The Post about Terri Schiavo March 24th

Moments ago, the Supreme Court refused to hear a last minute appeal to save the life of Terri Schiavo.

It surprises me how saddened I am that she is about to die .

I would not want to share Terri’s fate - I dread the possibility - but the way her life is about to end is wrong.

It’s not strictly an anger fueled by religion or personal belief, for while I’m pro-life, I’m also pragmatic.

Had she put a living will in place, had she clearly and openly discussed her opinion to loved ones, had she even jotted her thoughts down on a napkin at some long ago dinner, I would honor the decision to let her go.

But in the absence of a living will or concrete proof of her wishes, I believe we have the duty to error on the side of life.

The quality of that life may be debatable, but it’s also irrelevant.

If I had to choose, I would not select the life of Christopher Reeves, Larry Flynt, Stephen Hawking, or a thousand others who have persevered in the face of reduced capacity.

I doubt Terri would have wanted their lives anymore than I do.

And part of me feels that if Terri had a voice, she wouldn’t choose her current life either. It’s hard to see a twenty year old photo of a beautiful young woman and think this is what she wanted.

If she could wake up fully coherent for five minutes, maybe she’d tell her parents to let her go.

Or perhaps she would wake up and say that some part of her still resided in that body, that some unrecognized core of her existence still lived on in a hospital bed in Florida.

Perhaps she’d tell her husband to let her time on Earth run its course.

I don’t know, and more to the point neither does anyone else. No group has a stranglehold on what’s right and wrong in the Schiavo case.

For that reason, if nothing else, I think society should error on the side of caution.

The arguments to the contrary are loud and compelling. Her existence, by our measure, is pitiful. She is not some innocent victim of fate, having succumbed to her the effects of her own failings. Her spouse, by all measures of law and ethics, should trump the wishes of her parents. She is reliant on artificial means to live beyond a week.

It’s still wrong. It was a year ago, it is today, and no matter what society says in a hundred years, it will be wrong then too.

But there’s a purpose to everything, and if nothing else Terri has issued us all a clear warning to make our wishes known while we have the chance.

So, if I fail to fill out this form or that, or just never get around to it, pay attention:

If I’m in a similar situation, my wife - no one else - has the right to determine my care. Though she disagrees with me on this issue, as is often the case, she’ll do what’s right.

And to her I say:

When you reach the point where you think enough is enough, push forward a bit.

If I’m wrong and there is no God, I gain nothing by moving on. If there is a God - and there is - then I win no brownie points for cashing in my chips sooner than I need to.

In clear conscience move on with your life.

And then, when you know it’s time, let me go.

Excuses, Excuses

Yes, I know: I should have posted by now.

Not some measely pics or a glorified diary entry, but an honest-to-goodness 600 word "please someone, offer me even a low paying writing job" column.

But in fairness, not only has my work schedule changed for the first time in years (throwing my whole sense of time and place off) but two of my kids are very sick with the flu.

One went to the hospital for dehydration/vomiting Tuesday night, the other woke up imitating her sister just a few hours back.

Add a newborn to the mix and you could almost say it's not an excuse, it's a reason . .

I hope to get a proper post up today (Holy Thursday)

 

Dan

Bedroom Lights

Our bedroom features a leaded glass panel above one of the windows, which my wife chose to keep uncovered when we moved in.

In addition to making it impossible for a third shifter to sleep in total darkness, it casts wonderful rainbows and other assorted goodies on the wall throughout the day.

Here's a pic of the treats it creates in the evening:

and my girls' serving as Vanna White wannabees:

UWM

Congrats to the University of Wisconsin - Milwaukee Panthers (my old school) on advancing to the Sweet Sixteen!

Next up, a wupping on Illinois!

ff

Winter in Wisconsin

One of the great things about a digital camera is that I can now take pics like the one above without fretting about wasting film...this is a pic of a late winter storm that hit March 18th.

The Post about my 31st Birthday and The Done List March 19th

Today is my thirty-first birthday.

If you're expecting me to whine about the onset of old age, forgetaboutit.

Oh, I know my life story is nearing (or past) the midpoint of the tale, with nary a plot line to be seen. And sure, I haven't fulfilled my dreams of finding the Ark of the Covenant and defeating Belloq, or moving to the South Pacific and operating a sea-plane taxi, and yeah, I've yet to publish a book.

But let's look at the positives: I've sired three fine children, and . . .

Well, I've sired three children.

But never fear, I'm genetically immune to being depressed on my birthday.

My family is oddly enamored by them, insisting that each and every one be celebrated with cake, gifts, balloons, and irrational glee. My Mom still calls me promptly at midnight, both as the day begins and ends, to wish me a happy birthday.

Coming from a family where birthdays are subdued and well, normal, my wife can't understand this fascination.

She plays along (throwing me an opulent surprise party on my 30th, for example) but for the most part chalks it up to another one of those things she should have thought long and hard about before the wedding.

Let me tell you, that list is growing mighty long . . .

Anyway, in honor of my own Special Day, and at least in part to refute my own growing sense of loserdom, I'm going to rip off a concept I saw online, "The Done List".

[Sadly, as my Mother reads this I have to leave some good things off the list - wink wink nudge nudge - but even so, there's some stuff to make her blush. So Ma, close your eyes.]

In my thirty-one years I've:

1. Flown in a helicopter
2. Won a Super Bowl pool
3. Saw Robin Yount collect his 3000th hit
4. Met Jimmy Page of Led Zeppelin
5. Traveled to Arizona to watch a spring training game
6. Graduated from college
7. Rode a horse
8. Attended a Presidential Inauguration
9. Been a school boardmember
10. Testified at a murder trial
11. Flown cross-country just to attend a concert
12. Cut the opening day ribbon for a fair (alongside a Congressman)
13. Out-raced a hurricane in a Ford Aspire
14. Attended a major-league baseball game in another state
15. Been VP and treasurer of the staff Sunshine Social Club
16. Been written up at the same job for having a surly attitude
17. Milked a cow
18. Slept overnight in bed with a corpse - not intentional
19. Drove a member of the Black Crowes to the airport when his wife went into labor
20. Drove from Wisconsin to Georgia stopping only for gas (twice)
21. Been to the Country Music Hall of Fame
22. Once arranged female 'companions' for a visiting rock band
23. Wrote a book (unpublished)
24. Caught a foul ball at a MLB baseball game
25. Rode in a sailboat
26. Attended a minor league baseball game
27. Present at the births of all three of my children
28. Been within 100 feet of a gunfight
29. Been ticketed by the police for 'parking' with a girl in a public park
30. Subsequently dumped by my girlfriend when she found out
31. Broken a bone/had stitches
32. Had the power go out during my tonsillectomy, in one of the biggest rainstorms in Milwaukee history
33. Been accosted outside a porn shop by a man wearing rubber gloves - on Good Friday
34. Marched in a parade
35. Had to call 911 - conservatively - three dozen times
36. Been mooned by an irate customer yelling "why don't you just F* me up the ass? It's what you're doing anyway!"
37. Won second place in a spelling bee
38. Broke a ceiling tile while playing football at work
39. Had a 'friend' steal from me
40. Took an IQ test while horribly intoxicated - and managed my best score ever
41. Ate buffalo
42. Went to Disney World
43. Wrote a love poem to a TV star
44. Been grand champion of two pinball games
45. Been a best man twice and a godfather to two children
46. Snuck into a concert rehearsal
47. Had my ear pierced
48. Shaved and/or Naired my back
49. Had teeth pulled
50. Got married

Not exactly Churchilian in scope, but it'll do for now.

By the way - Happy Birthday to me!

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Parker Update

As of yesterday the little guy clocks in at 8 pounds 2 ounces. Pretty impressive considering he weighed in at 7 pounds 4 oz when he left the hospital last Wednesday.

 

Ps. his umbilical cord finally! fell off yesterday

To Those Who Update via Email

The last few posts have multiple pics attached, and within a week I hope to be adding pictures to the posts about DC and other golden oldies.

As always, if you can't comment on the site, feel free to email me and I'll post your relevant - and flattering - email here.

The Post about the Nursery March 16th

Ever notice home redecorating shows work on rooms bigger than most houses?

What’s so hard about that? Give me a thousand square feet for a bedroom and it’d look pretty spiffy whether I had a professional do the job or handed it off to a vagrant with a paintbrush.

Let’s see those shows tackle an 8x8 room and see how it turns out.

That’s all we had to work with once the girls abandoned their room for their soon-to-be arriving brother.

Three weeks before the birth, my firstborns son’s room was decorated in a spiffy lavender and pink scheme. In our quest to make our summer move easier on the girls, their old room had been recreated - in miniature - right down to the technique used to apply the paint.

That was a whole lot of effort for naught - not only did we have to paint over it a year later, the girls showed as much interest in it as they do the Nasdaq composite.

Financially ignorant little buggers.

As for the new room: I wanted a New York Yankees nursery, complete with a huge ‘top hat’ logo on the wall.

Strangely, my wife didn’t volunteer to paint it, and I let the concept fall to the wayside.

Sort of.

My wife came up with a plan to paint red, white, and blue stripes on the wall. This made for more of an Americana theme, but as she was quick to point out, it could easily be accented with Yankees memorabilia.

After all, there is nothing so American as the New York Yankees.

(Refresher: I stand for America, the Catholic Church, the New York Yankees, the GOP, and US Steel. Staying true to this theme, I am also the only Caucasian male to root for Apollo Creed - both times)

The horizontal stripes made the room look wider, but I can think of more pleasant ways to paint a room.

To start with, the ‘one coat’ white paint was anything but, and when I returned to the store for more I was told they were out of white paint. They would however, gladly mix some for me.

Right.

We used a laser level to tape off the different stripes, but found the ‘professional grade’ tape bled through.

Bit of a problem with label accuracy on this project.

Thinking on her feet, my wife left it largely as is, referencing some obscure rustic Americana painter.

In other words, we were sick of it and not about to start over. Still, the end result was striking, even when we added some wallpaper baseballs to a stripe.

To quote my father “I feel like I should salute when I walk in”.

We kept the girls antique dresser in the room and put my oldest’s crib back together (the middle child had used hers as a $500 teether, reducing parts to firewood).

My mother-in-law stepped in to create a wonderful, Yankees themed crib bumper. From the leftover fabric she graced us with a dresser scarf  and a throw pillow, while my Mom presented Parker with a Yankees blanket and receiving blanket.

Above the crib we spelled out Parker’s name, and on a side wall hung a picture that had been mine as a small boy.

On the wall opposite the crib, the Wall of Heroes - three framed 11x14 sepia pictures of Babe Ruth - and a bookcase snatched from oblivion that currently holds knick-knacks, among them another childhood picture and a NASCAR racer Grace made for Parker at Home Depot.

 

Will he appreciate the room? Probably not until he sees pictures years down the road. But it’s not about winning my son’s approval.

It’s about me having a Yankees room in my house.

Thanks to the Mrs for her planning and execution of the room, Jeanne Scorsone for some stellar sewing creations, Kathy Slapczynksi for her rpresents, and Tre Wagner for the use of his  laser level.

The Post about the Girls meeting Parker March 13th

And then it came time to introduce the girls to Parker.

Although they would spend the next few days at Grandma’s, we’d taken care to see that school, dance class, and playgroup would proceed as usual.

The idea was for them to see Parker as an addition to their lives, not an obstruction.

As 3 o’clock approached I picked up Olivia, my youngest - oops, my middle child - from my Mom’s and went to pick up her sister at school.

Grace was a bit more subdued than I expected - a hangover from a late night at Grandma’s I imagine - but she was eager to hand out the blue bubble gum cigars I bought for her classmates.

Read that bit again: bubble gum cigars. I had a whole box of chocolate cigars, and yet I chose to give the bubble gum version to a room full of three-year olds that have yet to master zipping their jackets.

Bet the other parent’s loved me.

At the hospital they both seemed relieved and happy to see Mommy up and about, but while their initial attention was on her, it didn’t take long for them to notice their little brother.

This was the stuff video cameras were made for: my girls beaming as they were introduced to Parker, doting on him and saying things that were so cute they'd make Art Linkletter smile:

"Your tummy looks a lot smaller mommy"

"Why his belly-button all icky?"

Unfortunately I didn’t have a video camera; just after the birth the night before, one of the nurses had dropped the camera bag and broken my camcorder.

I would curse her name forever. . .if I'd thought to get her name in my post-birth glee.

And then it was time for the gifts from Parker. When Olivia was born she ‘bought’ Grace a doll. Grace is many things, but a doting caregiver is not one of them. It lay unused until Olivia was old enough to appreciate it.

This time around we tried to be a little more precise. Livvie - the nurturer - got a dolly, while Grace -the diva - opened a gift bag with sunglasses, lip gloss, glittery belts, etc.

All dollar store stuff, but they loved it enough to fight over it.

I was a little nervous when they held and fed Parker, but they did just fine. By then visitors were rolling in - including my mother-in-law, who'd come to take Grace to dance class.

Before they left I wanted to take them down to the cafeteria for dinner - an ode to an old McDonald's commercial about a father and a new big brother who bond over french fries.

Yes, I fashion my sentimental moments from the refuse of fast food ads.

It was in the cafeteria that I had a good scare.

I was busy picking out a motley collection of fruit, Cheetos, yogurt, and milk for the girls (hey, it was a special occasion) when I did the standard head count.

And came up one shy.

Olivia was nowhere to be found. Not just temporarily out of sight, but gone. I put down the tray and with panic rising, hurried around the salad bar.

In a small room that was nearly empty, I couldn't find her.

And then I felt a tug on my pants leg.

Olivia had been behind me the whole time, her little legs keeping her just far enough ahead/behind to remain hidden from my sight.

Meanwhile Grace was calming standing to one side.

"Why didn't you tell me Olivia was behind me?" I demanded.

You see where this is going, as did I even as I asked the question. But what shocked me was how slow and deliberate her answer was, like she was explaining it to someone with head trauma.

"You didn't ask Daddy"

Maybe she has reason to think that way - after all I volunteered to bring another one of these monsters into the world.

What else but head trauma would explain that?