Thursday, March 24, 2005

It's the family, stupid

Another quick post for today, since I didn't write anything last night and my post from a few minutes ago was motivated by anger.

I got home from work last night feeling funky. I was tired, naturally, and work had been nuts. But I had also talked to my friend Thad, who did go to Boise and did have a great time. I was somewhat pouting over this news...not that I wanted him to have a bad time, but woe is me, I didn't get to go and blah blah blah. Didn't I already say ENOUGH about Boise? I did, and yet here I am again.

Nicola helped set me straight on a walk around the block, and she did it in her usual awesome way -- not by getting mad and yelling and screaming or getting emotional, but by getting quiet. Boy, then I know I've fucked up. Where I've fucked up is apparent in looking back at the entries in this blog -- it's all about me, and not really me right now. I think it's OK to reminisce and tell amusing (or semi-amusing) stories and remember the good times, but what about now? These are good times too, but of a different sort, and I'm afraid I've gotten distracted from enjoying and treasuring what is right in front of my face.

This is what Nicola, indirectly, reminded me of, and what had been nagging at me the past few days as I blogged. Look at what I have, and rejoice in that, and be in that. I have been through a lot to get to this stage in my life...so please, Self, be in the moment instead of looking ahead, or worse, back. Get the priorities straight and keep them straight.

With this in mind: HAPPY ONE-MONTH BIRTHDAY, BEAN (LINDSAY CAMPBELL TAGGART)! As of today, you've been with us for 4 weeks, and I'm even more head over heels enthralled with you than I was on Feb. 24. I can't believe how much you've changed just in the past week. Some things to note:

The end.


// posted by Bill @ 9:16 AM 0 comments

Enough

I'm not one to jump up and down and get outwardly involved in national issues -- political or otherwise. Just not my style, or motivation, or whatever. But the Terri Schiavo case finally got under my skin. I read this excellent rant on the topic, and then I sent the following to Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist:
I've never felt compelled to contact a federal legislator before, but I must tell you that I find the involvement of the government in the Terri Schiavo case to be repugnant. This is a private family medical issue that has been appropriately handled by the courts. It is the utmost hypocrisy for conservatives to decry "big government" interference in people's lives but then turn around and interfere when they don't like how things are being handled (see Schiavo case, assisted suicide, etc.).The political grandstanding is disgusting, but unfortunately not surprising.
I read a quote from Frist, after the Supreme Court turned down the last last-minute appeal, and it really fried my fanny. I even know someone who works for Frist -- the wife of a friend of mine. Seems appropriate to mention, even if it is basically irrelevant.

Glad I got that off my chest.

// posted by Bill @ 9:01 AM 0 comments

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

Cabin fever

Here's the Alameda recipe for cabin fever:

Mix all ingredients in a relatively small house (one that's getting smaller by the minute). Simmer until the windows steam up and sweat on the inside and until the anxiety quotient reaches a palpable level.

This is the lovely dish we're cooking here right now. Nicola's step-mom Phoenix is here, along with her step-sister Murphy (the 15-year-old). We love having Phoenix -- Grandma Bobo, as Ella labeled her -- here, because she just pitches in with Lindsay and she cooks and takes care of things (including us). But the walls are closing in as the rain just will not freakin' let up. And today I worked from home, because Lindsay had her kidney ultrasound (everything looks good, thankfully!), so it was another body in the house. And Bailey's eye looks worse, which precipitated the 4th visit to the vet in the last 2.5 weeks. Oh, and Nicola's Grandpa Campbell -- god rest his soul -- died on Saturday after a long and vital life that had been dimmed recently by Alzheimer's. So we're considering driving 450 miles down to the San Diego area next week for the service.

Everyone I know is busy, so I don't claim to have a corner on the stress market. But tensions are running high here -- let us pray for good weather over the next few days, because the house ain't getting any less crowded. Nicola's dad Tom arrives tomorrow night, and then we have Ella from Thurs to Sat night (another crappy split weekend). Me, I'm heading back to the office tomorrow just to get away for a while!

Keeping it short tonight...for all my complaining, Phoenix is going to watch Lindsay tonight for a few hours and Nicola and I are heading to bed...at 9:15!! Yes!

P.S. Many thanks to Claudia, who checked in to help out with the Italian translations from a few posts ago. I'll put them in here later. My friendship with Claudia -- conducted almost solely by e-mail these days -- has been a nice surprise. She writes incredibly entertaining e-mails, including referring to her rambunctious 16-month-old today as a "meatloaf." So while some friendships have drifted away, others have been rejuvenated. Nice how things work out like that.


// posted by Bill @ 9:02 PM 0 comments

Monday, March 21, 2005

I've got half a mind...

I find it hard to devote time to this blog on the weekends...or maybe it was just this past weekend, which disappeared in a whirlwind of baby care and basketball. Whirlwind? Perhaps too active a description for three days of heavy duty coach potato-ing, but nevertheless, the time did seem to slip away. I think my presence slipped away at times as well, in that I allowed my day-to-day agenda to be driven the NCAA Tournament more than anything else. This was Nicola's perception, and I can't say that she's totally wrong, even if I don't like the implication that March Madness could draw my focus more than our first solo weekend with Lindsay. It was just us -- no Ella, no grandparents, only one group of visitors (Friday evening). And the Bucknell Bison, and the UNC Tar Heels, and the Vermont Catamounts, and the other teams playing basketball -- they were present too...too much.

Was I perhaps channeling some buried disappointment or frustration that I was here instead of Boise? That's the most likely explanation, and unfortunately, the explanation that points out the black lining (pouting indirectly) in my silver cloud (making the right, grown-up decision to not go to Boise). Well, baby steps. There was a time, probably not that long ago, when I would have gone to Boise, so the fact that I chose not to and made this choice for the right reasons...not because Nicola told me not to go...is progress in and of itself. Even if the weekend was spent being distracted as a form of whiny bitch protest or whatever.

Why the hell do I keep writing about Boise and alternately patting myself on the back and complaining about it in some way? So I decided not to go. Big fucking deal -- it was not Sophie's Choice, for Christ sake. It was a no-brainer: family or frolic (expensive frolic at that, at a time when the funds are tight and getting tighter). So Bill, get over yourself, and get on with it. I must be wanting some sort of greater expression of thanks and appreciation for my "selfless" gesture -- is that it? There's some faint whiff of a pattern here: I can't put my finger on it, but it involves doing things or making gestures not for the sake of the thing itself or for the sake of the beneficiary of the gesture...but for the kudos and the ego stroke that results. It's not a characteristic of mine that is particularly pronounced, I don't think. Maybe others will tell me different...that my spotlight whore inclinations are not so secret. But I would prefer to think that this is a seamy trait of mine that rubs at my conscience like a shoe's hotspot creating a blister...it nags at you, but it will stop if you quit wearing the shoes. Um, that analogy sucked.

ANYWAY. This a characteristic, interestingly, that I spoke of tonight at dinner. Nicola's step-mom and step-sister are here, and somehow we got talking with Phoenix about...Barry Manilow! There's the thread. Stay with me. James Taylor is playing, and on this CD there's a Christmas song; Nicola wonders why it's on there etc. etc. I say, well, he can't even touch the Barry Manilow Christmas classics. Which leads to some smart ass comments on Barry Manilow, which are deserved, but still, that music has some powerful emotional cues for me -- it is the music of my father, of my sad pre-teen years when I would listen to Manilow tunes and cry about how much I missed him (my Dad). It was nearly self-torture, but in hindsight, I think making myself feel sad was a way to make myself feel connected to him...without the sadness, there was not much of an emotional connection. Now, the sadness is gone -- I don't really miss him like I did when I was 8 or 10 -- so guess what? No emotional connection! Barry, come back! (Certain songs can still get me to cry in a second. Seriously.)

Rambling here. The point was the Manilow reference led to a discussion about my Dad and how he's changed over the years. In discussing the sudden death of my step-mother at age 50, I made note of how I felt my Dad gloried a bit too much in the role of the grieving widower. He loved the spotlight and the attention...and isn't there a glimmer of that in my own drive to be patted on the back? Now that I lay it out, I'm honestly not sure...but I think there's something there.

I go back and forth on the motivations for this blog (changing subjects again before I wrap up). At times I want to delve into my semi-twisted psyche, and at times I want to keep it light and reminisce in an attempted humorous way about my past. Now that I know a few people are reading this, I am even more conflicted, to some degree. But I'll just stick with it and do what feels right day to day...you "readers" can come or go as you wish. I promise that some day soon I'll tell the story of going to Jerusalem or driving through Europe at age 14 with the Thompson Twins on heavy rotation on my Walkman.

Chalk up this over-wrought explanation of a minor character trait to...?? Being overtired? Recoiling when I sense things about myself that are anything like my father? Now there's another entry for another time...or another round of therapy.

Lindsay's kidney ultrasound is tomorrow. Go healthy kidneys!

// posted by Bill @ 9:02 PM 1 comments

Thursday, March 17, 2005

St. Patrick's Day 1996: An Ode

I'm not sure how to describe March 17, 1996. I've often called it One of the Best Days of My Life, and I mark its passing each year with warm recollections shared among Gene, Dave and myself. Yet I fear that the actual description of it will tarnish it somehow, because the details -- in the harsh light of black Verdana on a white background -- are not particularly flattering to any of the participants.

Still, it was a great day, filled with camaraderie, spontaneous fun, a little craziness, a dash of recklessness, adventure, stamina, emotion and free-flowing libations. I'll give the highlights, with these caveats (warnings?): there was much drinking involved (as often happened in the DC salad days), there was driving with the drinking (not to mention while we drank, literally), there was excessive behavior of various sorts but nothing criminal, and did I mention there was drinking?

But let's focus on the gist:

I fondly recall March 17, 1996, in the same way, generally, that I look at my D.C. days overall: what a fucking blast, and what an irresponsible, unhealthy schmoe I was in so many ways. I was never heavier than I was then, I was never more financially derelict than I was then, I was never more careless with my drinking than I was then. And still -- god, I loved those days! Time has softened the sharp edges and made it feel more like the harmless fun of a 25-year-old with few responsibilities and fewer aspirations. As I think about it, I have more than my fair share of binge-type stories -- experiences that would come across in a similar way ("you did what?") and are really nothing to brag about. November 10, 2001 (Semper fi!). Key West on spring break. Dave Glenn's bachelor party (1998, Myrtle Beach). Going away party from Chapel Hill (July 1992). Lulu's (too many nights to think about). Preakness. These stories reside on the right side of the narrow difference between entertaining yarn and cautionary tale. It's easier to look at it this way when your shit is finally pulled together.

So, to everyone involved in the epic adventure of St. Patrick's Day 1996...but in particular, to Gene and Dave: thanks for the fun and the memories, and thanks for sticking it out with me so we can still reminisce about our crazy youth. We're all growed up now...just about (I'd still like to be in Boise!).


// posted by Bill @ 10:16 PM 1 comments

Wednesday, March 16, 2005


Milan special, in the city's morning fog

// posted by Bill @ 9:17 PM 0 comments

Italian jobs

// posted by Bill @ 9:16 PM 0 comments

Lost in translation

DURING THE MARCH TO STAND TO I AFFIXED SUPPORTS TO YOU

So says a sign in the historic Italian streetcar I took to work the other day (picture above; I particularly like the photo in the fog).

Not sure if this translation is accurate; here's the Italian, and maybe one of my Italian-speaking friends (Claudia, come on down!) can give us the real meaning of DURANTE LA MARCIA REGGERSI AGLI APPOSITI SOSTEGNI.

Or, for that matter: VIETATO SPUTARE, translated by alta vista babelfish as PROHIBITED SPUTARE. Gee, that's helpful. I'm guessing it's smoking? These streetcars, built in 1928 and used in Milan before being put into service on San Francisco's historic F Line, still have Italian advertising as well, decorating the walls above the ornate wooden benches. M&Ms tells us: IL GUSTO DI RIDERCI SOPRA, or THE TASTE TO LAUGH TO US OVER. Hmm.

There are several cool things about working in San Francisco, and one of them is riding these historic streetcars -- from Milan, Cincinnati, Pittsburgh, New Orleans, Moscow (haven't seen that one yet) and other cities. The line runs along Market Street, up the Embarcadero and loops around at Fisherman's Wharf. With my office being located in a somewhat unusual part of town for a business, the commute requires multiple modes of transportation -- one to get to the city, and once in the city, one to get from downtown over to my office. So it's ferry then streetcar, or BART then bus, or some variation of those things, with the occasional walk thrown in there (like the past two days...but I hate showing up at work sweaty).

The F Line is not really a problem in the morning, other than its schedule without rhyme or reason. Some days you wait 20 minutes for one car, and other days (like yesterday) there are two running back to back, within feet of each other. The main thing that sets apart the morning from the evening on the F Line is the blessed lack of tourists. It's spring break this week, and the streets around my office are teeming with the map-wielding Clueless from Out of Town. Harsh, perhaps, but when you can't even walk down the sidewalk, and when you are trying to get home after a long day of work and the folks packing the streetcar don't understand you need exact change, and there's a hefty person from Ohio or Wisconsin leaning his or her prodigious belly in to you as you try to quietly read and mutter under your breath...well, it's kind of annoying, and I hear it gets even worse in the summer. Oh joy!

According to the San Francisco Chronicle, the line is a huge success, with 20,000 riders a day. But there aren't enough cars. No joke!

But in the mornings, before most of the tourists arise, it's just us commuters making our way to work. For $1, I get to ride in a decades-old piece of mass transit history, past the renovated Ferry Building, down the Embarcadero with its renovation in full tilt, past the occasional towering cruise ship at Pier 23, past the commercial excesses of Pier 39, and into the heart of Fisherman's Wharf. It's peaceful and fairly efficient, and a nice quirky way to start my day.

Just thought I'd share that. If you are a train dork, go to http://www.streetcar.org/ for more.

By the way, historic moment tonight: Lindsay's first feeding from a bottle. Two-thirds went down the gullet, one-third went down her chin and into the folds of her wrinkly neck (people really come full circle, don't they? you start out as a baby all wrinkly and hunched up, and 80 years later, right back where you started!). But overall, a success.


// posted by Bill @ 8:28 PM 0 comments

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

A scene

The first few weeks of a baby's life are hectic by definition, a non-stop whirlwind of three-hour segments marked by nursing, diaper changes, crying (sometimes) and sleep (occassionally). Repeat. And repeat again. The memories I have of this time with Ella are at the same time specific and vague...as in, I recall rocking with her in a chair in our Portland house with the moonlight streaming in through the blinds...but was she 3 days old or 3 months old? I fed her with a drip feeder off my finger until Michelle's milk came in, but was that just for a day? Or was it a week? The timing is what gets fuzzy, mostly, and that is happening even now with Lindsay. You say, oh, she slept from 1 to 3:30 last night, but then was up again at 5:15. No, wait that was two nights ago, or was it?

So, here in black and white, is a specific memory of Lindsay's 19th day on the planet: it was a quiet evening, as the Bean slumbered in the arms of "Auntie" Daphne, over for a visit. The feeding/diapering/wailing cycle commenced around 8:30 p.m., and here we are at 10:15, still waiting for her to go back to sleep. Not exactly waiting -- more like actively pursuing the goal of having Lindsay go back to sleep, using all available means, up to and including (but not only): swaddling, rocking, massaging, shushing, music, low lights, efforts to extract gas, rocking, bouncing, swaying, reswaddling, double-teaming, single-teaming, topping off with breast milk and then rocking again. I somewhat failed in my efforts, but I blame not my ham-handed fathering but the gas pains, which had poor Lindsay alternately doubled up and stretched out in discomfort.

Here's what I want to remember, specifically: me sitting in the rocking chair in the corner, lullaby-type music playing softly on the stereo, a low-light lamp on a table on my left. Nicola is sitting on the floor, legs apart, with Lindsay lying between them on her back on the flower-shaped carpet. The mommy...this beautiful, dazzling woman who's brought so much to my life...is rubbing Lindsay's stomach and chest and talking softly to her, giving her daughter love and nurturing and patience and a little bit of her soul. And it's just perfect, and I want to remember this.

I want this memory to take a permanent place in my brain. It could replace, say, the dorky memory I have of eagerly telling John Pamplin in seventh grade that I went to South of the Border, the cheesiest roadside hotel/entertainment complex in all of the greater southern U.S. I didn't just tell him...I shouted it across a crowded hallway, like he would give a shit. We weren't even particularly good friends, really. Why do I remember that?

I want to remember how it felt to be in the nursery, today, March 15, 2005, and watch Nicola blossom as a mother before my eyes. I don't want to remember...took a 45 minute break there to help out with Lindsay. She was fussy and then totally passed out in my arms in 2 seconds after I took her from Nicola, and then the Bean proceeded to fight sleep for the next three-quarters of an hour as I fought to stay awake. This "challenge" in no way diminishes the special quality of this memory...no, really!

My point is, I'd like to be able to recall what it felt like to have a newborn, because they grow up so fast and the state/age you're in becomes the dominant memory...they seem like they were always that age. Looking at pictures of Ella when was two years old...it's like a completely different kid, and yet she seems the same to me in so many ways.

So, remember tonight...and forget that Jay Berwanger from the University of Chicago once won the Heisman Trophy (maybe the first?).

// posted by Bill @ 10:10 PM 1 comments

Monday, March 14, 2005

Anxiety management

The picture below is of poor Bailey, who has an infected eye (guess which one) and has to wear the plastic lampshade around her neck for a week. Tonight, we took her on a walk around the block for the first time since Friday, when the vet imposed this embarrassment on her. It was a lesson in humility (or humiliation?)...although the chuckles of the neighbors did not bother me too much. Hey, I was just trying to protect Bailey's self-esteem!

I took her to the vet Friday and when I brought her home, cone-headed and all, it was the start of a rather hectic weekend. On top of everything, we've got Bailey banging into walls and furniture and legs. Lindsay has found her lungs and the breath to power them, and there is something about the piercing wails of a little baby that cut right through you. And for me, they provoke a lightning quick flop sweat -- you got me why, but my core body temperature jumps about 10 degrees when I'm dealing with an unhappy infant. The knowledge of baby care I possess from Ella does not prevent it...I may seem calm and self-confident on the outside, but inside (not to mention in all my nooks and crannies) I'm anxious and sweaty.

Saturday was particularly anxious, as Ella was over, Lindsay was out of sorts (although we're not sure what her "sorts" are for someone only 16 days old) and Nicola's brother Erik had driven up from LA to see us. A nice gesture, but he is someone who is essentially uninterested in kids and/or babies, and we were up to our hips in both this past weekend. Lindsay is crying, Ella is feeling slighted (I think), Erik is eating four hot dogs in a sitting and being himself...which is fine and interesting and entertaining, but poopy diapers and burping and breastfeeding just ain't up his alley. I got this tight feeling in my chest, like I couldn't take a deep enough breath, and it kind of just persisted all day. I don't know if it was my preternatural need for everything to be all right...perhaps that was it. Lindsay was being, well, a 16-day-old baby, and Ella was being, well, a 5-year-old dealing with the fact that she's not the center of attention anymore, and I was being, well, an uptight, puckered-up 35-year-old modest control freak. Overstating, a bit. But it was conflict, and god knows how I hate that!

I mean, big deal that Ella was not being completely perfect, like she usually is. She was being 5, and not even a tantrum-throwing 5. Just a bit off her game. We got to spend some time together in the afternoon, and I think that helped. All in all, she's adjusting great, although it's natural and expected for there to be some rough spots. So, dude, take a deep breath, and roll with the punches, and let babies be babies and so on.

Nicola was a huge help, especially late in the day. It was maybe 7:45, and Erik had left and I dropped off Ella (split weekend, which I fucking hate!!!), and I was rocking Lindsay in the nursery and just thinking. And Nicola and I had this awesome conversation about what we were feeling and how things were going and what had happened that day. We connected in a non-Hallmark kind of way, and that's so important to our relationship. We feed off each other and help sustain each other, and it would be unwise to lose sight of something so precious.

Today was Nicola's first day alone with Lindsay, and I say to her: well done! You looked wiped when I came home, but you did it! And we even got a walk in, and gave Lindsay a "bath," and put away laundry, and moved furniture (new sideboard for the dining room coming).

// posted by Bill @ 9:13 PM 0 comments

Today's lesson in humility: taking this sad excuse for a dog around the block.

// posted by Bill @ 9:11 PM 0 comments

Thursday, March 10, 2005


Sisters (celebrating UNC's big win!)

// posted by Bill @ 9:00 PM 0 comments

Bath time!

// posted by Bill @ 9:00 PM 0 comments

Bright eyes.

// posted by Bill @ 9:00 PM 0 comments

Sisters.

// posted by Bill @ 9:00 PM 0 comments

14 days and counting

Happy two-week birthday, Lindsay Campbell! It sure seems like you've been around a lot longer than that, but on the other hand, time sure has flown by quickly! We've had two sets of grandparents come and go, we've had doctor's appointments and visitors, we've had good night and bad nights.

I keep worrying that she's not getting enough to eat. The, ahem, byproducts of eating seem to support that she is; I suppose I'm just surprised at how much she's still sleeping. 3 hours, 4 hours, at a time, regularly. I should welcome this blessing, not question it...but I think that ever since we were notified about Lindsay's ear and we started going down that road, I've been secretly anxious that something else might not be right. There's no evidence of that; perhaps it's just new father nerves.

Ella is over for half the weekend starting tomorrow night, and Erik is supposedly coming to town. Then it's nearly a week alone for Nicola and Lindsay, starting Monday! I know they will do great and thrive -- Nicola has her tired moments, but she's blossomed as a mom and is a real natural at it, I think. OK, I'm biased...I think she's amazing in just about all ways.

A few more tests have been scheduled for LCT: a renal ultrasound in 10 days (some connection between ears and kidneys -- got me) and then a consultation with the craniofacial team in mid April. So, more information will be coming. In the meantime, she's just Lindsay, lucky ear and all. Well, she'll always be Lindsay, no matter what else we find out. Everywhere you turn you can find a tragic story about genetic diseases and sick children...we are blessed to have her just as she is.

I'll post a few more photos -- must keep documenting this little girl's growth!

// posted by Bill @ 8:26 PM 0 comments

Speaking of my office, here is an aerial view of the vicinity. The red dot marks where my office is; Ghirardelli Square is one block to the right.

// posted by Bill @ 8:25 PM 0 comments

Wednesday, March 09, 2005

Gritty by the Bay

You'd think it would be cool, working in an office in the heart of San Francisco's Fisherman's Wharf. Actually, it's depressing. Just about any sense of history in the neighborhood has been lost amidst the t-shirt hawkers, tourist knick-knack stores and over-priced mediocre tourist trap seafood restaurants. At least that's how it feels to me. The masses who come to visit the city don't seem to notice, or maybe they just don't care. Do they really think that Pier 39, with its ice cream shops and poster stores and all, is vintage San Francisco? Other than the sea lions and the SF-theme fleeces and windbreakers, there's nothing within blocks that you can't buy or see in Everywhere USA.

I suppose Chinatown is a little better -- you can't see one of those in Dayton or Tuscaloosa. And there is so much that is wonderful and cool about San Francisco, including some of the tourist destinations, like Alcatraz; I will concede that. And I enjoy commuting there, including my rides on historic streetcars (although they are too often overloaded with clueless out-of-towners -- man, I'm such a snob). But the tackiness...it just ruins the whole neighborhood for me.

Of course, when my out-of-towners come to visit, I'll still probably take them to Fisherman's Wharf. Where else are you going to go?

I'm sure there's some history around. Must be. I should get out at lunchtime and look for it. And I'm curious about the swimming club nearby, where it appears you go swimming in an enclosed part of the San Francisco Bay. Interesting.

Did you know:

The western end of the wharf started to boom just before the turn of the century when the Ghirardelli Chocolate Factory moved into the old Pioneer Woolen Mill, which had made blankets and uniforms for the Union army in the Civil War. At about the same time in an adjacent brick building Marco Fontana formed the California Fruit Canners Association. Once the largest canning operation in the world, it shipped with the Del Monte label until the 1920s.

In 1963 the Cannery was turned into a shopping center by Manchurian immigrant Leonid Matveyeff, who changed his name to Leonard Martin. Martin's son Chris taught penguins to skateboard -- an amusement that harked back to the card- playing pig on Meiggs Wharf. The pigs and penguins are long gone, but Chris Martin is still there, running the Cannery.


// posted by Bill @ 10:46 PM 0 comments

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Take this, Julie Andrews

Ella has been watching "The Sound of Music" in mini chunks the last few days, and in honor of that (and because I'm too tired to wax pseudo philosophic tonight), here are some of my favorite things (presently):

// posted by Bill @ 8:35 PM 0 comments

Monday, March 07, 2005

Everyone loves a baby

Babies have a magical way of generating the warm fuzzies, even across long distances. For example, fairly random people (my Mom's cousin, an old friend from Massachusetts, sisters of Nicola's friends, etc.) have sent us baby gifts upon learning of Lindsay's arrival. Not that such materialistic gestures are the only way to measure how people feel about a particular thing, but I think it says something. Maybe people just love buying tiny adorable clothes...how can you pass up those impossibly small socks?

In any event, an online "thank you" to all, even though you'll probably never read this. I never thought anyone would read this...and now I've gone and shared this blog's existence with some family and at least one friend. Let's hope you guys don't look back too far, to where I talked about some embarrassing shit (not literally, although I could probably do that too, starting with the UVa football game in 1995!). That's enough about that. (Oh and by the way, thanks for the comments! Keep 'em coming!)

We got talking tonight at dinner -- Connie and John are here -- about alcoholism and family...prompted by a phone call from my father. He called tonight, and I was sure he was going to tell me the same things he told me last night, when he called past midnight Eastern. Instead, he surprised me by saying he was looking into flights to Oakland for a May visit. That's very nice of him to think about coming here, because we ain't making it there this year, and because, well, it's just nice that he's thinking of us. To go back to the original thought, I'm not saying he was drinking last night, or tonight, but the calls close together prompted a concern and led to us talking about alcohol use in our families. I can remember these nights at Sally's, during my Dad's second marriage, when he would be standing on the stair landing, tilting drunkenly from side to side, barely standing upright, and we kids were laughing and throwing Dixie cups of water on him. Funny at the time, sad and scary and depressing in retrospect. There are too many memories like this for me to just assume that he's going to be fine on any particular evening, whether out to dinner or at home. I think things are better in the drinking department, but it is still definitely an issue to me. I mean, who else's parent went out with the "kids" last summer the night before our wedding. Um, nobody's.

People will be really confused reading the subject line to this post now.

For all my faults, and for the mistakes and decisions I've made in my life that smack of me repeating my father's (and grandfather's? and uncle's? any other Taggart men?) foibles, at least I've conquered the drinking gene in this branch of the family tree. I'm sure there are those who had their doubts. I look back at my early to mid 20s with great fondness -- very good times, living in DC with some of the finest people and closest friends I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. And I see a pattern of excessive drinking that, with the remove of a decade, was a harmless part of that period of my life. The perspective would be very different if I had a drinking problem now -- that would have been the slippery slope into the problem right there. But I don't. I wonder sometimes about my need...or is it desire?...to still have the occasional binge. New Orleans comes to mind. Nearly 35-year-olds should not necessarily be staying out all night on the last evening of a business trip and then going straight to the airport to fly home to his pregnant wife. I was kind of proud of it, actually, and then I remember telling some friends about it, the very next night, as we celebrated the Red Sox World Championship. They were a bit taken aback, I think. "Oh, you mean you literally stayed out all night, and then flew home? Hmm."

I do it so rarely that I don't think it's a matter to be much concerned about, but it is...interesting. (Nicola, as she invariably does, made me really look at my behavior and motivations, and we had a good talk about it. It's one of the many things I love about us -- nothing is left unsaid to fester, nothing goes unchallenged that should be challenged, no bullshit.) I'm sure I'd be Binging in Boise if was flying there next week, but I'm so glad I'm not. I'll miss going and hanging out with the boys, but can you imagine me leaving next Wednesday night for a 4-day vacation, as Nicola was home alone with a three-week-old Lindsay? Not so good.

Speaking of Lindsay, I should go.

P.S. I posted another photo because the one of her in the bouncy seat makes her head look freakin' huge. It really is in proportion, honest.

// posted by Bill @ 8:29 PM 0 comments

Sleeping angel.

// posted by Bill @ 8:28 PM 0 comments

Sunday, March 06, 2005


Lindsay in the bouncy seat

// posted by Bill @ 10:35 PM 0 comments

Ella and Lindsay, March 5, 2005

// posted by Bill @ 10:33 PM 0 comments

Heels and Rays

A Tar Heel victory over Dook and back-to-back days of glorious sunshine are a great recipe for a weekend. So despite yesterday's sobering news, I look at the past two days as quite good. Ella got to spend a lot of time with Lindsay and showed, as we expected, that she will be a loving and doting big sister. She was right there for almost every diaper change -- on mobile duty, getting the music going to soothe (kind of) her baby sister. Wherever the baby was, that's where Ella wanted to be. Pretty great feeling for their first weekend together.

The sun was out for a change, allowing us to go on some walks, wash the cars and go to the park. Ella had a marathone 40-minute swing session, and then everyone (incl. Connie and John) sat down for a picnic lunch at the park. We returned home in time to watch the UNC-Duke game, and as all the ladies slept (Lindsay next to me on the couch, Nicola and Ella in our bed), I watched a thrilling game that came down to the wire. Marvin Williams, your legend began tonight! And the Sean May Kicking-Ass Tour continued! What a great feeling...and kinda silly for a 35-year-old man, I suppose. But still fun. And I don't have to worry about the t-shirt curse -- we all wore Carolina garb today, the same stuff we wore to the Santa Clara game in November, and if the Heels had lost again today, well...those shirts were in trouble. Not that I believe in such mumbo jumbo...this year is different, I told myself (with Nicola's help) during the Red Sox World Series run. And lo and behold it was! But that was last year....Hmm. Definite overanalysis of something I purport not to believe in anyway.

All in all, a nice weekend, and a nice way to send me back out into the work world. Nicola is anxious about me going back; she speaks of my calming influence in the house. Don't know about that. I certainly feel more sure of myself with a baby the second time around, and I'm familiar enough with the challenges that I just kind of roll with them. In any event, I have every confidence in Nicola, although I will miss being home with her and Little Miss Lindsay Peanut Butterbean. I am glad her mom is here to help out for most of the week. Extra hands sure are nice.

Future topics:
Late-night call from Dad tonight
Taking the next steps in our road to responsibility (life insurance, Roth, etc.)
People I need to reach out to: where are you Thad, and why haven't I heard from you?
Pets: where to draw the line (e.g., should we spend $600 to get Bailey's teeth cleaned?)

// posted by Bill @ 9:39 PM 0 comments

Saturday, March 05, 2005

Sad to hear

The moment you hear that your child is not perfect is a moment you will never forget.

I'm not talking "Your kid can't do trigonometry" or "She was caught speeding" or "She bit another kid at daycare." I'm referring to a biological defect...that blindsides you and sends you reeling.

I recall the pit in my stomach and the pause in my breath as the baby nurse told us, just minutes after Lindsay was born, that one of her ears looked different. Did she say deformed? Malformed? That I can't remember -- the emotion is more clear than the facts. Tears of joy and complete exhiliration then BAM! Hold everything. All is not perfect with our precious, helpless little girl. Gulp.

We are, in a way, still reeling. Today, we learned that Lindsay has at least a moderate hearing loss in her "lucky" left ear -- the one with microtia (God, I wish I still thought that word was some South Pacific territory in Risk). Big picture: no anticipated impact on her speech or development. But the fact remains: right ear -- good, left ear -- not good. We won't know how much hearing remains for six months or so. In the meantime, Lindsay will be referred to a craniofacial team to assess the functionality of the inner ear. And down the road...who knows? Prosthetics? Reconstructive surgery?

I wept when we got the results of the hearing test. Holding Lindsay in my arms, my lips pressed to her precious scalp, I'm not afraid to admit I cried. Cried for the lost dream of a picture perfect child, cried for the struggles she could face ahead because of this defect. All you want to do is protect these little boogers, and there's so much you can't protect them from. Ella was right there with us, and I didn't want to scare her by crying, but showing emotions and dealing with them is part of life. Classic Ella: Nicola explains to her why we are crying -- about Lindsay's ear and hearing, basically -- and Ella says, "Well, she [Lindsay] doesn't seem to mind." I still don't know if Ella understands; I asked her again tonight if she understood why we were crying, and she said no.

Yes, on the grand scheme of things, Lindsay's health issues could be a lot worse. I'm not so myopic as to not realize this or to not be grateful for all the things that did turn out right in the womb and during the delivery. But goddamnit, why my Lindsay? Nicola and I still must mourn this loss in order to accept it. That X Steps to Acceptance is not just psycho-babble bullshit -- I buy it. And accept it and deal with it we will -- there's no reason this has to hold Lindsay back in any way.

But for today...I'm sorry, little Butterbean. And it's OK Nicola...it's not your fault. And it's OK Bill...it's not your fault.



// posted by Bill @ 8:46 PM 0 comments

Friday, March 04, 2005


Ella's birthday celebration at school, 2005.

// posted by Bill @ 10:12 PM 0 comments

Non-baby frustration

Things that are fucking pissing me off today:

Baby-wise, things were pretty good today. A county health nurse dropped in and said we are doing swell -- Lindsay is packing on the ounces and packing full the diapers, so two thumbs up! Nicola continues to battle the "baby blues" -- I think her talks today with Julie and Stacy (tipped off by Connie?) may have helped. I wish there was more I can do, but I get a sense of powerlessness when she's weepy. Tonight, I just decided to take charge and do what I could -- get dinner going, distract Ella, take the fussy baby and have Nicola and Ella eat, send Nicola and Lindsay to bed at 7:55 p.m., and so on. I wonder if I'm concentrating on these tasks because I feel impotent (scared?) to attempt to address the emotional issues. Nicola is very strong emotionally, and she's certainly entitled to her weak moments, as the hormone levels cliff dive back down to normal. I guess I'm not used to hearing her say she's overwhelmed...again, not that it isn't understandable.

Ella was fabulous again tonight, and tomorrow we're off to the audiology dept. at Children's Hospital for a diagnostic test on Lindsay's hearing. I'm nervous...I so badly, so desperately want everything to be perfect. I'd settle for OK. We already know we hit the 1 in 6000 odds for her microtia, so know I would like -- attention, Universe -- for Lindsay's hearing to be as good as it can be, and for the ear issues she has to have as little impact on her as possible. I've had one minor emotional shudder over this -- I sense it tucked behind the wall, but I'm not ready to let it out yet.

Tomorrow night, the Final Celebration in the World's Longest 5-Year-Old Birthday Party takes place. Due to Lindsay's arrival last week, we had to postpone Ella's birthday party with us. She's got one more round of presents and cake, and then that's it! Damn, I do want to get her a bike, though.

So, it's clear that my computer geek skills peaked in 9th grade, when I was writing programs in Basic on TRS-80s. But I make a mean batch of frozen french fries (thanks for the kudos tonight, Ella).


// posted by Bill @ 9:54 PM 0 comments

Thursday, March 03, 2005

This is me learning how to post pictures to MWBR.


Ella and Lindsay (at 6 hours)

// posted by Bill @ 10:21 PM 0 comments

After birth...

..comes parenting! And the overwhelming (at times) obligations that accompany this most important of jobs. I still haven't finished the entry from the other night, detailing the day Lindsay was born, one week ago. One week to write that up -- I guess that's about par for the course for a new dad. I can't complain much -- Lindsay has been, by large, a fantastic sleeper during this first week. But the demands on our time have shifted so dramatically that I find myself very easily blowing this journal off in favor of some shut eye.

I consider myself someone who has had trouble finishing things in my life. Too many disappointing examples to enumerate here, but trust me, it's true. I'd like this to be different, for my own sake more than anything, but also for the sake of Lindsay and Ella and Nicola.

I mean, who else is going to document Ella's star showing tonight during her first evening at our house with Lindsay. Her eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning when she walked in the door and saw Lindsay sleeping in the "bucket" on the couch, and for the next 3 hours, she never wanted to leave her little sister's side. She held her little hand, she stroked her head, she kissed her brow. She even skipped desert in order to watch Nicola breastfeed -- now if that doesn't tell ya something! Ella just couldn't get enough, from observing diaper changes to reading books to Lindsay. And the peak of it all was as Ella was in the bathroom, just before bedtime, singing and making up the following song (excerpted -- I was laughing too hard to remember all of it):

I love my sister!
She's the sweetest and the cutest and the smoochiest.
I'm so glad I have a sister and not a brother.
Sisters are much better than brothers.
Brothers are mean to each other.

I can't begin to do this justice...but for God's sake, how unbelievably blessed are we? Ella -- I just love that kid more and more everyday. She told me she would like to be here everyday until Lindsay is not a baby anymore (a year?)...and shit, I wish I could make that happen. There's a certain bittersweet current running deep beneath this happiness...not regret, exactly, but just a wish of some kind that things had turned out differently so I was married to this incredible woman (who I blundered badly with on the birth "recognition" -- story for another time) AND had Ella 24/7. I suppose it's good we are here, making the best of a mostly good but occasionally sad and frustrating situation. Ella will know her father and will have a solid, loving, parental relationship with him, and she will benefit from having a totally cool, open-minded and supportive step mother, and she will get to be a big sister.

Some much more to say, but I think the key to writing here daily is to write short. 10 minutes, in and out.

Before I go, a few quick observations on the past week:

10 minutes minimum each night. Come on. I can do that, right?


// posted by Bill @ 9:34 PM 0 comments

Tuesday, March 01, 2005

Birth

The arrival of Lindsay began at around 3 p.m. last Wednesday, Feb. 23, as Nicola was enjoying a hand and foot massage and I was working from home. Nicola came home and told me she had been experiencing contractions throughout her massage. Now, we'd had a few semi false alarms before, but this seemed different. And I must say, we were glad. At the doctor's appointment that morning, we'd set a schedule for inducing labor for a week and a half out...meaning the baby would be born around March 4. Um, that's not going to work for us, we thought.

And so Miss Peanut aka Lindsay began her long journey. Contractions continued throughout dinner and we recorded the frequency and duration. I think it was around 9 p.m. that I actually brought the bags up to the dining room in preparation for our departure. It didn't seem legit...was this really it? Was labor underway. Apparently, yes! 10 p.m. to 11 p.m. was pretty intense with contractions, a shower was taken, the doctor was called, the dog was anxious. We packed up the duffle bag, the backpack and the shopping bag (food, cameras and music). As usual, we terribly overpacked. Even the birth ball made the trip (and never left the back seat of the car, naturally).

I think we were both in shock or denial or disbelief. We had zeroed in on the due date -- maybe even earlier, expecting the baby before the due date -- and when that came and went, there was some letdown. We began thinking about inducing, but wait! Labor! Baby! Coming now! Coming now? Yes, well, then, let's get to it!

We called Tom and Phoenix, who had pledged to speed down from Oregon at first sign of their first granddaughter. Into the car we went, knowing the next time we come back to Alameda, the family will be one bigger. Midnight is a great time to drive in the Bay Area, by the way. Excellent timing, Lindsay.

By 12:15 a.m., we were checked in at Alta Bates. In triage, Nicola was hooked up to a fetal monitor. Lying on her back, she experienced several very painful contractions...and the idea of having an epidural began to seem like a better and better idea. She wanted to go as long as possible without it...but you could sense that it would be an inevitable (and welcomed!) part of this process.

12:40: off we go to Room 17. (John Havlicek. Jake Delhomme? Harold Carmichael? These are guesses, but 17 was a better choice than 18, because who can remember a number 18? Wait, Gabe Kapler? Oh -- 17 is good too because it is the date of Nicola's birthday in May...but you can see where my thoughts went first!). Anyway...(to be continued...time to help out with Lindsay).

(I'm not going to finish tonight. Bed time calls.)







// posted by Bill @ 8:28 PM 0 comments

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