Where are you going, my little one...

Dav was born in March of 2008.

                                                 (Dav in Dec. of 2009)

That will make him 5 1/2 years old in just a little over a week.

                                                (Dav in August of 2013)

Our little baby is turning into a boy. He no longer needs help with much, and he is proving to be more and more intelligent each day. He challenges you with appropriate questions to the situation at hand, and demonstrates rather impressive problem solving skills. For instance, we were building up a new Lego set yesterday and there was a part which required two builds of basically the same piece but made into mirror images of the other. Rather than line up the pieces with the picture, Daven took the piece to be built, held it next the other one and made it up opposite of the one already built. I was impressed by this as it struck me how far he has come in his short time around. 

Which now leads us to the big milestone that many parents dread: On September 3rd of this year, Daven starts Kindergarten. We've seen it coming for a while now, and when most people ask how Elli and I are doing with that fact I always deflect the question in that Elli is having a hard time with it.

But I'm confessing to you all now: I'm excited for him; yet terrified as well.

Like most parents I struggle with letting your child go into the world. Elli and I know he's ready. He's been done with naps since a little after 3 years old, he routinely helps out in the classroom at daycare, he's starting to understand basic reading, and has a memory of a computer. As eluded to before, he understands situations and can problem solve and understand the "why" behind things. And if he doesn't, he's not going to move forward until he does. He's very literal that way. He's routinely been scored high on assessments and teachers starting a year ago said that he just outright is bored where he is now in his curriculum.

I'm not bragging about my child. That's all leads into the following: Dav is a little different than most kids his age. He loves running with the pack, and will happily follow along with others. With both good and bad behavior. But he's also very content doing his own thing, and sometimes thinks differently than other kids around him. This of course leads us parents to worry about bullying issues. Of course Elli pointed out that he probably wouldn't even realize he's getting picked on. But it leads me to want to be there with him in class, to hold his hand while we walk to the lunchroom, help him punch in his lunch code, watch him on the playground during recess, and remind him which paper to bring home from school. Obviously I can't do that, and it's proving very hard to not baby him as much these days. He'll get very upset if you help him without him asking (a trait he shares with me) and will get offended if you pester him with baby like attitudes. 

 (How do I give my son the world without robbing him of the experience?)

I see myself as his map of sorts, in that I can show him the way if he wants but I'm not going to necessarily bring him there. I can show him many paths, however he has to choose the one he wants. I feel this is the role of a parent. Elli and I have done what we can to get him to this point. It's now time to see what he can do with a little bit of freedom. We know he can succeed, and he's proven that he's ready. But I'm sure all parents worry that their child will take the wrong path. While I believe there is truth in the philosophy that you are a product of your upbringing, I also whole heartily believe that you are ultimately responsible for how you turn out. You and you alone make the choices. 

It's now time for Daven to start making some of his own choices. Elli and I will just have to watch and try to be the best maps we can.

Ode to softball

This season marks the 28th year I've played ball. Perhaps that's why my left shoulder hurts. My left elbow also gives me trouble.

So does my back. And my right wrist.

And both knees.

28 years ago did I think I would be a full time softball player? No way. I was 4 years old running across the grass to the infield where my other red shirt clad teammates were playing catch. Like the rest, I'm sure I loved batting more than fielding. Something must've clicked though, because from that summer day so very long ago and every summer yet I've been apart of a ball team. After tball came coach pitch little league (where my Dad helped coach and pitch, and yes he did bean me. A few times), after that came kids pitch, babe ruth, legion ball, and then highschool ball. As I grew up in baseball however I realized early on that I wasn't going to be donning Yankee pinstripes. Politics started early in the sport, and if Daddy didn't know that Daddy or your family didn't live here or there, you weren't drafted into the upper leagues. And if you weren't there, you didn't get noticed. I actually remember at one of the tryouts I was throwing from the mound and looked over to see that not a single one of the coaches was watching. They were mingling around with each other and what not. So I fired the ball over in their direction, it banged off one of the fold up chairs, everyone whirled around and other players in line had mouths agape, and I walked off. It was kind of like that scene from the hunger games.

I was bitter about it then. I'm not anymore.

But then high school ball came around and it was the same story. But I loved playing. I actually love everything about ball. I love the smell of glove oil while you're breaking in a new mitt. I love taping up the end of my bats grip and getting the taper just right. I love the feel of diamond dust crunching under my cleats. I love the look of a field right after it's dragged and the lines are freshly painted. I love all the rituals I religiously adhere to, like never ever touching the foul lines while running onto the field and off it or drawing an "X" in the dirt and then hitting the center of it when I'm on deck. I love how it feels when you crush the ball just right in the sweet zone of the bat and the ball launches out over the fence (you actually don't even feel the hit when this happens).

But I wasn't so naive to think that baseball was really going to take me much farther than high school. It was about this time (at 15 years old) I was asked to help out by playing on my uncles softball team.

And instantly discovered a new love. And haven't looked back.

Is slowpitch softball a sport? Yes. Is it an incredibly athletic endeavor for the elites? No. Does it take a lot of skill to play well? Yes. Can anyone play it? Yes. Can anyone play it well? No. Like all things, it does take practice to get good at. I do commit quite a few swings before the season starts and I do, when no ones looking, practice my foot work drills whenever I think about it. I visualize scenarios and what I'd do in them, I do one arm hitting drills, and yes, I enjoy watching youtube videos of majors level softball.

In short, I'm obsessed with the sport. Just ask my wife.

I've toned down my temper with softball the last handful of years. No longer do I throw my glove violently, or spike the bat into the ground when I pop the ball up. I don't kick fences as often, and I haven't whipped my bat bag into the grass after a loss in a while. I still get frustrated with myself and still don't take losses well. But I've matured and also want to set a good example with my kids watching. It is only a game, and I play on competitive yet laid back fun teams. But there is still pride involved, and when I don't do what I'm supposed to I do get upset. I've just learned to express it a little better.

As bragging rights, the only time I haven't played a game is if I'm out of town. The only time I've missed because of injury is 2 seasons ago when I dislocated my left knee cap. And even then, I came back for the last 5 weeks of the fall campaign. I've played the last 8 seasons with a torn up left shoulder, I have tendinitis in both my throwing elbow and right wrist. I've played with bone bruises, dislocated fingers, sore muscles, nasty colds, run down exhaustion, etc. etc...

I remember back in the day when my old man was in the twilight of his own slowpitch career. He said the reason he stopped playing is because it took him 45 minutes to get his pants on with all the tape and braces he had to put on first. I understand, however I think I'll play until the point, if ever, I just truly can't.

But for now I'm not thinking about that. For now, I'm just focused on when my next game is, obsessively checking the weather reports for that day, and trying to figure out why my swing isn't working like it should.

The powerful "I have a dream speech"...

I present to you Martin Luther King Jr's famous "I have a dream speech". It's long, but if you've never read or heard it, you really should take the time to. It's awesome.

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we've come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the "unalienable Rights" of "Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note, insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds."

But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so, we've come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice.

We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. And those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. And there will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people, who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice: In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.

The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom.

We cannot walk alone.

And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead.

We cannot turn back.

There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their self-hood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating: "For Whites Only." We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until "justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream."

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. And some of you have come from areas where your quest -- quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive. Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends.

And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of "interposition" and "nullification" -- one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; "and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together."

This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with.

With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

And this will be the day -- this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning:

My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.

Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,

From every mountainside, let freedom ring!

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.

And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire.

Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.

Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.

Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.

But not only that:

Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi.

From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:

                Free at last! Free at last!

                Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!

                                                                                                           -MLK Jr.

Making sense of nonsense...

Like many of you, I'm still struggling to wrap my head around what happened last week at Sandy Hook. I think it's still too much to process as it just doesn't seem real. The fact that such a person existed is the stuff of Hollywood, or at least so we all thought.

Like many of you, I have strong opinions on the matter. For starters, I have extreme anger towards the responsible thing that did this (I am calling it "thing" since I do not regard it as human so I will apply no gender or identity to it). I am not ashamed to say I hate it, and would've rather seen it caught, arrested, and then thrown into general population of some prison somewhere. That way, the hardened criminals would've had a field day with it using rope and dull kitchen utensils to do the job. And some people have said hate is not a appropriate response. Good for you for thinking that. You're a better person than I. Think about what it did one more time, think about the 6 and 7 year olds who looked up to see what was happening, and then really honestly tell me whether or not you don't hate this thing.

Hate is a recognized emotion. It exists and has a purpose. To say it's not appropriate to hate makes about as much sense as saying it's not appropriate to love. It's a ying yang thing.

Like many of you, I seek answers to not only why, but to how to stop this from happening again. There was a Facebook posting going around attributing some speech to Morgan Freeman saying how sensationalist media is partly to blame. While this narrative turned out to not be given by Mr. Freeman, I still agree with it's message. Perhaps the people who blew up the building in Oklahoma, or the kid that shot up Virginia Tech, or this loser responsible for this post wouldn't have taken it to such extreme had they not been convinced we would be talking about it today. I believe there is truth to the fact that the way these monsters are portrayed and glorified in a way gives rise to another individual looking to be remembered. Like the post said, if we all paid them no mind, perhaps they would indeed go away a sad nobody. Instead, we plaster there face all over the news, headlines, we make movies about their story, we write books for generations to read.

Like many of you, I fear what lurks outside these walls of my home. But to truly put my children in a bubble would rob them. You can't protect them from everything, and you would go insane trying. The world is still full of good, experiences still need to be experienced (good and bad). For the most part, the world is still a decent place. Dark corners exist, but denying them freedom to go and explore would prevent them from finding the light switch.

Like ALL of us, I don't have the answer as to how to go about preventing this. To think banning the sale of all guns will work is absurd, and just won't ever happen. Now, I will be the first to voice out and say no civilian, for any reason, needs a fully automatic weapon. No civilian, for any reason, needs a clip that holds 25 rounds of ammunition. No civilian, for any reason, needs a .50 caliber weapon of any action type. You just don't. And don't quote the 2nd amendment bullshit. If you're someone saying you need any of the things I listed and are saying it's our right, you are skewing what the founding fathers had in mind when they wrote that magnificent document. I also wouldn't personally mind waiting a couple weeks, or even a few months to get a gun. I'm in no hurry. Furthermore, I've heard a few people now with regard to this event and the shooting at the theatre a few months back saying they wish someone was carrying during the incident so they could "end it". To those people I ask, "Are you truly retarded?" Unless you are a licensed active police officer, you DO NOT have the necessary skills to effectively act in either of these two situations. Chances are you'll injure or kill more people engaging the shooter. Sorry, but your 3 day conceal and carry class taken at your local gun store does not give you the skills that these officers practice for months. If you believe otherwise, you're part of the problem mentality.

There is no good answer, so here's what I'm going to do. I vow that this will be the last time I mention the thing that did this cowardly act. I vow that I will always remember the young ones who were taken all too soon from this world. I vow to never take any day for granted as you just don't know what you're going to get that day. I vow to never hold my children back cause I'm scared of the unknown. I vow to keep plugging forward in an ever chaotically changing world.

Evil exists. However I refuse to let it paralyze me.

This Old House...

I'm typing this to you all with a computer atop 2 cardboard boxes while sitting on a lone dining room chair. The rest of our belongings are scattered about in various areas, piled in the garage waiting to be loaded onto a moving truck, or patiently waiting their turn in one of 2 storage garages.

In case you haven't heard, we're on the move.

We're all excited. The plain truth is simple: We've outgrown our current home. And with the market as such, it was the right time for us to pick up and move to greener pastures. So, we'll be going from a house with 2 bedrooms and just around 1200 square feet to a house with 4 bedrooms and just under 2300 square feet. It will provide ample space for our current needs and also if we need additional room we won't be so limited.

Plus it has a brand new kitchen. It's the focal point of the whole house.

But it's kind of bittersweet. As I sit here and pack and prep and move stuff out of our current house, I'm reminded of just what this house means to Elli and I. I was newly hired at the VA and not even a week into work when we signed off and moved into this house. We were excited to be homeowners and looking back we did rush into this and had we taken a year or two we would've been better off. Regardless, we had our first home. It was a tiny starter home on a corner lot and had an old school charm to it (it was built in the early 30's). But that old school charm meant plaster walls, old electrical wiring, somewhat dated plumbing, and a concrete slabbed cinder block basement pretty much only good to house appliances such as the furnace and water heater and be used as storage and a laundry room.

So throughout the years I grumbled about patching yet another crack in the plaster, I grumbled about the 2 pronged outlets. I grumbled when it took me 5 hours to replace an electrical outlet. I grumbled when we had to replace the roof, I grumbled when we had to replace the drafty large window in our playroom, and I grumbled about the confining space as we attained more stuff yet didn't attain more square footage.

But for all the grumbling, I sit here today and I simply can't forget that this will forever be our first house. This will be the thing we nervously set foot in that day so long ago in 2005. It will be the site of our first mortgage payment, our first utility upgrade, our first home improvement project. It will be the site of our first run in with the law (someone stole stuff out of our garage), and it will be the site of, shall we say, practice for my handy man skills.

And it will be in our memory as the place where we brought home our two children; Dav in 2008 and HM in 2011. I will always remember pacing these scuffed up and faded wood floors at 3am rocking a fussy infant back to sleep. I will remember placing a sick toddler up on the counter next to the sink as I measure out ear infection medicine. And I will remember all the early mornings spent gathered around the island in the kitchen as we all got ready to go to work and daycare while eating peanut butter toast.

In the past 7+ years, I've repeatedly said how much I hated this house. It was a lie every time.

I love this house. And I'm going to miss it something fierce. I'm excited for our new house and look forward to making many new memories there, and I'm glad this house is going to a couple with a younger child as well. This house is a great one to start off in, and I couldn't have asked for a better one.

To our Maplewood neighbors reading this, thanks for the years of friendship. Thru the miracle of social media I'm sure we'll keep in touch. And Mounds View isn't all that far away. Know that this area will still be a training ground for our biking needs and you'll see us cruising on thru I'm sure plenty of times in the future. Thanks for helping making this a home!

Pffft, you think that's hard...

Huh. Someone may see that title and think this post is gonna be something dirty.

Or is that just me.

I guarantee I could list 5 people who were giggling after reading that post.

I'm off topic already. Sorry. It's been a while.

Anyhow, below is a list of what some people may consider difficult to do (i.e. "hard"...hee hee):

1) Quantum physics

2) Tight rope walking

3) Calculus

4) Endurance events

5) Simple addition and/or subtraction

6) Planks

7) Opening a bag of cereal

8) Engine repair

9) Fly fishing

10) Changing the toilet paper roll (looking at you spousal unit)

These things are hard indeed. But they all fail in comparison to something I had to do multiple times tonight:

Chase around a naked 1 year old and attempt to not only catch them, but have them stay still long enough to put a diaper back on.

Hannah thought it was hilarious.

Raise 'em to the techs!

Author's note: I have not abandoned this blog. Many people have asked why I haven't posted. The truth is, like always I got busy and when I did find time to sit in front of the computer I got distracted with other things (pornhub) and never actually blogged. As usual, I make the empty promise that I will try to post more frequently and hopefully this time it sticks. Thanks to all who have wondered where I went and those that also say that they enjoy reading my posts. Stuff like that makes me come back with more of my musings. And now back to regular programming.


Last week was National Laboratorian Appreciation Week, or whatever the hell it's called now a days.

You didn't know that did you? For shame.

Truth is, most people didn't know about it. And for those of us in the profession we are kind of use to it now. Say what you want about what we do as Lab Techs, but the real truth is that what we do does truly matter.

Without an accurate lab result, the doctor won't order the correct additional tests. Without an accurate lab result, a nurse won't know that order the doctor just wrote doesn't make sense. Without the right lab value, in theory, someone could die.

It's that simple.

Personally, I work over in a blood bank. I get blank stares when I tell people that. For those of you curious, my job entails giving patients blood when they need it. If you're anemic from cancer treatment, or bleeding out during a surgery, I'm the guy downstairs that tests a unit of blood and makes sure it's safe to give you. And laugh all you want, but I have played a direct role a few times now in saving someones life. Anyone who's ever worked in the field in some way has. And for all the times I've worked straight through a shift with no break struggling to keep up with a GI bleeder, or have been on two different phones at once, or have worked side by side with one of my peers as we juggle multiple problem patients, all the while getting screamed at from 4 different people, I have only heard about the times I've supposedly messed up.

I have never been thanked for my (albeit small) role in saving someone. Not once.

A while ago there was a Nursing strike here in MN. One of the rally cries was a poetic piece about a Nurse sacrificing their time from their family to be with yours, or not getting to lunch or, well you get the idea. And I'm not saying they or doctors aren't overworked. Like all of us in health care, they are. But Elli has been a Nurse for a little over a year now and has many stories about being thanked for helping a patient out. I've been in the field for going on 8 years now. As I've said above, I haven't been thanked once.

It was Lab appreciation week last week. Even if you're just learning about it now, if you know a Med Tech, do me a favor:

Make out with them. They deserve it!