Slicing stratosphere on the way home, another tight connection so fingers crossed that the luggage meets us there. Today would be the day my travel-size baby powder runs out, sticky unpowdered balls for an eight hour cross-country trek, what could be better? Laptop’s got enough battery to last the entire flight, but I’ll get tired of it before then. Debating even opening it, don’t really have anything to write, but I wanted to listen to the Andrew Bird album that I’ve been singing all morning. Had a good time in Florida, always do. Will be glad to get back home though, if for nothing more than to try and get tied into the work thing for a short seven weeks before Lil’ Chino arrives.
Speaking of babies, which, when am I not, lately… that little girl is on her way, is coming. I see it occupy more of Sharaun’s thoughts day by day – bringing it also to the front of mine. We start our parenting classes the week after we get back, once a week for six weeks – Tuesday nights for a couple hours. There, I’m supposing we’ll learn to be parents. Picking up skills like shooshing and swaddling and tummy-timing. I’m excited, actually, to go to the classes… even though they’re not free, or anything. I’m sure we’ll learn a thing or two about a thing or two, and that can’t be bad. But, deep down, I’ve talked previously about how I think this thing is just “meant” to work… being that we’ve made it from caveman to here, y’know.
Man these kind of entries are boring: “This is what we did, this is what we’re doing, blah, blah, baby, blah.” It’s easy to complain about the junior-high journal style of writing, but harder to actually do something original; so you don’t, you shoot for just writing instead, and leave lofty goals of creativity for rare moments of inspiration rather than the norm. Plodding on then, faults well known.
Sharaun got me a great little book for Christmas, 101 Things A Good Dad Should Know. It’s got lots of neat little tidbits of knowledge that all dads should have stowed away. Of course, how to throw a curveball and swing a bat are in there… sigh. Not that our daughter will be pitching curveballs that much, but her mom did play softball. What’s the fear, you ask? People, I have no skills; can’t swing a bat, can’t throw a ball. OK, so I can do both, so can a monkey, but I don’t do either correctly. Never did learn, was always laughed at when I tried, so never put much into it. In the book, there’s and illustration of the good dad, we’ll call him Dad Gallant, hanging a tennis ball from a garage rafter for swinging practice. Me, we’ll call me Dad Goofus, I hang a tennis ball from the garage rafter to know precisely how far to pull in the car. I don’t want to be Dad Goofus. Sure, I can teach you how to find the North Star, complete the square, and balance a checkbook – but I’m a wreck on the field. You’ll still love me, right?
I’ve finally decided I’m getting an iPod. I’ve wanted one now for nigh on two years, but so far had been holding off for a larger capacity future model. Yesterday, I just up and decided I’m getting one – perhaps my last vanity purchase before Lil’ Chino gets here. I want the 60GB model, could care less for the video on that tiny screen, but I won’t mind having it, y’know, just in case. While my collection is twice over 60GB and always growing, I think I can pare it down to a good “purist” base that will be nice to have in a pocket. I always rationalize large purchases with some kind of “plus and minus” model where I comb through the last couple months finances for expenses that could’ve been. When I “find” money that could’ve been spent but wasn’t, I then feel better about unexpected cash outflux. In this case, our skymile-funded trip home for Christmas is the plus to my iPod minus. Sane, right?
Before I go, a couple recent disappointments, one expected, one not. Got dragged to a movie with Sharaun and an old friend of ours the other night, The Family Stone. Please, for the love of Jesus y’all, don’t go see this steaming pile. It was, honestly, one of the worst things I’ve seen in a loooong while. At least the old friend sprung for tickets, so I wasn’t lighter in the wallet for the slop. I hadn’t expected much, but I was shocked and awed and how little I got. Second, finally got the Test Icicles album I’ve been wanting since their 1st single did so well. It blows. Don’t waste your money, you’re better off buying this brilliant Andrew Bird record and falling asleep in the sun.