15 Things I’ve Already Learned from My Five-Day-Old Infant: Newborn Tips for Dad

24. July 2012 · 3 comments · Categories: Uncategorized · Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

All babies should wear bear shoes.

My wife and I are now the proud parents of a five-day-old baby, and as we expected, he’s already drastically changing our lives. Here’s what I’ve learned so far.

1. Babies = Time Travel

If you want a time machine, forget Doc Brown and his Delorean: instead, have a baby. Except, this time machine is no express train; it won’t whisk you away to 2015 or send you traipsing back to 1955 and the days of “I Like Ike.”

No, this time machine is entirely random. When your kid won’t stop crying, time essentially stops. That might sound obvious, but experiencing your kid doing it is another thing altogether.  It’s excruciating. (This happened to our little guy on our second night.)

And really, little guys and gals have lots to cry about—being hungry, dirty diapers, and of course, the shocking realization that eating one’s own hand is not very tasty.

Of course, more often than not, time seems to accelerate, so one day your little guy/gal is five days old, then suddenly they are five, fifteen, twenty five.

Now I know I’m only five days in, so I’m extrapolating a bit here, but I’ve experienced this vicariously with my niece (already nearly two!), and I’m assuming this effect will only get more pronounced.

Taken all together, the experience is pretty mystifying. I mean, imagine if this were a movie: Most of the action would be shown in fast forward, except for the excruciating portions, which are in slow-motion. And there’s no predicting any of it, minor disasters (goldfish funeral #732; the infamous ice cream accident of June 1, a.k.a. ice cream down! ice cream down!) happen all the time, and there are no smooth transitions from shot to shot. In other words, life with a baby is something like an avant-garde film.

2. I really need to start working out again.

I used to work out quite a bit, especially in high school and college, and I stayed in reasonably good shape until a year or so after grad school (about three years back). Then, when I started working a 9-5 for the first time, I started to let things slide a bit.

Now I don’t look like the Hindenberg or anything like that (THE HUMANITY!) but I know I don’t have the strength or endurance I once did. Not even close.

Having a baby made this quite clear. Our baby boy was large—nearly 10 pounds—and while 10 pounds doesn’t sound particularly heavy, carrying a ten pound baby isn’t as easy as it sounds.

First of all, it’s a wiggly ten pounds, so it’s hard to keep a grip. Plus, there are only so many ways to hold a baby, as you have to support their neck and their bums. So you’re constantly using the same muscle groups. All of this adorable weightlifting occurs in tight spaces, so you have to get pretty Cirque du Soleil with things; in our hospital room there was a breast pump, a table for meals, the fold-out bed, the giant hospital bed, the IV, the vitals monitors and all of our accumulated stuff (diaper bags, presents, paperwork).

And then there are the reps. If your baby is somewhat fussy, like ours, you end up picking him/her up, walking them around and putting them back down quite often. This adds up to some serious lifting. My advice: Buy Epsom Salts in advance.

There’s another reason to work out. If you’re like me, you’ll notice your papa-bear instincts kicking it—that whole must-protect-baby-and-mama-bear thing. While I think I could do OK in a scrap, I’d like to get in better shape for that, too. (To be fair: at 5’6, I wouldn’t make much of a proper “papa bear.” More like a Papa Ewok.)

3. Your pre-baby definition of tired and your post-baby definition of tired will, how shall we say, differ.

I know, I know, you’re expecting this, but there’s no real way to prepare for it. I think part of it is when you’re up with your little one, you’re exerting mental effort as well as physical effort. So it’s doubly tiring, and if the kid is sick or fussy, there isn’t always a reprieve, and your fatigue compounds itself.

4. Babies really like to scream.

Pretty self-explanatory, yeah?

5. Even when they are screaming, babies are pretty darn cute.

Oliver likes to scream. (He gets this from his mother, I think.) But even when he’s going at full volume—and this kid’s got lungs—it’s still cute. Oliver’s cries tend to sound something like, “Wh-wh-wha-whyyyyy?” as if he has been grievously wronged.

6. I really need to buy my parents a beer.

See #3, #4 and #5.

7. My preconceptions about parenting were often wrong.

I thought I knew what I was getting into, but I was wrong. I had the broad strokes right (changing diapers! feeding baby! toys!), but I got the day-to-day details all wrong.

I figured there would be a reasonably set feeding and changing schedule and that his behavior would be mostly predictable, even at first. Nope and nope.

While I know I’m only five days in, I feel safe in saying this: If you don’t have kids, you don’t know what it’s like to parent. In other words, no amount of anticipation and preparation equate to experience. That’s like thinking you know what it’s like to experience skydiving without, you know, actually doing it.

To extend that metaphor a bit more, unlike when you’re jumping out of a plane, in parenting there isn’t a real back-up chute. I mean, there’s family and friends, and their support is essential, but when it all comes down to it, you’ve got a tiny person who needs food and shelter and toys and most importantly, your constant love and attention, and they’re relying solely on you.

8. No one should ever make fun of mothers, (or women generally).

I’ve never really understood the word “pussy” as a byword for weakness. If you’ve never seen a woman endure the less pleasant day-to-day aspects of pregnancy, you really have no idea what you’re talking about. (It’s not surprising, then, that the world is primarily used by high schoolers and other young men who have little to no contact/respect for actual pregnant women.)

And of course, all of that pain is merely the previews to the feature film: when a woman goes into labor it’s the “pussy’s” big day, and it was goddamn awful, even for me.

It was like watching my wife being tortured; all that was missing were the guys in fedoras and a flickering fluorescent bulb overhead. Somehow, my wife endured it, and even more than that—she was cracking jokes when her contractions were about a minute apart. She is far tougher than I am: I would have been yowling like a kitten in a blender.

Biological nuances aside, I think that having folks witness a woman actually giving birth could go a long way toward helping us ditch some of our shoddy societal preconceptions about women (and perhaps the use of the word “pussy”). Plus, if teenage girls and boys were to actually witness a birth (they could do so in one of those observation hospital rooms with the one-way glass) they may then realize what bringing a child into the world actually entails. If they did, there might be a subsequent “scared straight” effect, and perhaps they would make better choices in their nascent sex lives. (Plus, this would be a great way to augment a health class or a biology class.)

Of course, I’m aware that this would probably never happen, for a myriad of reasons. Not least that we’re a nation of hypocritical prudes: some of the most famous women in our culture are actresses, many of whom have had topless roles, and nearly all jaunt down the red carpet in plunging, showy gowns. But showing the actual biological machinery at work (breastfeeding) is practically anathema.

9. No one should ever make fun of single mothers.

See #7 and #8. Doing this with two people is hard enough. Doing it alone is almost unfathomable.

10. Changing diapers isn’t the hard part.

The hardest part has been those moments when I’ve been unable to settle our little guy down, despite having fed him, changed him, and having done all I could to account for his well-being. It’s unfair that the most innocent should have to suffer.

11. When you go to the hospital, bring your own pillow.

Hospital pillows are often covered in this weird plastic, and it feels like one is sleeping on a jellyfish. The pillows don’t just feel weird, either. They squeak when you reposition your head. Pillows shouldn’t sound like birds; I consider that a self-evident truth.

12. Baby swings are worth more than gold.

Worried about the collapse of the dollar? Don’t invest in gold. Invest in baby swings. These things are seriously undervalued. Once the baby is here, it’s often pretty fussy, at least for us. Our little guy likes to be rocked, but unless you can crush a beer can with your biceps, your arms will be shot pretty quick. Baby swings solve this problem; Oliver likes them so much, we’ve got two (thanks to our fine friends and family).

13. Doomsday preppers are probably nuts. But baby prepping makes complete sense.

I’m not a doomsday prepper, but my wife and I were baby preppers. Let me put it this way: We practically own stock in the Pedialyte company, we’ve got more diapers than the Octomom, and we have cornered the market on baby outfits featuring cute cartoony crabs and lobsters. (There is perhaps nothing cuter than a pissed-off infant looking all Mr. Angrypants while wearing a shirt that features a large smiling crab.)

14. Modern Medicine Probably Saved My Wife and Child

While my wife and I wanted our child to be born the traditional route, we eventually had to opt for a C-section. I’m glad we did, because it probably saved both of their lives. After they ganked Ollie out, they measured his head; it was 14.5 centimeters in circumference; when the female reproductive system is ready to deliver, the opening is 10 centimeters. The doctor said it herself, “There was no way that baby was coming out that way.” To put it another way, if this birth had taken place 150 years ago, there probably wouldn’t have been a happy ending.

15. You’ve probably wasted a lot of your life.

I’m 29. I’ve spent considerable amounts of my life playing Nintendo systems of one sort or another, drinking a rather staggering amount of beer, and generally not being productive.

As I’m a writer, this is clearly problematic, and I’ve always had a vague of idea of how much time I’ve been wasting. But now that Ollie’s here, it’s quite clear. I suppose you never know exactly how much time you’ve wasted until you don’t have time to waste anymore. As they say in Star Wars: we shall redouble our efforts!

 

 

 

NOTICE OF EVICTION (for Oliver)

13. July 2012 · Write a comment · Categories: Uncategorized · Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Note: Our first son, Oliver, is due July 20, 2012, but my wife and I would like him to be get here sooner rather than later, as we really want to meet him. (Also, the 100-degree heat-indices have been no fun for her at all.) We’ve attempted to communicate this to him in many ways (speaking, light signals, semaphore) but we’ve received no response. To that end, we have decided to serve him with somewhat fanciful eviction papers.

NOTICE OF EVICTION (for a fetus), with amendments/explanations

LANDLORD(S): Kayli Schaaf, Mother and Brett Ortler, Father

Address: Your mother’s womb

City State Zip: Wherever your mother is; usually somewhere in east-central Minnesota

Phone: Your mother’s womb has no phone, but it does have an umbilical cord that could theoretically function as one. Anyway, given that fetuses can be startled by loud noises, we know you can hear our repeated attempts to encourage you to enter the world.

TENANT:

Name: Oliver William Ortler

Address/City State Zip/Phone: We have already discussed this, see above.

District Court Summary Ejectment Case Number: 00000001. (Also, ejectment is an awful, awful word.)

TENANT:

The sheriff (your father wearing a sheriff’s hat) is scheduled to evict you on July 20, 2010 2012, your due date.

The eviction will take place on the date named above unless you either:

1. Move out of the property and return control of the property (your mother’s uterus region, in addition to secondary aspects of the property: her hormones, her bladder, her personality, etc.) to the landlord;

or

2. Pay and Stay. The tenant has the right to pay the amount ordered by the Court (your mother) in the warrant of restitution to the landlord to stop the eviction. However, the Court would really like to go through with the eviction, so to dissuade you from paying this amount, the Court hereby demands 100 trillion American dollars, 65 rubies, an 8” x 5” platinum dinosaur and 120 boxes of Little Debbie Snacks. Your father demands an aircraft carrier full of wooly mammoths. The Court also demands as much ice cream as you can possibly purchase with your remaining funds. The tenant has the right to pay the redemption amount to the landlord (your mother) or landlord’s agent (your father) in cash, certified check, money order, or Skittles-brand candy at any time before actual execution of the eviction order. (Note: Placentas, umbilical cords and/or amniotic fluid will NOT be accepted in lieu of payment because that would be very gross.)

Addendum: As an additional incentive for you to leave the premises, we will actually pay you to come into the world. We have already prepared (1) a place for you to stay, your accommodations have (2) many toys, (3) many adorable outfits, (4) two pet dogs and two pet cats, (so you don’t even have to beg us to get you one) and we have also notified our friends and family about your imminent arrival, so you already have your own entourage. Addendum to the Addendum: Once you make your grand appearance in the world, your schedule will likely be booked up for some time; your grandparents are already reserving weekend babysitting time slots months in advance. Once you are born, we recommend you immediately hire an executive assistant.

On the day of eviction, the payment shall be made to the landlord or landlord’s agent in the presence of the Sheriff to stop the eviction.

Warning:

Once the sheriff begins the eviction, any personal property that you leave in the leased premises is considered abandoned. The tenant does not have any right to re-enter the property or re-claim any property after the eviction begins.

Addendum: Please pay special attention to that last part. You may not, however much you liked the womb, attempt to re-enter the “property.” That would undoubtedly scar the entire family for life.

Any abandoned property may be disposed of by the landlord at any time after the eviction begins. The landlord is strictly prohibited from putting the abandoned property in the street, the sidewalk, alleys, or any public property.

Addendum: We will most certainly dispose of any abandoned property, because anyone who wants to keep a placenta hanging around (literally) is more than a bit off. We certainly promise not to deposit it in the street, where people would probably mistake it for some sort of deceased jellyfish.

This is the final notice of the date of the eviction that you will receive, even if the eviction date is postponed by the sheriff or the court or due to medical necessity.

AFFIDAVIT OF POSTING: I hereby certify that I posted a completed copy of the above notice on the premises (Kayli’s stomach) described above on 7/12/2012.

 

Printed Name: __________________    Signature: ___________________ Date: ___________

 

Letter #7 to My Future Son; Subject: Astro-Nurseries, X-Ray Vision, Pickle-related Humor, Ice Cream and Bears

17. June 2012 · 1 comment · Categories: Uncategorized · Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Dear Oliver,

Well, I haven’t written as often as I would have liked, as we’ve been pretty busy lately. You’ll be happy to know that we completed your astro-nursery last week, and we’re getting the remaining items in place for your arrival.

When we completed the nursery, I gave you the tour, but since you are still inside your mom, you probably couldn’t see much, unless you have x-ray vision. If you have x-ray vision, please don’t use it to judge my physique. I’m not exactly proud of it at this moment. While I have managed to stay in relatively good shape, your mother and I have gained some weight. This is often referred to as “sympathy weight,” but I think it should be referred to as “the inevitable caloric outcome that arises when one consumes an absolutely staggering amount of ice cream in the space of nine months.”

You see, your mother has been eating fairly healthy food during your development, but if she has one weakness, it is ice cream. We have had ice cream of all varieties: malts, milkshakes, sundaes, Dairy Queen cakes (the giant birthday kind as well as the smaller log-shaped ones), ice cream sandwiches, and even some gelato. (Gelato, by the way, is the Italian word for “expensive.”)

Most of ice cream has come from Dairy Queen, an establishment I view with a combination of trepidation and desire. Desire, of course, because their ice cream concoctions are absolutely delicious; trepidation, because I have a rough idea of the many miles I’ll have to run to get back into good shape after you’re born.

In fact, I am thinking of writing Dairy Queen a letter and asking them to make a line of products specifically for pregnant women.

Some of those product names could be fun. You could have Sondaes, Third Trimester Toffee Treats, maybe Dirty Diaper Dilly Bars. (OK, that last one was kind of gross, but I couldn’t help myself.)

Speaking of Dairy Queen, a piece of advice: On the rare and lovely occasions when we get a Dairy Queen Cake in the house, never try to steal your mother’s portion of the chocolatey/fudge part at the center of the cake. I once made the mistake of trying to do this, and she tried to stab me with a fork. That was when she wasn’t pregnant. I’m pretty sure if I tried that now, I’d end up a quadruple amputee.

Since we’re speaking about food and pregnant women: a quick note. Despite all that you’ll hear to the contrary, in my experience, pregnant women do not crave pickles. That is a myth. They certainly do not like hearing jokes about pickles, either. Anytime someone mentions these alleged pickle cravings, your mother becomes visibly upset. I’m fairly confident that if such a would-be pickle wit continued with the cucumber-related comedy, your mother would attack.

This is unlike your mother. Unless she is watching the Vikings lose, your mother is not a violent person. Nevertheless, she is pregnant. That means she’s constantly hungry, pretty much always in pain, and jacked up on hormones like you wouldn’t believe. In this respect, she is like a mama bear. (Of course, she doesn’t have fur, claws, or weigh 800 pounds. Still, you get the point.)

Moreover, her motivations are decidedly ursine. As the bear expert Lynn Rogers said, the lives of bears “are ruled by fear and food, in that order.” If I were to get hit by an ice cream truck and were trapped beneath it, I have no doubt she would spring into action, lifting it off of me in one monumental move. Then she would eat all of the ice cream inside it, and if she were still hungry and we were in a post-apocalyptic scenario where cannibalism was more socially acceptable, perhaps the driver as well.

Of course, I’m joking about that last part, but watching the whole process has been quite surprising, and your mom has gone through a lot of trouble to hatch you. I therefore think it’d be nice if your first words were “thank you”; when you say it, you should say it directly at your mom.

Your first words to me could perhaps be “DINOSAURS!” or “Fire the photon torpedoes, PEW PEW PEW” or something similarly awesome. (OK, I realize that you’ll likely start with one-syllable words, but a father can dream, right?)
I can’t wait to meet you, little dude.

Take care,

Dad

 

 

Designing A Space-Themed Room

11. June 2012 · Write a comment · Categories: Uncategorized · Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

 

 

As my wife and I are expecting our son Oliver’s arrival in mid-July or thereabouts, we’ve been working away on designing a space-themed room for our little one. Now I’d be lying if this wasn’t partially an excuse to search for space-related Lego sets, sift through NASA photo databases, and most, importantly, allow yours truly to purchase robot toys of all varieties.

Still, it was also something of a science project, as it gave me an excuse to create a scale model of the solar system.

While it was fun for me, it will hopefully teach Ollie a bit about the solar system, and space stuff is just inherently cool, so hopefully he likes it. (I’ll tell you the verdict in a few years when he can speak in full sentences.)

If you’re interested in designing a space room, I’ll walk you through it and give you a few pointers about how to proceed, including what to buy, and what to avoid.

 

Dust Off the Calculator

First, it should be clear that it’s not possible to make a useful scale model of the solar system that is both to scale distance-wise and in terms of size. (If you did that, your planets–even Jupiter–would be positively tiny and what fun is a scale model of the solar system if you can’t see the planets?)

So one has to cheat a bit; I’d recommend starting out by measuring your largest wall (you’re going to need it). Our nursery is pretty small; the biggest wall is only 10 feet wide (120 inches). Unless you live in a palace, your walls are probably going to range from somewhere around 10 feet to maybe 17 or 18 feet (the widest wall in our house).

Then it’s time to do your homework and look up how far away each planet is from the sun. I found Nasa’s website to be quite handy for this. Please note that planets orbit elliptically, so the distance a planet is from the sun varies over the course of a year. When a planet is closest to the sun it is called perihelion; when a planet is farthest away, it’s called aphelion. As you’ll soon find out, the first four planets are quite close together, so I’d strongly recommend you go with the aphelion for each, as it’ll give you a smidge more room for each planet (and you’ll need it).

Then it’s time to come up with a scale. I found that if I made one inch equal to 20 million miles, I could fit all of the planets, to scale, on two consecutive walls, with most of them on the “main” wall. If your wall is larger/smaller, you’ll of course have to tinker with this and tweak the math. Given my scale/wall size, here’s how the math shook down. I’ve included the aphelion distances for each planet for your convenience.

OK, so the space shuttle never left orbit, but it looks cooler this way.

Sun (far left portion of wall, everything measured out from edge of sun)

Mercury = 2 and 3/16ths inches away from sun (43,382,549 miles)

Venus = 3 and 3/8ths inches away from sun (67,693,905 miles)

Earth = 4 and 3/4ths inches away from sun (94,509,460 miles)

Mars = 7 and 3/4ths inches away from sun (154,865,853 miles)

1 foot = 240 million miles

2 feet = 480 million miles

Jupiter = 2 feet and 1 3/8th inches (507,040,015 miles)

3 feet = 720 million miles

Saturn = 3 feet, 10 and 11/16ths inches (934,237,322 miles)

4 feet = 960 million

5 feet = 1 billion, 200 million

6 feet = 1 billion, 440 million

7 feet = 1 billion, 680 million

Uranus = 7 feet, 9 3/8 inches (1,868,039,489 miles)

8 feet = 1 billion, 920 million

9 feet = 2 billion, 160 million miles

10 feet = 2 billion, 400 million miles

11 feet = 2 billion, 640 million miles

Neptune = 11 feet, 8 7/8ths inches (2,819,185,846 miles)

12 feet = 2 billion, 880 million miles

Note: Given its incredible distance away (4.5 billion miles!), Pluto would actually be on the opposite side of the room, located on the closet wall.

The first thing one realizes is that the four interior planets are practically on top of each other, relatively speaking, and the gas giants are rather far away. For example, Mercury and Mars are a mere 111 million miles away, with two planets in between; Jupiter is about four hundred million miles away from Saturn.

Representing the Planets

Now that you’ve got your rough distances figured out, it’s time to find a way to depict them. There are a few options. If you’re artistically inclined, painting them is an option. As I have the artistic skills of a ham sandwich, that wasn’t going to happen. We opted to have decals represent the planets, and I wanted to make sure the decals were based on actual photographs. (What’s the sense of measuring a scale-model system if you use cartoonish decals?)

There are two options for decals: you can make your own, or you can order them online. I had originally intended to make my own (so I could get the decals to scale), but the usual do-it-yourself type outlets (Zazzle, Cafepress) don’t give you the option of customizing decals, and the places that do only have certain (rather restricted) sizes.

Given that I wanted to show the planets off a bit, I had opted for a decal scale of 1 inch=9000 miles, give or take. I then looked up the sizes of each planet. I opted to go with the circumference of each, as it would be a bit bigger than the diameter, thereby letting me show the smaller planets off as much as I could.

At this scale, here are the decal sizes I would have needed:

Mercury

Circumference: 9,525.1 miles

Mercury = 1.05 inches

Venus

Circumference: 23,627.4 miles

Venus = 2.6 inches

Earth

Circumference: 24,900 miles

Venus = 2.8 inches

Mars

Circumference: 13,233.3 miles

Venus = 1.4 inches

Jupiter

Circumference: 272,945.9 miles

Jupiter = 30 inches

Saturn

Circumference: 227,348.8 miles

Saturn = 25.26 inches

Uranus

Circumference: 99,018.1 miles

Uranus = 11 inches

Neptune

Circumference: 96,129.0 miles

Neptune= 10.6 inches

As you can probably tell from the pictures (and the subjunctive mood I used in the text above), I opted not to make my own decals. It was simply too expensive; the only place I found that could make them quoted me at about $200. That’s not terrible, but there were other downsides, too. At only an inch or two across, the terrestrial planets would have been positively puny. Instead, I opted to find decals that were available online. An Etsy shop turned out to be a lifesaver: they had reasonably priced decals (30 bucks!) with all the planets, and they used NASA imagery for the decals, too.

Sure, the scale wasn’t correct (Earth looks about 25 percent the size of Jupiter, when it really it’s about nine percent its size), but all in all, they turned out to be a pretty good product.

The first six planets.

 

Uranus and Neptune

 

Pluto (located on the closet wall)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Painting the Sun

After that, it was simply a matter of putting everything together. We traced out the sun; determining its size was a little tricky, given that the planets were not to scale-size wise. I decided to make the sun match the scale of Jupiter. As the Jupiter decal was 14 inches in diameter, and the sun’s diameter is roughly 10 times that of Jupiter’s, a to-scale sun would have to be over 11 and a half feet in diameter. Given my wall is only 8 feet tall, that wasn’t going to happen. Instead, I opted to simply paint the sun from floor-to-ceiling. Given that my last artistic painting attempts were of the finger-painting variety back in grade school, I opted to be really, really careful. After a trip to the hardware store (where I picked up the oh-so-appropriate color of “Sunbeam Yellow”), I traced the general shape, primed the area (using an artist’s paintbrush for the edges), and we let it dry. Two coats of paint later (the color underneath was blue, complicating matters), and the sun was complete.

The Really Fun Part: Robots, Spaceships, and Adorable Baby Clothes

After the main wall was done, it was time to put up all the accessories we’d purchased or received as gifts. A few months after we’d found out Kayli was pregnant, we vacationed in Florida, where we made a point to visit the Kennedy Space Center, and especially its store. Beware: If you are expecting, nerdy like us and planning a space-themed room, you will feel instantly compelled to purchase everything in the store. They have an entire section devoted to babies and children, and that section includes, oh, I don’t know, spacesuits for kids, stuffed animals in the form of Ham the Space Chimp (the first chimp in space), and bazillions of space shuttles and rocket toys, including the rubber duck in the space shuttle depicted to the left.

(True story: I was a total and complete space junkie when I was a kid, and when my family and I visited the Kennedy Space Center, I had something akin to an anxiety attack because I couldn’t figure out what to purchase at their store. There was simply too much amazing stuff. Inexplicably, I ended up going with freeze-dried ice cream, which was terrible, as one would expect.)

Needless to say, you have to show considerable restraint while you’re there. Forget Vegas, Ham the Space Chimp and his plush cohorts will take you for all you’re worth if you’re not careful.

In the end, we ended up spending $150 at Kennedy, and we got a boatload of fun toys and outfits for the little guy, including a NASA-jumpsuit onesie, a Star Trek onesie (he already has two, please forgive me Ollie if you are ever teased for this), a space shuttle toy and various other space items. (We didn’t buy a single thing for ourselves, despite the temptation.)

Space + Baseball = AMAZING

Aside from Kennedy, we also had a lot of fun finding stuff online as well as closer to home. Each day when I got home from work, I’d do a little Internet sleuthing for cool space-themed toys, models and the like. As you might expect, there’s a lot out there and if you do a lot of digging, there’s some really nifty stuff that isn’t just space-related.

For example, after doing some research, I was surprised to learn that my Minnesota Twins hosted the 1965 All-Star Game. As they were quite a good team, they also hosted games of the World Series that year, too. I soon found out that the world series program was a perfect fit for the room. It had a great retro appeal and showed both teams traveling via space capsule. (Given that this was the middle of the space race, this makes sense.)

This was something of a double-whammy for us, as my wife and I are as crazed about baseball as we are about space. After doing a bit of bidding online, I managed to snag one on Ebay for a reasonable price. I tried to get the similarly awesome (and literally star-studded) All-Star Game program, but it was more expensive and I couldn’t justify the expense.

Staying with baseball for a second, there are many space-themed baseball card sets available online and some of the major card companies (like Topps) issue space cards within baseball-specific card sets, too. Some of those cards are “relic” cards, which contain material that was actually space-flown(!). The website Cardboard Connection has a good article about such cards.

Other Fun Stuff

There’s also a great deal of fun space-related bedding, artwork, and other fun things for the little one. My parents were kind enough to snag this Radio Flyer rocket ship toy (that makes noise!) at a garage sale, and they gave us a motion-activated Robby the Robot toy. On the other side of the fam, my wife’s parents bought this entirely adorable rocket ship bedding.

Perhaps my favorite item in the room is the Moon in My Room. It’s a realistic model of the moon that doubles as a nightlight. The best part? It actually goes through the phases of the moon. Yes, it is as amazing as one would expect.

While most of the room is finished, we’ve got a few accoutrements to add, so look for more pictures and links in the future.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Letter #5 to My Future Son, Oliver | 20th week of pregnancy: Bananas, Funny Names, Baby Food, and Monkeys

04. March 2012 · Write a comment · Categories: babies · Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

Dear Oliver,

This week, you are roughly the size of a banana. Given that you probably don’t know what a banana is, let me explain. It is a yellow fruit that grows in tropical regions (tropical is just a big word that basically means “nowhere near Minnesota.”) Bananas have a thick yellow peel that surrounds the soft fruit inside. At first, this peel is bright green, but over time, it yellows. Eventually, a banana peel begins to have brown spots, which get darker and darker. When I was a child, I thought that such bananas were somehow turning into cheetahs. Sadly, I was wrong. Bananas are kind of funny looking (you aren’t, of course), and people occasionally show up at sporting events or other gatherings dressed in banana costumes. I don’t know why, exactly.

Appearances aside, bananas are quite tasty and healthy, and other than milk, they’ll be one of the first foods you’ll get to enjoy. Of course, you won’t get to eat the entire banana, but you’ll get adorable little baby-sized portions of food that cost approximately $400 per container. I don’t know why baby food is so expensive, because smashing up bananas isn’t very hard or expensive. I do it all on the time on accident at work. My lunch will be sitting in a brown paper bag and then a pile of books will fall over and voila: smashed banana. To be fair, I never have looked at the mushy banana remnants and said to myself, “You should put that in tiny jars and feed it to babies. You could make millions.” I guess I’m just not an entrepreneur.

Anyway, there are a bunch of types of bananas, including the Grand Nain, the Dwarf Cavendish, and the Gros Michel, to name a few. If you’re a banana, you apparently have to have a funny name. While I’m assuming that you are a Dwarf Cavendish banana at the moment, perhaps you should adopt a silly name to fit in, just in case. I’d suggest Elbert Weeblewellington. In any case, I’m glad you’re not a Grand Nain (which just sounds like a really presumptuous way of saying “no!”) or a Gros Michel, because that sounds like it translates to “gross Michelle” and I knew a few girls like that in high school.

Anyway, bananas are pretty great, but there are a few things you should know this week, just in case. First of all, monkeys (a kind of animal) love to eat bananas. At first glance, that might not sound so bad. Monkeys are goofy-looking, loud and sometimes wear funny hats. In this respect, they are like your dad. But unlike your dad, monkeys can be pretty mean. There are some cities in India where troupes of monkeys (that’s the group name for monkeys, really!) have caused some serious problems; the monkeys steal food from passersby, intimidate people and there are occasional attacks, especially when food is involved.

In essence, monkey behavior can be summarized by a slogan from a commercial for an ice cream snack, which asks, “What would you do for a Klondike Bar?” When it comes to monkeys, the answer is, “Pretty much anything, including biting people.” I know you’re pretty protected in the womb, but if they knew there was a banana in there, monkeys might go after your mother. So just in case, I’ve been training Truffles and Bullwinkle to attack monkeys on sight; recently, I gave them this monkey toy that had these long arms, and they proceeded to each latch onto an arm and pull the plush monkey apart in a matter of seconds. Now Bullwinkle will occasionally run up to me with an unattached monkey arm and want to play fetch, which feels a bit morbid.

So even in the rare event that a monkey shows up at our front door (it’s still winter, it’d at least have to be wearing an adorable hat/coat), there’s really nothing to worry about. As always, your mother and I will make sure you are safe. Besides, next week, you turn into a carrot, and I don’t think monkeys like carrots all that much.

With love,

Dad

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A Letter to Oliver, Week 19 | Subject: The Mayo Clinic, Mayonnaise, Developing Hearing

28. February 2012 · Write a comment · Categories: Uncategorized · Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Dear Oliver,

So I’ve been following along with the stages of your development in What’s to Expect and on the Mayo Clinic’s webpage, and reading about the whole process has got me thinking, and there are a few questions I wanted to ask you. (Son, by the way, if you’ve ever searching for the Mayo Clinic on the Internet, don’t go to mayo.com. That’s the website for Hellmann’s Mayonnaise, and instead of getting helpful medical information from a respected source, you’ll see pictures of entirely unhealthy sandwiches slathered in mayonnaise. Then you’ll probably get hungry and go and make a sandwich. I did.)

Anyway, according to the Mayo Clinic’s page, in Week 15 (a few weeks ago, from your perspective), your skeleton developed bones. Since you’re my man on the inside, can you tell me what’s that was like? I don’t remember. Was it a gradual process, or did you take a catnap and wake up to exclaim, HOLY COW, I’ve got phalanges! If the latter is true, don’t feel embarrassed. I do that sometimes myself, and I’ve had them for years. (Plus, phalanges is a pretty fun word, you have to admit.)

I also saw that in Week 17 “fat accumulates.” I bet that was a little depressing. Anyway, get used to it, it won’t be going anywhere. Unless you get a prenatal treadmill or something, but that’d probably be complicated, plus, I don’t know how good you’d be at running given all you do is wiggle.

More recently, your ears developed, so I will be reading you books soon. I’ve already been saying good morning and good night for some time. If you feel a guy squishing his face up against your mom’s belly and saying things in a funny, slightly British, voice, that’s me. I don’t know why I use the British voice; I guess when my face is all squished like that I feel like I have to use some sort of outlandish voice. Anyway, I’ll also make sure each of the animals in the house make some noise near your mother’s belly, so they can introduce themselves.

I’m sure you’ve already heard Bullwinkle. He’s the one always barking; he’s a dachshund, which is a German word that means “loud and stubborn.”  You’ve no doubt heard Xerox as well. He’s a cat, and he’s always hungry and he informs us of this by saying MaomaoMaoMaoMao until we feed him. Then when he’s finished eating, he comes back upstairs and says Mo! Mohhhh! as if to pretend he’s a cat named Mo that hasn’t been fed yet. The other two animals are girls. Not surprisingly, they are quieter and far less obnoxious. Truffles (the Terrier) sleeps most of the time, though if she sees a bicycle, she absolutely loses it; we never let her watch the Tour de France for this reason. Then there’s Peanut, our other cat. You’re going to have a hard time hearing her, because she doesn’t make any noise. She tries, but no noise comes out. Instead, she just makes this gasping noise and it looks like she’s saying the word meh. Basically, she’s the only cat I know that lip-syncs. But once you’re born, you’ll have no trouble seeing her. She’s absolutely huge. She’s so big you’ll probably be able to see her from the car on the way home from the hospital. She’s more of a geological landform than a cat, really.

Oh, and speaking of hearing, I’ve got a bit of a favor to ask. Your mother always says that since she’s carrying you around, you always vote in her favor about any matters at hand, meaning that I’ve perpetually outvoted, 2-1. Now I’ve done my best to do most of the work around the house and to be as accommodating as possible when it comes to food options and the like, but your mother has invoked your “vote” on matters that you probably don’t care at all about, such as which zombie movie we should watch or what shirt I should wear to a family gathering. That’s where you come in: at your last ultrasound I saw how much you were kicking, it was like a Tae-Bo class in there. The doctors tell us that your mother will begin feeling your kicks somewhat soon, and I’m counting on it. Here’s my plan: I want to set up a codeword with you, and anytime you hear it, I want you to start kicking. My hope is that your mother will be distracted by your miniature martial arts and will change her mind about the issue at hand. (Of course, I don’t want you to go crazy with this, as I happen to like your mother quite a bit. Plus, she’s your ride.) Anyway, let’s make the codeword Schnauzbart. (It’s a German word that means “Walrus Moustache.”) Of course, I will try not to invoke this “nuclear option” too often, but I wanted to make sure the option was there if I needed it.

OK, that’s all I have to report at the moment. I hope you’re doing well, little guy.

With love,

Pops

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A Letter to My Future Son, Oliver | Subject: Onions, Space, the Final Frontier

24. February 2012 · Write a comment · Categories: Uncategorized · Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Dear Oliver,

As you may be aware, your mother and I visited you last weekend at a special 3D ultrasound. All of your grandparents were there too, as were your Aunts Emily and Jackie and your cousin Charlie. We waved and addressed you and your cousin roamed around the room hugging various teddy bears and beeping everyone’s noses. (She beeped mine like five times. I’m glad she didn’t do it a sixth time, as I was pretty much out of a new oh-look-a-small-child-has-beeped-my-nose noises.) Anyway, you seemed to enjoy the attention. You waved a peace sign at us (really) and generally wiggled about.

All in all, the ultrasound was a lot of fun. The technology is pretty impressive—it produced an almost real-time image of you in the womb, which was fun to see. The technology isn’t perfect yet, however, as there’s a little bit of a frame lag in the images, so occasionally two images sort of morph together. This can produce some odd results. At one point, two images melded and for a second it looked like you had a tyrannosaurus head. Your mother instantly exclaimed, “We’re having a dinosaur!” and I said, “Awesome!” In a few of the shots, you look a little bit like an elderly goblin. (Don’t worry, I’ll love you whether you’re a dinosaur, an elderly goblin, or a baby. Even if you’re an elderly goblin dinosaur baby.)

Now I know this technology must sound pretty unimpressive, given you’re in the future and all. I mean, this is only 2012. We don’t have an emergency medical hologram, or a Leonard McCoy, or even one of those lame water-filled tanks that Luke Skywalker used in The Empire Strikes Back. (In ten years, I truly hope you understand all of those references.)

Anyway, you also probably noticed that we are no longer referring to you as Bernard. That name was just a placeholder until we found out your gender; at the ultrasound, we found out that you are a boy. We’re planning on naming you Oliver, and I’ve been attempting to break my habit of saying, “How’s Bernard?!” to your mother. Instead, I usually start off by saying “How’s Bernard” only to correct myself and say something like, ‘How’s Bernard-iver” or “Boliver?” I promise to break this habit by the time you are hatched.

As you may have overheard, we’re planning on a space theme for your future room. Now your mother might say that this is really just an excuse for your father to go on Ebay and other such online auctions to scope out sweet deals on space-related paraphernalia. But son, do you know that the Topps Trading Card Company issued a set of space-themed trading cards in 1958? 1958! And then there’s the 1965 All-Star Game Program, which features some great retro art with a whole bunch of stars in the sky and crucially, the game also was held in Minnesota at Metropolitan Stadium. (That’s not to mention the 1965 World Series Program, which featured two space capsules—SPACE CAPSULES!— colliding together.) Needless to say, I’m quite confident that someday you will inform your mother how absolutely correct I was about insisting that these items are essential for any infant’s space-theme room.

Finally, I have one somewhat serious matter to address. I was (ever-so-slightly) disappointed in you last week, because according to What’s to Expect you were the size of an onion. An onion, Oliver. Now you probably have no idea what an onion is, so let me explain the problem. Onions are terrible, awful things. They are these vegetables with many layers; the layers are like wrapping paper on a present, except in this case, they are never-ending awful presents and the wrapping paper only covers another sheet of paper and the only “present” is the vegetable itself, which is smelly and oily and makes you cry. Now you don’t want to cry, do you Oliver? Of course not. And neither does your father.

Anyway, there’s a happy ending to this story: you’re no longer an onion! You’re now a bell pepper! (Don’t worry, Daddy even loved you when you were an onion. After all you didn’t really have a choice in the matter.)

Just please do one thing for me: promise me that you’ll never turn into an onion again, even a make-believe one. (Especially not for Halloween! That’d be terrible.)

I can’t wait to meet you,

 

Brett

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A Letter to the Gerber Products Company | Subject: Here Comes the Airplane, Trolls, and The Free Market of Baby Names

08. February 2012 · Write a comment · Categories: babies · Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Dear Folks at Gerber,

My wife and I found out relatively recently that we’re expecting a baby, and we’ve both been doing what you’d expect of first-time parents—reading through What to Expect, talking a lot with our doctor, and so on.

But there are some baby questions we can’t find decent answers to, so we’d thought we’d contact your company, as you’ve been around for a long time, and you’re in the baby food business, so we thought maybe you could help us out.

My first question has to do with feeding, and it’s kind of a historical question. I’m sure your company is aware that many parents say phrases like “Here comes the airplane” when feeding their child. What did parents do before the advent of the airplane? Did parents simply refer to the contemporary mode of conveyance at the time? Did they say “Here comes the horseless carriage?” and before that “Here comes the steam locomotive?”

I guess that would make sense, except when you go further back things don’t seem as exciting. “Here comes the oxcart” is pretty bland, and I bet this phrase didn’t work as well when coaxing kids to eat. Maybe this explains child malnutrition back in the day. Then again, I guess there would certain benefits to using the oxcart phrasing; if you spilled some food before making it to the little one’s mouth, you could always say, well, I guess the oxen had to do their business first.

And what about when technology advanced—say, in the early twentieth century when the airplane was just becoming reliable? Was there a waiting period to go from “Here comes the steam locomotive” to “Here comes the airplane”? If not, I can envision some problems. For instance, imagine if you were doing the airplane routine in 1937 just as Amelia Earhart was attempting her round-the-world flight: then one day she disappears. What do you do the next time you feed the child? Hide the spoon?

The same could said for “Here Comes the Hindenburg,” which has a nice sound to it. What did people do after they found out about the disaster? Throw down the spoon while screaming OH, THE HUMANITY?

I also have a question about baby names. So my wife and I have been puzzling over names for a few months now, and while we’ve got a bit of time to choose a name (we don’t know the gender yet), we already have a name for a boy lined up. (We love the name Oliver.) Unfortunately, choosing a name for a girl has been difficult, as all of the names we really like are also quite popular—Sophie, Olivia, and so on. As such, they have been deemed verboten by the baby naming bureau (my wife).

The worst thing is, these names only became popular relatively recently, in the past year or so. It’s frustrating because this aspect of having a child is never really discussed. Just the other day, my wife and I agreed that we both liked the name Amelia, as it has a retro-cool feel and we both admire Amelia Earhart (my joke above notwithstanding). When I mentioned that I thought we should go with that name, she said that this name had already been reserved by her sister, whom we affectionately call Sisterpants.

That’s what I want to ask you: I didn’t know reservations were an option. I mean, I always assumed that there was a Free Market for Baby Names, and that if you didn’t act while supplies last, then the Invisible Hand of the Market would snatch away your girl’s name just when it is in reach. I mentioned this to Sisterpants, and she indicated that she did not care, and that if we took the name Amelia she’d never forgive us.

As I’m a reasonable person, I tried to compromise; I told Sisterpants that since baby names were (literally) a manner of first-come, first-served, all she had to do was crank out a baby girl before we did. After all, there’s a fifty-fifty shot that our first kid will be a boy, and if that’s the case, there’s still time for her to produce a girl and claim the name Amelia. Sisterpants did not relent, even when we were kind enough to give her an idea for a back-up name: Bedelia.

Not wanting to create a familial rift or end up in the ER, I decided that Amelia was out, and we turned to the Internet, the baby name safety net. Unfortunately, calling it a safety net is a bit generous; it’s more like a fishing net that has been dragged behind a trawler for so long that it has ensnared almost everything in its path—tons of plastic trash, mollusks that are just hitching a ride, the odd lifeboat full of well-meaning website users, all the while absolutely brimming with the Internet’s most recognizable wildlife: the troll.

Folks at Gerber, now you may not know what a troll is. Let me explain—a troll is a person who “trolls” on websites and leaves mean-spirited comments to a post, no matter what the subject matter. Trolls are right, you are wrong, and they will tell you this, even if they have only a rudimentary command of spelling, grammar and style. Just as there are many different species of backyard pests, there are many kinds of trolls.

There is the religious troll, who, despite an almost complete ignorance of scripture, will quote the Bible out of context to inform you that your opinion doesn’t matter because you will soon be burning in h-e-double-hockey-sticks. Not content pronouncing judgment on religious matters alone, the religious troll has been seen citing scripture on comment boards and news articles about subjects as diverse as rock collecting, the draft selections of the Minnesota Vikings, and “the Puppy Bowl,” as hosted by the Animal Planet network. In all cases, the religious troll reminds their fellow Internet users about the eternal perdition awaiting them.

Then, of course, there is the political troll. While certainly the most ubiquitous type of troll, it is also the easiest to ignore, mostly because (a) its comments are nearly unintelligible and (b) those comments almost always consist of uncreative insults such as “Repugnican” and “Demofat.” In this respect, it’s a bit too much like debating a dim fourth grader.

Nevertheless, in my experience, the worst kind of troll is the mommy troll. As you might imagine, websites for expectant mothers are full of mommy trolls. No matter what the subject matter is—mommy trolls incessantly remind you that as a proud mother of (large two-digit integer here) kids, they have the experience and you will succeed if and only if you do things like they do. (The equally repugnant papa troll also exists, but is somewhat less common.)

Arguing with a mommy troll is akin to arguing with a moray eel. No matter what you say, they will look offended and remain unconvinced, and if you provoke them enough, they may try to bite you in the face. Of course, if you present a strong argument, the mommy troll may retreat—when this happens, they often lob in a weblink hand grenade (full of shoddy support) before signing off and informing you that they “have to go breastfeed their unvaccinated three-year-old child before bringing him to a Chicken Pox party.”

A mommy troll.

If websites about babies are mommy troll’s homeland, then the baby name boards are their capital. Everywhere one turns there are obvious (purposeful!) misspellings, shoddy etymological research and ample evidence of parents who have made truly terrible decisions on behalf of their child. This is where people come to boast that their forthcoming progeny will be called Octavia, Daymein, or my current least favorite, Asher Maximus.

Yet, despite the astounding number of terrible names on such boards, the boards are useful, as they are a great example of what not to choose. (In this respect, it’s like a baby name version of Scared Straight.) But that doesn’t make choosing a name all that easier. Since your company knows a lot about babies—and baby names, presumably—we’d be happy to hear any you have to offer.

Anyway, this letter is quickly becoming a novella, but it’s plain to see we’re exciting about the forthcoming baboo, so there’s lots to write about.

Thanks, and take care,
Brett Ortler

 

Image of Fimbriated moray, Gymnothorax fimbriatus. Taken by Jens Petersen. Licensed under a Sharealike 2.5 license.

Letter to President Obama #74, Subject: Spies, Caffeine, and Blastocysts

03. February 2012 · Write a comment · Categories: babies, baby names · Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Dear Mr. President,

So my wife and I are expecting a baby.

It’s our first child, so it’s all pretty new to us, but one of the things that I didn’t expect about the whole process is the level of initial secrecy that is involved.

What I mean is, after we found out that my wife was pregnant, we didn’t want to go around telling everyone because she wasn’t very far along, and the first three months are still a pretty uncertain time, as far as pregnancies go.

So we had to keep things a secret. This was a lot harder than it sounds. First of all, my wife works at Target. Now, I imagine you don’t go to Target much these days, Mr. President, so let me fill you in: Target stores have a lot of female employees. At my wife’s store, there are about ninety women, most of whom have husbands, fiancées, long-term boyfriends, and so on.

In other words, there are almost always one or two employees that are pregnant at a given time. There were incessant jokes about “something being in the water” or so-and-so’s turn on the “pregnancy carousel”—two mental images that I never needed to picture but that I feel nonetheless compelled to share.

Recently however, there had been no new pregnancy announcements, and all the expectant mothers had delivered. In other words, none of the employees were pregnant. Mr. President, I think this actually against store policy.

Noticing this gestational lacuna (I bet that phrase has never been typed before), Kayli’s coworkers immediately set out to rectify this problem, knowing that Kayli and I had recently been married.

There were a few indirect overtures at first (Have you seen the cribs on clearance? Just a thought!) but soon they hardened their resolve. There were upfront questions (so when are you having babies?) or (can I buy this maternity dress for you now?), all questions that Kayli wanted to answer, but couldn’t.

Then there was the espionage.

One Target worker, and a very good friend of ours—we’ll call her Henrietta—began surreptitiously monitoring Kayli’s daily habits for signs of a pregnancy. For instance, as Kayli was making her rounds she might happen to walk by the children’s clothing section. If Kayli made a single glance toward an adorable infant onesie, Henrietta would spring forth from her hiding place behind a rack of nightgowns and negligees in the lingerie department. After the ruckus caused by a half dozen hangers clattering together ceased, Henrietta would exclaim, “Aha! You’re pregnant, aren’t you?

Or, as they’d sit down for lunch, Kayli would simply have water instead of a Pepsi. Henrietta would note this, mentally tallying up Kayli’s caffeine intake for the day, while musing aloud that Kayli’s Facebook statuses no longer mentioned beer nearly as often.

The funny thing is, Henrietta and the Target employees were right-on about Kayli being pregnant.  (In the end, we were pleased as punch to actually be able to tell them. In other words, all their quizzing is well-intended; they are great friends).

Even though we are as ready for a baby as we can be, we picked up What to Expect When You’re Expecting to refresh our knowledge. While I was certainly familiar with the initial steps required to create a baby, I’d forgotten the many intricacies of the very early stages of a pregnancy.

In particular, I’d forgotten that in its first stage of development, the baby (which at this point is a just an itty-bitty ball of cells) is referred to as a blastocyst. Mr. President, that’s the least endearing term imaginable. It sounds like a Russian insult or something. (If you disagree, just yell “YOU BLASTOCYST!” at someone and see how they respond.)

Needless to say, we didn’t want to simply refer to our potential child as an insult, so we gave the blastocyst a name: Bernard. As I understand it, Bernard the Blastocyst is just a ball of cells, and his primary occupation consists of wiggling.

While Bernard is no longer technically a blastocyst, we still refer to him as one. We were going to refer to him as Eduardo the Embryo, then Frank the Fetus, but that got too confusing, so Bernard the Blastocyst has stuck (or B-the-B, for short), and we’ve incorporated discussions about Bernard into our daily lives. (This has had odd ramifications.  When I overhear someone mentioning Bernard Madoff, I feel a rather odd twinge of paternal pride.)

For instance, the other day, I texted Kayli and asked her how she was feeling. I asked “How are you and Bernard?” Given her now near-constant fatigue, she occasionally describes him in somewhat unflattering terms.  Her reply read: “Bernard says muahaha. I am the size of a pea and I will make you feel like you’ve been running marathons. Muahaha.”

Perhaps because I am not the one who is pregnant, I picture him in a bit more of a benevolent light. Given his vim and his apparent fondness for wiggling, I picture him as the host of an eponymous TV variety show, the Bernard the Blastocyst Show.

So at least once a day when I see Kayli, I’ll walk up to her and say: It’s the Bernard the Blastocyst Showwwwwwww. (Then I do jazz hands and grin crazily.) This usually gets a smile out of her. When the jazz hands cease being funny, you have to keep doing them, as it’ll soon become funny again, as long as you keep making a crazed grin.

(Like in everything else, Mr. President, the faux crazed grin is essential.)

Anyway, I’ll keep you posted on how things are going.

Thanks, and take care,

Brett

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