3, 2, 1. Blast Off!!!

I have a buzz.

One glass of wine is all it took. For those who are asking, Beringer's 2010 White Zinfandel made this all possible. Thank you, notable vineyard from Napa Valley.

Since I'm maneuvering in a numerical numbness, 3 weeks and 2 days is all that's left between us as the family of 4 we all know and understand, and the family of 5 we have wanted to be for a long time. Baby Buddy is a mover and shaker en utero, so my guess is that he/she is going to keep us on our toes for the better part of the next 25 years. We're all calling the baby "Buddy" during this time because:

1. we don't know the gender, and
2. this child is going to be someone's (or everyone's) constant companion for a good long time.

The excitement of a new life is hard to quantify since the variables of that child are consistently inconsistent. Will the baby be healthy? We he/she cry all the time? Are we prepared for poop running up the back again after a long layoff? These burning questions will all soon be answered.

I will confess to this, I'm nearly ready for the challenge all over again. I just need more sleep, less homework, and a 2nd bottle of wine to be properly chilled in the fridge at all times. I rarely have a drink now but I have the feeling that this 3rd baby o' mine is going to have a happier daddy after 10 PM than his/ her sisters had. Alcohol or not, my two daughters broke me in and I'm now an "experienced" father who shouldn't make the same dumb mistakes I once did.

Baby Buddy is almost here! In 23 days, our lives will start down another path and the Jones family won't look the same way it once did. Sure, we'll still have our moments of endless laughter and tears, but now another soul will add it's voice to our choir. Will it drown out it's sisters' or will it blend harmoniously with everyone's? Time will tell. My guess is that a daily afternoon glass of wine will calm the nerves and give me the clarity needed to help conduct this symphony,..........

..........or give me a buzz to drown out all the noise.

Baby Buddy Shall Be Named ...........

My wife is 29 weeks pregnant right now and looking every part of the beautiful momma to be for the third time. It's at this place in her pregnancy where every one starts asking the question "Have you picked out a name for the baby yet?"

Uh, yes and no. If Buddy (that's the name we gave to our not so hidden bundle) is a boy, then yes, we have something to work with. But if Buddy turns out to be a girl.... how do I say this nicely,  we're screwed.

Coming up with names hasn't been difficult; there are probably 10 names we like individually. The problem is agreeing on one. I like Amanda. Dana like Olivia. I like Jennifer. Dana likes Madison. I like ketchup. Dana likes mustard. Less filling. Tastes great. We're at a standstill.

There has to be a solution that gives our daughter a dignified name before she leaves the hospital. Dana bought a baby naming book to help us out and since we're middle class white folk, there are no plans to get creative with consonants, vowels, or commas. Not giving our kid a symbol either.

La'Babeegurl3 Jones ain't happening.

Since we are almost 2 months away from the c-section and are stuck in this process, I think we should sell the naming rights. Seriously. We all know people who will spend money on anything and maybe one of them will give us tuition money for the honor.

"Have you always wanted to have a child named after you?" "Do you have someone special in your life that's really hard to buy a gift for?" "Is there a legacy you want to leave and no one to leave it to?" Well come on down and pull up a seat. I might have a deal for you!

If Reliant Stadium in Houston can have a 32 year, $300 million naming rights deal, why the heck can't we sell our kid's name for a fraction of that? Seems like a good investment to me. Dana and I make good looking and smart kids with tremendous entertainment value. Our stock is solid.

So let me just leave this post with this; if you know of a female name that sounds great to you that won't offend anyone or be a pain in the ass for our kid to spell, send me an email. If you know of a millionaire who has money to burn, give me a phone call. If you have a serious stockpile of cash and stocks, come on over.

Limited Edition Jones will be here in November. Act now while supplies last.

tick tock

Two weeks from today the 2011-12 school year and my "get the house ready for a new baby" clock both begin. Though driving the kids to school on that day will be easy, deciding which part of the house needs demolishing first will be much more difficult. Just thinking about the numerous tasks gives me a headache and that's why I not only super-sized my recent Tylenol purchase, but I also often stop myself from planning it all out. The truth that is just so hard to come to grips with is this: the more thought that goes into the revamping of our home, the less likely I'm going to move a damn thing.

As far as this blog goes, I no longer have time for snarky comments or laughable sarcasm. I do have one request though: I would appreciate it if anyone can tell me where a dumpster can be rented. I'm going to need a REALLY BIG one.

Wish me, my head, and my back, lots of luck. I just hope I'll have time to rest before Buddy makes his/her grand entrance both into this world and a clean, safe, and totally organized home (if I get the job done).

Perpetual Motion

Weather.com has the temperature outside at a cool 103 degrees so I decided to shirk the parental duty of taking my kid outside to play. Instead, I am engaged in the act of adding another entry to this forgotten blog with the hopes that my mobile imagination station, known as Sami, plays in the other room; quietly, softly, and sitting down. Those three activities are all possible but sadly for me, just not very likely. She truly never stops moving, talking, or moving and talking. Unless of course if the TV is on.

As I finished that last sentence, Sami came rushing in here to tell me SHE was ready to play the Wii. Wonderful! So happy for her that she's come to that conclusion! Is it OK for me to not immediately get up and act on her desire or can I just sit here and finish writing? Of course not. We're all at her beck and call. She's 5 and I'm not.

Though I would really like to keep writing, I have to go now. My kid keeps brushing past me like a vulture and I'm the carrion. If I don't move, Sami won't leave me alone and if I act too quickly, she'll pull me into her vortex. I love her with all my heart and that which makes her who she is. Unfortunately, that makes me one tired pop and if I'm going to get any break at all from her, I need a nap more than I need to blog.

After the TV goes on, I can get some rest from the Energizer Bunny as she falls into a trance and finally sits down.

Click! Nighty night. Sami will wake me up when the cartoon goes off.

Book of Secret?

I have news to share with my children but I'm waiting for my wife to allow me to tell them. Somewhere between a wonderful surprise and an enormous responsibility is where this news lies and we're going to need the kids to be a major part of the plan in order to be successful. How we reveal the secret is more important to my wife though and it has to be memorable. Dana is a photographer at heart and captures every event digitally. Since I'm the wordsmith and she's Annie Leibovitz, I think we're going to be putting our heads together to make this collaboration special. Home movie? Scrapbook? Music video? Just getting the creative juices flowing is fun and making Dana happy is the goal I can't lose sight of.

I'm under strict orders not to tell the kids my news until the time is right. I am just wondering if that includes indirect sunlight, fashionista primping, and a professional makeup artist. Dana is very particular when it comes to capturing life on film so there's a good chance our kids won't be town criers until Dana figures out the setting, location, and timing of the big reveal. When we do finally reveal the secret, trust me, everyone will know too as the girls don't know how to keep anything to themselves. I'm sure that ability will be acquired within the next 10 years or so but for now, my children are blissfully ignorant to the social dilemmas faced by adults. When it comes to divulging news, who you tell and when you tell it are two of the most important decisions people have to routinely make.

Before I open my big mouth, I'll just stop typing the thoughts that are streaming wildly out of my head. I apparently haven't learned the basic concept of zipping my lips and this blog might spur an email of two wondering what the hell I'm talking about. I guess the first rule in keeping something to yourself is not telling others that you are keeping something to yourself. Oops.

My kids take after me in more ways than one.

I Need Another Story

I'm shuffle-mode listening to i-tunes again and trying to think about what to write about next. The Jeff Gordon Children's Foundation project is done and I want to get back on track with blogging. The problem with music playing in the background is that I tend to forget my thoughts and just start singing the lyrics instead. Here's what I'm talking about:

One Republic's Secrets: "I need another story, something to get off my chest. My life gets kinda boring. Need something that I can confess."

Linkin Park's What I've Done: "In this farewell, there's no blood. there's no alibi. Cause I've drawn regret, from the truth, from a thousand lies. So let mercy come, and wash away what I've done."

Linkin Park's Waiting For The End: "This is not the end, this is not the beginning, just a voice like a riot rocking every revision. But you listen to the tone and the violent rhythm though the words sound steady something emptys within em."

I think everyone chooses songs for different reasons and though many of my musical preferences are the same as yours, I recently discovered that I'm drawn to songs that reflect pain with poetry. If the song has the same three lines sung ad nauseum, I'm just going to change the channel. But if the artist is lyrically clever, a la Eminem (sans vulgarity), I can listen to those selections all day. Since hurt and devastation are "easy" to write about, those type of songs tend to have the depth I'm looking for versus Top 40 chart toppers that often leave you singing along without ever prompting your mind to start working. "Baby you're a firework". Really? OK. With that in mind, BANG! I'm brain dead.

My wife had me download a song this morning that has meaning for her. It's Gratitude by Nichole Nordiman. As I'm writing this blog I'm also listening to it for the first time. I can hear the reasons why Dana would love it and though it wouldn't be something I'd put on my i-pod, I'm happy to bring some joy to my wife by giving her this download as a gift. For me there's just not enough pain to make the song very appealing.

What does that say about me? I guess that's a topic for another story. Just need to turn off i-tunes to make that happen.

Once a Moron, Always a Moron

I have a neighbor who can't help being who he is. What is he you ask? Let me make a list.

He is:
1. unmarried
2. 46 years old
3. 6'5" and 270 lbs
4. observably promiscuous
5. usually naked
6. oblivious to the fact that he lives in a residential neighborhood with a family of four next door.

On top of that, I would say without a doubt, that he is mostly:
7. a moron

Moron is defined as "a person who is notably stupid or lacking in good judgment". Considering we have a decade of experiences living next to him to draw from, I think you couldn't define this dude any better.

If moronic isn't the right adjective, you could say that he simply doesn't understand what I have repeatedly told him for the last 10 years; we are his NEIGHBORS. To be neighborly would imply being good natured, helpful, or friendly. Sometimes the guy next door has been just that. The problem is that I have to repeatedly knock on his door to get him to quit acting like a hormonally imbalanced teenager whose parents are gone for the weekend. Most of the problems he causes involve an abuse of alcohol and a lack of awareness. There are some though that just come from out of the blue.

The latest event that is fueling this blog entry just happened today. Sitting in the kitchen and paying the bills, I heard a truck slowly move back and forth in the alley behind my house. Since this is a rare happening, I ran upstairs to get a better look out of the bedroom window. I quickly and shockingly discovered that the truck was not in the alley like I thought. It was maneuvering back and forth on my side yard.

As fast as I could grab a crow bar and open the door, I popped outside only to find that Mr. Moron was right there leading his friend onto my yard (grass covered, expensive irrigation system underneath) so that he could use the truck to help trim his 40 foot illegal palm tree; the same one he already had trimmed a month ago by licensed professionals.

"What the hell are you doing??" I shouted. Beyond pissed, I walked over to my neighbor and almost broke his neck with the crowbar. (Not really, but I did wave it around and he got the message.)

The driver of the truck backed off my property and the moronic neighbor got an earful. Who the hell just tells someone to drive onto his neighbor's property? I asked Mr. Moron that and after a number of apologies and the offer to replace the deep tire tracks with new soil, I ran my sprinklers to determine how many heads the truck drove over. Gladly, and luckily for my neighbor, there were none.

I try to look for the good in a person or situation; it was how I was raised to be. But how can anyone accept the consistent stupidity of another? Let's be honest, I have enough problems already without this constant nonsense. My life doesn't need other distraction.

The moron next door clearly got my message and now I'm waiting to see what he's going to do next. After he repairs the damage to my lawn there will almost certainly be a period in which he will try desperately to avoid contact with me and especially my wife (he's afraid of her), and then he will eventually resume being the person he always is. After living next door to him this long, there is adequate proof to show that sadly, he will always be a moron.

What I should do to retaliate will be the subject of another blog. I have to go make sure that the truck isn't on my front lawn now.