Oh My Finger

Hello, this is pain, I have a message for your daughter. Tell her to stop biting her fingers. On Christmas Eve Day we had a lovely breakfast made by Steve and Karen and boys that was outstanding - Dennis looked at my daughter's finger and said it should be taken care of immediately. So, we loaded her up and Debi and I went along.

On the way, Den called his friend Beth, hand specialist for the Phx Suns and asked her a few questions about the procedure. After a few minutes he began to back-pedal and say, "No, No, No, I don't want you to do that." She talked him into letting her do the procedure because in her words, "I pictures that TV commerical where the guy is on the phone with a doctor and the doctor is telling the guy, '...three centimeters to the left should be your appendix' to which the patient asks, '...shouldn't you be doing this...'

Great Lady!!! She put my daughter at ease and made the whole procedure seem like a hobby instead of the job she does everyday.

I got to look over Beth's shoulder. Dennis assisted which was kinda funny because he is usually in the surgeon's role. The procedure went perfectly. Her hand released about 3cc's of pus. For a finger, that was a bunch! The fingernail was removed about 1/3 the way in and then it was dressed. My daughter felt better already. The soreness related to the fluid under pressure in her finger was releaved and so was she.

Christmas Letter 2005

It is as Merry as it can be around here. How approproate that I should blog our Christmas letter. Makes sense in this wild world of the busiest time of the year. Doesn't it? We lie in bed at night laughing about our kids, crying about our kids, happy for our kids, and worried about our kids. Then I fall asleep and she gets mad at me. "Oops, no, honey, you aren't boring, your voice is very, um, soothing to me. I find myself relaxed by it. It induces catatonic stasis. I dig it. I'm concerned too. I love them too. I love you too. So does this mean no...OUCH!" Sometimes pillows can hurt. Especially if you get a full-face shot with your eyes still open and your head bounces off the headboard. I hate that.

Our big news is that we got to go with all the cousins, aunts, uncles, grammies, and poppies to the 4 Disney parks and 1 Disney Wonder Cruise ship. Seven fun-filled days and nights with all the cousins. I have included all 306 digital pictures I took from this event in your envelop. Oh, wait, this is a blog, so I don't have anywhere to put the pictures. I'm not posting all of them so you will just have to use your imagination as I narrate our event.

Picture 1 - This is all of us as we were getting on the boat. I tried talking the girl into taking another picture because I wasn't ready and had my finger up my nose. I wasn't picking, I was scratching. Deeply.

Picture 2 - This is all of us at Epcot. No, Mark hadn't given blood, he is actually giving the friendly 'up yours' to one of the pesky Disney characters that was passing by. I think it was Micky and Minie's illigimate son 'Junkie'. He doesn't usually have a tail...

Picture 3 - This is us waiting in line. Because we went during the holidays the crowds were a larger than Nancy Reagan's head (proportionally).

Picture 4 - While waiting in line, the girls came up with several patty-cake-type hand games to pass the time.

Picture 5 - This is the patty-cake police kindly but sternly requesting that the girls stop playing these kind of games.

Picture 6 - This is Trent. Weird how his whole head is red but he was pretty mad at those patty-cake police guys. Something about 'jurisdiction' and 'injunctions' and 'speed-bag your face'. I really didn't catch much of the conversation. I couldn't hear over the patty-cake crowd that gathered in the background. Disney-5-0 my butt.

Picture 7 - This is a picture of my pocket. I kept the camera with me always and must have bumped up against something that set the camera off. For the record, I did not know my pocket had a whole in it.

Picture 8 - This is the blister that I opened up on my foot on, yes, the first day. I wish I had taken a picture of the blister that formed under this blister the second day. Incidentally, when I got home, I had to use my Dremel to grind the dead skin off. I wish I had a picture of that mound of flesh. Oh well.

Picture 9-19 - I let Caitie borrow the camera so these next pictures are of the mid-pubescent, pimple-headed, brain-free, testosterone-laiden pukes she hung around with. And that was just my family. I kid. No, I can't wait until she brings her first date home. "Hello young man, care to help me clean my home-amputation kit? I soiled it a bit on Caitie's last date...Yes, that is a rather nice trophy, isn't it. I preserved it with fermaldihide. I tried to get him to sign it but he was too busy screaming..."

Picture 20-30 - This is Abby. Each night we dressed up to go to dinner. On this occasion, I wanted to capture the moment so I took a picture of everyone with the dinner-wear on. Since Abby changed clothing, I had to take another picture. And another. And another. And another.

Picture 31 - This is a picture of all of us in our dinner-wear. I think if you look behind Abby you will see that she is holding another outfit she was unable to put on before I dragged her out. I kinda messed up her hair a little bit.

Picture 32 - Here is Max with his Gameboy. I was unaware of this but aparently it is far more fun to play a video game on a very expensive boat in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean than do anything else. Who knew?

Picture 33 - This is a picture of all of us out on the beach at Nassau. I'm fairly sure that those are not shark fins out there but I asked Max to swim out to the bouy and find out. Turns out they weren't sharks but rather swim-area-bouy police. Fortunately Max was coming off a great swim season where he went to state in the 200-freestyle so they were not able to catch the boy.

Picture 34 - This is me on the Nassau beach. No, I didn't get in the water. The locals called me the 'boss' which is a euphamism for someone who comes to the beach fully clothed never intending to take a dip. In the water, that is. When my blister's blister filled with sand, I filled with a longing for my quad.

Picture 35 - This is Debi in the photo gallery.

Picture 36 - The only picture of our kids that tells the whole story - Epcot ball in the background, cute pic of all 4 and suitable for display to all friends.

Give Me a Sea, a Bouncy Sea

The second part of our Thanksgiving trip was when we boarded the Disney Wonder, and set sail for the Bahamas. I've been on this boat two other times. Never with my kids. What a blast. We had all the cousins, aunts, uncles, and two grand parents. Cruising is so fun. The expressions on the faces of the kids as we neared

Sugar, Baby

A very strange thing has happened to me over the past 2 years. I think it happened to me when one day I was speaking with my dad. He told me that when he pulled his pants on that morning, he discovered that he had inadvertently caught a toenail on them and had PULLED IT OFF. He didn't know it until he started to put socks on. That's when he made the discovery. You see, my dad had advancing diabetes. His feet were numb. He didn't feel his toenail being pulled from his foot. I suppose that could come in handy if he were captured and they tried to torture him by shoving bamboo shoots up his toenails.

That I decided that day that that was that is all that. I decided I would never tell my son that I had inadvertently pulled anything off my body which should have been painful but was not. So, I started walking. I actually started walking or riding my bike depending on what was better for me that day. I also decided to reduce the sugar intake in my diet. I'm overweight so I hoped to change that too.

I'm an advocate of acting like you have been diagnosed. For example, my wife wanted to go to the cardiologist because she wondered if she was at risk for heart problems. My view is, yes, if you are worried about a condition you may have, act as if you have been diagnosed with the condition. Does it mean that if you have not been diagnosed with a condition that you are somehow safe from it. Would you only change your behavior AFTER you had the disease? Not logical.

This worked for me. I started exercising every day and avoiding sugar in my diet. Not Nazi-like, but just no sweets, no sugar, nothing known for sugar content. As a result, I eat very little sugar. I know this because one Sunday I was particularly hungry and my friend's wife had dropped off a 'coffee cake' for him for breakfast. He knew that I didn't eat sweets so he offered me some and I ate it. It was DELICIOUS. Soon after, I must have experienced an insulin storm because I got kinda dizzy and light headed. My heart was pounding. It was really funny. I either experienced an insulin-related episode or my friend's wife put some mighty-fine drugs in the batter. Any, it was great. I fell off the wagon for one piece of coffee cake. I won't do that again anytime soon.

Anyway, I said it worked for me because after 1 1/2 years of acting like I had the disease (in this case, diabetes) I decided to take a trip to the doctor and get a physical (a few months ago). Did I mention that during the 1 1/2 years my father died from diabetes. Heinous disease. I think I will write several blogs about my dad when I can stand to do so. The trouble is, I hadn't had a physical in some time and the results of the last one said that I had triglycerides that were through the roof -- 286 to be exact. They say over 200 is a bad number. My blood test revealed the following specifics: cholesterol 126, sugar normal (thank goodness, doc says no chance of diabetes currently), heart rate 60, blood pressure 120 over 76 and by triglycerides were a managable 141. The doctor was surprised because of my size. He congratulated me after he learned why my numbers were so good. He does, however, want me to lose weight. Doesn't everyone?

I remember many years ago when sugar wasn't the enemy to me, I used to make fun of Post Cereals for changing the name of Super Sugar Crisp to Super Golden Crisp. Sugar Smacks got changed as sugar became the forbidden substance. Stuff was just as sweet as ever but somehow changing the name made them more politically correct or socially acceptable. Oh, I can't wait to blog political correctness - another day. I didn't think much of sugar content when I was young so when people would point out my sugar intake I though it was ridiculous. "You know, Jeff, that monster cookie with fudge and ice cream with sprinkles and Sugar Babies wrapped in cotton candy and dipped in carmel really does contain a touch more sugar than the average 8-year-old consumes the entire time he is 8." I now point out my own sugar intake and everyone around me thinks I'm ridiculous. "No thank you, I don't want to eat the giant pie you brought me because I don't eat sugar." "But Jeff, you're enormous, I would think if you controlled your diet as you say you do, you would not automatically qualify for the heavyweight Sumo division." I can't win. I didn't say I stopped eating, I said I stopped eating sugar. And it is working.

So I now need to lose weight. Yikes. I have done this before but never for the amount of time of the sugar ban. I will need to eat less - and eat healthy. I need drugs. My wife is no help. She is supportive, but one time I was on Atkins and I was hating it and within a one-hour period of time she was angry with me for being on Atkins and for going off Atkins. Strange. One thing Atkins did for me is cure, and I mean CURE, my heartburn for years. I suffered chronic heartburn until I went on that diet. I was only on it for about a month but it did a great thing for me tummy-wise. Being off sugar has cured my desire for sweets. Now I just have to find a cure for wanting to eat. That should do it.

Criminals

This blog transmogrified into something I didn't intend. Sorry.

I have been accused of having a deviant mind. I confess that my mind is constantly active and imaginative. I think, though, that there is a huge difference between those who have deviant minds and those who are deviant. Sometime I will get around to writing about my dreams. A spectacular extravaganza, those. But that is for another blog. I mention dreams because sometimes I wonder what dreams are for or if my dreams are what I really think. As a man thinketh, so is he? Let's take criminals. As a friend said to me once, "...there are people who only rape." That's all they do. They wake up in the morning, look in the mirror, and ask themselves who their victim will be today. They think and plan and wonder and imagine. Then they go and do. The same can be said for people who are criminals of various sorts. I don't think those who murder act spontaneously. They plan. The execute. No pun intended.

There are all sorts of crimes. The most despicable crime I can think of is abuse of children. There are dads who, while driving home from work, plan their encounter with their little daughters. To you monsters, I say, "I hate you." There is a special place carved out of hell prepared for you where you will wear a corn-filled turd suit and be forced to endure the Disneyland 'Stitch' attraction with periodic breaks for Jay Leno singing country music while giving Angela Lansbury a pedecure for eternity. (Maybe the Jay Leno thing was a little too harsh. Nobody should have to watch Jay Leno do anything for any reason.)

I was talking to a friend of mine who is a cop. He said that he dreads March because the weather improves and crime increases. What? Fair-weather felons? You have got to be kidding me. There are those who will put off their criminal needs because it's a bit nippy out? Fascinating. Perhaps if they stole a coat first...

My wife is fascinated with the criminal mind. Not mine, but those who act out against society. I can't really figure out what the allure is except to say that it intrigues her to the point that she buys serial-killer books and records any television show where the subject matter is gore. I may have to arrest her and put her in jail. She's been a naughty girl.

"Criminals and the Chicks Who Dig Them" next Oprah.

I have always been put off by the criminal insanity defense. I don't understand the notion that someone can be criminal enough to perpetrate atrocities and insane enough to get a reduced sentence or be acquitted. Can this really happen? How can we find an excuse for this type of behavior. How can we excuse the behavior for no other reason than the guy was crazy when he did it. How are we supposed to be able to sleep at night knowing that this happens? I guess that's what dreams are for.

What's in a name?

"I have a very good friend in Rome called Biggus Dickus." This is a line from the Monty Python movie "Life of Brian" and is one of the funnier concepts which seems to be commonly understood. I doesn't matter where you go or to whom you speak, names are a good way to break the ice. I remember liking my name. I remember hating my name. I remember hating my middle name. Weird, isn't it?

I have often joined conversations already in progress where the participants are talking about names. It seems to start with, "I knew a kid in school once whose name was Austin Healey." That leads to, "...I went to Doctor Bottoms for my hemorrhoids," or "...we could never get Harry Knuckles out of the bathroom and we never knew why." Episodes of The Simpsons featured Bart calling Moe's and having a certain funny-named fictitious customer paged. Michael Hunt, Al Kahalic, etc. My dad's personal favorite was Herbie Hynde (or perhaps Lavica Trickleson). It seems we all get the humor of this.

Visit http://www.namehumor.com for more fun.

My contribution to this was a brother/sister combination in high school whose names were C0c0 and P@nda Head. (I obfuscated their names so they wouldn't be searchable.) I didn't actually know them but they were the best I could do when joining in the conversations on funny names. My sister dated a kid whose last name was Woodcock. (perhaps she will list them in a comment to this blog) He had a string of replacement names for his last name that he had collected over the years. My wife has a cousin who married a Dick. He is a dentist. Dr. Dick. So, her last name is Dick, and she has a bunch of little Dicks around her house now. My brother's partner is Dr. Slaughter. He is a great surgeon. A great guy too, but an unfortunate name for a surgeon.

From the sexual or derogatory names, the conversation usually moves to a mutation entitled "I Can't Believe They Named Their Kid That." This one is great sport. From fictitious lore of Orangello and Lemongello (the story is told of a woman who was shopping and came upon Orange Jell-o and Lemon Jell-o and thought those would be suitable names for twin boys) to a great girl I knew in college named Heavenly Hutchins, names are great conversation seed.

I know naming kids is difficult. Bad name association, name mutation possibilities, and name combinations all filter the name universe down to 2-3 possible names for a kid. Mom says, "No, you can't name him Jerry because I dated a jerk name Jerry and I still spit when I hear his name," then she spits and curls up in a corner sucking her thumb. That's bad name association. You can't name him Buck or Bart because of obvious rhyming words, and you can't name her Delores because of Seinfeld. That's name mutation possibilities. As for name combinations, you can't name your kid Simon Simpson. It just doesn't work.

Celebrities are trying to out-do each other by naming their kids bizarre things. It's not enough that the kid has to be born out-of-wedlock and to a celebrity, but to then bear the name Rumor, Apple, December, or Dweasle. Sure, they'll be well adjusted.

My son has recently started assigning nicknames to all his friends. Their given names are not sufficient so he is quick to rename them something fresh, new, alive. I love that about him. It cracks me up. He has become the namer. Nice. He even did it to himself. He calls himself Gerard Wagstaff.

Finally, the strangest names to me aren't the most peculiar, but the most mundane. I like creativity, I like mainstream, and I like ancient. Contrary to opinion, Domineau is a great name for a girl. What I don't like is: Peter Peterson, Mike Michaels, Tom Thompson, Bill Williams, John Johnson, Bret Bretterson.

Well, that's about all. This is me, Jeff Jefferson, signing off.

My Youngest

Funny, isn't it. Everyone says they will grow up too fast but when it happens to you it is somehow not as amusing as when it happens to others. My wife has been recently saddled with reading glasses. She has graduated to #2 strength. This is still funny to me because I'm not there yet. Won't be long, though. I have signs that this is surely coming. I'm going blind. I knew it would catch up to me. She has had gray hair since I can remember but since she colors it, she doesn't have gray hair. She is, however, the only woman I know that lies about her age. Up, that is. She says she is older than she is. She claims that it prepares her for when she actually turns that age. I say it is a lot like setting a clock 5 minutes ahead to be on time or daylight savings time to make a day longer. You're not foolin' anyone, you know...

My daughter, 10 years of age currently, cut the food on her plate by herself in a restaurant the other day. Wait a minute, that's the parent's job. When your youngest starts to be self-sufficient the season in your life is about to change. I watched her do that and wondered when she learned to do that. Had she been able to do that for a while and just milked the ceremonial parental food cutting for a while? I don't think I will ever know the answer to that. Last night I was reassured that the transformation was complete. She farted and blamed me. Time for you to leave grasshopper.