The Toilet Seat & The Puppy Picture

For those of you that don't know, I grew up with three brothers. So in our household, my Mom had to suffer through my Dad and four messy, unmannered boys. Okay, we probably weren't that unruly, but we were boys. For boys, mess is comfortable. We're encouraged to play in the dirt, not wash our hands, and show off the day's activities on our pant legs or shirts. That's part of the fun of being male. You get to act like you're 5 most of the time and the result (whether it be oil, dirt, grease, or sweat) is further proof of the testosterone flowing through your body.

To make matters worse for me (and for a certain someone that would inherit the behaviors of an all-boy house when we got married), my first foray into being out of the house was to live with one of my brothers. We had a 2-bedroom apartment that worked incredibly well as a bachelor pad. And wouldn't you know it, boys were still boys. Bless my mom. I think she always knew she was fighting a losing battle, but she always seemed to make the workman like effort. I remember her looking into my brother's bathtub in our apartment and actually being so repulsed that she pulled out the Comet and returned the tub to a sparkly....bland tan color. You can best believe we got her a really nice Mother's Day card that year.

So when I got married, I brought with me a host of bad behaviors - well, bad to Elisa. Because the opposite end of the spectrum was the Kaczka household. My poor father-in-law. While my mom was stuck with the boy parade, he was stuck with 4 women in a house - his wife and three daughters. To say that Elisa and I grew up differently would be the understatement of the year. Elisa learned to be clean, tidy, organized. It's no wonder that her career turned to the structure and organization of numbers. Elisa was groomed to be a girl. A girly girl. Yes, the "I'm going to stand on a chair because a Daddy Long Leg spider has just entered the mile radius around my house" girly girl. You can already imagine the collision on the way. Elisa, with 2 sisters. Brad, with 3 brothers. I think it's fair to say that Elisa probably measured me up one day and promptly started a spreadsheet of all of the little behaviors that would need fixing.

But the issue that really started my "education" was much more basic than the great change that relationships deal with. My eyes were opened up to marriage and relationships, not through thorough discussions and arguments over raising children, religion, or how to deal with finances. No, I now introduce you to the story of the Toilet Seat & The Puppy Picture.

Elisa and I moved into our house about 6 months into marriage. Maybe it was just the fact that being a newlywed was a blur, but the first 6 months of apartment living don't really leave a lot of memories for me. Then again, Elisa and I were both in school full-time, and both had jobs. I was traveling 2 weeks out of the month, and Elisa was trying to figure out what to do with our little Pug Maggie. So the story unfolds on a cold, blustery day in November 2003. Up to this point, marriage had been an adjustment, but I felt that I was holding my own in the push/pull of the relationship. And then I made the mistake of using the bathroom.

After flushing (I was raised in a house of 4 boys, not in the wilderness), I walked out of the bathroom and headed downstairs. 2 minutes later, it began. Elisa called down to me and asked me to come back upstairs. I was already well trained in the "wife tone". You know, the tone they use when they want to teach you something about being a better husband. So I walked up the stairs, and noticed she was in the bathroom. I probably spoke to soon a few sentences ago - I admit my first thought was that I potentially hadn't flushed. Maybe I was raised in the wilderness after all. I walked into the bathroom to see Elisa staring at the toilet. "I flushed!" was my first comment. You know, as I relive this story, I realize that I probably was a bit too defensive about flushing. In fact, even in the retelling of the story I find myself trying to prove to you, the reader, that I actually do flush the toilet. Somewhere, a therapist is praying I come for a few "sessions". For the sake of our story, let's just establish that I'm a flusher. That's not the point of the story anyway. Okay, now I'm flustered.

Back to November 2003. Back to the bathroom. Elisa moved into "trainer mode" very quickly. She educated me on proper etiquette of the toilet seat. Apparently, in normal households across the great USA, you are supposed to put the toilet seat down. I was told in no uncertain terms that the seat belonged in the down position at all times. I think I mumbled "yes, dear", and moved onto other things. I firmly believed that Elisa was going to just have to get over it. It was a toilet seat after all.

The next time I failed to place the seat in the downward position (suddenly, I envision a flight attendant providing proper instructions on this), my reaction went sarcastic. Upon asking Elisa why it was so important, she proceeded to let me know that if I didn't put the seat down, she could fall in when it was the middle of the night and she needed to use the John. See, this is what you do in marriage...you have heated conversations about how to prevent the butt cheek from submersing in the toilet. It makes you crave the fights about what to eat for dinner, doesn't it? I asked her why she didn't just turn on the light. I had a difficult time envisioning Elisa backing up to the toilet like a truck to a loading dock, without "using her rearview mirror", if you will. Again, the conversation ended with a "yes, dear", and I started to realize that Toilet Seat-gate wasn't going to be going away anytime soon.

Now I'll admit that after being scolded multiple times, I started to at least try. My OCD mind first thought it would be good to just try to make it a routine thing. Do it right after you flush. Or after you wash your hands. Or maybe don't even lift the seat at all (Elisa and all women are probably pulling the Comet out as a reaction to the last suggestion...it was a joke, put the rubber gloves down ladies). But it became clear to me that 20+ years of a toilet seat free zone were working against me. I think it would be fair to say that I developed a sort of block to this learning process. Part of me still didn't get why it was a big deal. Part of me just couldn't remember to put the seat down.

But my eyes were finally opened when I was at my in-laws for a Sunday dinner. I had used the restroom, and was still in the stage where I wanted to make sure my in-laws approved of me. For those that know me, it just means the sarcasm was only at a level 4, rather than the typical 10. I don't think anyone knew that I had been the last to use the restroom, but when Elisa's sister went to use the John, I heard it shouted through the house. "Who left the toilet seat up?" My first thought was to act offended like the rest of the household. "Yeah, who would do such a thing!". But I knew Elisa would see through that. Secondly, I thought of bouncing up and down like a 4-year old - I'd try to convince them that I really needed to go to the bathroom, and so they would never know I had been the last one to use it! It was genius - except, bouncing up and down with crossed legs is probably not the best way to endear yourself to the in-laws. In the end, I think Elisa actually squeezed my leg under the table in a "oh dear, will you ever learn"? sort of way.

And surprisingly, it was this quintessential moment that I realized the reality of relationships. One that I hope to explore in further writing. We may like to pretend that our personalities can change. After all, there are self-help books lining the shelves of Barnes & Noble that tell you change is possible. But what I realized in that moment is that I wouldn't suddenly wake up and realize that the toilet seat needed to be down. It wasn't about the toilet seat at all. It was the fact that I was fighting the natural inclination to fall into a "role" in my relationship. Because my theory on relationships is as follows - relationships are not about how to fit 2 different personalities into 1 life. Instead, it's about understanding that in all matters of relationships, the two individuals involved need to fall into roles that generally challenge and are at tension with the other. The OCD cleaner vs. the "can't I just dust around the furniture" cleaner. The disciplinarian vs. the melting marshmallow. The spender vs. the saver. And that so long as the intent of the two individuals is aligned (they're doing it for the same reason), these roles are crucial to a healthy relationship.

How does this relate to a toilet seat? I realized in the in-law moment that Elisa was already knee deep (or should I say toilet water deep) into the role of teacher. It was time for me to become the learner. Our intent was the same - that neither of us wanted me to be the urban equivalent of Tarzan. My mental block had come from the fact that I was trying to "change" myself when that just wasn't possible. I am who I am. I will always be a "does it REALLY matter what position the toilet seat is in?" kind of guy. But when I accepted that I needed to learn what was being taught for the good of my marriage, things got generally easier and my marriage did too.

After countless ways of trying to determine how to finally put the toilet seat down, I settled on a simple approach. I needed a reminder - not of toilet seat etiquette, but of my required role. An off the wall reminder that I needed to be the learner. In essence, I was like a little puppy. So I found an address sticker of Elisa's that had a picture of puppy on it and I put it on the underside of the toilet seat. Every time I used the toilet, Mr. Puppy would be staring at me. And whether it was my new devotion to actually accept something that I needed to learn, or my shame at the puppy mocking me about a toilet seat, the toilet seat started coming down faster than the Berlin Wall.

I remember they used to have posters in classrooms saying "Everything I needed to know, I learned in Kindergarten". Apparently, everything I needed to know about relationships I learned with a toilet seat. Now I just need to copyright that and make a poster.

And nearly 8 years later (as shown below for the non-believers), Mr. Puppy is still affixed to the underside of the toilet seat. Something tells me that when we move, that seat is coming with me...in the downward position, of course.

Of iPhones & 90 X's

Apparently, I have been slacking off yet again. I hit a good patch where I'm blogging quite a bit, and then I hit a dead end. Not because I don't have anything to say. As Elisa would say, when do I not have something to say? But if I'm going to blog, it has to be worthwhile. I have to be able to spit something out that is mildly coherent, and timely to what's going on in our lives. So while I had little snippets of sarcasm pouring through my veins over the last month, nothing really spoke to me.

And in the span of about 2 hours, two topics came to me. One involving the new addiction in my life. The other...well, let's just say its become an addiction of the lesser enjoyment.

Apparently, there's an app for that

Quick history lesson. After Elisa and I got married, we decided to leave Verizon Wireless. Verizon was just too expensive and we could get a great deal with AT&T. It was much cheaper. So we made the switch. What we didn't know, was that "cheaper" apparently meant that our cell phones would only work using the old "two soup cans connected with a string" technique. It was so bad that the typical 15-20 minute commute home would have anywhere from 10-12 call drops. Imagine a conversation while Elisa was in the middle of her pregnancy. I spent half of our two year contract wondering if she had experienced smoething catastrophic at work, and the other half thinking that she didn't understand my sarcasm and was suddenly angry with me and providing the "silent treatment" as a punishment.

So two years later, we learned our lesson and trudged back to Verizon. Sure, we were paying more but we also talked more too. And we no longer had to talk like the Micro Machines guy, trying to get every possible word into a conversation before the inevitable call drop. And what happens when we move to Verizon? A little slice of heaven called the iPhone is released. I'm pretty boring - I've never done drugs. But I get a sense of what an addict would feel like if their dealer held their stache right over their head and told them it would only be there's once their two year contract was up, and the quality of the stuff wouldn't be that good anyway. Wait...did I just wrap an addiction to drugs into an analogy with a 2-year cell phone agreement? And equate AT&T's network to less than ideal drug quality? Maybe the blog should end before my brain explodes.

So Elisa and I waited patiently. I scoured Google News for a hint of a "Verizon iPhone". I felt comforted by the fact that people tweeted about the Verizon iPhone as much as Just Bieber, and every time our 2-year contract came up, we considered the trek back to AT&T but always realized that a phone that can't actually make calls longer than...well, I'll leave that analogy to you. But I know where your mind went. You should be ashamed.

And then it happened. The news. Verizon was getting an iPhone. In fact, I think the clouds actually parted and the iPhone itself descended from the heavens. Okay, actually the price tag fell down first with a credit card swiper. But that's not the point. Our perseverence had paid off. We could get an iPhone with actual service that allowed us to....gulp...talk! So we counted down the days, and watched our Blackberry phones start to fall apart. Luke did his part by bending my charging cord to the point of oblivion, and Elisa's battery had multiple personalities. One day, she would use the phone a lot and have a full charge by nightfall. The next day, she would barely touch her phone and the charge would be gone by mid-morning. I still think her time of Facebook was somehow directly related, but I wouldn't tell her that. Oh wait.

A couple weeks ago, we went and got iPhones. Elisa was amazing. She had been putting money away for months to be able to pay for them. Love you sweetie. And since then, the iPhone has made me an addict. I'm not so ashamed to admit that I have downloaded just under 60 applications on my phone so far. I have apps for my news, sports, games, video games, food, shopping, and weather. I even have apps that tell me when there are new or free apps. I can't wait for the app that selects my next apps without me even deciding that I need them. I've found myself addicted to Angry Birds. I've found myself hopelessly enjoying how quick and clear Facebook is. But, shockingly, this entire post isn't about the iPhone (which I disclose 4.5 pages later). It's about awa. And bort. And toilets. And aired.

Confused? You shouldn't be. Because I had the great idea of Elisa and I downloading the same application. A game we could play together. We tried Words With Friends (the free version), which was enjoyable, but Scrabble ended up being $.99. Now some quick backstory here. Elisa pretends to not be smart. She says she doesn't know or remember as much as me. I know she's lying. She's like a ninja. She lulls you into a false sense of security, and then wallops you while you sleep. Elisa = Ninja. Trust me. So we start Scrabble, and I win the first game. Elisa is visible frustrated. She starts putting herself down, so I suggest we play one more game. This one was so close...and Elisa won. By one point. I think the final score was 233 to 232. So we play again. I like the sport of it. I think it's a fun time, and it's feeding my addiction...after all, it is one more app I get to download!

But it's the third game that she pulls out the Ninja. The game starts out simple enough. The game is close. We trade words like VIBE, CONE, GUIDE, SAD, WIFE. And then the ninja begins. GORES. TOILETS (yes she used all 7 letters in one word). I try to keep up. I'm about 30 points behind. And she hits me with BORT. Are you kidding me? BORT!? Is that even a word? WHIM. AIRED (she claims that she got lucky). And my personal favorite, AWA. By this point, I could have gotten a triple word score on ZQUVX and I would have lost. And what does she do? She giggles. Every time she hits submit, she says "Don't hate me" or "Forgive me". She is now the queen of Scrabble. Beware if you play with her. You will fall to BORT AWA. Mark my words.

Not 1, not 2...we have 90 Xs

For those of you wondering, we haven't given up on 30 day challenges. We actually decided to try something more - three 30-day challenges in a row. In the form of P90X. Elisa has wanted me to blog about this for quite awhile, and I'm not exactly sure why I haven't. Maybe it's because by the time I'm done with P90X each night, I can barely function. It's hard enough to complete the act of sleeping, let alone trying to write something that is entertaining. but we sit at Day 37 of 90. And Elisa and I haven't missed a day. I'm very proud of us for that, because P90X gives you about 60 reasons every night to quit. This is brutal. You don't think it will be that bad. You think you can handle it. And then you realize you are doing a mix of push ups and pull ups for an hour, without a break. You jump so many times in Plyo that you're afraid you'll squat yourself into the fetal position for life. And don't get me started on Yoga. I'm thankful that I actually exercise alone these days, because I'm sure the adjectives that would describe a lanky 6'2" skinny man doing balance postures would make the finest YouTube video sensation since Star Wars Kid or the "My Yah Hee" Nerd.

And then there's Ab Ripper X. He's not lying when he says you do 349 moves. Okay, he's lying when he tells you that you just did them, because I don't think it's humanly possible. But a funny thing has started to happen. I feel addicted to the results. Not the workouts. I still struggle to find the desire or motivation with every workout. But the results are compelling and exciting. And as much as Elisa says she doesn't see the results, I see them in her. She's always been in good shape, so maybe the results are just not as extreme as they feel on me. It's because I've been the skinny (well, except for the sympathy 15 I put on with our pregnancies), lanky, uncoordinated, and undefined geek. It's okay. I admit it. Now, I find myself proud of the results I'm getting, and more confident in my appearance. Yes, I'm still lanky. I'm still a geek (I'm 32 and still play video games, for God's Sake), but now I'm addicted. I'll see myself in the mirror and think that a moquito got hungry. That the term six pack doesn't just apply to beer. That I have arms that may be more fitting to use as arms, rather than convenient toothpicks after dinner to get food out of my teeth.

The point? If my theory on 30-day challenges is correct, we, as human beings need to experience something for 30 days before we realize the impact that it has on us. At that point, we can either slip back into our old ways, or we can embrace the fact that our bodies and minds want us to change and we now have proven that we can do it. With over 30 of our 90 little Xs already out of the way, I think the biggest lesson I've learned is that the challenges are what you make of them. And beyond the one-arm push ups, the corn cob pull ups, the downward dogs, and the Star Blocks, there is someone in me and in Elisa that want to be healthier and better people. We still stay away from most fast food. I still haven't touched an Oreo for 60 days. And now I have confidence in the most difficult workout set I've ever tried.

Of course, maybe the best thing for me now would be a 30-day challenge to not download a new app for my iPhone. Hey, maybe there's an app for that...

30 Days Down, 30 Days To Go

Officially, our first 30-day challenge wrapped up last Wednesday. For those of you new to the concept, Elisa and I are trading in the tried and true New Year's Resolutions in favor of something more lasting. If we can accomplish something for 30 days, perhaps our habits will change and we can make it more of a long-term commitment.

So on this side of our first 30 days, the world of fast food lies before us. If I wanted to, I could go get a Double-Double, Animal Style, with a Neopolitan shake. Of course, while my tastebuds would squeal like a spring pig at the fair, the rest of my body would truly understand what it would feel like to digest said pig, while it was squealing. You're probably having the same epiphany I am - animal style, while a good idea while ordering, is really a hall pass to the Pepto World Series of Pink Nightmares. But I have to admit that I'm a bit proud of us. To go from having fast food 1-2-3-4 times a week to none at all was a success. One that surprised our moods, food choices, and pocket book.

I've been primarily asked 2 questions over the last 30 days. 1) Has it been difficult? 2) How much have you saved? So I thought it would be fun, at the end of our first 30 days, to answer those questions now that I can actually answer them.

Has it been difficult?

This is the question that kind of cracks me up the most. Because people don't ask the question in a conversational way. They ask it as if you sold your own child for a really nice steak. You know...part disbelieving that you are actually following through, because deep down we distrust everyone. Part secretly wondering what truly happens to your body without fast food - like they're expecting Grimace to pop right out of your foot and pull you back into the closest McDonalds. And part really sympathetic. Because they equate the sacrifice you are making to solving world hunger, sticking it to "the man", and pulling a Joan of Arc all in one.

In short, the answer is that it's only difficult at the first. Because you still crave it, and still look at the coming 30 days as your equivalent to wandering the desert for 40 days without water. In fact, I almost found us getting more and more energized as our 30 days turned into 20. The term "challenge" takes on a new meaning...like you're beating down a past demon.

To put it in perspective, though, is the first surprise of the first challenge. It's harder to go back to fast food than it is to stop. It's true. Lukas acted like he was a human timer. The minute our 30-day challenge was over, Luke wanted fast food. Luckily (or so we thought), Lukas picked something mild and healthy. He wanted Rumbi. So our first (and so far only) foray into the fast food world was Rumbi Island Grill. The first thing that caught my attention was that I didn't really want it. Nothing sounded good - actually, homemade food sounded great. But eating out wasn't really calling my name. I settled on some kalua pork (Elisa went with a salad). I battled my way through half of it. And I was done. I'm not sure what it was - too sweet. Too much. Too rich. Something. But it wasn't paradise. It was work. Since when did fast food become work? Oh yeah - since, my body realized what it was like to not have 2 all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, onion, pickle on a sesame seed bun in my iron clad stomach.

How much did you save?

This was the question I was most eager to answer myself. But I wanted a fair assessment. So first, I had to decide how I would compare spending. At first, it was going to just be comparing the amount of money we spent on fast food from one month to another. But I realized that wouldn't be accurate. In fact, if the 30-day challenge was effective, it was a mathematical certainty that we would spend more money at the grocery store. So the more fair comparison would be to add up all of the food expenses of the month (groceries, fast food, restaurants, etc.) and compare them to the 30-day challenge month.

Are you ready to find out? Did we save anything? Did we spend more money? Besides putting the seismic dent the size of a peanut in the Mcdonald's freight train, was it worth it? The answer surprised even me.

We saved.....$320.62.

I know - your first inclination is that either it isn't possible, or we were actually fast food addicts that ate out 5 times a week, but put on the fake face of "we don't have a problem!" when we started the challenge. I, in fact, was suspicious. Until I realized that eating fast food isn't the whole story. In fact, it's only part of it. In a previous blog, I mentioned that I would purposefully not plan a couple meals a week, knowing we would go get something. What I didn't realize is that even when I was planning meals, I was a poor planner. I'd guess at what we had at home already. Which meant that I would make emergency store trips 2-3 times a week just to get something to finish dinner. And when you go in at 5pm after a long day of work, you're not just going to purchase the Ragu. No, you find cookies, chocolate, soda, bread, milk, chocolate milk, strawberry milk, really cool swirly straws that the kids will love, a Netflix movie, a mocha latte, flowers for the wife, and ice cream. And then you realize that you forgot the Ragu and head on back.

During the 30-day challenge, I was a maniac. I planned every meal - main dish, side dish, vegetable, bread (if applicable). I ensured that we were having well rounded meals. I made sure that we bought enough at the store. We joined Sam's Club and started buying more meats and groceries in bulk. We became freezer bag fanatics, buying an all too big portion of chicken and turning it into 5 future meals. And we didn't eat out. We didn't spend $15-20 a pop for a meal out. And yes, the money kept adding up.

Want to know what's more impressive? In this month, we went to Costco twice, Sam's Club 3 times, bought a Sam's Club membership, were tearing through 2 gallons of milk a week, were eating good healthy (and fully planned) dinners 7 days a week, and we still saved $320. So yes, I'd say the challenge worked. I have $320 reasons (and a recurring stomach ache of kalua pork) to prove it.

The Next Great Challenge

Elisa and I went back and forth, then, on what our next challenge should be. I'm convinced we are on the right track to actually tackling the aims of those resolutions with better results. But I didn't want to lose the momentum. We considered exercise, spending time as a family, no TV, going to sleep at a normal time, family activities, etc. But nothing felt right. So I threw down the ultimate gauntlet for Elisa....no sweets.

And I'm so proud of her - she agreed. So our second 30-day challenge is underway. It officially started today. Sweets are now a thing of our recent past. No soda, donuts, chocolate, candy, cookies, cakes, etc. And after 1 day, I already feel like it's a greater challenge than the first one. Because if you think you have a fast food habit, it's nothing compared to popping an M&M, Oreo, or Coca Cola. They actually call out to you, like little Devils trying to pull you into the underworld. While we won't save $320 on sweets (that WOULD be a problem in which advice and counseling would be required), hopefully we will teach ourselves that you don't need a handful of candy, or a couple cookies to round out the day. And who knows...maybe we won't jump back into sweets either.

All I can say is that if you want to make a change, give yourself 30 days to try that change on for size. You may be surprised that what you thought was impossible to do or to stop is only as difficult as turning the page of a calendar.

Now, who wants a Double Double Animal Style? The pig is already squealing away...

20 Days into the 30 Day Challenge

We are now officially 20 days into our first 30 Day Challenge. Fast food franchises across Utah have felt the pinch of losing such valuable customers that they have resorted to sending hundreds of fliers to our mailbox to try to lure us back. Okay, maybe not. We're one little family that ate out occasionally, and we would get the fliers in our mailbox even if we owned a fast food chain for ourselves. But the fact is, we're 2/3 through with our first challenge and its a certifiable fact that we probably haven't gone this long without fast food since we were both living under our parent's roofs. Not that it's been easy every single day. But we'll take the mini victory and share our progress so far.

Visions of sugar plums...well, maybe not
I think the most difficult part of the first 20 days was just the fact that once you have had your addiction (I believe it is) taken from you, all you do is have a slow calvacade of pictures running through your head - all the things you no longer get to have. A few of the family's favorites (which is guaranteed to make those fast food lovers salivate and the chosen few who don't eat the stuff cringe):

• Neopolitan shake (In-N-Out) - pure evil in a cup. Strawberry, vanilla, and chocolate ice cream split in a cup. And in pure In-N-Out style, it's not on the menu. It calls to you like the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden.
• McDonald's Fries (McDonald's) - don't deny it. You wish that the world was like Willy Wonka's factory - except that everything was made from McDonald's french fries. That rare combination of having more grease than your arteries can handle, but being so smooth that you try to rationalize that potatoes are, in the end, a natural food from the good Earth.
• Fazoli's breadsticks (Fazoli's) - The classic food that takes you through three stages. First, the initial breadstick tastes like the Gods of Olympus were bored and said "if we were to make a breadstick, what would it taste like?". Second stage - "this breadstick is quite rich. Is there really bread in this, or is it a stick of butter with a splash of garlic? I better have one more." And the third stage - "I sure am glad I got an extra dozen with my meal. How does one person survive with the 2 measly breadsticks they give you with your meal?!?! That's not even enough to make it home!"
• Fry Sauce (Arctic Circle) - The beauty of this stuff is that it goes on anything. Sure, its good on fries. Burgers? Dip away. Chicken fingers would work. The basics, right? You know the stuff is bad for you when you start wondering what a turkey sandwich would taste like with the stuff dripping from the bread. Or a chicken drumstick. Or enchiladas. Coffee cake. Blueberry pies. Okay, maybe not to that extreme but open a packet of the fry sauce and watch where your mind takes you.
• Pizza (Dominos, Pizza Hut, Little Caesars, etc.) - this is the dangerous stuff. The food that makes even the tiniest eater find ways to expand their stomachs. We've all experienced it - you sit down for a slice, and when you look up to realize you haven't used a napkin for the last 45 minutes, all you see is a cardboard box with a perfect grease stain that represents the original size of the pie, with beautiful grease lines indicating where they cut it into 8 delicious pieces.

See what I mean? Try telling yourself that you can't have a whiff of things like that. I know, I know. Your first thought is that it's only 20 days. It's not that hard. But when you step back and realize how often we all east fast food, that 20 days starts to feel like a really long time. It's nearly three weeks of NOT ordering a pizza because you don't want to cook. Of NOT stopping at McDonald's for a quick lunch. Of NOT dipping your burger, fries, and macaroni salad into fry sauce. Of NOT having a meal that we are made to think is "happy".

The Point of the challenge
But this post isn't about how hard it is. It's about how changing it is. A few fast and fun facts about what we've learned in the first 20 days.

1. When you eat at home, you go through A LOT of food. As you know, our family consists of myself, Elisa (4'11", remember?), Lukas (4 years old), and Miles (the only fast food for him is if Mom and Dad are in a hurry changing his diaper at his first feeding of the day). In the past 20 days, we have averaged drinking 2 gallons of milk a week, 1 1/2-2 loaves of bread, 2 packs of lunch meat, enough chicken to make a local KFC proud, a package of Oreos (hey, no fast food and you find new ways to punish your body), 1/2 of our curiously large backstock of spaghetti (it appears if we were hit with an earthquake, we could have lived off of spaghetti for 2 and a half years), and more.
2. Related to #1, we still haven't cleared $100 in a week at the grocery store. Take that, fast food chains!
3. Your food cooking creativity certainly is heightened. First week, I fully admit that my food choices were lazy at best. I think the realization hit me when I had forgotten to defrost something for the second day in a row, and Elisa's reaction to another round of "eggs?" was more along the lines of "if you feed me eggs one more night, I will actually attempt to reverse the egg laying process, using you as the chicken in my scientific test."
4. You experience tantrums. If you think you're addicted to the fast food experience, it's nothing compared to your kids. Lukas found everything you could want in a fast food joint - greasy food, toys with your meal, wild children showing initial signs of a "Lord of the Flies" stage adaptation, playlands that simply scream "your child is going to take more than a happy meal with him".
5. Most of all, though, you feel better. You feel healthier. You feel happier. It's weird. You don't expect to. You think it will be depressing. But, in fact, its a happier place. A fresher experience. And even the worst foods at home just don't feel as heavy or bad for you as what you ate "out there".

So 20 days in, we're making great progress. And I feel us already gearing up for our second 30-day challenge. We haven't decided what exactly it will be, and its probably good that we have 10 more days to figure it out. I did suggest to Elisa that we give up sweets, and I think I saw a flash of evil behind those beautiful brown eyes. Literally, she was smiling but her eyes said "I can hurt you in ways that you haven't even thought of." Any ideas from the crowd?

What should our next 30-day challenge be?

The Year of "30 Day" Challenges

It's rather pathetic that it's been nearly five months since our last blog post. I had started my "management" of the blog with such promise and then just fell out of the habit as quickly as I had fallen into it. Oh well, maybe I should make a "New Year's Resolution" to blog more.

Not.

That seems to be a nice intro to the point of this blog post, actually...resolutions. I've always struggled with the idea of the resolution. We live our lives each day, with choices all around us. We typically make the most unhealthy, unhelpful, and unwise decisions (which also tend to fall around the holidays - perhaps its the mix of festivities, family, friends, alcohol, and unmet expectations) and then don party hats, sing some songs, bang some pans, and decide that the next year will be different. Sadly, as quickly as we made the decision to wear the tacky 2011 glasses on New Year's, our resolutions fall to the wayside and we spend another 11 months re-establishing the habits that we wanted to avoid in the first place on that fateful New Year's Eve.

That's not to say that the purpose of a resolution isn't a good thing. Elisa and I just decided to take a different approach. And I thought it would be fun to make it an entire year's experience. Then we'll have at least made a valiant effort of "change" prior to giving in and building resolutions for 2012.

That's where the "30-Day Challenge" comes in. I figure that we, as human beings, can do anything for 30 days. It's the basis of made (and failed) resolutions, after all. But rather than trying something for 30 days and then giving up, why not do it for 30 days, re-evaluate, try something slightly different, etc., etc., etc.? Perhaps, by the end of 12 months, you really have made a change. With that idea in the books, it turned to a more difficult decision - what to do for 30 days?

Well, it was difficult until we rented a movie from Netflix. There was a documentary that I had wanted to watch, staring me in the face as I linked our Apple TV to a new Netflix account. 'Super Size Me.' For those of you unaware, the documentary follows one man's decision to eat nothing but McDonald's for 30 days (see the connection of our own challenge?). The effects were startling - liver problems (blood tests showed it was the same reaction to binge drinking alcoholic), depression when not eating the food, vomitting when trying to eat it all (at least early on), and about 30 lbs. of weight. Granted, documentaries are created with a certain point of view. I understand that. But once the closing credits were rolling, I didn't want to see another "Golden Arches" for awhile. So Elisa and I talked about trying to not eat fast food for 30 days. Start easy. See where it takes us.

Of course, giving up fast food isn't easy. It's designed to be addictive. And boy, is it addictive. And amazingly, it had just become part of our lives. I remember planning out meals for the week and always leaving one or two days empty - we'd figure something out on those days, which almost always turned into fast food choices. Lukas is probably the poster child for fast food companies targetting kids. His meals are made all the better if made by Ronald, Wendy, or Arctic - okay the last one didn't fit. But the playlands, the happy meals, the toys...they make Lukas beg to "eat out for dinner". So it seemed like a pretty good idea to have our first 30-day challenge be to stop fast food altogether. And look at 3 things:

1. How do we feel?
2. How much money did we save?
3. Are we establishing a more real "change" in habit?

As it stands right now, we are 13 days into our test. And I thought it would be fun to live through our year of "30-Day Challenges" on our blog. After all, it's one thing to have a private challenge. It's another to share it with the world, so that they hold you accountable to it as well.

So enjoy the first of many challenges. Officially, we are not eating fast food for 30 days. No McDonald's. No Wendy's. No Subway. Nothing. Well, except coffee. Elisa might hurt someone if she's deprived of her weekly Starbucks. And 7+ years of marriage has taught me to not do something crazy like that. With that, I better run to the store now, since I find us emptying our cupboards at a rapid pace. I guess that's what happens when you actually eat at home every meal. Who knew?

Next time - a trip down Fast Food Memory Lane.

Why I Didn't Go To My High School Reunion

High School. Alone, those two words seem harmless enough. When someone says "school", you think of standing in a row, being herded like little lambs, as you walk into 1st Grade. Things like recess, hot lunch, Air Jordans, and Girbauds buzz around your head like happy little friends. Because almost all of us tend to have fond memories of the days where boogers belonged under desks, being a crossing guard carried real power, and it was cool to eat crayons...okay, maybe we made fun of that guy even back then, but you get the idea.

"High" on the other hand puts you into one of two groups. In Utah, it probably means that you are afraid of, or embrace heights. Anywhere else, it probably means something else...something that put a smile on every 7-11 cashier as a parade of munchie searchers cascaded through the doors. Only then would a slurpee, beef jerky, and some cigarette shaped candy seem to meet food pyramid guidelines so precisely.

But when you put the words together, something altogether frightening or wonderful happens. You harken back to the 3 or 4 years of pure, unadulterated fear or euphoria. Because High School never tends to fall somewhere in the middle. It's like Utah vs. BYU - everyone has a side, and the people that profess to want or own a "BYUtah" shirt are made fun of, regardless of age, maturity level, or socioeconomic standing. I, for one, don't look fondly at the High School days. Sure, there were moments - Debate team standing out more than anything else, but at a young age, I found myself brilliant in the realm of horrible timing. I thought the ripe time to remove myself from my established group of friends would be 9th grade. Yeah, that one worked out awfully well. Shun yourself from the people you have interacted with since the happy days of dodge ball and four square, and send yourself on a quest for new friends in the most backwards, clique-ish, stereotype creating environment on earth. Elisa, if you're listening...you married a slight idiot. Thanks for loving me anyway.

But this post isn't about my high school experience, or the opportunity to revisit those days for myself. This is about our experience last night. You see, I robbed the cradle by marrying a woman 3.5 years my younger, so Elisa's 10-year high school reunion reared its ugly head just this summer. Elisa wanted to go from the start - and I decided to be the dutiful husband and immediately instigating two tactics. 1) Profess complete commitment to support her in the desire to go 10 years back in time, realizing that this could pay dividends during football season, or for my birthday in October. 2) Start dropping little comments laced with sarcasm about how the reunion would be the second coming of the circus (including large mammal abuse and ridicule) so that Elisa MIGHT reconsider this desire. I apparently excel at neither...Elisa was sure I didn't want to go right up to the drive there and I don't think I'm getting a better present on my birthday.

Elisa did do me right in one way - she accepted an invitation to attend a pre-party at Bohemian Brewery to at least make the night a "buzzed" one. And with that, we were off to High School. Again.

Nearly 24 hours removed from the festivities, I see that I missed and slyly avoided the best and worst of high school by not heading to my own reunion. We'll start with what I missed. Because what I avoided still makes me giggle. I found myself a bit jealous of my wife, primarly during the pre-party (@Bohemian) and after-party (@SkyBox). I'm not sure even she knew that after 10 years, some friendships would appear stronger or actually possible when old strangers came together. Some of the highlights (and tips for your next reunion opportunity):

• If you're going to a pre-party, plan your entrance to coincide with an already arrived group that is just polishing off their first bottle of champagne. It conveniently moves you past the awkward conversations of "what looks good on the menu" and plops you right into conversation starters like "Once, I had diarrhea in a corn field."
• Order an appetizer and the largest pitcher of beer on the menu. It makes everything more funny, takes any residual "awkwardness" from your own mood, and allows you to freely observe a group of old friends revisit memories pure and long lasting like being shown a tattoo in a college class, the joys of a Senior Trip that involved a alcohol virgin hitting on an 80-year old, and the sisterhood created by the two "controlled" drinkers, bonded by their commitment to the fabled "pump and dump" principle.
• Even 10 years later, don't underestimate the power of peer pressure. Even individuals with the right state of mind to NOT go to the reunion can be persuaded to go anyway with the promise of sneaking in mini bottles to the actual event.
• Post-reunion, post emptied mini bottles, post regret at actually thinking attending the reunion was a smart idea, realize that buzzed, drunk, or sober people will still be hungry. Encourage them to go "all in" by ordering the world's largest plate of nachos, followed 5 minutes later by a burger the size of a small ham, with a standing order for a sundae waiting in the wings. That'll absorb the liquor!
• If offered said nachos from the over-achieving orderer, just take them. Otherwise, they are comfortable enough with you by now to start pointing at you and demanding consumption immediately...and you're slightly frightened that it may come to physical harm if you don't.
• Finally, when you're ready to wrap the night in a nice little bow, be sure to enjoy the fantastic combination of alcohol, food, friendship, and a server there just to enjoy watching the train wreck with a finale conversation starter involving a receipt and a female body part.
• In short, my sincere thanks to the group of pre & post party goers. You made the entire night worthwhile.

Of course, that's the highlights. The good parts. We haven't touched the reunion itself. And it was a good one...and by that, I mean a really, really bad one.

• Granted, this is Utah, but could it really be a good idea to have a survey at the party, immediately making those unmarried, unemployed, without children, or fond of the occassional "tat" feel like outcasts? This is what was accomplished by the Class of 2000. And it gets better.
• I would recommend against using said survey responses to give prizes. To the person that doesn't really understand what a "stinger pollenating a flower" really results in, $50 to LaCaille! I'm sure with the gaggle waiting in the car, you and the wife will have a lovely time.
• Let's have a gift card for the person that played the field for an entire three months after high school before tying the knot. She didn't even need to enroll at BYU! Another Cougar's dreams were created without that enrollment.
• For the person brave enough to get married most recently, let's provide them with outfits for the babies surely on their way. I mean, if they start now, they could be in the running for the $50 gift card at the 20-year reunion.
• I did appreciate the touch of having someone's children (or scout troop) man the payment desk and the name tag area. Nothing like writing your name on a piece of duct tape that says "the last 10 years have been good to us and to our reunion budget!"
• Moreover, kudos to teach the kids that the right and true thing to do is hunt down potential "non-payers" so that the experience can be a positive and fair one for all involved.
• On the subject of food, realize that $25 a pop can only go so far when we have Country Cleaner gift cards to give out. Make sure to have Cafe Rio cater the event with a serious lack of napkins, forks, rice, salad, or taste. This is what we call "stretching your money".
• Back to the awards - keep this in mind. If you're lucky enough to win, you could be taking home fabulous prizes as chewing gum, skittles, or the aforementioned Country Cleaner gift card. Man, those local businesses don't seem nearly as giving when its not for a football fundraiser!
• As the table of "outcasts" grows, be sure, as the hosts, to find subtle ways to keep the "good times a rolling!" Call numbers to win a prize, but then when an outcast wins, find another winner and send the outcast back to the table empty handed...and then proceed to award 25 more packs of gum to other winners.
• Look with disdain as desparate outcasts find creative ways to ration a small bottle of alcohol to "enhance" the strawberry banana punch!
• And more than anything, remind everyone of some inconvenient truths. The jerk 10 years ago still can handle that moniker. And everything that made High School "Hell School" 10 years ago, seems to travel through time to remind all involved that when everything changes, nothing really changes at all.

Was it all a bad experience? Of course not. The pre and post parties were fantastic, and the actual chance for an adult night out was immensely appreciated. But, in the end, I must admit to feel slightly vindicated that I didn't attend my own reunion. Because, let's be honest - one was enough for both of us, and the adage "what's yours becomes ours" in marriage has never been more helpful in my life. One is enough, dear.

Now, who's with me on starting a paper chain countdown to the 20-year reunion?!

The TRUE effect of children

When did I get old? I know, I know. I'm only 31 (although that's something that the 3 1/2 year younger Elisa likes to tease me about). And when you're growing up, you have this idea about aging - that things are all good until you hit about 40, the downhill slope commences, and you say the big "sayonara" around 80. Living it is a slightly different experience. Now, granted, I don't say I'm getting old as a negative. And to be fair, while there are some physical signs that I'm not an 18 year old anymore, its the mental and lifestyle changes that have been entertaining me lately. Because well...my kids made me old. It's their fault...or blessing.

The whole point of this was an analysis of our weekend thus far. For those of you not single, do you remember your youthful weekends? Should I paint the picture to remind us all? Stay up on Friday night watching something meaningless like a Real World marathon, crash at 3 in the morning, sleep in until 11AM, scoot around the house looking for something good to eat while you surf the TV trying to find some interesting movie to watch. Follow that up with a late lunch involving fast food, french fries, and grease, which miraculously never finds its way to your "love handles" or "thighs". No, food just disappears into the great oblivion known as a hormone ravaged metabolism that only knows full speed. Then it's time to start calling your friends to find something to do, hopefully involving more fast food, mindless entertainment like heading to the "sev" for a slurpee and then wandering around looking for trouble. You get home just in time to realize that the Road Rules marathon started 45 minutes ago, and you can't look away. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

You get married and your life changes - sure, you still go out, still stay out late, and still eat more processed food than is humanly possible, but you find yourself heading to bed at midnight instead of 3. You wake up at 9 instead of 11. Subtle differences, but surely not enough change to make you think you're turning into your parents - after all, it's still easy and natural to look at their lifestyle and choice of activities and say "I'll never do that!"

So here I sit, one 7-year marriage, 2 dogs, a 3-year old, and a 3 1/2 month old later, and I realize that I'm starting to like some of those things I used to scoff at as I watched my parents go about their business. For the new parents of my generation, raise your hand if you've experienced any of the following (lets cover the weekend routine again):

• Friday nights are pure bliss because you might be able to sleep in until 7 instead of 5:30. That is, if one of the kids doesn't decide that it will be fun to wake up 3-4 times that night in hopes of hanging out in mom and dad's bed.
• The nightly news provides the lovable bookend to your day - you tend to turn the TV off right after the weather (if you're female) or just after sports (for the males)
• You wake up sometime in the middle of the night, wondering when you last slept through the night.
• You realize you actually have to use the bathroom in the middle of the night (this only happened in youth when you polished off a 6-pack before collapsing for sleep)
• You're woken up by a child staring you right in the face whispering "Daddy" or "Mommy". It's like a nightmare when it happens, because the kid likes to get REALLY close to your face when he/she wakes you.
• You throw the kid into bed, hoping that he/she will go back to sleep. You still convince yourself that it's possible. You end up disappointed.
• The first thing on TV is Mickey Mouse, or a Little Einstein. Sadly, you find yourself thinking "oh I know this episode!"
• You're out of bed at 7:00, thinking its a waste of a day to stay in bed any later.
• Breakfast in bed is for those who are physically unable to face the world due to sickness - instead, you make your meal and wolf it down, staring at the house that experienced a twister called child #1.
• The highlight of your day is when the newspaper arrives. Pure bliss, as you find a way to drink your coffee, read an article, put a pacifier in your child's mouth, stop the other from crashing their tricycle into the couch, and read another article.
• You actually get excited about errands - especially when the word "Costco" is involved.
• You find yourself interested in activities listed in the newspaper, but by the time you finish the paragraph stating times/dates, you have already built a checklist in your mind of what you'd need to finish before being able to do the fun activity, and decide it's probably not worth it.

This is all before 10:00am. And the sickest part of all? You love every minute of it. And then spend the rest of your day, finding ways to convince yourself that you're completely different from your parents.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

What not to do at a Botanical Garden..

I feel so accomplished. Two blog posts in a 1/2 of a week. Maybe the writing of the blog is becoming therapy - or at least a way to unwind each night. I had one thought kind of eating at me today, which necessitates the obvious blog post in progress. So here we go.

I personally think that Elisa has one of the sweetest jobs in the world. She has flexibility of schedule, a challenging position, super benefits, and the chance to work for a non-profit, and a cool one at that. Elisa's work at Red Butte Garden also has another perk - concert tickets. For those of you that don't know, Red Butte has a summer concert series, which usually includes bands and artists looking for (or needing) a more intimate environment. We have been able to go to 1 or 2 concerts a year for quite awhile now, but hadn't ventured out this year. Until Tuesday. Barenaked Ladies came to town, so Elisa, Lukas, Miles, and myself grabbed some food and headed up to the Garden.

The point of the story is not to say that the concert was fabulous. That would make a boring post, no? In fact, the concert was very good. But to say that the Barenaked Ladies had poor comedic timing would be an understatement. About 1/3 of the way into the show, the band had the crowd into it. Good songs, funny banter (the band is like a group of comedians that happen to sing). Suddenly, after singing a song from their kids CD (ummm...Barenaked Ladies has a kids CD?), the lead singer went into a diatribe about Ozzy Ozbourne biting the head off of a bat. To be "as extreme", he threatened to do worse at Red Butte - and to take a life. He proceeded to rip out a plant and bite a leaf off.

In any other venue, you'd probably laugh and move on. But let's think this one through. A concert. At a botanical garden. Killing plants/flowers. Impressively, Barenaked Ladies pulled off the equivalent of someone wearing a full fur coat to a PETA event. Probably not a good idea. A word of advice to the band...the patrons of the gardens probably like plants and flowers. Some to the extreme. Some to fulfill the "green" desires of their soul. Don't pull the flowers. Don't eat them.

Wait a minute - didn't we learn that in Kindergarten too? Hmmm...I might have to Google to see if they teach that lesson in Canada.

Lagoon & Other Musings

It's funny - I created this blog long ago, thinking it would be a convenient way to share pictures and stories with family and friends, and then never posted. Elisa took over on the posting duties, and did a fantastic job. But she's busier than ever now and I figure I can go back to posting on our blog. Maybe we can have joint duties. Elisa can make sure we get 100 pictures on here. I can just write about - well, anything and hope that it entertains. So let's catch up.

Two days ago, Elisa informed me that the yearly tradition of Catholic Lagoon Day was on Sunday. I hadn't been to Lagoon (besides a quick jaunt for Frightmares, which better described the Saturday crowd than the festive atmosphere) for about 7 years. And my memories of the place had turned the amusement park into the Ghetto Booty Park of the Western United States. Granted, it still is to some degree, but taking the family up for the day ended up being spectacular. Good enough that we're seriously considering making it a yearly tradition.

There are quintessential moments in life, where decisions you have made in the past tend to manifest themselves in a "I was SO right on that one" or "What was I thinking?" realization. Who'd have thought that one of those moments would have happened at Ghetto Booty Park?! In all seriousness, the pure joy of watching Luke experience his first real amusement park made me so thankful that he is on our lives. All told, he went on 15 rides and could have done 15 more. My favorite part was going on the new Jumping Dragons, which for all intensive purposes is an adult ride (for those Ghetto Booty aficionados, think of the Musik Express on steroids). Luke wanted it to go faster and faster, and now proclaims "Dragons" as his favorite ride of Lagoon.

For his part, Miles was our typical 3 month old - eating, sleeping, and blowing out of every outfit we put him in. Seriously, I think the kid propels 2 feet off the ground every time he needs to go #2. Elisa had two of the grand experiences, which resulted in what we'll call "mustard" on her arms, nursing cover, 2 infant outfits, and burp cloths. That's what she gets for not getting a ride pass, apparently.

Needless to say, it was so much better than we thought it would be. Lagoon has shockingly made its way back into our yearly fold. The question is - how to implement it? It's the reason for the poll. I think Elisa's in the corner of using Catholic Lagoon Day as the organizing force for our yearly jaunt to Farmington. I, on the other hand, might prefer making our own tradition. Perhaps taking 1/2 a week off in the summer, and going on a Wednesday, mostly to avoid crowds. We'd love your thoughts. We do have an entire year to over-think it, too.

Thus ends my first real post on the blog. My goal is to update this at least weekly. We'll see how I do. But I did think it would be fun to also add a section of quick hit thoughts to summarize the week (or events since our last post). Enjoy. Leave comments. See you next week.

Quick Thoughts

• Draper decided the prudent 4th of July ordinance would be banning all fireworks in the city. Hooray for feeling like a Fireworks Prohibitionist, lighting sparklers in the backyard.
• Yes, Lagoon was a hit. But every time I get near a water park, I ask myself "Why?". Not about the water, or the park, or the activities. But "why" to the choice of outfits that men and women decide to wear. Cover up ladies and gents. It's for the kids.
• I'm not a Jazz fan (at the hardcore level). But dude...could the summer be going any worse for that franchise? Yikes. Next thing you know, Deron Williams will become surly. Oh wait...
• I love Luke - love him to death. But his incessant desire to watch Little Einsteins has me dreaming of rocket. And not good dreams. Nightmares.
• Speaking of TV, one of my friends got me hooked on Wipeout this season. Easily one of the most hilarious shows on the tube. If you haven't watched it, try it out. The commentary makes the show.

Lukas vs. Miles

Miles just over 2 weeks

Lukas just over 2 weeks

The comparison. We don't think they look anything alike... what do you think?

Miles is 3 weeks old today!

We can't believe it's already been three weeks. Time flies!

Miles at 2 weeks

Miles loves his binkie

A smile? or maybe it's just gas. =)

Rollie Pollie

The boys!

Lukas loves his baby brother. Sometimes a little too much. lol

He always has a curl on the top of his head

His favorite position to cuddle. We call him our little Koala.

Miles weighed in at his two week appointment at 9 lbs 4 oz. Wow! What a big little dude! He gained 22 oz in two weeks and grew 3/4 of an inch, going from 20 1/2 inches long to 21 1/4. What can I say, mom must have good milk!!!

Lukas continues to love his baby brother. He goes to Grandma's house twice a week so mom can put a few hours in at work. He looks forward to that because mom is still pretty overwhelmed with two kids, so when he is home with mom he's normally watching TV. I know, what a great mom! I will get there. I have to remind myself it's only been 3 weeks.

Easter

The 4 of us. I'm still not used to saying that.

My sweet boys.

Our little bunny!

Cute little butt!

Easter was an adventure. Miles was a day shy from being a week old. We'd only been home from the hospital for 4 days and I was still in a lot of pain. But Easter had to happen for Luke! We had a small collection of people over to celebrate. Mostly just the grandparents because we couldn't handle the crowd we normally have for Easter breakfast. It went well. Both sets of parents took care of the food, so Brad and I just had to open the door. Which is good, because we were in no shape to host a big Easter on our own. =)

Lukas loved hunting for eggs this year. Every pose we got is pretty much the same, and he kept asking for us to take more and more pictures of him doing the same thing. But he was sure cute! The Easter Bunny got him a scooter, candy, and some new movies. He loved everything. Then got spoiled more by the grandparents. Brad and I didn't have time to get Miles a basket, not that it really mattered. LOL.

Miles is growing well right now. Eats a lot and on average will sleep 4-5 hours through the night. We have an occasional rough night but overall he's been an angel. We love having him around.

The Grandparents

Grandpa Dave

Grandma Gayle

Nana

Papa Ed

Now we are 4...

Not the best picture of me, but this is the first picture of the 4 of us. We're pretty cute!

Luke's a bit unsure, but he can't stop asking to hold him now.

First time Lukas got to see his baby brother.

Proud daddy.

Checking him out, making sure everything was still okay.

Mom's first time holding him after we knew he was okay.

Welcome Miles Jeffery Pierce

Miles Jeffery Pierce

March 29, 2010, 2:42 PM

7 lb 14 oz

20 1/2 inches long.

The birth story:

I went into the hospital at 6:45 AM on the 29th to be induced. I was already contracting on my own, with contractions about 3 minutes apart but not strong enough to cause my cervix to change. My doctor showed up at 9 AM to break my water and start Pitocin. I didn't need much at all. My water breaking pretty much did the trick. With a low dose of Pitocin going, the contractions started to get more intense and much closer together. At that point I decided I wanted an epidural.

I have problems with the medication they use for an epidural. My BP drops and they have to monitor it closely so I don't black out. They decided to start with a low dose, and, as expected my BP dropped. The anesthesiologist was wonderful. He stuck around to help bring everything back to normal. Only problem was, it took on my belly and my arms but nothing below. Things were numb but I could still feel pain. That all started around noon, then at about one, I had progressed to about a 7. Things were moving quickly. I was still in pain but was resting pretty comfortably.

Then at 2, I was told I was at a 9 and with another contraction or so I'd be complete. They went to call the doctor. That's when things got terrifying. About 6 -7 nurses came rushing in my room. They grabbed my legs and started rotating me from side to side. I could feel everything! One nurse started calling out for the doctor, and even though he was on his way, she said it wasn't fast enough and to get the on call doctor ASAP.

Within seconds my doctor walked in the door followed by the NICU. Brad and I were scared and confused. All we knew is we couldn't hear the beeping of the baby's heart beat any more and it had been a few minutes. My Doctor grabbed the forceps and told me I had to push. It was horrible. I was terrified, I kept asking the nurses what was wrong with the baby and what was happening. I had one nurse that looked me in the eye and said the baby was in distress and they had to get him out immediately. She also knew how much pain I was in and told the doctor the epidural didn't take. So, I pushed with everything in me to get the baby out. It was the worst kind of pain I've ever felt. As I was pushing, the doctor was yanking the baby out with the forceps. He was able to turn the baby and get the cord to loosen up around his neck and we could hear the heart beat slowly increase. I pushed maybe 5 times. It felt like the doctor had literally yanked the baby out of my body. Then he put him on my belly. He wasn't moving at all. No cry, no movement. I thought he was gone. So I just grabbed him and pulled him to my chest. He jerked and suddenly started to cry a bit. The nurses took him away and started working on him. A few minutes later, he'd pinked up and was fully alert. The NICU stayed for a few minutes then were told they weren't needed.

He was okay. Better than okay, he was beautiful. He instantly started nursing and Brad and I were both relieved and overjoyed. I let the doctor do all the repairs to me as needed w/o medication. At that point, I didn't see the point, I had already experienced the worst. I was so attached to the little guy I didn't even want to let Brad hold him.

We later talked to the doctor to find out exactly what had happened. Turns out that Miles descended into the birth canal too fast. When he did that, the cord wrapped around his neck and along the side, I had a contraction at the same time that put him in prolonged Decel (6 minutes exactly). The contraction wouldn't let up to allow the cord to become loosened. When my doctor turned the baby, we slowly started to hear the heart beats go up again. But the worst could have happened. If it weren't for my doctor and the staff at St. Marks, we could have lost Miles. It was truly terrifying. Poor Brad was shoved to a corner I kept reaching for his hand and all he could do is touch me. Afterwards, he told me he couldn't even bear to watch what was happening, and he'd never heard me scream that way. Wow, Brad was great to to sit there and tell me it was all going to be okay when even he didn't know what was going on. But Miles is perfect!

Now... the baby is doing great! My healing... taking longer than I wanted it to do to the rough way Miles came out. But I'm enjoying my pain medication and resting feeling blessed to have my littlest boy.

Lukas is adjusting well. He wants to help all the time. Sometimes when we feel overwhelmed we have to remember that he's only 3, and a 3 year old that's adjusting faster than his parents are. He's amazing. More pictures to follow.

Big Boy Now!

39 Weeks Pregnant. HUGE! Day before being induced.

Baby Powder mess. I made him cover his "parts" but it was everywhere! Just can't see it well on the floor.

Caught in the act.

Typical boy, always wants to be naked, even while reading.

He had to put his coat on by himself. It's upside down. Found him like this reading Goodnight Moon to the dogs.

The Amazon purchases...

Well, I'm behind again! Surprise, surprise. So here's the scoop. We are set to have a baby any day now. Hopefully before Monday, but if not, Monday the 29th is my induction date. I'm not working anymore after today. I'll be working a bit from home here and there as needed, but due to the office move, I'll just be in the way if I hang out in the office.

Lukas is growing and learning so much these days. He potty trained himself in early February. I believe it took about 2 weeks to be fully potty trained. He has to do everything by himself these days too. He takes himself to the potty, washes his own hands, brushes his own teeth, dresses himself... you name it, he does it. Remember how we were so worried about his speech and how he wasn't talking? Well, he does that now too! Actually he went from not saying anything to speaking in full sentences. He now can memorize his books after having us read them to him once or twice. We are amazed with his memory. Much better then mine, must take after daddy.

Our most recent Luke episodes that deserve some recognition:

Lukas made a purchase on Amazon.com. He purchased a nursing nightgown, a frog bath thermometer, and wipes for "baby brother". We have since turned off the "1-click shopping" after the ding of just over $100 to our credit card and the $15 of express next day shipping. It was one of those experiences we will never forget. I can't believe he can navigate the computer better than I can. This all happened under mommy's watch.

Last weekend, under daddy's watch, Lukas discovered the baby powder in "baby brothers" room. He decided to get himself naked and powder himself all over. When I got out of the shower and found what he did, I couldn't stop laughing. I found him full of powder, naked, on his bed reading a book. Boys! Guess they like to be naked. It was so funny I had a really hard time punishing him. Actually I did nothing at all but take a few pictures, laugh, and put the powder out of reach. I figured it was my fault for leaving it where he could get at it, right?!

Anyway, here's bunch of pictures over the past few months. Maybe the next pictures will be of our newest addition! Haha... I've decided this baby has taken up permanent residency in my uterus! =/

Luke's 3!

Luke got excited about the singing!

Standing up to blow out the candles.

The cake was a success!

I know, I'm behind again on the blog. Let's just say I don't have much free time at all these days. But today is Luke's birthday. He's 3! I can't believe he's 3 already. I wish you a very Happy Birthday, Mr. Luke!