My wife has this thing about communication. For me, communication can be in the form of grunts, nods, or other gestures. For her, it has to be verbal. And I don’t just mean a sentence or two. It has to be a countless repetition of long strings of coherent words put together to form meaningful thoughts. I understand that she is asking a lot from me, but I try my best to comply with her needs at least once or twice a week. Well, last night was one of those times and the topic of conversation quickly turned toward baby names.
With the arrival of our next child now only 20 weeks away, we are starting to feel the need to pinpoint a name. Since we still don’t know the gender, we brainstormed both girl and boy names. “How about Ulysses?” I said to get things rolling.
“Be serious,” she replied.
“My back itches,” I said. “Maybe if you scratch it, I will think better.”
“Maybe if you think better, I’ll scratch it,” she replied.
“OK, what about Jefferson?” I said. No scratch so I tried again. “Jeremiah?” Ahh, one finger right in that hard to reach spot in the middle. That was nice, but which finger was it?
“What about family names?” she asked.
“We could name him after your one of your Grandpas,” I suggested.
“Which one, Marvin or Ralph?” Boy does my back itch now. “Let me help,” she suggested as she pulled the name book off the shelf. “I’ll read you a list of names and you say yes or no.” She turned to the page entitled “Boy Names That Give You a Leg Up in Life” and began to read. “Barrett?”
“No.”
“Blake?”
“No.”
“David?”
“Maybe.”
“Gus?”
“No.”
“Kyle?”
“No.”
“Max?”
I paused to consider. It’s got a nice ring to it. “You said family names earlier, right? Well what about family initials?” My wife looked semi-intrigued so I continued. “My dad and brother are both MGH, so we could continue that trend,” I suggested before thinking for a minute. “I’ve got it!” I finally shouted. “Maximillian Gus!”
It started as a chuckle, but quickly turned into one of those I’m-too-tired-for-your-silliness giggles. For some reason this name really struck a funny bone in my wife, because she kept giggling and giggling. I’m still not quite sure what she thinks of the name. She just laughs every time I say it. Help me out here, guys. Does that mean she likes it or not?
On to girl names. We quickly ruled out nearly every name on the “Old Fashioned Names that Are Cute Again” list. For some reason Buella and Mabel just didn’t strike our fancy. “What about ‘Girly-Girl Names?'” my wife asked as she thumbed through the book.
“What’s on there?” I asked.
“Bubbles?”
“No.”
“Cinnamon?”
“No.”
“Fluffy?”
“Nope.” Now she owes me a back scratch for every name on her list.
“What about Princess?”
“Oh, that would be perfect,” I replied. “How does Princess Love sound?” This time I wouldn’t call it giggles. This time it was hysterical laughter. “That settles it then,” I said. “If it’s a boy, we’ll call him Maximillian Gus and if it’s a girl she’ll be Princess Love.”
Just promise me one thing. If you are going to be having a baby before November, don’t go stealing our names.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Anticipation
Have you ever noticed that the picture of the burger in the ad is always perfect? The lettuce is green, the meat juicy and perfectly formed. The cheese seems to glisten from some unseen light. Why do the advertisers go to such lengths to make sure the picture is perfect? The answer is simple: anticipation. They want you to anticipate the pure pleasure you will experience when you bite into that delicious-looking burger. Half the fun of the meal becomes the anticipation factor.
Anticipation is such an important part of my family that it begins each year around Christmastime. It starts with a question posed from one adult sibling to another. “Are you going to make it to Almanor this summer?” The answer is an inevitable, “Yes.” And the anticipation begins.
In my family Lake Almanor is not a spot on the map tucked into the mountains of Northern California, it is an event that is anticipated for months prior to its launch. It is a unit of time that measures the end of one year and the beginning of the next. Almanor is not a place, it is a memory of the past and an anticipation of the future. Most importantly, it has been a summer tradition for the last 25 years. Although our activities around the lake have evolved as a new generation has taken over, the months of planning and preparation still exist.
As a father on my own branch of the family tree, I now see it as my responsibility to pass the anticipation factor on to my own children. Since the trip up north usually takes us two full days on the road, we are all dying for the outdoors when we get there. We have really worked to create a love of the outdoors in the hearts of our children, so when I asked my four-year-old daughter what she liked best about the trip, her answer was simple, “I like sleeping in the trailer because it have-is none sheets for my bed.”
For my son, swimming in the lake has always been one of his highlights, but this year, he has something new on his mind. This year, he is finished with kindergarten and he can’t wait to get to the lake so that he can sit in the trailer and read a book. In an attempt to get him to see beyond the pages of a book, I asked him what is the most important thing to pack for the trip? I should have guessed his answer. “Lots of books!” So much for the great outdoors.
My youngest daughter will turn two right after we return from Almanor. She really doesn’t know what to expect, so maybe I still have a shot at convincing her that the fresh mountain air, tall trees, and sunshine make the long trip worth the effort, but I have a feeling that once she tries a milkshake from Pine Shack Frosty, she’ll be hooked.
Maybe next year when gas hits ten bucks a gallon we will just march out to the backyard and spread out the sleeping bags in the trailer while we sip on milkshakes and read about other families who like to camp.
Anticipation is such an important part of my family that it begins each year around Christmastime. It starts with a question posed from one adult sibling to another. “Are you going to make it to Almanor this summer?” The answer is an inevitable, “Yes.” And the anticipation begins.
In my family Lake Almanor is not a spot on the map tucked into the mountains of Northern California, it is an event that is anticipated for months prior to its launch. It is a unit of time that measures the end of one year and the beginning of the next. Almanor is not a place, it is a memory of the past and an anticipation of the future. Most importantly, it has been a summer tradition for the last 25 years. Although our activities around the lake have evolved as a new generation has taken over, the months of planning and preparation still exist.
As a father on my own branch of the family tree, I now see it as my responsibility to pass the anticipation factor on to my own children. Since the trip up north usually takes us two full days on the road, we are all dying for the outdoors when we get there. We have really worked to create a love of the outdoors in the hearts of our children, so when I asked my four-year-old daughter what she liked best about the trip, her answer was simple, “I like sleeping in the trailer because it have-is none sheets for my bed.”
For my son, swimming in the lake has always been one of his highlights, but this year, he has something new on his mind. This year, he is finished with kindergarten and he can’t wait to get to the lake so that he can sit in the trailer and read a book. In an attempt to get him to see beyond the pages of a book, I asked him what is the most important thing to pack for the trip? I should have guessed his answer. “Lots of books!” So much for the great outdoors.
My youngest daughter will turn two right after we return from Almanor. She really doesn’t know what to expect, so maybe I still have a shot at convincing her that the fresh mountain air, tall trees, and sunshine make the long trip worth the effort, but I have a feeling that once she tries a milkshake from Pine Shack Frosty, she’ll be hooked.
Maybe next year when gas hits ten bucks a gallon we will just march out to the backyard and spread out the sleeping bags in the trailer while we sip on milkshakes and read about other families who like to camp.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Brownie Points
You’d think that by the time the fourth pregnancy rolled around, I would know what to expect from my wife for the next nine months. You’d think I would know exactly how to respond to all her pregnancy related idiosyncrasies. You’d think, but you would be wrong, because the truth is that there is no way to accurately predict what a pregnant woman needs.
This is especially true when the ill effects of pregnancy manifest themselves in the form of nausea, fatigue, and other illnesses. In the case of my wife, for example, these symptoms have been present for the last 14 of her 18 weeks of gestation. The complexities that stem from the hormones of a pregnant woman do not, however, prevent an observant husband from recognizing his wife’s true needs and desires from time to time. It is during those rare moments of clarity that a husband must be most astute. I had one of those moments last week and, fortunately, interpreted the desires of my wife with a high degree of accuracy.
It all started on Sunday afternoon. Actually, it all started around four months ago when she got pregnant and started feeling sick on a daily basis, but it was last Sunday that I scored in the latest round of the quest for brownie points.
I found my wife that afternoon, as I often do, in front of the computer researching her latest pregnancy related ailment. As I approached, she appeared depressed. “What’s wrong?” I asked, thinking that she would interpret such a question as true interest in her condition.
“You don’t even care that I’m miserable,” she began. As I tried to reassure her that I do indeed care about her pain, she employed a classic trick of the female gender. She cried. And I fell for it. What kind of a man wants to be around a crying woman? There’s just something awkward about that.
When a woman cries, a man will do anything in his power to make her stop, so I said the first thing that came to my mind, “Do you want me to take the day off of work tomorrow to take you to the doctor?” Red lights flashed in my mind as the words tumbled out of my fully engaged mouth. Tomorrow was a busy day. I couldn’t possibly rearrange everything that need to be rearranged in order to take my tearful wife to the doctor, could I? As the words spewed forth I was secretly hoping she would reply by telling me that it really wasn’t that bad and that she would be alright.
Of course, my mental scenario wasn’t the same one that played through her mind. “Yeah,” she replied with big puppy dog eyes as she wrapped her arms around me. And with that single word, I was committed.
As I reflected upon my ordeal, I was struck with the realization that although I felt somewhat stuck in a predicament, the choice really wasn’t that hard to make. My wife needed to know I cared about her, and this commitment was nothing more than an extension of the commitment I made to her 10 years ago: “Annette, I pledge my life to you. I promise to love and support you, to be faithful, committing myself to you only...I promise to always remember that you are a gift to me. I give you all that I am and all that I will be forever.”
And with that, the whole family piled into the car the next morning to to show mom that we loved her.
This is especially true when the ill effects of pregnancy manifest themselves in the form of nausea, fatigue, and other illnesses. In the case of my wife, for example, these symptoms have been present for the last 14 of her 18 weeks of gestation. The complexities that stem from the hormones of a pregnant woman do not, however, prevent an observant husband from recognizing his wife’s true needs and desires from time to time. It is during those rare moments of clarity that a husband must be most astute. I had one of those moments last week and, fortunately, interpreted the desires of my wife with a high degree of accuracy.
It all started on Sunday afternoon. Actually, it all started around four months ago when she got pregnant and started feeling sick on a daily basis, but it was last Sunday that I scored in the latest round of the quest for brownie points.
I found my wife that afternoon, as I often do, in front of the computer researching her latest pregnancy related ailment. As I approached, she appeared depressed. “What’s wrong?” I asked, thinking that she would interpret such a question as true interest in her condition.
“You don’t even care that I’m miserable,” she began. As I tried to reassure her that I do indeed care about her pain, she employed a classic trick of the female gender. She cried. And I fell for it. What kind of a man wants to be around a crying woman? There’s just something awkward about that.
When a woman cries, a man will do anything in his power to make her stop, so I said the first thing that came to my mind, “Do you want me to take the day off of work tomorrow to take you to the doctor?” Red lights flashed in my mind as the words tumbled out of my fully engaged mouth. Tomorrow was a busy day. I couldn’t possibly rearrange everything that need to be rearranged in order to take my tearful wife to the doctor, could I? As the words spewed forth I was secretly hoping she would reply by telling me that it really wasn’t that bad and that she would be alright.
Of course, my mental scenario wasn’t the same one that played through her mind. “Yeah,” she replied with big puppy dog eyes as she wrapped her arms around me. And with that single word, I was committed.
As I reflected upon my ordeal, I was struck with the realization that although I felt somewhat stuck in a predicament, the choice really wasn’t that hard to make. My wife needed to know I cared about her, and this commitment was nothing more than an extension of the commitment I made to her 10 years ago: “Annette, I pledge my life to you. I promise to love and support you, to be faithful, committing myself to you only...I promise to always remember that you are a gift to me. I give you all that I am and all that I will be forever.”
And with that, the whole family piled into the car the next morning to to show mom that we loved her.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)