Dear Jack- I love you, but I am SO TIRED of picking poop out of crib spindles with Clorox wipes and washing your sheets twice a day in Oxi-clean.  The spankings and time-outs haven't worked.  You take that diaper off as fast as I can say trouble.  You are as impulsive as a... a... well, as your father. 

Someone suggested putting your sleepers on backwards but none of them are button-ups. 

Someone else suggested masking tape, and another, positive reinforcement with candy.  Seeing as how we don't have any candy around today, nor a car to go get some (one's in the shop,) and seeing as how things hit an all time high on the mess factor around here, I opted for the masking tape just last nap time. 

By the time I was finished winding it around your middle, you were staring at me with a quizzical expression.  It looked like I was putting you into your crib in a chastity belt. Or a Sumo wrestling diaper. 

Whatever it takes, I shrugged, and stood back to admire my work.

Try to take that diaper off now, buddy boy, I said, and you smiled as if you were up for the challenge.

Weh-heh-hellll........................ naptime is long over and GUESS- WHO- WON, my friend?! I did!  That's who!

I cannot TELL YOU the excitement, the adrenaline that ran through my veins when I found you shirtless, yes, but still all taped up after naptime and- GASP- with DRY sheets.  I praised you, too, (as if you hadn't tried to rip the thing off with your all of 8 teeth) but left it on by choice, gave you a handful of animal crackers to gnaw on while I went to work cutting the thang off with scissors. 

I told myself not to get too excited.  This wouldn't, in fact, solve all of the destructive behaviors going on around here.  Like the one that occurred just yesterday afternoon when you brought me the small silver decorative box with velvet inlay from our sideboard in the dining room. 

Poop, you said. 

I opened the box.  Yesss.  Poop, indeed.  Sitting on dark blue velvet like a delicacy or rare jewel.  However did that get in there and let me see your hands...

Maybe I should just tape a training pot to your tush. 

Well, then I might as well glue a bib to your chest, and the dog food to dog food bowl, and the Doritios to the top shelf of the pantry while I'm at it.  That would minimize the messes by about a third?  Maybe?

But how oh how shall I keep your father from leaving out his half-full  Dr. Pepper cans?  Maybe we could just get something that would feed it to him intravenously, like an IV bag. 

I better go Google that...

Sleep Tight, my Angel- (and I know you will because you're swaddled in masking tape)-

Mommy  

Labels: boys will be boys, dumbhead parenting, here comes trouble, Jack, Katie, letter, milestones, phases, pics

I always knew this day would come.  When I would have to choose.

I've worn aqua-tinted contacts over my pale green eyes for nearly 12 years. 

You can keep the color, or trade it out for better vision and moister eyes, he said.

You can stay superficial and blind, or get real and- be healed- is what I heard.

We had come straight from swim class to the eye care office. I had three wet children sprinkling rice cake crumbs around the room, there wasn't time to deliberate.  It was vanity or vision.  The choice was that simple. 

I knew what the right answer was, but still... my fake blue eyes!  My DEEP, FAKE BLUE EYES!  How I would miss them!  They were the only contrast to the rest of my whiteness.

But I'm stubborn.  I'm stubborn, gosh darnit, and that adds fervor to my moral compass.  So I forced out the answer better vision, and swallowed the lump in my throat with an audible gulp.

And here I am.  Casper, once again.  Not much difference in black and white or color.  Gone are my artificial Alice Blue's, gone is my contrast.  Boo hoo! 

That was over a week ago but still, something looks "off" when I brush my teeth in the morning.  A little dull, a little flat, a little washed out.  Maybe I should write a letter.

Then there was shock #2 of the day at the office.  When it was discovered that I am not slightly, but majorly asymmetrical.  And so- whatever, who cares- right?  But it was more that I had no idea!  That was the shock.  You would think a person would know this about herself. 

When I was fitted for my glasses I asked if they looked crooked.  She said, "oh that's just your face." 

Seriously.

My left eye is- apparently- further away from my nose than my right eye.  One eyebrow is lower than the other.  One EAR is lower.  How very ODD.  I always knew my jaw and bite was asymmetrical, but obviously the problems don't end there. 

These are my old glasses, do you SEE how crooked they are?  How MUCH lower one ear IS?  We're talking plastic-surgery-low, people.

I told her this about these old glasses, I said, "NO WONDER one of my ears always hurt when I wore them!"

She nodded like it was a real shame, as if she understood the gravity of the situation.

These are my new glasses.  Hm.  Is it just me or am I looking whiter every picture?

Now, I know what you're going to say... oh please, there's not much difference, you would never know these things at a glance, and look how nice you look.  But you're only saying that because I'm wearing makeup in these pictures.  Most of the time I look like this:

And when a four year old is styling your hair and choosing your wardrobe, having deep blue eyes is not just important, it is essential in order to keep confidence.

But enough about my self-absorbed thought life.  Let me show you who really makes glasses look good:

Not that I would wish bad eyesight on any of my children. 

But if their day comes, it's nice to know they'll wear them well...

if not goofy.

Because glasses or not...       

There's always gotta be a little bit of goofy.

Labels: doctor, Evan, Katie, Madalyn, pics, pictures

I have been wanting to post this for a while now but just never sat down and took the time.

As most of you know, about a year and a half ago, Katie, my wife, started a photography business.

Understand that when she first approached me with this idea my reasoning for agreeing was based upon a "wellllll...okay" sort of mentality.  I honestly believed that we would spend a lot of money and time and the result would be somewhat of an "eh....".

Wrong.

We started off spending what seemed like a fortune on cameras, equipment, logos, designs, web hosting, etc.  We also purchased Adobe Photoshop which I knew she would never use because she hated it when "blogger" or "Picasa" didn't act right and I usually had to "fix" it. 

Wrong again.

The first few times she sat down with Photoshop I tried to help.  I had some minor knowledge of the application because every now and then my job requires me to do some design work.  I hate design.  I hate it because I am NO GOOD at it.  I can take someone's design and implement it programmatically but that is it.  All of that said, I tried to help her a little.  I thought I knew the 'right' way to work Photoshop.  I thought I knew the 'professional' way to work Photoshop.

All together now... "WRONG."

You see, I have learned a lot about Katie throughout this process.  She's a perfectionist when it comes to her work.  She's creative when it comes to her work.  She's good at her work.  She is an artist of the most unique kind because she made photography her own.  She took the business of photography and it flourished because she made it hers - unique and non-replicable. 

I come from an industry where "patterns and practices" are what everyone follows.  My industry (software engineering) is based upon good standards.  The same goes for many businesses I have seen.  A lot of software engineers, graphic designers, database designers, etc base their success on HOW they did something and HOW they implemented the standard (standard = the 'right' way to do things) that they stopped caring about the result of their work.  In some ways, professionalism becomes more about 'knowing' than about 'doing'. 

Katie did it.

Katie took her gift of photography and made her tools (cameras, software, etc) adhere to that gift.  She didn't conform to the standard and she was wildly successful.  I mean, I truly didn't believe she'd make a profit.  I planned our finances around that belief.  She made Photoshop her own.  She made art with a very advanced tool.  Art is not a standard.

Katie took pictures on the weekends and edited on the weekday nights.  She spent the days with the kids being a mom (which she told me yesterday she "loves being a mom more than anything else").  She became so busy and so popular that we had to slow things down and start turning clients away.  To this day I am amazed.

The response she received was incredible.  She never advertised; yet, within a few months she was booking clients 6 months or more into the future.  She was asked to present her material at a booth for the employees of David Maus Toyota (David Maus Jr. hit on her but that's a story for a different time).  She filled a 1 terabyte hard drive (that's 1000 gigabytes for those of you in Ocala) with client's photos.  I started getting really nervous about taxes because I hadn't planned for this at all (even after costs and write-offs How I Wonder Photography still owed Uncle Sam his part).  Again, she was wildly successful beyond what I could have imagined.

All of this goes to say how respectfully proud I am of Katie for being the best wife, mother and business-owner I have ever known.

Labels: business, How I Wonder, Katie, photography, pictures, technology