She Turns Three

Sprout turned 3 today.  A whole lot happened.  It's best summed up by WonderWife™.  Here's what she wrote about it:

I started my blog when our family of three turned into a family of four and life became pretty insane. Spout was the one who completed our family; she was born three years ago today - 7:02am on 7/2. I accused the nurses of fudging her time of birth, but apparently they take these things very seriously and assured me that 7:02am was in fact Spout's legitimate time of birth. I spent last night re-reading my birth story and getting nostalgic.

For her second birthday, she got a shirt with a "2" on it and she's been wearing that thing for a whole year. It's really small on her now, so I made her a new one for her 3rd birthday, complete with "sparkles" around the neck. She loves it.



Before she went to bed last night, we asked Sprout what kind of cake she wanted. In typical fashion, she was very specific and asked for cake that had "a little bit of pink on it, with chocolate frosting and sprinkles that are purple." So that's what I made for her.


We also asked her what she'd like for her birthday and I swear to you that when she answered "fabric to sew with" I almost wept. Spout is now the very proud owner of a Singer Pixie Plus and five FQs from my LQS. Happy birthday little girl.



Sprout told me that she wanted to make a quilt, but when I told her that we could make a skirt that she could wear today, she was sold. She picked out the fabric she wanted and I plugged in her new machine. It's basic but smart - there is a foot pedal, but for people with little legs that can't yet reach the floor, there is a button that will engage the needle, so Sprout can make the machine sew all by herself.

I taught her how to raise and lower the presser foot, turn on the sewing action, and cut threads. Together we helped guide the fabric through the machine. And in less than an hour, Sprout was wearing the very first piece of clothing she ever sewed. On her third birthday.


We zig-zaged the raw seams, but 3 year olds aren't known for their patience, so the fabric isn't prewashed. We'll see how it holds up once it's washed. Both the length and the stitching are uneven, but it fits and she loves it. And so do I.

I am such a proud mama. I can't wait to sew more with her - I wonder what she'll want to make next. Happy birthday, my sweet little girl.

Our Life and New Products: He Said, She Said

There was a new email waiting for me when I logged on the other day. It was from WonderWife™. After reading it, I glared at her aghast.

“You really want me to post this on my blog?”

“Yes,” she said matter of factly. “People need to know the truth.”

I’ve never been one to limit anyone’s freedom of expression, and if I’ve learned anything in my marriage it’s that censoring my wife isn’t the smartest idea.

“You know that I’m going to need to write a rebuttal,” I told her.

“Fire away, Geek Boy,” she said.

So in what looks like it might become an annual feature, I present to you a guest post from WonderWife™:


It’s been well documented that DGB is a fan of anything labeled ‘new; or ‘limited edition’ or is otherwise labeled in a way to entice him to try the latest trends in junk food.

Today, as I randomly offered him a Tic-Tac, he noted, “I saw them in Pina Colada flavor at the convenience-mart earlier today.” 

Um, what? “Why didn’t you get them,” I demanded. “Were they labeled ‘new’?” 

When I was told that they were labeled “Summer Edition” I nearly lost my shit. How is that not the same as “new” or the like? What possible explanation could he have for passing them up? 

“I just wasn’t interested,” he lamely explained. 

Not interested?!?! Those words barely register with me. For him, each trip to the Sev for coffee, each trip to the mega-mart for groceries, each trip to the gas station (with attached bodega) all warrant a trip down the snack aisle in search of new products. And now he just waltzed right by such a treat. How can it be?

This isn’t the first time this kind of thing has happened. A few months ago, I was cutting coupons and the geniuses at Keebler were promoting a new cookie:

They’re labeled ‘new.’ They’re cheesecake, which is something that I’ve never known DGB to be opposed to. They even come in dark chocolate. I was sure that I’d stumbled on a winner, so had been looking for them each time I went to the mega-mart to no avail. Each time I was in Target, I took a slow walk down the cookie aisle. No dice. I’d even duck into convenience stores to see if I could find ‘em, but always walked away empty-handed. Then one day, DGB and I were at the mega-mart together and behold – there they were. I scooped them off the shelf and presented them to DGB as though they were an offering. And he promptly dismissed me them. 

“Eh,” he said. “I don’t really need them.” 

He has created a monster in me. I find it hard *not* to look for foods emblazoned with ‘New’ or ‘NEW’ or ‘Limited Edition’ on them. I have even enlisted my family to help in my quest of procuring the newest goodies for my husband. And now that he’s brushing them away right and left, I’m left confused and hungry for those goodies out there, labeled ‘new’ and calling my name.




Ahem.

Considering that my wife and I do not have many common interests, I am flattered that she’s developed an obsession with new products along side of me. However, as per usual when it comes to WonderWife™ and me, there are vast differences in how we go about life.

The accusations put forth by my wife here are indeed true. There have been a few new products that I have not bought or tried. Although I do love something new, it has to be something new and interesting to me for me to spend the money and calories on it. There could be a cilantro and mushroom bar with a “new” or a “limited edition” on it, but it doesn’t mean I’m getting it. There are dozens of new products on the shelves all of the time. I’d go broke trying all of them. Some of them just aren’t that unique. Milky Way’s Simply Caramel bar had a “new”. Chocolate and caramel may be new to them, but really it’s nothing blog worthy. 

In regards to the cheesecake cookies, WonderWife™ caught me at a time where I was thinking about trying to eat healthier. So while they did look good, they didn’t seem so extraordinary that we should’ve bought them, which would have lead to us devouring the whole bag that night while watching AFV.  When she was standing in the aisle with the bag of cookies that she was so desperate to find, she could have mentioned the extend of her quest.  She could have ignored what I said and bought them anyway.  But she relented and put them back on the shelf and walked away. 

In retrospect, I should have bought the Tic Tacs. If not for me, for my wife. She’s good enough to bring me home new products and it would have been a nice gesture to return the favor. And now that they are gone and I can’t find them again, I wish I had bought them cause now I really want to try them.*

So in that case it’s my loss. And hers.






*expect to hear about this from her in the comments

Cure JM Day

My fellow Hot Dad Kevin of the awesome blog Always Home and Uncool has written this and asked me to post it as part of his effort to raise awareness of juvenile myositis, a rare autoimmune disease his daughter was diagnosed with on this day seven years ago.

I am donating my blog today to his cause.

____________________________

Our pediatrician admitted it early on.

The rash on our 2-year-old daughter's cheeks, joints and legs was something he'd never seen before.

The next doctor wouldn't admit to not knowing.

He rattled off the names of several skins conditions -- none of them seemingly worth his time or bedside manner -- then quickly prescribed antibiotics and showed us the door.

The third doctor admitted she didn't know much.

The biopsy of the chunk of skin she had removed from our daughter's knee showed signs of an "allergic reaction" even though we had ruled out every allergy source -- obvious and otherwise -- that we could.

The fourth doctor had barely closed the door behind her when, looking at the limp blonde cherub in my lap, she admitted she had seen this before. At least one too many times before.

She brought in a gaggle of med students. She pointed out each of the physical symptoms in our daughter:

The rash across her face and temples resembling the silhouette of a butterfly.

The purple-brown spots and smears, called heliotrope, on her eyelids.

The reddish alligator-like skin, known as Gottron papules, covering the knuckles of her hands.

The onset of crippling muscle weakness in her legs and upper body.

She then had an assistant bring in a handful of pages photocopied from an old medical textbook. She handed them to my wife, whose birthday it happened to be that day.

This was her gift -- a diagnosis for her little girl.

That was seven years ago -- Oct. 2, 2002 -- the day our daughter was found to have juvenile dermatomyositis, one of a family of rare autoimmune diseases that can have debilitating and even fatal consequences when not treated quickly and effectively.

Our daughter's first year with the disease consisted of surgical procedures, intravenous infusions, staph infections, pulmonary treatments and worry. Her muscles were too weak for her to walk or swallow solid food for several months. When not in the hospital, she sat on our living room couch, propped up by pillows so she wouldn't tip over, as medicine or nourishment dripped from a bag into her body.

Our daughter, Thing 1, Megan, now age 9, remembers little of that today when she dances or sings or plays soccer. All that remain with her are scars, six to be exact, and the array of pills she takes twice a day to help keep the disease at bay.

What would have happened if it took us more than two months and four doctors before we lucked into someone who could piece all the symptoms together? I don't know.

I do know that the fourth doctor, the one who brought in others to see our daughter's condition so they could easily recognize it if they ever had the misfortune to be presented with it again, was a step toward making sure other parents also never have to find out.

That, too, is my purpose today.

It is also my birthday gift to my wife, My Love, Rhonda, for all you have done these past seven years to make others aware of juvenile myositis diseases and help find a cure for them once and for all.

To read more about children and families affected by juvenile myositis diseases, visit Cure JM Foundation at www.curejm.org.

To make a tax-deductible donation toward JM research, go to www.firstgiving.com/rhondaandkevinmckeever or www.curejm.com/team/donations.htm.

Morphing Into What I Feared Most

I couldn't be more excited to present my first ever guest post, written by none other than WonderWife™ herself. You've come to know her through me, so I wanted to give her a chance to speak for herself. I'm thrilled she took me up on it. Please enjoy...I think that you will.

It’s been well documented that not only am I a self-proclaimed “not geek,” but that I have a great disdain for most things geek, including but not limited to: Comic-Con, gadgets, anything Sci-Fi, video games, and most pop culture. Unless you’re the 20-something bachelors of The Big Bang Theory (No, I do not watch it. But DGB does. Of course.), then there is simply not enough space in any one abode for more than a single geek. The place would be overwrought with gizmos, not to mention the cacophony of gadgets, each with their own beeps, whirls, and various other annoying sounds. I imagine that the noise would cause some sort of aneurysm and I would die a slow death as I bled from my ears.

It was this past week that I bought a new toy for myself – a hoity-toity sewing machine that I’ve been jonsin’ on for quite a while. Unlike DGB, I did not research the thing to death. I did a quickie web search, found one that had the capabilities I wanted, was a price that I knew to be reasonable, read a few customer reviews, and was satisfied. All in the span of 5 minutes. I assure you, it really is that easy to make a purchase. As I added the machine to my shopping cart, DGB asked if I had read the online reviews on it. The he clarified, “From multiple sites?” I just sighed. I was nearly ready to complete my transaction when all of the sudden DGB yelled, “Wait! Have you bought it yet? No? Go to Pricegrabber. Quickly. Just to make sure you’re getting the best price.”

The man simply cannot help himself. He was practically twitching knowing that I was buying a machine without going to at least 7 different cross-referenced websites. So I did it. For him. I looked at reviews for this model at another website and checked the other online prices. It was 10 minutes of my life that I’ll never get back only to find out that I already had the best price and that the reviews on one site were just as glowing as the reviews on the next. Which is to say, I learned nothing new by cross referencing to death. Vindicated, I finished my transaction.

I typically don’t give instruction manuals much more time than it takes to toss on the floor as I’m tearing the packaging off of whatever it is that I just bought. I might go back to reference it if I have a question, but by and large, instruction manuals are neglected by me. DGB, on the other hand, cracks ‘em open first thing. He’ll leave a new toy alone and forgotten for hours as he meticulously pours though every word of his instruction manual. By the last page, he knows every single function of his new gadget. I might figure out how to do about half that just by tinkering with it, but half of the thousands of functions that most electronics come with these days is plenty of function for me.

Three days later, my new machine arrives. And this puppy is unlike any machine that I’ve ever used. Short of plugging it in, I don’t even know where to start. It’s not like when you give up your old digital camera for a new one and so you pretty much know how to use the new one. This was like receiving a package from Mars. So I sat down, took a deep breath, and opened up the instruction manual. I read. And read. And read. At last I tried sewing with it.

As DGB came into my studio to have a look, I couldn’t help but to exclaim, “Look! Look at this! Look what it does! And here – look at this function. And see this? It can do this, too.”

Always the pragmatist, he asked, “How did you figure all of this out already? You just got it today."

I looked up from my sewing rather sheepishly and admitted that I had read the instruction manual cover to cover. His eyes widened and the beginnings of a smirk appeared at the sides of his mouth. But true to gallant form, he simply nodded and turned to leave. As he reached the door, he turned back, walked over to me and whispered in my ear, "Booyah! You're a geek too."