ikeepitreal

Sam turned 3 recently, and got the requisite birthday card with cash in it from his Great Grandma. It led to this little exchange:

S: "Daddy, there's 2 DOLLARS in here!"

M: "Really?" (Looks over) "Actually, Sam, that's 10 dollars. Those are 2 5 dollar bills."

S: (Wide eyed) "Hey, who's that GUY ON THERE?!?"

M: "That's Abraham Lincoln."

S: (Almost as if in a trance) "Abraham Lincoln, our 16th president..." (trails off)

That one puzzled me and Beck for a few days until we popped in one of his Hard Hat Harry videos and heard him talking about how "Abraham Lincoln, our 16th president, lived in a log cabin."

So chalk this one up to TV babysitting, not childhood genius. Also, Sam (embarrassingly) can and will identify HANNAH MONTANA! every time we see a poster/t shirt/video/mug/candy/lip gloss with her on it. So it's not like we're only exposing him to useful stuff.

For the pathetic/curious, I leave you with a Hard Hat Harry link. Pretty rad.

Posted by Mike at 01:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

One of the best parts of paternity leave:

Drinking beer at lunch on a Tuesday.

That is all.

Posted by Mike at 01:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

(Mike cutting strawberries to add to some cottage cheese for Sam -- he's pretty excited)

S: "Daddy?... I think you are... just about the NICEST... boy in the whole wide world."

Posted by Mike at 03:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I Like This One, originally uploaded by ikeepitreal.

The newest Foster is here, and she has kicked things off well in the real-keeping department (if you consider pooping 5 minutes AFTER EVERY DIAPER CHANGE keeping it real).

In true family-blog form, I will share the details of the birth and then get on to what it means to me (pictured daddy above).

Part 1 -- details of the birth:

On Thursday night, Feb 7th -- beginning of Chinese New Year in the Year of the Rat, for what that's worth -- Becky started having some light contractions. She had been getting these every night, subjecting us to a handful of false alarms and sleepless nights prior to baby arriving. We watched LOST (Claire and Aaron are totally in the Oceanic 6) and Survivor (bye-bye Fairplay) and tried to settle down for bed. Not happening. The contractions got stronger and closer together, and we called the great DEBBI to come watch Sam at 3:15 in the AM.

Er, we tried to -- the great DEBBI was heading out to Boise on Friday and had put her cell phone(s) on vibrate in her purse. Panic ensued at ikeepitreal HQ as we tried to find a backup. Luckily, my stubborn persistence was rewarded as I got through to the great DEBBI on the 7th try at 3:30. She rushed over and we headed to the hospital.

Becky likes to joke about her 'birthing plan' being:

1) Get an epidural
2) Go to sleep
3) Drop that shorty

Ok, I tweaked #3 a bit, but I like it better that way. ANYHOO -- that's pretty much how it worked out. By 6:00 they gave her an epidural, we got a couple of power naps in, and a couple of units of Pitocin later Becky was ready to push. Only, the Dr. was in surgery downstairs :( The nurses thought the baby would come out quickly so they told Becky to "labor down" until the Dr. got out of surgery in 1/2 hour. I'm not a medical expert, but I believe that "labor down" means -- "hold your legs together and make sure not to drop that shorty".

Long story short -- Becky "labored down" for 1/2 hour, and pushed Kate out in less than 10 minutes (contrast that with more than 4 hours of pushing for Sam !).

Kate was born at 10:48 AM. 7 pounds, 1 ounce and 18" long/tall.

Part 2 -- What it means to me

Everyone says there is something special between Dads and baby girls and I'm starting to understand it. She is *really* special, and I have caught myself using a lot of language like "cutie-pie" and "sweetie". I still intend to push back a bit on tutu costumes and will drag her along to the Monster Jam with us, but she is nuzzling that fuzzy little head into my softest spots (and no, I'm not talking about the excessive girth in my midsection) quite effectively.

I'm home for a bit, the family is happy, and we're doing great. More to come on this channel.

Posted by Mike at 03:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Sam slept in until 8:15 this morning. 8:15! That's the latest non-timezone-aided rousing of his life. Naturally, I figured something was wrong. So I went in to check it out. This is what I found:

Of course! Sam discovered one of his first 'guy things'. THE BUTTON. The button is a magical zone on the male body that acts like epidermic narcolepsy. Simply slide your hand inside your waistband, rest it above the crotch, and out you go.

Glad you discovered it son. Enjoy.

Posted by Mike at 08:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

6:38 AM -- Sammy wakes up. "Mommy, Mommy". Thank goodness it's Mommy 90% of the time so I can just roll over.

6:39 AM -- Sammy and Becky join me in bed. "Do you want to watch JoJo"? She asks. JoJo gets a nod of approval.

6:40 AM -- We turn on JoJo's Circus to our 13" TV. It is too bright. "TOO BIIITTTEEE" Sammy says. He gets used to it.

6:40 AM -- We watch JoJo and learn that not all step mothers are bad. Also -- if you are a clown you can safely have a pet talking lion with a squeaky voice. Lesson learned.

6:55 AM -- Choo Choo Soul comes on. This is a 5 minute short where a bunch of kids ride a train with some washed up wanna be soul singers. Funny thing is, the thing works. It would actually be good if the singer didn't dress like a cross between Jimmy Buffet and Salt n' Pepa.

7:00 AM -- Mommy takes a shower, Daddy and Sam play with his train table. Daddy sneaks away and tries to use the computer. It works for a while. Sam turns on his one electric engine and watches it go around and around. And around and around. The grinding noise the engine makes begins to work its special magic on Daddy's eardrums.

7:01 AM -- The grinding continues

7:02 AM -- The grinding continues

7:03 AM -- The grinding continues

7:04 AM -- Sam is in my lap. He wants to watch videos of tractors on YouTube. We watch a couple of homemade John Deere videos (there are *a lot*), then accidentally watch a tractor themed Thomas the Tank Engine video. OOPS. Sam loves Thomas, but we've been avoiding Thomas videos because they are strange and are pretty much like crack for 2 year olds. And so it begins. "MO THOMAS, MO THOMAS, MO THOMAS!!!"

7:08 AM -- The grinding stops. The battery is dead! Becky is out of the shower. Thomas is over. Daddy's turn in the shower.

Posted by Mike at 07:03 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

This friend of mine at work is a good ol' Southern boy. He's gotten me (well, everyone really) saying "oh buddy". As in "oh buddy, this fresh mozzarella and prosciutto is delicious". Er, not quite like that, but you probably get the point.

Sam's version (turn the volume on):

Posted by Mike at 10:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

A long time ago in Sunday school, I was taught that there is no such thing as a white lie. The teacher told me that there is no difference between not telling the truth about whether you took some cheese from the pile Mom was grating (I did), or a first degree murder. All sins are the same in the eyes of God. We could probably have some fun debating this theology, or discussing the amount of guilt I had in my childhood, but that isn't the point of this intro. Point is, I believe there are certain lies that are ok because they are good for everyone.

You know some of these. There are some standard scripted lines along this vein -- "No honey, those pants don't make you look fat", and "sorry, I have other plans tonight", but those are mostly just cultural politeness principles. The one I have in mind is a bit more fundamental.

So here's the deal -- Becky thinks I'm good at fixing house problems. And I feed this misconception with lies. 90% of the time I fix something around the house, it was due to luck, persistence, or both. Often times I don't even know what I did that got it working.

But when the wife asks how I did it, it's always "don't worry about it", or "no big deal", or "I just had to [insert fancy sounding verb] the [insert fancy sounding noun]. It's like home improvement Mad Libs around here. This weekend, I 'fixed' the sump pump and the range hood vent with a little jiggling (the former) and electrical tape (the latter). Then I paraded around like Bob freaking Vila.

Do I feel guilty? No. Here's why -- Becky would rather believe that I'm handy than not. I'm sure that subconsiously, she knows I'm not much of a handy man, but she prefers to think that when I take the sink apart and put it back together working, I knew what I was doing (and not getting *extremely* lucky). Maybe it validates her decision to marry me in some small way. Maybe she is pumping up my confidence, hoping I'll get better at this stuff. But this is a lie that is good for her. She wants to believe. My lies only feed the faith.

And for me? I get to feel like a fix-it machine. I learn stuff along the way without getting my deserved ego blow. It's like sending a struggling shooter to the free-throw line -- eventually they might get their confidence and find their touch.

All good. Except for that debt of exaggerations and misinformation I'll have to iron out with St. Peter.

Posted by Mike at 07:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (117)

Before we begin today's post, I would like to commemorate this milestone: my first "isn't it so cute that my kid said this" post. Yes, I'm going there. And it won't be the last time. If this bugs you, feel free to move on to some other cynical politics or sports themed blog. TTFN. It's been fun.

As far as we can tell, Becky and I have never identified a golfer or tennis player to Sam in books or otherwise. That's why Beck was a little surprised to hear him say "golf, golf, GOLF!" after seeing a magazine picture today. Then he said "ten-NISS" (pointing to the tennis ball) when he saw a 10-balls-on-this-page page in his favorite book tonight.

Guess when you grow up in Issaquah, country club sports are in your blood. Let's hope his first girlfriend's name isn't Muffy.

Posted by Mike at 07:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

As much as I hate to admit it, I think Sam is going to be a short dude. Right now he is actually 50% height (and 95% head -- we'll save that discussion for another post), but as a fellow short guy, sometimes you can just tell how it's gonna be. For instance, when he runs, he does that completely upright/arms pumping/Kiefer Sutherland/Tom Cruise short guy run that is all too familiar.

Now don't get me wrong, being short isn't that big of deal. I was hoping he wouldn't be afflicted by the curse, but if he is, that's cool. I just wanted to mention it, because one of Sam's first 10 words is "boost". As in, can you give me a "boost" (pronounced BOOOO-cht) up onto that couch? Now that is funny. I wonder if "platform shoes" is next.

Posted by Mike at 07:27 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Sam loves trucks. And tractors. And construction equipment. And rocks.

He doesn't particularly like stuffed animals. Or dolls. Or toy houses. Or clothes.

Sam likes Bob the Builder.

He could do without JoJo's Circus.

Sam loves Sportscenter

He cries whenever Gray's Anatomy comes on.

Ok, I made that last one up.

Funny thing is, I don't remember pushing him in any of these directions. We kept him away from TV for the most part until *very* recently. Yes, when he first got excited about fire trucks, we weren't shy about giving them to him, but if anything, I think we've gone out of our way to give him dolls and not overload him with "boy toys".

I also see this manifesting the other way. His cousin Annie is quite the opposite. This morning, the garbage truck came while Sam was having breakfast. Just the sound of it around the corner made him perk up and point to the window so we would open up the shades. Annie sat still, unfazed. Every Wednesday morning we show her the garbage truck, but she has no interest.

If you put a doll in front of Annie, she will cover it with a blanket, pretend to change its diaper, and try to take care of it. Sam will accidentally stomp on its head on the way to grab his favorite monster truck or farmer lego man.

Maybe the whole Mars/Venus thing was a little over the top, but chalking all our differences up to nurture is absurd too. Looks like we won't have mommy's little quilter after all.

Posted by Mike at 09:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

So watching your kid learn how to walk turns out to be one of the more exhilarating things in life. Who knew? This video is from last week. It took him about 8 days after he started taking one step and diving into Mom and Dad's arms to get to this point. Scary cool.

Posted by Mike at 09:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

Dear Sam,

A year ago today, at 6:31 AM, you joined your Mom and I in the middle of a pretty crazy couple of days at the Overlake Hospital. I was the overwhelmed, emotional guy who came after your umbilical cord unmercifully with big pair of scissors. You were the little yellow thing with a gurgly voice and a big head capped (pun intended) off with a suction lump the size of a raquetball. It was love at first sight.

I wish I could write about you the way Heather (Dooce) does about her daughter once a month, or the way Aaron does regularly about his kids. But, as you probably know, eloquence isn't one of Daddy's strengths. If I ever started a 'parenting' blog, the posts would be about as short as, well, most of the members of your family. 'Round these parts of the interweb, we traffic mostly in the arcane and ridiculous.

Although I complain loudly about the way you worry Mom and me, the fact that you don't sleep a whole lot, and about how hard the last year has been, I want to make sure that you know that I wouldn't give those memories away for anything. Anything. In fact, just last night Mommy kicked us both out of bed because of a rather convenient 'sore throat' that left me alone to change/feed/binky you and get kicked in the throat all night long. But I know that years down the road, when you are less pick-upable and not likely to want to snuggle with me, I'll cherish that memory.

I now tell people regularly that on a emotional scale of 1-10, where I used to spend almost of my time in the 4-7 range, I now spend quite a bit more time at 2 and 3, and 8, and 9. But boy do those 8s and 9s feel good. Just last night you completely covered yourself from the neck up in mashed potatoes and teething biscuit, so I hopped in the bath with you. What followed was 10 minutes of spazzing, splashing, and screeching with the biggest smile I think a boy has ever had. You were pretty happy too.

Happy 1st birthday son. I love you.

Posted by Mike at 08:09 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I've been on vacation for the last few days with Mrs. and Baby ikeepitreal in Idaho's panhandle, and I'm struck with the need to write down why I feel so happy right now. BTW, this urge is costing me some sleep, which right now is pretty stinking valuable. (I don't know if you are supposed to feel sorry for me now or just urged to read on, cause it might be important). Anyhoo -- I present a list of why life is good:

* Mountain lakes

* Jimmy Dean sausage

* Having your son go to sleep snuggling with you and clutching a clump of your hair -- 3 nights in a row. Pretty fun, but I may be encouraging a bad habit. :)

* Shamelessly growing a shaggy beard

* Mountain bike rides that start 10 miles down a one lane dirt road

* Sam's smile

* Enjoying the marketing machine that is the ID/MT huckleberry. This is relatively new, no? I didn't have a lot of huckleberry [syrup|popcorn|candy|BBQ sauce(?!)] growing up.

* Fire

* Feeling like a family. I think your spouse doesn't really feel like family to you until you go thru something really hard together and get closer. For us, that has is the last 7 months. I guess maybe she feels more like family because now, we *are* a family. Either way -- I digress. I like Becky.

* Dreaming of owning a cabin

* Hot tubs under the stars

* Having your uncle sweet talk your way onto a free boat ride

* Trout

Posted by Mike at 09:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

My Grandpa Howard peacefully passed away this evening at the age of 88 in the Brewster, WA hospital. I'd like to abandon the cynicism I usually post with and say a few nice things about this great man.

Grandpa (HH) was the sweetest, kindest guy I've ever met. He attended an Assemblies of God church in Bridgeport, WA for as long as I (or my parents) can remember, and exemplified the loving, gentle side of Jesus. HH also had the hardest work ethic I've ever seen. He worked as a welder on the Alaskan Pipeline and several Columbia River Dam projects, and was always on the go, working hard until he started to slip away a few months ago.

Grandpa loved reading the Bible, boats, cars, canning fresh fruit, and buying contraptions off of infomercials. He is survived by 4 generous, fun-loving, stubborn children, 6 troublemaking grandchildren, and 5 energetic great grandchildren. He will join his wife Bethel in the Bridgeport Cemetary and Heaven.

I am grateful Sam got to meet his Great Grandpa. Thanks for all the lessons and the love HH. We'll miss you.

Posted by Mike at 08:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

This is my son Roscoe. He likes to drink beer and eat Saltines out on the porch. You never see Roscoe without his favorite "Wife Beater" tee. If Roscoe could grow a mullet, he would.

Posted by Mike at 09:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Woooot! On Thursday morning a one Samuel Miles Foster was born after a long delivery for Mom and Baby. He is big (8lb, 8oz) and healthy.

Thanks to all the family and friends who came over and helped with the process. I've got nothing clever to say here 'cause Dad needs some sleep. More stories and pictures to come soon.

Posted by Mike at 09:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)