Author: Josh

Dear Mara,

You turned 7-months-old today. And I’ll just get this out of the way right now: you are such a stinking cute baby. You have such a positive outlook on everything. There’s not a whole lot in your daily life that doesn’t make you smile. And your smile is so damn infectious. You smile when you wake up. You smile when anyone talks to you. You smile when you’re eating. You smile when you’re talking. You have this enormous and precious toothless grin that is my constant reminder that there’s not much about which to be unhappy.

This month has all been about balance and mobility. You can safely and comfortably sit up on your own now. We no longer live in fear that you’re going to topple over backwards and bash your head on the floor. We’ve tested this by propping you up on the slate tiles in the kitchen and kicking empty beer cans at your head.

This month you also started really crawling. Last month you were kind of arm crawling, but now you’re able to pull your knees up under yourself, put one hand in front of the other and actually propel yourself forward. You don’t have much in terms of stamina, but you can quickly and easily get yourself across a room these days.

Before I forget — What’s up with you wanting to eat my laptop’s power cord? We have four drawers in the living room that are dedicated to nothing but cute, bright, loud and fun toys just for you, but you insist on crawling over and gnawing on my computer’s cord. I even pulled out a clean, unused power cord for you to have all to yourself, and you still insist on chewing on my plugged-in power cord.

While you’re a very even-keeled and happy baby, you get the most upset when you’re hungry. Whenever you start crying, I’m challenged to find the immediate source of your discomfort. Invariably it’s usually because you’re just hungry. You really like to be held, and when your mom or I set you down in your highchair, you’re discomfort will escalate, but when we start shoveling mashed fruit into your mouth, you turn back into a little angel.

And speaking of eating. Whenever you’re at your spot at the table and we’re feeding you, you like to do this wrist twist thing with both of your hands. It’s like you’re in a pageant, waving to all of your adoring fans. I think it’s because you just don’t know what to do with your hands while we’re feeding you. Honestly, I’d probably do the same thing.

It’s so much fun to watch you grow and learn and take in all of your surroundings and live vicariously through you as you encounter new experiences. Just do me a favor and slow down a little bit. Your old man ain’t getting any younger.

I love you, Sugar.

Love,

Daddy

Today I started on a long journey of having tattoos removed by a laser. For years I’ve thought about having them removed, and for some reason, this past week I just knew that it was time to start the process.

I’ve had a lot of people ask why I want to remove them and I don’t have one definitive answer. I’m different than I was 20 years ago. The tattoos are a mark of the person that I was then. I’m who I am now, and part of who that person is today doesn’t have the tattoos that I’m having removed.

The process is slow and painful. The actual treatment of the tattoo isn’t very long, as indicated in the video below. It’s probably going to take four sessions at 10 weeks apart to have the sun removed.

And laser tattoo removal isn’t pain free. I ain’t gonna lie — it hurts. My new friend and laser technician, Cara, said it would feel like hot grease splatters. I’ve also heard it feels like a rubber band snapping against the skin. I’d say it felt like a long, electrified needle being pounded into your skin with a motorized ball ping hammer at a rate of 5 jabs per second. And not like tattoo needle jabs – this was like direct stabs with a long needle followed by an immediate micro-explosion in the dermis. I thought it might feel a lot like getting the tattoo applied. I think having the tattoos removed is 3-times as uncomfortable and painful.

I’m a glutton for punishment though. It’s the right thing for me to do at this phase of my life, and I’ll endure the pain.

A mark of a 4 indicates Mastery. A mark of a 3 indicates Proficient. Since Maly has started the First Grade, she has had spelling tests on Fridays. Her teacher sends home a list 16 words on Monday and we are given the next 4 days to review said words and practice for Friday’s spelling test.

Every week Maly has come home with a 4+ grade on her spelling tests. Until last week. She came home with a mark of a 3. I was disappointed. These were words that we had practiced spelling many times throughout the week. She missed two words: trip and trap. During her test, she heard the “tr” sound as a “ch” sound, and thusly spelled “chrip” and “chrap.”

I told Maly that we were going to have to work extra hard on her spelling words this week. And we did. Any words that she had difficulty with, we focused on those words while not ignoring the others. I told her that it is very important that she tries hard, concentrates and performs well on tests. I also told her that I wanted her to earn a 4 on her spelling tests. I confirmed that she also wanted to earn 4’s on her spelling tests as well. And then I allowed her to get out of the ice bath and told her she could spit out the ball of aluminum foil.

When she stepped off the bus this afternoon, I greeted her and we hugged and kissed as usual. Elise, Maly, Mara and I all walked toward the house. Casually I asked, “Maly, how’d you do on your spelling test today?” She turned around, ran toward me and yelled, “I got a 4!!!!”

I smiled, ran my fingers through the hair on top of her head and praised, “I’m very proud of you, Sug!” Elise and I both reminded her of the value and importance in hard work, dedication and persistence. Maly said she understood, and was proud of herself for the high mark.

And after she’d received her graded test, she made it a point to write me a note. I still hope and pray, every day, that we’re doing this parenting thing right.

Dear Mara,

You turned six-months-old today. It’s hard to believe that half a year has gone by when it feels like we brought you home from the hospital just last week. I think the time has flown by so quickly because you’ve been such a happy and easy baby.

One of the most memorable moments of this past month is when your mom dropped your on your head a few nights ago. People laugh and joke about this kind of thing, but apparently it happens and your mom actually dropped you on your head. You see, you and your mom were walking across the street to feed the neighbors’ dog and your mom lost her footing while taking the curb and you both hit the pavement. Your mom absorbed most of the blow with her knee and elbow, but she said she saw your head hit the ground. I think this might be a bit of an exaggeration.

Your mom came running back into the house crying with you, crying as well, in her arms. She yelled my name and told me that you both had taken a tumble and that you’d hit your head. In a panic, I jumped up from the couch and met you and your mom somewhere near the kitchen where I immediately took you and dialed Child Protective Services and the Maury Povich show. I slowly walked you to the lamp in the living room and told you that it was going to be okay while I looked at and felt every square inch of your head.

I don’t think you hit your head. Your head might have made gentle contact with the street, but your mom took the hit for you. Your mom will always take the hit for you.

We were both scared. We’re your parents. It’s our job to be scared for you, and to do any and everything to protect you.

This month you’ve made strides in your mobility and balance. You’re not quite crawling yet, but you can spin and inch yourself around the living room rug on your belly. You’re also sitting up on your own pretty well. You’re still a bit wobbly, and I always like to put a pillow or something equally fluffy behind you when we prop you up in case you take a backwards spill. But you’ll just sit there and smile at us, and then slap the carpet or clap your hands together.

You’ve also started eating more solid foods this month. So far you’ve had various cereals, bananas, avocados and prunes. Your mom is still mad at me for giving you your first non-cereal solid food in her absence. She was on a photo shoot one day and it was just you and me. You were hungry, your milk supply was away, and we had bananas. I took one of said bananas, smushed it up with a fork and fed it to you. You loved it and we just had a grand old time, you and me, there in the kitchen eating a banana and singing the happy songs of the banana people.

You’ve become much more vocal this month. Your brain is trying to get your mouth to put words together. You’ve said, “dada dada” a few times, but it hasn’t necessarily been directed toward me. You’ve also said, “mama,” and that was once directed toward the cat, and another time toward a laptop’s power cord. And then there are times when you’re just in your own world, happy as a clam and you indulge in little squeals. You have such an adorable and girly voice.

You’ve been nothing short of amazing and a source of smiles for us all. I take a lesson from you daily and realize that there’s not a lot in this big world that’s not worthy of a smile or a giggle.

Keep on smiling, Sugar.

I love you,

Daddy

Last night I had the worst nightmare I think I’ve ever had. For whatever reasons, Elise, Maly, possibly Mara (I can’t remember) and I were walking westbound on FM 1094. Elise and I were walking in the right lane, with traffic. Maly was walking in the left lane, against traffic. Although, there was no traffic. I yelled across the highway to Maly to get on the same side of the road as us. I don’t know where we were going or why we were walking on a farm market road.

Maly was pushing something. It was a nondescript toy of some such — maybe a wagon, a stroller or a cart or buggy. Out of nowhere and in the bat of any eye, an 18-wheeler came barreling down the highway at breakneck speed. One second it was calm and quiet and the only sound was me, yelling to my daughter to come get on the right side of the road with me. And then there was the sound of an 18-wheeler breaking the local sound barrier.

And just like that, Maly was gone. There was no sound beyond the roaring engine, the wind and the energy transferring from 18 wheels to the asphalt. There was no impact.

She was completely gone. It’s like she’d never existed. She was swept away in that same bat of an eye. No closure. No proof that an accident had happened. She just ceased to exist.

It took me a moment or two in my dream for my brain to process what I’d just witnessed. And at that point, I was alone. Elise was still there in the periphery, but she wasn’t present in the surreal fatality I’d just endured.

I was absolutely alone. I started screaming, “OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD!” over and over and over again.

I was completely alone. It was just me and absolutely nothing.

I forced myself to wake up. My head was drenched in sweat. It was somewhere around 3 a.m. I think I closed my eyes again because I was afraid to face the notion that my dream might’ve been real and I’d remember that my daughter didn’t exist in the physical world.

Reality quickly came over me, and my conscious comforted me in acknowledging that everything was, in fact, okay. Maly was okay and sleeping silently in her bedroom.

I got up and stood at the foot of Elise’s and my bed. I let my mind tell me again that everything was okay.

I went back to bed. I didn’t go check on Maly. I don’t know why I didn’t go check on Maly. I think my heart knew and told me that everything was okay, and won over my conscious that wanted me to worry.

Later this afternoon, I decided to see if it meant anything to have a dream about a child dying. Most of what I found indicates that it could be related to a serious quarrel or difference with the spouse or partner, because the child is a reflection of the both. Presently, that didn’t hold true for me. Another suggested that the dream might be indicative of one’s inner child dying. This might be true of me now.

I think it’s a calling to save him. My inner child.

I called Elise’s cell phone this evening. Before answering, Elise gave the phone to Maly. I can’t remember the last time I spoke to Maly on the phone. I’d venture to guess a year’s gone by already. I had an actual, coherent conversation with her tonight on the phone. She sounds so much older now. She’s growing up.

Anyway, last night’s dream was the absolute worst. Literally a parent’s worst nightmare. It’s a reminder to continuously strengthen the bond with my child, and with my child within.

I’ve been a Mozy customer for roughly five years. I’d say I’m a happy customer, but I’ve [thankfully] never had to use their recovery service. But I’ve had peace of mind, knowing that all of our photos and documents are being backed up offsite by both a 3rd party service and a hard drive sitting in a safe deposit box at the bank.

I’ve known for a while that Mozy was increasing their rates by A LOT. Luckily I was grandfathered in because I’ve always paid 2-years in advance. My subscription service is up in early November. I went ahead and signed up for a trial of BackBlaze, which is a competing off-site, automated hard drive backup service. So far so good with BackBlaze.

Now, to put it into perspective, I was paying $209 every two years for unlimited storage and backups with Mozy. A hundred bucks a year is a good price to me for peace of mind. I like to know that all of our photos and documents are safe should the house catch on fire or a computer explodes. As of right now, we have 437 GB backed up at Mozy. If I wanted 500 GB of storage space at Mozy after the price increase, my biennial rate will go up to $1,049. I’m not that good with math, but that’s like a 5X increase. That’s just nuts.

Now I’m not one of those crazy customers. I thought I’d give Mozy a chance to retain my business. I was really hoping that they’d appreciate my business and want to retain me as a customer. I had this conversation with Kara this afternoon:

So, I’m taking my back-up business to BackBlaze, where I’ll only pay $3.96 per month on a 2-year plan.

Sorry, Mozy. It’s not me, it’s you.

I think this makes an ordinary cup of mocha coffee taste better than the expensive sort at that chain coffee spot.

• 3 cups boiling water
• 2 cups sugar
• 3/4 cup Dutch-processed cocoa powder
• 3/4 cup regular cocoa
• 1/2 cup imitation vanilla

1. Boil water
2. Measure Sugar and Cocoa into a two quart heat-resistant vessel.
3. Once the water is boiling, pour into vessel and whisk cocoa and sugar is dissolved.
4. Add the imitation vanilla; Mix thoroughly (this is optional. Elise and I prefer it without the vanilla).
5. Let mixture cool, and transfer into some pourable/squeezable container (we use an old honey squeeze bottle).
6. Use 2- 3 Tbsp Mocha Mix for a large cup of coffee
7. Makes approximately 32 oz.

Dear Mara,

You turned five-months-old today. I have to say, right off the bat, that one of the coolest things that happened to you this month was when your mom took you to the doctor’s office to get a couple inoculation. You won’t remember this, but when babies get shots, the shots are administered in the meaty part of their thighs. A couple weeks ago, you got two shots, one in each thigh. You didn’t even flinch on the first one. The nurse and your mom waiting for the screams. Nothing. The nurse gave you the second shot in your other thigh. From what I was told, you lifted your eyebrows ever-so-slightly, but that was it. No screams or whimpers. The nurse was so impressed that she immediately capped the syringe and went to the nurses station to brag about “the cute little red-headed baby who didn’t peep after two shots.”

It seems as if you’ve started to settle into something like a schedule. Unfortunately, your schedule doesn’t really mesh with your mom’s and mine. You like to be wide awake and yammering from around 9 – 11 p.m. This is your mom’s and my downtime where we might watch a little TV, hang out and talk, or catch up on personal business and correspondences. You like to take this opportunity to talk. We love to listen to you talk, but it’s bedtime, child. And when your mom puts you in your little bed in our room, you scream and cry to the point that we can’t stand hearing you scream and cry. So, one of us gets you and brings you back to the living room where you talk and talk and talk until eventually you wear yourself out and fall asleep on the rug. And while this schedule doesn’t mesh with ours, we know all too well that it’s only temporary, so we revel in it.

Just this past week, you’ve learned to get your knees up under yourself when your laying on your stomach and then you push yourself up. I’ll give you a couple more weeks and I think you’ll be crawling. After that, I think I’ll get you a little collar and a bell so we’ll know where you are at all times.

You’ve also started sitting up on your own. However, unless one of us is behind you, you’ll kick your feet to the point where you’ll fall backwards, so someone has to be there to catch you. You’re getting the hang of it though. If you’re sitting in my lap, you’ll just sit there quietly forever. You like to sit there and just observe things. I guess after you observe all of these things during the day, you like to tell us about them late at night when you should otherwise be sleeping.

Another one of my favorite characteristics of you are your eyebrows. When you see something that bewilders or amuses you, you do this ever-so-slight lift of your eyebrows that’s just hilarious. It’s hard to put into words how cute this little expression is. It’s like your little signature expression, and I hope it sticks.

You’re cuter, calmer and more laid back at each passing day. I love watching you grow and become more inquisitive of the world around you. I love watch you take everything in. I love your infectious little giggle. I love your huge, toothless grin. I wish I could bottle up your innocence, curiosity and glee and keep it for you forever. I wish I could also forever protect you from all of the scares, harm and hurt in this world. But what I know of you so far, I think you’ll do just fine.

I love you, Mars.

Love,

Daddy

In a valiant effort to cook foods that are healthier, last night Elise made quinoa cakes for the family dinner. I don’t know the recipe in it’s entirety, but the cakes contained things like kale, whole wheat flour, red onions, zucchini, quinoa, egg whites, dirt and twig extract.

During dinner, Maly chimed in with her critique: “First of all, it needs something. Second of all, it’s just not good.”

I love the brutal honesty of children.

There was a whole pot of cooked quinoa still sitting on the stove. One of our kitchen rules is “waste not want not,” so I decided to see if I could make some spiced up ad hoc quinoa cakes. I dumped a can of black beans and a fist full of grated cheddar cheese into the pot. Then I added generous amounts of chile powder, garlic, crushed red pepper and cumin. Then I patted out little palm-sized cakes, dredged them in an equal mixture of corn meal and white flour and fried them up in a big pan of bacon grease and plated them with ground chile & chipotle ketchup.

Third of all, they just weren’t good.

I love it when Mara laughs.

First day of school today:

First day of Kindergarten last year:

First day of school 2 years ago:

First day of school 3 years ago:

First day of school 4 years ago:

Dear Mara,

You turned 4-months-old today. Your smile completely melts my heart, and you smile a lot. You’re such a laid-back and easy going kid. There’s not much that bugs you other than hunger. Therefore you smile a lot. The cutest thing is when you first wake up. You’re a little disoriented for a few moments when you first wake up, but then you see your mom or me and your indulge us in your huge toothless grin and it’s just awesome! I guess it means we’re doing something right if you like us this much.

This month you’ve become quite the expert and rolling over. You don’t mind laying on your back, but when you get bored, you quickly roll over to your stomach, push yourself up with your hands and look around and drool. I’m sure it won’t be too much longer and you’ll be crawling around.

You’ve started talking a lot this month, too. You haven’t really found any useful words — more like guttural and nasal hums, grunts and squeals. By around 10 p.m., when your sister’s long since asleep and your mom have had time to unwind and are finally sitting down to watch a little TV, you’ll sit in your little swing before the fireplace, watch me sitting on the couch and talk to me. I have no clue what you’re telling me, but I acknowledge you by saying, “yes!” and “really?!”

This month you found your feet. When you’re lying on your back, you’ll reach out a grab your feet and just hang on to them. You’ll do this for long periods of time, too. I’d venture to guess that when all that you’re used to doing is eating and passing waste, hanging on to your own feet is probably some pretty exciting stuff.

We took you on a road trip to Des Moines this month. You were surprisingly very patient during our 1,000 mile haul. There were a couple times where you got bored to the point of tears and screaming, but that was a good reminder that we all probably needed to stop and take a break.

Last weekend your were baptized. Your grandma, dad, mom, Maly, John, Christine, Jack and Grayson were all there. It was a baptism. That’s all I have to say about that.

You’re on the cusp of giggling. Your mom and I try to get you to giggle you by tickling you or making funny noises. Sometimes you’ll giggle at us, sometimes you’ll kind of giggle at something completely random. I think within the month you’ll be laughing. From what we’ve seen and heard thus far, your laugh is going to be infectious and awesome. I can’t wait until you can consciously laugh. It will then become my life’s work to fill your life with laughter.

I love you, Mars.

Love,

Daddy

Dear Mara,

Today you turned three months old. You’re so laid back that half the time we don’t even know you’re in the same room. I do, however, want to get this out of the way now — and there’s no real way to sugarcoat it — You suck at catching a football.

Lots of things have happened with you this month. One of the notable milestones is that your rolled over from your front to your back. I don’t think you did this on purpose though. As you’re learning to use and develop your muscles, you’ve learned to push your upper body up while you’re on your stomach. During one of these baby push-ups, one of your arms kind of gave way, you plummeted toward the floor and at angle that spun you to your back on your descent. I’m pretty sure you didn’t exactly do this on purpose because as your were rolling over your shoulder I heard you say, “dammit, why can’t I get this #&$@ing trick to land?!”

This month you also found your thumb. Your sister was also three months old when she found her two middle fingers on her left hand to suck on. You’ve found your right thumb to suck on. Don’t get too used to it though. Once you start losing your baby teeth, you’re going to have to stop sucking your thumb. And if you don’t learn how to catch a football, you might lose your baby teeth quicker than normal.

You’ve been losing some of your hair, but it looks like the recessive gene on chromosome 16 is going to stick. You are among the 2% of redheads. I think it, and all of you is absolutely adorable.

The highlight of this month is that you started to smile. There is absolutely nothing more beautiful in this world than a child’s smile, especially yours because it’s my child’s smile. It’s that fleeting moment of your smile that reminds me that life is a just a fleeting moment itself. It’s a simple reminder that things aren’t that bad and that life is good. It makes for that eternal moment where nothing else matters.

The highlight of my day is when I come to visit you while your mom is holding you, and I watch as a second passes and my face comes into focus. I can see your eyes light up and then the synapsis behind them connect as you realize, “Hey! I know this guy! He’s my daddy and he’s like, the totally most awesome guy ever!!” Then you beam that big, precious toothless baby grin. And that melts my heart.

Keep beaming, Junebug.

Love,

Daddy