just need to get on that plane, where do we go?" He states, "I'm sorry, there is nothing I can do, there is no one there to check you in". I'm doing everything I can not to punch this guy square in the nose at this point. I say "Please, we're on our way to Jamaica, it's our honeymoon, is there anyone you can call and let us go catch the plane?" He says no. I say "when does the next flight go out then, we'll catch that one." He tells me "It looks like you're going to have to wait till tomorrow. They only leave once each day at 10:47 p.m." He then turns around and prances off into the crowd.

Now…we have pre-paid for our 5 days at this resort. Now this joker is telling me that I'm going to miss an entire day. I look over at Annie, and I can tell she's trying her hardest not to break down right there. To tell the honest truth, so was I.

We just stood there at the empty check in desk trying to comprehend what just happened. We just missed a day of our honeymoon. We, of course, didn't purchase any type of trip insurance. The first thing I did was call up Expedia to see what my options were. I was put on hold, and my cell phone only had one bar left. I remained on hold until the inevitable happened…my phone died. We continued to stand there and I just stared at my watch. 10:50 p.m. That's when it hit me that we were stuck in L.A.

After just standing there for a while, the Delta representative found his way back over to me and informed me that someone would be over shortly to talk to us. I can't exactly remember what I said to him, but I'm sure it was something that would have gotten me scolded by my mother. Soon enough, a gentleman by the name of Terrance greeted us and listened to our story of what happened. I must say, he was a very courteous man, and seemed genuinely sympathetic to our problem. By the way, he happened to work for Delta, which surprised me since he was so helpful. He told us they would be able to provide us with a hotel room for the evening, as well as meal vouchers, and a flight out on the next available plane to Jamaica. Unfortunately this still leaves us a day short on our vacation. Whatever. I'm tired, cranky and starting to smell like a gym sock. Terrance directs us to the Delta Direct line where we are able to walk right up to a Delta rep. to get us a hotel voucher. It's sometime around 11:30 by this point.

This particular Delta rep. (I'm not sure of her name) was a little less helpful or sympathetic, however still fairly nice. Sometime in the middle of getting our hotel booked for the night it dawned on us. Our luggage… We checked it in Reno and it was supposed to transfer to Montego Bay Jamaica. I just knew that the luggage was somewhere over Texas now and we would be staying the night in Los Angeles without any fresh clothes. Can this get any worse? After receiving a voucher for a night in the Microtel Hotel and four $7.00 "meal" vouchers, Terrance comes back over to find us. He informs us that he found a flight out on Delta to Atlanta at 6:15 a.m. where we could catch a flight to Montego Bay and be there by around 6:00 p.m. This seemed much better than waiting till 10:47 p.m. so we took it. I can't say enough about Terrance for taking it upon himself to research this and find us a way there quicker. We would arrive on the same day we were scheduled to arrive, except instead of getting there a little after 6:00 a.m. we would get there around 6:00 p.m. We thanked him so much for this and collected our vouchers. The lady told us we would be able to catch the shuttle outside baggage claim. Great, now we're getting somewhere. We still don't have any luggage, so we asked if there was a way to find out if our bags made it on the plane or not. She directed us to the luggage office, so away we went.

We found our way down to the luggage office and was greeted by a very gruff, very apathetic Delta baggage Nazi. We told her our story, and she just looked at me as if I was speaking Japanese. I attempted again to explain why I was down there "bothering" her. She then reluctantly picked up the phone and made a call. I swear, I've seen this lady on the Maury Povich show doing one of those "my baby daddy" episodes. She just had that stereotypical L.A. attitude letting loose of a few special sounds best described like this: "pffffssshhh" While on the phone, a couple of the legible words I was able to catch her say to the man on the other end of the line were "purple bag?". I immediately said "YES, PURPLE, THAT'S MINE"

I'm going to stop here and say God bless Annie for registering for purple luggage, and God bless whoever supplied us with it. Of course I didn't care what color we got, and purple is her favorite color. I did have to give her a hard time when we first got it, but I couldn't be more happy with her choice.

Anyways, so they say they found a purple bag, and it would be sliding down that baggage ramp right now. I went to collect it, and only found that they had one. After I collected the bag, I went back to the office to tell the lady I still needed my other one. Again I endured a few more interesting noises from the "baby daddy lady" before she had her very sweet assistant look in the back. The lady promptly returned with a smile on her face and a purple bag in her hand. "Jeffrey Ho-nee-uh?" she asked? I said "Yes, Honea, that's mine. Thank you!" At least she seemed excited for me. I can't be certain but I thought I caught "baby daddy lady" roll her eyes and go back to whatever it is she was doing before I so rudely interrupted her.

Boy-oh-boy golly gee wiz this night sure is looking up! Now we just need to go catch our shuttle, get in the hotel and hopefully get a few hours of sleep. Remember, our flight leaves at 6:15, and by this time it's around 12:00. Off into the putrid L.A. night we venture to find the "Microtel Hotel" shuttle.

As we exit the baggage claim doors and look for the sign that tells us where to stand for our shuttle, I notice a flight must have just come in because it looks like an L.A. freeway just outside the door. There are cars, shuttles, taxis and limos zipping through the narrow corridor. I notice that the spot we are supposed to stand is across this road and on a concrete island. After standing next to a designated painted crosswalk for a minute or two and not having ANYONE even pretend to slow down, I take a daring step off the curb. On this road that is MAYBE 20 ft. wide, there are three lanes. I don't think there are supposed to be, but the drivers are using up every inch of roadway out there. I notice the lane closest to me, and the middle one stop as if to let me cross. I take this opportunity to start across. I do so with some haste, and notice almost too late that a taxi in the third lane is coming QUICK. I stop in my tracks and let him skid to a stop. The guy lays on his horn and continues to beep me a tune the whole time I'm crossing with my purple luggage. All I could do was give him a little wave and a sheepish smile like "my bad".

We reach the concrete island and stand among a host of others waiting for their shuttle. I keep looking and waiting, waiting and looking. "Microtel Hotel" I keep saying to Annie "stay on the lookout" I'm not sure how often shuttles come by for the hotels, but I DID notice a few hotels come by 2 or 3 times. After standing there for over 20 minutes, and re-acquiring that sinking feeling deep in my gut, I opted for us to just take a cab there. It couldn't be that far, and couldn't cost that much. Again we brave the freeway and hail a cab. As the cab driver is putting our purple luggage in the car, he asks where we're going. I tell him "Microtel Hotel". The foreign cabbie just looks at me. I show him our voucher where the lady was nice enough to highlight the words "Microtel Hotel". The cabbie then asks me the address. Of course I don't know the address, so I tell him this is all they gave me. At this point he reaches in and takes our purple luggage back out of the trunk and tells me I need to find an address. I just look at Annie with disbelief. She shakes her head and we re-enter the baggage claim area dejected.

I decide I'm going to go and look up the hotel at the pay phone while Annie uses the restroom. On my way over to the phones, I notice a supervisor looking lady I recognized from our earlier episode upstairs at the ticket counter. I briefly apprise her of the situation, and how I now need an address for the hotel I was comp'd because the cabbie has never heard of it. She tells me to go into the baggage claim office and ask the lady there to find out for me. The baggage claim office she is referring to happens to be manned by "baby daddy lady", remember? I politely thank her, and continue on to the phone books. She notices this and takes it upon herself to go into the baggage claim office for me. Just as I am locating it in the phone book she returns with a piece of paper and the address on it. I collect Annie and again we head outside to hail a cab. We find a cab, we give him the piece of paper, he stows our purple luggage, and away we go. Finally! It's creeping on 1:00 a.m. but we'll at least get a nice shower and a couple hours of sleep. On the way there, the cabbie tells us it will be $20.00 for the ride (!!!). We take the half mile journey into the quaint little town of Inglewood. Now…I don't know much about L.A., but I'm pretty sure I've heard Dr. Dre and/or Snoop Doggy Dogg rapping about Inglewood a time or two, which didn't exactly leave me feeling warm and fuzzy.

We arrive at the Microtel Inn and Suites and pay the cabbie. We collect our purple luggage and head in to the registration desk. Upon approaching the front door, I notice a young man in what I assume to be a bullet proof plexi-glass cage, eyeballing me with suspicion. Who knows, maybe it was my Bermuda shorts, flip flops and purple luggage, or the fact that it was 1:00 a.m. in Inglewood, and this pale white guy is wandering up to his door. Either way he hesitates…looks at me one last time, then pops the door open.

I walk up to the registration desk and encounter the same gentleman that let me in. I present him with the voucher for our stay and joke that Delta would like me to stay in the grandest suite available for my troubles. The man looks at the voucher, then tells me "Sorry, we don't have any vacancy" I laugh. I then say that Delta called a little while ago and booked a room for me since we missed our flight. The guy says "yeah, I know, Delta booked up all of our rooms by 8:00. They knew we had no vacancy, I don't know why they told you we did". I was just beside myself. I ask them if they happen to have a shuttle that could take us back to the airport so we could get this straightened out. He turns around and picks up the phone, dials a number and a second or two later a cell phone starts ringing in his office. The man takes the phone away from his ear, looks down at the cell phone…and then hangs up. The cell phone stops ringing. The man turns back to me and says "nope, no shuttle driver tonight". I look around to make sure I'm not on some hidden camera prank show. I thank the man and ask to use the lobby phone. He lets me do so, and I call another cab to come pick us up. We wait another 15 minutes or so for the cab to arrive, load up our purple luggage and make the trip back to LAX.

I'm beginning to think the Buddy Holly plane we were on crashed on the way to L.A. from Reno, we died, and are now in purgatory.

We approach the now all too familiar looking Delta terminal, and direct the cabbie to where we need to go. We exit the cab, pay the man another $20.00, collect our purple luggage and head back inside the baggage claim doors one more time. Once inside, we quickly find our way back to the Delta desk to find out what we do next. Of course when we make our way back to the desk, no one we dealt with earlier was there…wait, I take that back. The guy that chuckled at me when we first missed our flight was there prancing around as usual. I approached him to find out who we speak to about getting our room situation straightened out and he started to tell me everyone was gone for the evening and I would have to come back later. I think he saw my head turn three different shades of red, because he quickly glanced around and just as I was about to let him have it, he told me to go see the supervisor at the very end of the counter. Bruno...Bernard...something like that. We walked down to this supervisor, and explained our situation. He quickly looks at my voucher, says "there must be a mistake, I'm going to call them". I'm thinking that he better not send me back down there knowing there isn't a shuttle running and make me try to check in to that same hotel. After he calls the motel, argues with the guy in the bullet proof glass cage and hangs up, he calls another hotel to make our reservation. This time he prints out another voucher and hands it to me. "Ramada Plaza" this one said. Ok, I thought. I've actually heard of a Ramada. We ask him what time we need to be here to get checked in. He notifies us that as long as we are here 1 hour before our flight takes off, we will be just fine. He then showed us where we need to go when we arrive, and how to use the self check-in kiosk. Things are looking up. We ensure that there will be a shuttle running for this one before we head back down to baggage claim. We exit baggage claim with our purple luggage one last time, brave the LAX freeway one last time, and stand there on the concrete island waiting for our shuttle one last time. In about 5 minutes the shuttle arrived and we are once again off.

We arrive at the Ramada Plaza Inn and quickly get checked in. About this time I glance down at my watch and slowly start doing the math. It's 2:30 a.m. Our flight leaves at 6:15. We have to be there an hour early, so that's 5:15. The shuttle only runs every half hour on the hour and half hour. That means we have to catch the shuttle at 5:00. I smell like a gym sock (remember?) so I need a shower. The problem is, I'm not sure if I need to contact Couples to let them know we will be 12 hours late, and to have someone there to pick us up at the air port. Still work to be done. We go on up to our room and each take a shower. Now that I feel better, I need to find out how to contact Couples. I go downstairs and find out if they have a business center to allow me to look up the Couples website. They do not. The woman behind the counter is nice enough to go in her back office and look up the information for me, which I greatly appreciated. The only problem, is that the sheets she printed off for me did not have the phone number on it. Of course I didn't realize this until I got back to the room. Oh well, I thought. I'll just call Expedia and have them look it up for me. I take my phone out of my pocket, retrieve my phone charger and go to plug it in. "You have GOT to be kidding me" I say. The charger I have grabbed was for a phone neither of us own any more. Ok, I'll just use the in-room phone. I contact Expedia, and the very nice lady is able to get me the phone number. I call Couples and they tell me "No Problem Mon". So we're all set. I just need to…it's 3:15??? I just need to get about an hour and a half sleep. We set the alarm for 4:45 and drift away for a short power nap. Something shook me awake. I open my eyes and notice Annie is still fast asleep. I look up at the clock. It hasn't gone off yet…wait, it says 4:47. I don't know how or why I woke up, but I'm certainly glad I did. I set the alarm correctly, for 4:45 a.m. The thing that I didn't notice is that the clock was set on p.m. Geez. We spring out of bed, collect our toiletries and pack them away. We grab our dirty clothes and everything else we had and head on out to the lobby. We notice quite a few people starting to gather, so we decide to go wait by the curb as to ensure we will get a seat. I wouldn't notice until the night we arrive in Jamaica, but in our rush to get to the lobby on time, I left my cell phone in the room. I will never see it again.

Soon enough, the shuttle arrives and we get a seat right in the front. We approach that same Delta terminal we spent most of the night at, and notice lines running out the door, down the sidewalk, into the LAX freeway and anywhere else there was potential standing room. We cut right through everyone, and go to the Check-in kiosk. By the time we are able to actually get to a free kiosk, the time is now 5:33. I scan my ticket and the kiosk beeps at me. I scan it again, same result. Then an error message appears telling me to talk to a representative. As I'm trying to flag down a Delta rep, I notice a sign on top of the kiosk that says something to the effect of "No check-ins after 45 min. prior to your flight" 3 minutes!!! I missed it by 3 minutes!!! Now that sinking feeling deep in my gut is making an appearance again. I just knew we were going to miss this flight as well, and be stuck in LAX. Annie immediately finds a supervisor looking lady and pleads her case. The lady told us we should know that we needed to be here early, so Annie shoots back that Bruno, or Bernard or whatever his name was, told us that we only had to be here one hour early. After hearing this news, she gave the O.K. to one of the ticket counter ladies to check us in. We got checked in, rushed through security and headed to our gate. WE MADE IT! This living hell was about to end. We boarded the plane were off once again to attempt to enjoy our honeymoon. While on board this plane to Atlanta, I noticed our next tickets were already printed out, so we just had to go to the next gate, and bypass the ticket counter and security. I also happened to notice that under Class, we were listed as First. YES! We're going to be VIP's for an hour and a half. From the second we took off and left LAX behind, the trip couldn't have gone smoother…that is until our return trip home.

The Dog War Continues

My last entry was an open letter to the owner of a dog that keeps knocking over my garbage can and scattering my weekly trash asunder. The dog usually opts to strike in the middle of the night, and disappears before I can ever catch a glimpse of him (I’m only assuming the gender of this dog because it makes typing this easier). Though my last entry was merely a creative way for me to vent my frustration, it actually seemed to keep this mongrel at bay. Call me crazy, but I think that stupid mutt has The Unsound bookmarked (much as you should), and became a bit concerned I may beat his negligent owner unconscious. Weeks went by without incident, then months. Of course, it could have been the fact that I chose to store my garbage can further up the walk way, next to my garage rather than leaving it on the curb, thus all but inviting latchkey dogs to kick it over and rummage through it in the middle of the night like a bum after Thanksgiving. Whatever the reason, my garbage can remained untouched.

Flash forward to about two weeks ago, I noticed my neighbors trash can on its side much as I’ve seen mine in the past; Laying amongst a pile of meticulously picked through refuse. My heart went out to him, knowing he was struck by the midnight mutt.

Flash forward to last week, I was awaken by Annie asking “What was that?” A loud noise outside woke her up, so I went to the window to investigate.

That’s when I noticed my trash can on its side, and a large brown dog halfway inside the can. I said “It’s that stupid dog again”.

Annie went to the front door, flipped on the porch light, and opened the door. At that, the dog ran away. Now, I’m not good at identifying the species of a dog when I’m lucid, let alone when I’m peeking through the blinds through one bloodshot eye at 2 a.m., so I couldn’t even tell you what type of dog it was. It could have been anything from a bull mastiff, to a chocolate lab to a weimaraner for all I know. It was a stupid brown dog, and that’s all I was certain about. The good thing was, we didn’t have enough garbage in the can to satisfy this dumb animal’s craving for trash. Annie went outside and up righted the garbage can since I was in my boxer briefs, and we went back to bed.

Flash forward to this morning, I was running late as it was. I have been back at work now, and therefore must conform to an actual schedule, which is proving to be more difficult than I thought it would be. As I stepped onto the porch, I noticed my garbage can was again lying on its side, but this time accompanied by a pile of well picked through garbage. Included in the pile of garbage for the week was a pile of dog excrement wrapped in a bath rug (that’s a story for another day), an empty pork chop tray, multiple diapers and a half used bag of Shake and Bake. As I was putting the soggy (it was raining this morning) trash back into the can, I felt as if someone was watching me. I could feel this stupid dog looking at me and laughing as I picked up my own garbage.

There are few times in my life where I’ve felt as low as I did this morning. It was then and there that I vowed to wage war on that stupid dog. I’ve come up with a plan. It may not be a cheap plan, but it will leave me with satisfaction.

First, I will buy a pound of ground beef, and 2 pounds of cheese. I will put the ground beef and cheese in a plastic bag, and leave it next to my trash can. The stupid gluttonous mutt, unable to resist his temptations, will consume the raw beef and blocks of cheese. This should be enough to cause the dog constipation issues. Don’t worry though, I’m not interested in harming this dog, just getting my point across to it. I will let that dog be backed up for a good two or three days, before I leave yet another pound of ground beef for this dog. Only, instead of blocks of cheese, I will put two boxes worth of Exlax chocolate into the beef. This should be enough to get the dog’s insides working again, so he can relieve three days of backed up bowels all over his owner’s throw rug.

I doubt this will cure the problem, since that dog is the stupidest dog I’ve ever known, and he will likely be back the next night looking for another treat, but it will at least leave me feeling better. Besides, I don’t want to resort to a bungee cord on my garbage can lid, as that will essentially be conceding victory to the stupidest animal on earth. I’m not ready for that yet. In the event that the doctored beef doesn’t do the trick, I’ve made up a wanted poster I will be posting on our neighborhood shared mailboxes.

I’ll be sure to document any updates to this ongoing war.

Dear Dog Guy

The much anticipated (by who?) Christmas blog had to take yet another back seat momentarily. Please enjoy the following open letter to the owner of the dog that keeps knocking over my trash can. If you happen to know the area I live in, and happen to know who would own such a dog, please let me know so I can deliver this to him in person.

Dear Sir,

For the past three months, I’ve been having somewhat of a power struggle with your dog. Allow me to explain.

In the beginning, it’s quite possible I was at fault. I can see where I may have been guilty of enticing your dog by leaving my waste container by the sidewalk every day. You see, I just found it more convenient to leave the trash can by the sidewalk, and then just roll it a few feet on Thursday mornings to stage it for pickup. I suppose being the only house in my immediate location with a constantly beckoning container of table scraps left by the side of the road would be pretty irresistible to me as well (if I were a dog, of course). Not historically being a quick learner, I would clean up whatever refuse your dog declared unappetizing enough to consume on the spot, and continue to leave my waste container by the sidewalk. I would dismiss each as an isolated incident, and hope it wouldn’t happen again. Luckily, my wife has been home this past week and decided to clean out our freezer. She loaded up the rubbish receptacle with long forgotten about meat, vegetables and pudding pops, and left the can by our garage. Knowing your dog is a lazy one, I had no fear it would walk the extra 15 feet onto my land to scatter our weekly trash asunder. It turns out I was correct in this assumption, as our trash can was left untouched all week. Relishing in my minor victory over your unintelligent dog, I rolled my garbage can to the staging area last night. A brazen move, I know. I left mine 3 feet from my neighbors matching green plastic dumpster on wheels. As I drove off to work early this morning, and passed my very upright garbage bin, a smile broke out across my face. I couldn’t help but feel superior for thwarting your dumb dog’s efforts to dine on my rejected food waste. For five full hours at work, I would imagine the look on your dogs face as it realized the easy meal was not where it should be. It would be wandering the streets in the middle of the night in search of delectable treats, but finding none. It would return to your house, sad, lonely, dejected and hungry. Rib bones would be protruding through its mangy fur, and for no other reason than looking as pathetic as possible, it would be limping. When I returned home for lunch, I found my empty garbage can where it usually is after the garbage man gets through emptying its contents into his truck – left askew in the middle of the road, and only in the general vicinity of my driveway. As I walked over to retrieve my waste receptacle, my feeling of triumph quickly faded away. I noticed a note sticking out from under the lid. It was a form note with pre-printed phrases on it that the garbage man would circle to fit whatever message it was he intended to pass along. In this case, the circled phrase was “Your waste was scattered when we arrived”. It was at this moment that I noticed an unopened luncheon meat package, an empty Black Butte Porter bottle, 3 brown banana peels, 4 ½ baby back rib bones, and 2 empty Pepsi Throwback cans lying in the gutter. Humbly, I collected the items your idiot dog decided to leave behind, and rolled my garbage bin back to its safe place by the garage.

Up to this point, I’m sure you’re uncertain as to the intent of this letter, so let me explain that.

First: I would like to express my hope that your dog ate the 7 month old raw chicken that was in there. I also hope it vomits said chicken on your carpet and/or area rug. I would also be pleased if it pooped on your sofa, but I understand such things aren’t very realistic.

Second: I would sure enjoy catching a glimpse of your dog in the act so I could do one of two things. I would either kick that useless animal upside down, backwards and inside-out, or follow him back to your place of residence so I could beat you like you owe me money. I feel fairly confident you would be locking your mutt inside the house at night after having to walk into work the next morning wearing your ass as a hat.

I certainly hope this hasn’t come across as too abrasive, and I would never wish harm on your flea bag dog, but I do hope that raw pork gives him a terrible case of worms so he will drag his disgusting hind quarters across your carpet and/or area rug.

Please feel free to contact me if you have any questions about this. You can find my house by looking for the undisturbed garbage can resting next to a garage door.


Respectfully Yours,

Your Neighbor

*Note to the reader: I know for a fact it’s a dog due to the fact that each time I find my garbage can lying on its side, it’s accompanied by the telltale paw prints in the mud and/or snow of a dog. Not a raccoon, skunk, mountain lion or beaver.

Unsoclicted Endorsement

This may be an odd topic, but after last night’s experience, I felt compelled to write something. My nearly abandoned Christmas Blog has been resurrected (no pun intended) thanks to Annie, so I’ll be finishing that up in the following days. In the meantime, grab a Pepsi and enjoy the following read.

My list of guilty pleasures is a short one these days. I find it increasingly seldom that I succumb to the temptations of those things which I know are bad for me. Mostly because as I get older, my metabolism has seemingly come to a screeching halt, and it’s no longer easy for me to burn off a famous Frosty Mill World Burger, or 12 pack of Budweiser every week. When I was in my early 20’s, that's exactly what my weekly menu consisted of. Of course, the guilty pleasures that are on my list aren’t limited solely to food items. I do enjoy a fine cigar and an aged Scotch. #3 on my list, however, will come as somewhat of a surprise to most people; A Pepsi over a glass of ice. Not Coke, not RC. It has to be Pepsi. Not out of the can, not out of the bottle, and not in a cup. It has to be in a glass, and it has to be over ice. I don’t exactly know why this particular combination strikes such a nostalgic chord in me, but each time I take that first sip from the perfectly prepared glass of ice and Pepsi, I’m taken back to when I was about 6 or 7.

I can remember when I was young, it wasn’t a staple in the household. We got it occasionally, and it came in the glass bottles. After we finished a 6 pack, mom would take them back to the store for a deposit on the next 6 pack. I also remember being at my Grandparents’ house and drinking Pepsi over ice with lunch. I think it’s these memories that come back to me every time I enjoy a glass. Besides, even today it’s not something that I keep on hand on a regular basis. I don’t drink a lot of soda in general, so the occasional soda is still a treat for me.

Last year I heard that Pepsi was coming out with a limited time release called “Pepsi Throwback”. A version of Pepsi that, not only came in a cool looking can with a nod to the 1920’s logo, but is made with “Real Sugar”. Unfortunately, living in a rural area, I was never able to find it during the limited time it was in production. I’m not sure if was received better than expected by the public, or if they just wanted to give us unfortunate rural souls another shot, but they recently re-released it for a limited time.

I was as surprised as anyone to happen across it in our small local supermarket about a week ago. This time, it was sporting that great retro 80’s logo that I remember from my childhood. The “Choice of a new generation” era logo, albeit in a 20oz. plastic bottle. I quickly grabbed it up, and in my excitement, drank it straight out of the bottle. It was good…but not notably different from today’s Pepsi. I wasn’t left dissatisfied, but a bit disappointed. I chalked it up to being a sucker for marketing and dismissed it almost immediately.

Luckily, I wasn’t too quick to dismiss this magic concoction before I discovered what a gem it truly was. Last night, we found it in 12 pack, aluminum can form at the same supermarket. Again, being a sucker for marketing and advertising, I decided to give in and buy a 12 pack. As soon as I got home, I decided to do it right this time. I grabbed one of my oversize Guinness glasses, loaded it up with ice and poured my much anticipated “Pepsi Throwback”. The first sip elicited that familiar nostalgic feeling in me, but only at first. Only during the time my nose was in the glass as I was taking a drink. The follow through was completely different than regular Pepsi. It had more of a “spice” taste to it. Not a noticeable difference in sweetness, but a definite difference in taste. It seemed to have a less carbonated feel to it as well. It was, quite simply put, superb. I couldn’t believe that I didn’t notice the subtle nuances the first time I drank it. Then I realized my flaw; I drank that stuff straight out of the plastic bottle. Wasted it, is what I mean to say. I understand most good drinks need to be decanted, or poured in the proper glass in order to truly appreciate and notice the intricacies. But soda?

Shortly after my temporary satisfaction high wore off, a deep sadness hit me as I realized this stuff is only made for a limited time. I suppose all good things must come to an end. This is one of the strongest recommendations you will ever see me make. I urge you all to go treat yourself to a Pepsi Throwback in a glass with ice tonight. I bet it would go well with a bowl of popcorn (Air popped with melted butter. Try to put forth some effort in your enjoyment for crying out loud), and a movie. I was also told a Pepsi and a Hershey bar make for a great Friday night treat.

For those of you in my area, IGA is the only place in town I've found it. They also carry Mt. Dew Throwback if you're so inclined, but I'm not enough of a Mt. Dew connoisseur to give an accurate recommendation.

*A side note: Rachel got me a Pepsi in a glass bottle at a taco stand not too long ago. I had heard that Mexican versions of Pepsi are still made with real sugar, so I wanted to try one. The taco stands around Chico apparently carry this stuff, and she grabbed one up for me. When I tried it, I did in fact pour it over ice in a glass, but the flavor profile was much different. The carbonation actually seemed higher than regular Pepsi, rather than lower. This left it tasting less sweet than normal Pepsi, and with a slightly different “spice” taste. It was good as well, but very different than anything else I had tasted.

Well, This is Embarassing

I guess with everything going on around here, I seem to have pushed this blog to the back burner. It wasn't something I intended to do, I assure you.

The biggest distraction of time has to be us getting everything ready for the baby's arrival. Other contributing factors include the holidays, major changes at work and no computer access at home. We still haven't found a home for it since our office was turned into a nursery. I'm hoping sometime soon we can focus on the rest of the house, but it might not be until I'm able to take some time off work.

Annie's due date is fast approaching, so now feels like that time just before any major event, where the anxiety level starts rising. We're just over 2 weeks away, and doing our double and triple checks. "Do we have everything in place? Do we need anything else?" etc. It's certainly possible for the baby to decide to make an early appearance, so I can honestly say we're ready if that day was today.

I enjoy it when people keep asking me "Are you starting to freak out yet?" To be honest, I don't see myself freaking out. I'm excited for the time to finally arrive, but freak out I will not. I refuse. I guess if everything was unplanned, and we still didn't have anything for the baby, I might "freak out". But we've been planning for this since before we found out Annie was pregnant. That does not, however, take away from our overall excitement.

Now it's time for a quick and fun FAQ for those who might not have had a chance to talk to us lately:

Q. Are you starting to freak out yet?
A. No. We are extremely excited, and totally ready for this. We have been planning it for a long time, so we're just anxious for the baby to be here.

Q. Have you thought of any names yet?
A. Yes, we've thought about plenty of names. In fact, I believe the list was even started before Annie got pregnant.

Q. What is the name?
A. We have elected not to tell people what the name is until after her birth.

Q. Why?
A. Our good friends Rob and Lilly pioneered this (in our circle of friends, anyway) tactic, and we thought it was a great one. It makes it fun for most people, and drives the others crazy. Not to mention, by the time we tell people, the ink is dried on the birth certificate, so they can make all the funny faces about our decision that they want; It won't be getting changed.

Not so much a question, but various statements: Your life will change. You never sleep ever again, and you will have to deal with projectile bodily fluids and incessant crying. Your social life as you know it is over, so you might as well kiss all of your friends goodbye. Annie: You will feel a pain you've never imagined possible, and will be begging for the sweet release of death.

A. Thanks for all the pleasant tips. I can understand telling a 16 year old girl all of these things before she gets pregnant, but you don't say those things to two adults who have been trying to get pregnant for a while, and are already pregnant! We are excited about our first child, and sorry to hear your experience with parenthood was such a bust.

My next entry will be much more in depth. I apologize for not having updated this in a while. I have one started explaining this year's Christmas and all the fun toys I got. You'll want to tune in for that one.