God Save the ANZACs!

This blog must take a moment of its time to acknowledge its namesake, the glorious Aussies. Today marks the remembrance of losses sustained many years ago on the beaches of Gallipolli by the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps.

Notably, their exploits were also immortalized in the song "And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda" made famous by The Pogues.

Get Well Soon!

Hocus Pocus Eggs

"Hocus Pocus, die-mi-dokus
Daddy's scrambled eggs are on focus"

"Stir 'em up, dish 'em out,
Soon the children will run and shout!"

That little gem of a verse accompanied many a Saturday morning breakfast at my house growing up. So much so that eventually, at least one Saturday a month turned into "Jazz Brunch," and we'd find Dad in the kitchen making eggs, Mom making everything else, and old Ella and Louis tapes playing on the hi-fi.

It must have had an impact on the whole family - my sister recently wrote this creative bit for an assignment at PTS:

There he was in his gray knobby bathrobe and leathery brown slippers standing over the stove, a bright salty breakfast before him cooking in cast iron. My sister, brother and I giggle as we rush to fight over our seats at the creaky old table. On the way Sara S L I D E S the length of the wood-floored kitchen in her sockfeet so I try to copy her and go almost as far.

Mom brings over the sweet smelling pancakes and sizzling bacon and pours our OJ in plastic cups. Finally…the time had come and we could enjoy the brunch we had been hungrily smelling for what seemed like hours. My feet dangle from my chair as Stephen runs to turn down the music so Dad can say the blessing. “…bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies, and us to Thy service. Amen.” I methodically copy my sister putting on several pats of butter and then the syrup as I begin to devour this special feast. With the mid-morning sunshine streaming through the windows, I ask “Dad do you really put a spell on the eggs?” “Of course, honey. That’s why they taste so good.” “Stephen made the pancakes!” Mom announces, as Sara and I respond in sync; “Thanks!” Stephen nods, eyes still sleepy, and reaches for the orange juice.

In the background the lilting voices of Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong float along in harmonious duet. “Wrapped in the arms of sweet romance, un-der a blanket of blue.” Dad imitates the low, smooth growl of Louis’ voice and a smile forms on his face, his crows feet joining the expression. I imagine this Armstrong with his gravelly voice to be a skinny white man with huge arms, kinda like Popeye. As we scarf down the last of the hocus pocus eggs, buttermilk pancakes, and crunchy bacon, I excitedly anticipate my favorite part of this Saturday morning tradition. Sara and Dad make it to the den first and he twirls her around in her flannel, purple nightgown. Waiting impatiently for my turn, I get recruited by my coffee-smelling Mom to help clear the table. Finally a new song starts- The brassy trumpet sounds waft around us as Louis begins, “Heaven…I’m in heaven. And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak...” Dad takes my hand and pulls me into his arms in the middle of the den. I feel like his favorite child, his prized possession. We laugh and I step onto his slippers. My pink flannel nightgown spins around with me and I never want this song to end.

Kim, Jack and Stephen enjoyed the first of many Saturday's full of Jazz Brunch fun. Dean enjoyed a little bit, too.

First Day of School

For as long as I can remember, all the kids in my family lined up in the front yard, next to the azaleas or some other foliage, and posed for an annual "first day of school" picture. This became such a ritual that we kept it up even when we went off to college. I've got a "first day of school" picture from the day I joined the Marines, and started at Cintas, and on the day I went to orientation at Elon Law. I even took one of Kim on her first day of residency.

And so it was with great pride that I sat Jackson up in his car seat on the morning of his first day of daycare, and initiated him into a lasting Shaw tradition.

Question of the day

Does a vegan mom breast feed?

First Road Trip

We had our first road trip this past weekend to visit the family in Spartanburg. It was a wonderful time and we were able to see so many good friends and family.

Jack got to take a nap in his daddy's crib.
and a snack..

Bud got to play with his li'l guy

Stephen go to sit in the "Dad Chair" for the first time as a dad... The flat screen TV sure looks good from here..

And jack was cooed over by all comers.. including two very important people who were happy to meet him for the very first time..

Jackson did fairly well, all things considered, and we're looking forward to going back again soon.

Humble Pie....mmmm

I am officially posting my apology. I distinctly remember thinking, a few months ago, that the mothers who complain of hardly having time to get a shower or cook a proper meal due to having to care for one single tiny newborn were just poor at time-management skills. Being the arrogant pre-motherhood person that I was, I was quite confident in my multitasking ability and was actually looking forward to having eight full weeks of maternity leave to tackle all sorts of craft projects, not to mention cooking fabulous meals for my new family and ensuring a tidy home.

Needless to say, I am now enjoying a very large slice of humble pie. It occurred to me in the shower yesterday at 1pm, having not eaten breakfast or lunch and running late to the doctors office, knowing full well I didn't have either the time or the energy to dry my hair for the doctor, that I would surely say something to the nurse when she brought me back along the lines of, "I actually took a shower today and it was great!"

Oddly, though, being covered in vomit-stained PJs with little to no time for eating or sleeping doesn't bother me nearly as much as I thought it would. There is something about my sweet little boy who smells like apples and freshly baked yellow cake that makes all of it miraculously joyful. And, I have a strong feeling that there will come a time much too soon when I will wish to be back in this very moment with tiny Jackson sleeping in my arms. So for now, I'm enjoying my pie and my son, knowing full well this is what life is supposed to be about.

6 week video

Cycle of Three

I am living in 3 day increments and I don't think I like it. I had Lexington bbq this weekend. It was great. My son subsequently ate Lexington bbq approx 8 hours later. It was not so great. The Texas Pete tsunami that tore through his gut almost peeled the roof off of our home. It lasted 3 days.

Prior to that, he was sleeping a good 5 hour chunk at night and we thought "Ahhh...he's finally getting the hang of it." That ended after three days. There was a time when he didn't mind going down for a nap. Yep...that lasted three days too. Then there was the chocolate days, the sleeping days, the pooping out curdled French's mustard days, the laughing in his sleep days, the various positions that would get him to stop crying days. I think he's got a slot somewhere like those old Atari boxes that God keeps clicking in a new game, only he gets bored after 3 days and changes it. At least this last game was one I don't mind to put back in the case and give to goodwill.

Word of the Day:

Pooptastrophe (poop·tas·tro·phe) \poop-ˈtas-trə-(ˌ)fē\          

Noun; Greek, from popa- feces + strephein to overturn          

1. the final event of the dramatic diaper change, especially of a tragedy
2. a momentous tragic explosion of baby poop ranging from extreme messiness to utter ovewhelming ruin
3. utter diaper failure : fiasco  
   

David Gerald Dilda Sr

He would have been 63 years old today.

Wherever you are, I hope you're getting to watch your namesake grow up. He looks just like you and I have a feeling he's got a lot of your personality in him, too.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

Good Books

A quick rollup of the past few months' better reads ...

The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, by David Wroblewski

A fantastic Shakespearean / Coming of Age American saga about a family and their quest to develop a truly unique breed of dogs. Nestled among the Wisconsin North Woods on the edge of the Chequamegon National Forest, you instantly feel at home in the life of the mute, teenaged boy named Edgar Sawtelle. I literally could not put this book down, and 5 days later felt emotionally drained and enriched at the same time.

To quote Stephen King: "I closed the book with that regret readers feel only after experiencing the best stories: It's over, you think, and I won't read another one this good for a long, long time."

Accounting and Finance for Lawyers: Just kidding. Avoid this book like the plague - really.

Angle of Repose, by Wallace Stegner

I got turned on to Stegner back in 1999 when I spent a summer in Wyoming working on a cattle ranch. For those who seek to preserve the unique character of the American West, Stegner is their literary champion.

This work is a complex, deep, and tortuous map of the path of a family growing up on the cusp of a new American dream, yet never quite cashing in. From the mines of Colorado to the Idaho rivers to old Mexico, the countryside that forms the backgorund of this saga is vivid and harsh and real - and eminiently Western.

Killing Rommel, by Steven Pressfield

I admit that I'm a sucker for WWII side-stories that are wrapped up like thrillers, but once again the author of my one my all-time favorite novels has totally exceeded my expectations. This book follows the exploits of the once-famed Long Range Desert Group in North Africa '42, now a forgotten unit on a forgetten front of our most memorialized war. But instead of just a history, Pressfield uncovers the spirit of a group of men facing unfathomable odds, and drinking of their own ingenuity and wits when their water runs out. 

Quite a treat.

Waltzing Matilda, redux

I recently asked my wife (Doc) to join me on this blog. I mean, she is the primary breadwinner in the family. (I learned in class last week that if you factor in my amount of student debt, I am technically insolvent!) Anyway, I thought I would comment on the blog's original title in light of the past few weeks' activities.

I had originally thought that Waltzing Matilda would be a clever and obscure allusion to the supposed violence and mayhem of my past, and I could post all sorts of neat man-things here about guns and chicks and hiking and COIN and pirates, and all other sorts of neat topcs that people with only one X-chromosome seem to enjoy.

However, I found that having a kid suddenly limits your interests to Boppys, diaper changing and breast-feeding (on second thought - that last one probably qualified for the earlier incarnation). And to tell the truth,  I am so insanely proud of my little boy that he's pretty much all I ever think to write about.

Take last night, for instance - there I was, pacing the floor at 2am with Jack nestled in my arms. And by 4am, I had a giant cramp in my back and shoulder and he still hadn't stopped crying, and I was still walking back and forth between the kitchen, the den, and the living room, praying that Kim was at least getting some sleep.  And I had the thought that my new favorite nocturnal activity (N.B.: favorite = most frequent, not most enjoyable) could very well be described as a sort of "Waltzing Matilda." I mean, I do have this little package of goodness to take care of, and the only thing that seems to make him happy in the dark of the night is the weird little stumbling two-step that I do across the shadowy kitchen floor. 

So for now, there are TWO Waltzing Matildas. Enjoy.

Jackson roll-up

Every stage of baby-dom has its perks to make up for the sleepless nights and constantly vomit-covered clothes. One of the perks of the stage we're in now is his limited mobility. We're supposed to be able to put him down anywhere and trust he will still be there when we finish blinking. This is supposed to last another 2 months, at least. Well, no one sent Jackson the memo and the kid decided to start rolling over today in honor of his one month birthday. From belly to back, he can turn like a hotdog down hill. He also pushed up on his hands and did a nose dive forward, which inched him about 5 centimeters up and qualified as motion from the original spot. My mother swears that I was walking by 7 months, which I previously thought was a memory malfunction but now I'm starting to think maybe she isn't having conjoined senior moments...

Thy Name Shall Be Called Thunderpants

My son just pooped so loudly that it woke the dog. No kidding - this was an amazing feat. I thought he was going to blow the diaper clean off.

In other news, I am just about done drafting my first complaint for damages, and this baby is bullet proof! Those tortiously negligent Shrackle Brothers are going down, and they are going to pay handsomely for the way they ran over my client. (Alas, if only this was a real lawsuit, and not just a class simulation...)