Monday, December 29, 2008

Mr. Mom Makes His Big League Debut

Amanda returned to work today following her 11 week maternity leave thereby commencing my new Mr. Mom era. I embark on this new era with sweaty palms and some trepidation. I have handled Grace alone plenty, feeding and changing her often. I'm confident she's in good hands, but it is still nice to have your teammate around. Amanda, I'm sure, has her own anxiety to deal with-leaving Grace, returning to work, knowing she's leaving Grace with her dopey father, etc.

So, how did Day One go, you ask? In a word-Chunky. You see, Grace decided that today was the day to have the two worst(at least that I can recall) spit-up episodes of her young life. I'm not sure if she is protesting Mommy leaving or what, but she uncorked two unholy floods that may very well have ruined two outfits and a TV remote control. I haven't seen this much spew since Lard Ass set off the chain reaction vomiting at the pie eating contest in Stand By Me. With her partially cleft palate, Grace usually has some stuff exit through her nose on the occasions when she does spit up. Today, however, it gushed out. It looked like when the snakes poured out of the holes in the wall of the Well of Souls in Raiders of the Lost Ark. I don't know where all the spit up came from; it didn't seem like she had eaten enough today to produce the volume that came back out. Maybe my kid is a camel that has stored formula for weeks waiting for this very moment.

But I can't complain because, other than coating my shirts enough that they looked like I was about to make french toast out of them, my girl Gracie was awesome to hang with on Day One. Who knows what will crop up on Day Two. All I know is I'll be ready for the spit-up machine having already fashioned a shirt out of super absorbent Brawny paper towels. Wish me luck.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

Our wacky year of change continued on a sad note Thursday; my maternal grandfather, Jorge Mino, passed away at age 88 after a tough bout with cancer. He enjoyed reading what I wrote, often imploring me to write more frequently, so I'm going to use this meager forum that I have to attempt to pay tribute to him.


My grandfather squeezed a lot of living into his 88 years. Born and raised in Ecuador, he was an engineer who helped literally carve roads and rails through the Ecuadorian jungle. He had many amazing tales from those days, but one always stood out as my favorite- They were working near a canal where the wind blew so steady and so powerfully that you could lean against it as if it were a wall. Of course, my grandfather happened to be leaning when the wind let up just long enough for him to fall backwards into the canal.


In the early 1940's my grandparents emigrated to the U.S. becoming American citizens. My grandfather was fiercely proud to be an American and truly lived the suburban American dream. He was so patriotic and pro-America that I was reluctant to tell him when I purchased my first Honda for fear of a lecture about "Made in the USA". He often praised the work ethic of Americans as compared to Ecuadorians, whom he said often didn't want to put in a full workday. He instilled this work ethic in his three children who, in turn, passed it onto his grandchildren. (Just because I don't always heed the lesson doesn't mean I didn't learn it.)


One of the other things Grandpa loved about America was its national pasttime. He loved baseball, sharing this love with his children and, I can say for sure, this grandchild. He and my mom sparked an interest in the game that for me has sometimes bordered on obsession. Grandpa may have loved baseball, but he excelled in golf. While I was never actually able to play a round with him, I've heard he was very good. And his tips and clubs have helped my game immensely. My grandfather followed many other sports and even tried to watch one of my favorites, hockey, because he knew I played and wanted to learn more about the game. He may have been the only man in America who like Fox's Glo-puck. The gimmick actually helped his tiring eyes follow the action.



Grandpa's greatest passion of all, though, was his family. I know a grandson's perspective can be rather biased, but I know he cared for nothing more than the well-being of my family. He took great pride in grandchildren's stellar report cards and school projects. His encouragement or "atta boy" was always considered high praise. As kids, Grandpa would always "secretly" slip us some cash at every visit, something "for the gas tank", even if we weren't yet at driving age. Then sometime during high school the small gifts stopped. It was an unspoken, understood signal that I was growing old enough to take care of my own cash flow. A lesson that was not lost on me. Grandpa would often spend his time tracking hurricanes possibly churning towards coastal relatives or watching the flight numbers of planes ferrying family members. ( See I told you my anxiety was hereditary.) I always found these things ironic because he had a great many adventures as a young man. Did he worry his way through those? I'll never know.


In recent years, he slowed his pace and traveled less frequently. As I grew older and real life intruded, I visited far less than I should have. I will regret that to a certain extent, especially with e-mail and telephones I should have kept in better contact. That's not to say we didn't talk, because we did and I enjoyed it every single time. My grandfather and I had intelliegent conversations, he possesed a wicked, hilarious wit and he told the greatest stories.

I am forever grateful that he was able to meet Grace; during the summer he admitted he feared he wouldn't be around to get that chance. We were to see him the day after Christmas; obviously we missed that last trip. But now Grandpa is free from the multiple bouts with cancer, the tricky back, the creaky knees and the failing hearing. He had made peace with his end, so now it is up to the rest of us to make peace with it as well.

Sunday, December 07, 2008

Dr. Bryan Hailey, D.D.S.


Little did I know when I took the Manny job that I would, as part of my duties, have to masquerade as an orthodontist. Okay, perhaps masquerade is not the right word; I didn't perpetrate a fraud on the public by impersonating an orthodontist. However, I have played amateur orthodontist as I have had to repair Z's appliance a handful of times over the last couple weeks. Z has a Herbst device, which I can assure you is indeed an orthodontic appliance and not some sort of evil weather changing machine.

Mr. President release the prisoners or I will be forced to unleash the Herbst Device! Bwa ha ha ha.

Anyway, back in the real world, the Herbst device is a hinged appliance that works in conjunction with braces to move the jaw and teeth. The hinge, though wired to the braces, sort of moves freely in the mouth. And sometimes the hinge pulls apart and must be repaired. That's where I come in. To put the hinge back together, it first must be taken further apart. This requires removing and then replacing the tiniest microscopic screw you've ever seen. So I, Clumsiest Man Alive, have to use my ham hands to remove and replace the screw. Poor Z has to yank his cheek over like a fishhook so I can jam my fat fingers in his mouth. Anyone who knows me knows that finesse is not my strong suit, but the "procedure" went quite smoothly. After several procedures over the course of a couple days I became quite adept and it became rather routine.

Since it seemed that the hinge was sliding apart too often we went back to the orthodontist to make sure there wasn't something Z was doing wrong to cause the frequent mishaps. No, they said, everything looked great and as he adjusted to having the device in his mouth it would probably occur less frequently. Great. Everything's hunky dory, end of story, right? Of course not.

That night, a mere three hours since we've been in the orthodontists office, the cap that anchors the device to his back tooth breaks completely free allowing the device to float around in his mouth held in only by a string thin wire attached to to the braces. By this time I'm wondering if I'm being punk'd by my family. I've never had braces (though I should have), but I understand there is a certain level of frustrating maintenance that goes with the the deal. This, however, seems ridiculous. I'm thinking we are going to have to make a trip back to the orthodontist office because there is no way Z could get through the night like this.

I call the emergency after-hours number and the doc on duty tells me to just take some wire cutters and snip the wire so I can remove the device until we can come back in and have it put back on. Really, just take some wire cutters and snip that little old wire, huh? But that's what I did. Of course, not having sterile equipment or an autoclave I had to root in my tool bucket for wire cutting options. I found dull scissors, rusty pliers and filthy wire cutters. It looked like an array of torture tools.

Hey, Z, maybe after I clip that wire I can use these rusty pliers to rip out your toenails.

Fortunately, the wire cutters cleaned up well and, despite the dubious look on his face, Z let me clip the wire. I even did it safely without chipping any teeth or slashing any gums. Maybe I've found a new calling. I wonder how I'd look in a white lab coat.

Saturday, December 06, 2008

Movie Review Haiku-Quantum of Solace

Flick only so-so,
Bad title and awful song,
Dan Craig still cool, though