Thanksgiving notes

This is late. I’ve noticed that having a newborn lengthens your recovery times from holidays and special events. Keep that in mind when you procreate.

First off, the latest pictures of Sam, taken a coupla minutes ago.

Sam emphasizes the importance of fresh basil,
or maybe he bemoans the lost art of the bunt in baseball.

We had the two-month checkup this week and everything checked out well. My wife said that Sam laughed the other day, which is a good sign.


Hello, I must be going
We spent Thanksgiving on the road, trying to attend dueling family events. Thanksgiving day was at the Mama’s parents house in Trinidad (small town on Cedar Creek reservoir) and the day after, we drove to Hico for the event with my family. Then I had to drive back to work. All in all, about nine hours on the road for about four hours of celebrations, talking and eating.

Working for newspapers can really suck sometimes.


Welcome to Tarleton
I got a little love on the Denton Record-Chronicle high school blog the other day after recommending the Hard Eight Restaurant to fellow writer Adam Boedeker. It was gratifying to read the entry because he liked the food recommendation and noted how idiotically the Tarleton State Memorial Stadium press box is run, as I had warned.

This is inside baseball here, but it’s something that amazes me. Every other press box I’ve ever visited, the staff is generally tripping over themselves to help you. In Stephenville, the sole purpose of the staff is to make sure you don’t wander into the empty rooms to work, even after the normal press room is full. And God forbid if you open the cooler and grab a coke (located in the press room).

I have a soft spot in my heart for Tarleton, but, dude.

By the way, Boedeker has a blog. It’s hard-core sports stuff, and mainly picks, but there's an opportunity to randomly make fun of a stranger for those who are interested.


A little coffee thingy
My sister-in-law and her in-the-Army husband are based in Italy. They visited for Thanksgiving, and dropped off their gift: an authentic ole-fashion’ espresso maker from Italy.

Here’s how it works:

Put water in the bottom container.
Put the grounds in the filter thingy on top of the bottom container.
Screw the cute little pitcher on top of the assortment, and put on stove.
Espresso! Or something. It’s been a little too weak so far, I’m experimenting. The thing came without instructions, or maybe it did, only everything was written in Italian.

The kid’s debut
Sam’s first appearance to my family was the Thanksgiving event in Hico. Plenty of oooing and ahhing, and the boy was passed around like a football.

People kept telling me, "You did a good job with this one."

I haven’t come up with something appropriate, or appropriately inappropriate, to say back. So I pretty much stayed with "Yup" and "Dang right." And occasionally "Thanks." It’s kind of like accepting congratulations for ... well ... you know. And it’s hard to come up with something to say that won’t get you slapped by your brother’s wife.


Sad throw
Speaking of footballs, my nephew Brown brought one to the Hico festivities. I threw it maybe three times before giving up. My problem: I had previously injured my shoulder while sleeping.

I’ll end with that. I’ll have news soon. I’m not exactly sure what that news will be. But it will be news.

The ability to drool

Cute for exactly two days, 14 hours and 15 minutes.

Happy turkey eating

So, if you're like me, you have an oddly-houred day at work followed by several exhaustive trips all over the damn state. And you're already behind on sleep and beginning to be paranoid about catching a seasonal disease that makes you miserable.

Also, you still haven't figured out exactly what you're going to do with the dogs -- a vital part of your life that's despised by everyone else.

And you're worried about how your kid is going to handle his first overnight trip and hours of driving. Plus you feel guilty because you still haven't made it over to the grandparents, and good Lord the job search is sliding ...

OK. So maybe you're not like me. And you probably aren't going to have as much fun. But have a great holiday, be careful, etc. etc.

oh yeah.

wahoo!

Seeing Dave Barry

It’s been two months, but the birth of my son got in the way of me completing this post – and some other stuff. I wanted to get this down before I couldn’t remember anything.

My wife scored two tickets to see Dave Barry at his Fort Worth appearance to promote his latest book, Dave Barry’s History of the Millennium (So Far).

All things considered, this was a good alignment of the planets. The presentation was on Monday, both of our nights off, and Dave Barry is one of the few writers out there I’d pay to see.

The presentation at Bass Hall basically consisted of the host, Star-Telegram feature writer Jeff Guinn, treating Dave Barry as if he was an imminent historian, and Dave Barry blowing off the question:

Guinn: So how were you able to gain the incredible amounts of knowledge necessary to write such a complex work as this?

Barry: I made it up.

Guinn: What was your educational background? How did you arrive at your pre-eminent position among American historians?

Barry: Actually I get angry letters from American historians all the time, telling me it’s not funny what I said about Missouri.

And so on and so forth. Guinn became grating after a bit, but he needed to play the part so Barry could work his shtick. After a while, Barry was just giving the spoken version of his greatest hits – talking about having a sewage pump station in North Dakota named after him, about his college band Federal Duck, and about the time that he drove the Wienermobile to pick up his kid at school.

All in all he had the crowd rolling. His presentation is generally flawless and he knows how to tell a story.

It was a contrast from the first time I saw him on TV, back when Jay Leno was still guest hosting the Tonight Show. Barry was introduced as the funniest man in America and came out stiff. It was like he was mentally reading bits from his columns at pre-determined points in the conversation.

Leno: You travel a lot, is there anything out there that annoys you?

Barry: I hate these people who I call "hall talkers." They stand in the hotel hallway late at night and say things like, "Well, I should be going to bed now," or "I guess it’s time to leave."

Heh, that’s not bad once you write it down. Anyway, he bombed.

I took this as a good thing. If Dave Barry isn’t funny in person, I thought, "Perhaps I, too, have a future in writing comedy."

His presentation at Bass Hall wound down after about 90 minutes, at which time Guinn announced that they could take a few questions. And, in what is still a shock to my wife, I stood up and walked towards a microphone.

I’m not much of a public speaker. (Or private speaker for that matter.) I hate talking to more than two people at a time.

A lot of people talk about a book that changed their life. Generally it’s something for a pretentious teenage male to brag about, like Catcher in the Rye. On the other hand, in the summer before my sophomore year in high school, my mom brought home a copy of Barry’s "Stay Fit and Healthy Until You’re Dead."

I’d read a lot of comedy before, but never something this outlandish and this well done. It was like seeing Monty Python for the first time after a steady diet of Benny Hill. And it changed my life.

I read everything by Barry I could get me hands on and was imitating or outright stealing his jokes for the column I wrote in the Monterey High School newspaper.

Nowadays, I only read him occasionally. It’s not that he’s less funny, it’s just that, once you come to know someone well enough you begin to complete his sentences.

So, there I stood in a sitting crowd of about 2,000 people, behind a woman who struck me as an overenthusiastic English teacher. I was fighting off a panic attack and drawing a blank while trying to come up with a question.

Thankfully, I had the right read on the woman in front of me.

"Are you still amazed at all the things that are under the sea?"

Barry kind of gives her a "huh?" look. She repeats the question, then says that she was referring to a piece he wrote some years back on scuba diving. And, you know, surely he has an instant memory of EVERY SINGLE FREAKING THING HE’S EVER WRITTEN OVER THE PAST 40 YEARS.

The question is flubbed. The pressure on me lightens.

I step forward and put my mouth near the mike. I haven’t come up with anything good, so I ask the question that all struggling writers submit to the successful ones.

"What do you do when you run out of ideas?"

Dave Barry: "What? You mean with writing?"

In my defense, I knew as soon as the question left my mouth that I’d left an opening. And at least it wasn’t about looking at crap under water.

Barry then got a little bit more serious and gave the answer all successful writers give to the struggling ones (None of the quotes here are exact, by the way):

"I don’t really run out of ideas. I don’t sit down with an entire column in my head and just write it out. Usually I may have one or two jokes in mind and then try to come up with something that connects them.

"And that’s generally the way that most writers work. It’s mainly a question of making yourself sit down and work. I know a lot of writers who are waiting to be inspired. You’re not always going to have some great thought come to you. It’s not inspiration, it’s work."

I heard a person sitting behind me say, "Good question."

It was a great moment. Save for that awkward feeling that happens when you ask someone a question in front of crowd: "OK, he’s looking at me so I won’t sit down ... There he’s looking at the crowd, I’ll sit down ... No he’s looking at me again ..."

And then ...

The Lights Come On.

I noticed on Sunday that Sam’s eyes were tracking the living room lamp as I took him to bed. (Where he’d immediately start crying, but we know that, so it’s like a game. An incredibly frustrating, drive you to the point of insanity, kind of game.)

And Monday morning I take him while he’s waking up to change his diaper, and for the first time he looks at me. Watches while I walk to pick up a wet wipe, and watches with mild concern while I clean him up.

It’s like someone flipped a switch. Prior to this point his emotions could pretty much be categorized as "awake," "hungry," and "sleeping."

He’s now aware enough and can see enough details to start thinking about things. It’s like he’s passed into a more thorough humanness. He sees things, he judges, he makes decisions.

Of course, once I was through with his diaper, his first decision was to start crying because I don’t secrete milk.

The last few weeks weren’t easy. Sam spent most of his time crying. His smiles are fleeting, lasting about 15 seconds, and then he’s back to the wailing.

He’s now growing out of that. It’s like we’ve reached some kind of milestone, some kind of marker that encourages us to keep trudging forward.

Being part of a family is not easy. Being one of the leaders of one is much harder. I’ve thought about this the last few weeks. Couldn’t really help it. When you go four weeks without really seeing the sun or having the time to do the things that keep you sane, and then throw in a soundtrack of non-stop wailing, your thoughts are going to go depressive.

Most people grow up with frothified images of marriage and parenthood. Most of us had a great deal of happiness as children, why shouldn’t we have equal amounts of fun as a parent?

Now, six weeks after I’ve heard the cry for the first time, I realize most of the fun I had was because my parents weren’t having any. They did all the worrying, they did all the work. They had to show all the patience while I struggled from infant immaturity to adolescent immaturity (and on to adult immaturity, but that’s something else).

And they had to occasionally lay down the law, working up enough anger so that the point would stick. None of these things are fun.

I don’t believe the people who talk about how raising their kids is easy. You are a liar full of lies who pours lies over your Cheerios for breakfast.

Most snippets of advice we get contradict each other, and are really just kind of mental pacifiers people give to each other – "Let’s try this when he’s crying or refuses to sleep, maybe this is the answer."

You just keep moving forward, throwing together your fathering and mothering "skills" on the fly. It’s the sense of obligation you feel, it’s the price of being an adult. It’s the debt you pay to your parents, and somewhere in the back of your head you hope it’s going to be the best thing you’ve ever done.

Just to say ...

That I'm not really posting much as these last two weeks have sucked. How so? Let me count the ways ...

(I'm counting inside my head. I hate whining outwardly. So I'm posting this to let you know I'm whining inwardly. Which kind of breaks the rules, but, eh.)

Have a super weekend!

Sam's Halloween Pics

Sam had two outfits. I understand he needed both of them before the night was over.

We had something like five trick-or-treaters. My wife would open the door and look at the costumes and say, "Awwwww..." then the kids would look at Sam and say "Awwwwwww..." Maybe it's a good thing I was designing sports pages.
Meredith believes that Sam has started to smile. I'm not sure I agree. She has, however, made a valiant effort to capture this on film. After about 80 pictures, this is the best we can do.
I'll include this one, just to show we didn't use extreme g-forces to create the above pic.

Battlestar in movies

Wow.

'Battlestar Galactica' of the Sci Fi Channel, in partnership with Microsoft, will unspool a special two-hour episode of "Battlestar Galactica" in movie theaters in eight major cities two weeks before it premieres on the network.
The episode, "Razor," kicks off the final 22-hour season of the series. The theater showings, which are free, take place Nov. 12 in New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, Philadelphia, San Francisco, Boston, Dallas and Seattle.

Since I only watch BSG on DVD, watching this would screw up the order for me. Still, knowing the opportunity to see it in a theater is there ...

Deadwood: Best TV show ever

I just tore through the third season.

The storylines -- completely unpredictable. The characters -- deeply flawed, honorable, allowed to stay in character by the plot lines. I'm still amazed by the writing -- Shakespearean, but in a way I enjoy it, and kinda sorta understand it.

It resonates especially well with me when I watch -- usually at about 3:30 a.m. and there's nothing else but me and Sam and Sam's bottle.

The sad thing is that HBO, in a tradition of ending series in ways to piss people off, ended this without bothering to resolve any of the driving story lines. Oh well. I'd been warned.

Still. Just like I can appreciate the one season of Firefly, I can appreciate three seasons of Deadwood.

I'd recommend it to anyone. Except maybe my parents, who might have trouble dealing with all the cussin', whorin' and over-the-top graphic violence.

Gettin' de bizness

I post this with nervous coughing and several throat clearings. Basically safe for work. Basically.

Found on Ace of Spades.

I get it. Tech sucks.

The thought hit me after seeing the Raiders of Red go down like a big thing going down against Colorado on Saturday.

Texas Tech football: Not good this year.

It's sad that it took seven games for this to get through to me, but it explains a lot.

Such as why everyone acted like beating an average A&M team was a huge upset -- Turns out, it was. It explains why the response after dropping games to Mizzou and Colorado was a big group hug as opposed to people yelling or hitting the panic button.

I'd be depressed, but, what the hell, it's already too late in the season to do anything about it.

Here are some comments I'll be making in the near future on Tech football:

• "Take that Baylor! Yeah, that's right. How do you like me now, Bears?"
• "That was an outstanding two minutes against Texas."
• "Shreveport! Awesome!"
• "I'd be more threatened by Kansas if coach Mangino's explosion wasn't immenent. I imagine half the reason they're winning is that opposing quarterbacks don't adjust to his gravitational tug when they throw the ball."*

*No, it has nothing to do with Tech, but I've been writing too much about football lately and am hereby declaring a self-imposed moratorium until December. So I wanted to get this in. And the guy makes me want to blow up my refrigerator just by looking at him.

Tech:Big Game as Hen:Laying egg

I feel like ...

Ah, what the hell. I feel like any number of fans of several thousand teams who believe that this season, things are going good, if only we can actually come through in a big game.

And then they (In my case, "they" is the Raiders of Red) fall flat on their backsides.

I don't mind losing so much in these contests as much as getting blown out. I was at the game in Oklahoma when Tech had a shot to win the Big 12 South and got trashed 98-7. Or something.

I've seen it happen year after year against Texas.

And, now, I'm apparently watching a Mizzou team that has our number.

At least if we'd make it close, we could leave these games with some measure of respectability.

Instead ...

I'd end this with "sigh", but I hate posts that have the word "sigh" anywhere in them, because it's used as often as the letter "A".

*For those not knowing what I'm talking about, the University of Missouri is trouncing Texas Tech in a football game. It's ugly. Britney-Spears-at-45 ugly.

Adios Lajitas

Lajitas was a village next door to Big Bend National Park, until some rich dude decided to buy it in 2000.

The guy, one Steve Smith, bought the place with the idea of turning it into his private hideaway. Then, as rich dudes do, he started getting ideas. About $100 million dollars worth.

He decided to go with the idea of a rich luxury resort, and he built one, along with a golf course (in an area that gets maybe 5 inches of rain a year) and stables and shopping and etc.

The project went belly up this fall.

I didn't really hate the idea of the place. It was just civilization's further encroachment on the last wild places in Texas. While I find it aesthically annoying, the rational part of my head just figures that's the way things go.

What interests me more here is the kind of messianic vision it would take for the guy to do this. When I first heard about Lajitas resort, my first reaction was, "That makes no sense*." And I'm some dumb schlub who has no plans at real estate development. Surely this guy had some one telling him the same thing.

The resort's golf course and demand for water would stretch the eco-system for the entire area. The place is ridiculously remote, and people out there like things rustic. A few weekend cabins might have worked, but a huge resort?

In the frontier days, various religious groups (or cults) would go to some to some place out in the middle of nowhere to build their utopia. Sometimes they'd create Utah. Most of the time they'd create a dramatic loss of fat and teeth in their possession, along with a side of massive amounts of death.

I suppose it still happens. You have that fundamentalist Mormon guy who built his compound near Eldorado (lovely little city, by the way).

I see that same urge in some people. People who are rich and have reached a point in their life where they want to do something big, but have no idea what it is. Then they go off pouring money into a desert.

*Interesting story. I had just spent the night in a public bathroom at Big Bend park, singing Klingon songs with Jeremy and trying not to freeze. A lot of things didn't make sense to me at that point.

*Different kind of post for this site. Bear with me, just trying things out.

Goose was speaking to me

I was caught Thursday in the most awesome traffic delay ever.

Driving up I-35W on the trip to work. I glanced up and noticed some dots in the air, going way up, then down, then way up again while shooting out smoke.

The Blue Angels* are in town this weekend for the Alliance Air Show. (Alliance Airport is Son of Ross Perot's moneymaker.)

And the planes were out Thursday afternoon rehearsing. Or involved in one massive commercial dedicated to near rush-hour traffic along I-35.

People were slowing down, pulling over at the Cabela's or just stopping along the shoulder to take a look. Idiots. I kept on nearly running into them as I divided my time between watching the planes and maintaining my slightly-above-legal speed.

Anyway, cool to watch. A lot of low-level flying in formation, splitting off, reforming. I could hear the jet engines in my car. And I could hear Van Halen playing in my head.

*The Blue Angels' web site, if you don't know what I'm yapping about. Commie.

I'm a little worried about the 'Friday Night Lights'

And a few other notes ...

(Warning, lots of spoilers. Also a warning that if you don't watch Friday Night Lights, this first part will be gibberish. Skip on down a ways.)

I spent a lot of time last year nitpicking the show to death pretty much for my own amusement. But I always came back because I liked the characters and found the story lines generally compelling. And because the number of shows located in West Texas will probably peak out at one in my lifetime.

I liked the first episode of this season. Things seemed to get off to a good start.

The thing that nagged me was the fact that nice-boy geek Landry HAULED OFF AND KILLED A GUY. Honestly, the killing was fine. The problem was what happened afterward. Hide the body and don't call the police?

The Sports Guy at ESPN.com definitely did not like this, saying Landry had essentially deserted his character. Eh. I'm always of the position that a boy can get talked into any kind of stupidity if the woman he luvs is the one talking.

So for me, it was more about Tyra losing it that surprised me. She's plenty nuts, but usually in a self-preserving way, and she's always had a strong streak of common sense. (Hence her decision to aim for Texas Tech).

So anyway, this plot 'twist' happens, and it overshadows everything else about the show:

Gee, Landry is having difficulty learning to work through his blockers. That's a shame on top of the fact THAT HE KILLED A GUY. Hmmm ... Landry's making his usual sensitive geek jokes with his buddy. It must not be as funny after HE FREAKIN' BASHED A DUDE'S SKULL IN. And then he and Tyra HAVE SEX. I'm not buying it.

Meanwhile, the coach's daughter Julie is driving me nuts.

Her mother's falling apart trying to deal with a new baby, and she can't be bothered to help. All that she can do is go out and be jail bait for some slacker musician who'll soon find himself sliding into prison.

Meanwhile -- now that they've broken the Totally Impossible Relationships barrier with Landry and Tyra -- every time a guy and a girl on the show meet I'm wondering just how many episodes before they get it on.

Matt and his grandmother's nurse? I'm giving it three episodes. He's bound to be going through some lonely times.

Coach's wife and geeky science teacher? God, I hope that doesn't happen.

Last year, it would slide into Friday Night Lights, 90210. This year, it's more like Friday Night Lights: Hookin' Up!

Schedule, schmedule
Reached a point this week where I just threw out every piece of advice regarding the boy. When he's hungry, I'll feed him. When he's asleep, I'll let him sleep.

He has no schedule. I recall the pediatrician's advice to put him to bed before he goes to sleep. The problem is he'll feed for two minutes. Then fall asleep. Then feed for a minute, then fall asleep for 30 seconds, and so on.

I give up. We'll just follow his lead until we reach that magical six-week point I've heard about when he settles into some kind of a discernable rhythm.

(On a slightly philosophic note, I kind of take this time as God's way of telling you that your kid is going to do what he wants to do, and is otherwise 75 percent out of your control.)

George Lucas planning Star Wars TV series. Damn.
I just wish he would allow someone who still cares about Star Wars to take control of the project, as opposed to himself.

Here's a quote from the story:

Lucas is confident he can find a home for his droids and Jedi, but he also knows the projects are unorthodox enough to give network executives pause.

"They are having a hard time," Lucas said. "They're saying, 'This doesn't fit into our little square boxes,' and I say, 'Well, yeah, but it's "Star Wars." And "Star Wars" doesn't fit into that box.' "

Actually, what most people are saying is that they'd like to put Star Wars into the little square box of "Things that do not suck."

Save for episodes 4 and 5 and parts of 3 and 6, George Lucas hasn't put much in that box lately.

And remember what happened the last time Lucas did Star Wars for TV.


Tired of Cowboys blather
From the gnashing of teeth on the local sports pages, you would've thought that Tony Romo did nothing on Sunday afternoon but torture golden retriever puppies on the sidelines. Sheesh. The season's not over. There's no reason to think the Cowboys couldn't win if they got another shot at the Patriots. I'd just like to see a victory in a freakin' playoff game.

(I had mixed feelings watching. Wes Welker went nuts all day. It was a pretty sweet sight for Tech fans. Also for myself. Before the season started, I was at a party in Oklahoma. The same guy who derided me for 'not knowing much about sports*' was also the one who said Wes Welker was overrated. Wish I had a phone number to text message "Suck this".)

*Which is true, by the way. I still don't like to hear it, tough guy.

Notes

About 15 days of posts in a handy condensed version.

It's 5 a.m., I'm just going to go through these until Sam wakes up or I finally pass out.


A special thanks to the wife

Who, thanks to pressures at work and the TV viewing habbits of her husband, has become literate in football. We watched the Cowboys game together on Monday and were both amazed. She stole "Friday Night Lights" from me when I was halfway through it and finished it in a couple of weeks.

And, most importantly, she knows the "Never-Tease-Husband-After-Tech-Loses" rule. Husband bends over backward to not dog anybody else when their team falls flat on their backsides, husband gets really annoyed really quick when people don't do the same for him.

And good job with the child-bearing thing.


Speaking of "Friday Night Lights"

Watched the premier episode and went away happy.

The show matured over the summer. The characters were all more at home with themselves, and most of my pet peeves were dealt with, like the first season's penchant for making high school relationships seem like husband/wife affairs.

This season, the first episode begins with a girl trying to cheat on her boyfriend solely out of boredom, and the boyfriend having no idea what to do with it. Then the girl gets humiliated. Yep, that's high school.

I'm slightly worried about the rumors of a Rosie O'Donnell appearance, but with any luck we'll be able to get through that together. Looking forward to the season.


Put the beer away, no cussin', and don't nobody say nothin' about no dirty movies

Hi Mom.


Maybe it's just me ...

But the Texas music I've heard lately mostly blows. All sounds the same. I realize that I'm not a bar scene kind of guy who keeps track of up-and-comers, but I'm usually able to find a couple of songs I like on 95.3 or 95.9 in Dallas.

But the last month or so, it's just been guys who are writing their 18th song about their disinterest in their love life or some dude posing to be Mr. Tough Guy and not fooling anyone. Too many songs with too much buildup and not enough substance.

The only thing I've heard lately that I've enjoyed has a pretty sick idea to it. Here's the chorus:

Well, I never kissed a girl,
Til I went to college.
She got drunk and cheated on me.

Well, I never kissed a boy,
Til I went to prison,
For murder in the first degree.

It's kind of catchy, clever, and straight out of a white trash nightmare. The fact that a joke song about this stuff is out there tells me that people are running out of ideas.


Note to the Aggies

Just wanted to say, I'll guarantee you that our stupid frat boys will always outstupid your stupid frat boys. Once it comes to being a stupid frat boy, you CANNOT BEAT a dude that brings in elements of racism and animal cruelty and puts it on a T-shirt with a graphic design that looks like it was drawn by an 8-year-old klansman bottlefed on a mixture of meth of ritalin.

You think your frat boys are stupidly offensive? Tech made the FREAKIN' DRUDGE REPORT over this.

So, in honor of the stupid frat boys of Texas Tech's Theta Chi chapter, I give them the disapproving image of O.J. Simpson*, who seems to be thinking, "You're on the verge of psychotic here, but it's missing a certain elegance ..."




And OK. My wife's alarm clock just went off. Y'all have a good day.

* Thanks to John.

Sam's first outdoor walk

Not that he actually did any walking. Mainly for him it was sleeping and using his diaper. Maybe I should call this, "Sam does everything he usually does in an outdoor location."

Anyway.

Meredith honestly had no idea the sign would be there until we opened the box and pulled down the shade.

"Oh my God! We're one of those people!"

I'm not sure who "those people" are -- Annoying people who stopped existing in the late '80s; or, people who have given up all claim to hipness with the arrival of child. I'll guess choice two.

We went to a park about half-a-mile away. It was the first time to break out the stroller. Nice day. A little too hot, a little too humid.

But I was a little bit too not remembering what the sun looked like.

Mom continues her recovery. This was her first time out and about since the ceasarian, so we took things easy.

But a nice hour in a nice park.

Some other photos:

The Grandparents. (Meredith's side)

A very bright Sam. Really, the contrast and color here is a bit much, but we haven't gotten a lot of close-ups with his eyes open. He's looking at where the sound comes from, but hasn't quite focused on it yet.

Quick pics

Haven't had much time to blog lately. Don't have time to post now, only Grandma's demands for more baby pics were starting to border on the physically threatening. But it's a little hard to blog at 2 a.m. when your mother-in-law is sleeping in the computer room. (Still, thank God she's here.)
Here's a shot of Sam in a duck costume from Aunt Mindy. I understand the second before this he didn't look nearly as angry.

And here's Mom and Dad looking over their newest grandbizaby.

And this last one I call "Bigger, Faster, Stronger, held by Shorter, Fatter, Balder."

Sam, I AM

Soon to be making his first Hico appearance: As we've been walking zombies for the past three days, I won't go on long here other than to say that Samuel John Hill Segrist has safely landed in Fort Worth. Thanks to everyone for their help and support.

Here's a quick illustration of why you should pack in advance of your wife telling you it's time to go to the hospital:

Waah! And it’s possible interpretations ...

Waah! Oh, pardon me. Would you terribly mind handing me to the woman?

Waah! I wouldn’t complain. Soon I’ll be adding odor.

Waah! Well, look at that – it’s 4:13:24 a.m.! ... Check it out – it’s 4:13:25 a.m.! ... Whaddya know – it’s 4:13:26 a.m.! ... Hey – it’s ...

Waah! Basic cable is the best they could do?

Waah! This injustice will not stand! I know who you are! You are going to be sorry you ever messed with ... zzzzzzzzzzz.