Statistics

I donated platelets once. If you've never done so, here's the process: the technicians stick a needle in your arm and start siphoning off blood, but the blood doesn't go into a bag, the blood goes into a large centrifuge. When the centrifuge reaches a certain amount of fluid, it starts spinning, separating out the platelets. The centrifuge keeps the platelets and pumps everything that was taken out of your arm that wasn't platelets back into your arm.

I recall that when I first sat down to donate platelets, the sensation felt a lot like donating blood. After about five minutes or so, I felt the pressure where the needle sat in my arm that was the result of the fluid being returned. It wasn't painful, but it wasn't comfortable. But I had a TV to watch and a friend to talk to, so I could ignore the discomfort, I thought.

Forty-five minutes later, I remember thinking I had had enough. My arm was in a lot of discomfort. Not pain, mind you, but the needle was really beginning to irritate me, like a hair on your tongue you can't remove but can't ignore. Each interval of fluid returning to the arm made the discomfort worse. Moreover, the seat upon which I was sitting had turned uncomfortable about ten minutes prior. Nothing was on TV. The friend was doing her best, but the conversation wasn't distracting me from the feeling that I had that I really, REALLY, wanted this whole process to be over with, already.

Then the tech returned and looked over the machines. "So," I said nonchalantly, not wanting to be a problem customer, "are we done?"

"It looks like you need another ten minutes or so."

"I'd really like this to be over."

"We'll unhook you in about ten minutes."

So I sat. Again, there was never any real pain, so there was no reason to demand the immediate halt to the entire process, or remove the needle from my arm myself. It was just the feeling that I really needed this whole endeavor to be over right away.

This story's been on my mind lately. We're halfway through August and September is approaching, but not fast enough. I sit here, ready for this deployment to be over, but it's not quite done yet.

Medical texts, I've learned, don't really use negative adjectives. If the prognosis for a patient with a given condition is "bad," medical texts don't use the word "bad." The texts tend to fall back on five-year survival projections, letting math tell the story.

It seems like the thing to do (numbers reflect incidences since The Doctor's departure):

Number of viewings of "The Little Mermaid": 5,345,201

Number of viewings of "Sleeping Beauty": 7,356,112

Number of viewings of "Snow White": 118,678,992 (Why is this one so popular? What does Snow White actually do?)

Number of viewings of "Tangled": 33 (It's a recent acquisition, give it time)

Number of viewings of "Ratatouille," Daddy's favorite Pixar film: 0

Number of ear infections: 6 (plus another one coming!)

Number of middle-of-the-night bouts of croup: 1

Number of blisters: 1

Number of boo-boos: 276

Number of vaccinations: 4

Number of bowel movements that required tears and straining: 1

Number of times house has been cleaned on Friday: 30

Number of Saturday mornings where it has been impossible to tell house has been cleaned less than 24 hours prior: 30

Length of nap time on weekdays: 90 minutes

Length of nap time on weekends: 30 minutes, on a good day

Number of times my daughter's favorite bear has been AWOL at bedtime: 5

Number of times my daughter has slept without her favorite bear: 0

I figure I'll come up with some more statistics later. I see the finish line. I can make it to the finish line. I just wish the finish line was closer. Trying to keep morale up is my current goal.

The Bottomless Pit

How can anyone afford more than one son?

The cost to feed this small mammal is more than the GDP of some nations. The only time my son is not pointing at and requesting food is when he is sleeping. He has once requested food in the bathtub.

I took my children to the dancing fountains at the local mall this weekend. My son had eaten lunch as usual, and had a graham cracker when he woke up from his nap. After about thirty minutes playing in the fountain, I broke out the watermelon I had brought along, as a treat.

With the exception of two pieces of the half a watermelon I had brought, eaten by my daughter, my son had the rest. Swallowed each piece whole.

My friend bought him some ice cream. Each spoonful of ice cream went in his mouth. He swallowed and then readied himself for another spoonful by unhinging his jaw and waiting for the next bite. With each passing spoonful, he got the chills, but it didn't even slow him down.

Then he climbed over the chair to get at the diaper bag, where I keep the other food.

There was a stale piece of fruit leather in the diaper bag, from a previous trip a while back. Perfect, I thought, this would at least slow him down, since the dehydrated stale fruit would be tough to eat.

My son shoved the entire piece into his mouth, found he couldn't chew it well, extracted it and spent 30 minutes with a slimy piece of fruit leather in his hand, chewing away a little at a time.

When he finished with that, he searched the diaper bag again and found some old raisins and crasins. He finished those.

Then he started in on the wooden chairs that lined the plaza.

I thought it best we return home so I could make him dinner before he ate the tires off the cars in the parking lot.

Independence Day

I've always loved fireworks. Bright lights, big bangs, what's not to like?

Traffic. Sure, getting home's a pain. That's why living in Manhattan's great - the subway gets you home, no traffic to sit in. Being forced to smell people people who have been standing out in the sun all day while on the subway seems a reasonable trade off to avoid traffic.

Once you have kids, though, it's a whole new ball game. Your discomfort is now meaningless.

Luke AFB makes it about as easy as possible to enjoy the holiday. There's a big cookout, lots of space to run around, a beer truck, cotton candy and a guy making balloon animals. It's fun to sit and enjoy the evening.

But the cookout starts at 6 pm. The children go to bed at 7. They didn't nap at all well today, either.

So we went, and I'm viewing each activity with a strict cost/benefit analysis. Will my son tolerate the activity? Will my daughter enjoy what my son would enjoy? Will they eat? Will they make it past 6:30? Past 7? What time is it now?

No way we are going to make it until dusk tonight. It's doubtful I'm going to make it until dusk. It's been a long four-day weekend.

I'd really like my wife to come home. Holidays are no fun without her.

Happy Fourth, sweetie.

A Discourse on the Afternoon Nap

Just a few words, then, about the afternoon nap.

Sure, if you don't have children of your own, you've heard stories about missing nap time. The kids get ornery. They sleep at odd hours, throwing the routine off. They get cranky. They get difficult.

All of that is true. Those of you with kids don't need me to tell you.

What no one tells new parents, though, is how much nap time is necessary for the parents' psychological well-being.

My children aren't feeling so hot this weekend. The pediatrician (not The Doctor) says that it's a virus "going around." Nothing to do but wait it out.

So this morning, when the kids got ornery, I tried to roll with it, but my disposition soured as theirs did. By lunch time, I was frustrated and the children, particularly my son, were cranky. By cranky, I mean screaming a lot.

Then nap time comes and it's a lemon sorbet in the middle of the day, a palate cleanser. For a change, both kids nod off within ten minutes of each other.

I can eat. I can clean up. I can (gasp) lie down! For more than two minutes!

By the time they awake, I actually want to go do stuff with them again! I didn't even nap, but my disposition improves! It's magic!

Goes away by dinner, though. Easy come, easy go.

Optimism Springs Eternal

Kids get easier to handle as they get older, right? Right??

We had a nice, easy, 105 degree Sunday today, which meant that we spent a lot of time indoors. By dinner time, every toy had found its way onto the living room floor. My house was reminiscent of the opening scene from "Patton."

I asked my daughter to help me clean up.

"No, Daddy, I want to go play with (my son)."

Actually, sweetie, that helps Daddy a lot. Keep up the good work.

Yes, they do get easier to handle.

It Was So Hot I Froze to Death...

It reached 100 degrees here this week. This is a fact you need to know in order to appreciate this story.

Children learn very quickly what kind of excuses get them what they want. At six months, my daughter would cough. Both Mommy and Daddy would turn heads to look. My daughter would smile. Lather, rinse and repeat.

My son walks into the kitchen and points to the counter. He receives a Gerber snack. Lather, rinse and repeat.

My daughter likes to take stuff with her in the car. She would like to take her stuffed bear, her blanket, her water, her artwork, a snack, her hat, her sunglasses, some lip balm (her lips), five other stuffed animals and her pinwheel. I limit her to one item.

"But I'm so COLD, daddy." She completes the effect by shivering.

"It's warm out today, sweetie."

"I don't think so, daddy." This last sentence is sing-songy.

"No, it is warm. It's going to be 100 degrees. My blog post will start out with that fact."

"It's chilly, daddy. I need my blanket."

"You can either take your beloved, can't-sleep-without-it, hope-we-don't-ever-lose-it, best-friend-in-the-whole-world stuffed bear, or your blanket. Which one?"

We went out for ice cream with the blanket.

PDA and Other Crimes

A secret fraternity is a good analogy for the military. Both a fraternity and the military have a cost to join, and in both cases you're expected to undertake the commands of your superiors without question. Once you're in, though, you're family and treated as such.

Which is why this separation from The Doctor isn't as bad as it could be. I'm away from my home town, but I'm in the middle of a community ready to support me should anything start to go seriously wrong. It comforts me, and I'm sure it comforts The Doctor.

However, as like any huge organization, there are rules that the organization wishes you to observe and obey. The base has its own protocol office as the official "rules" keeper. Don't know which is the salad fork? Call protocol. Is it a jacket and tie evening, or can I go "Arizona Casual," that is, shorts and flip-flops? Call protocol. Do I need to pull over during taps and shut off my headlights? Call protocol.

It's a lot like speaking a language - easy to just immerse yourself and become fluent, but if one tries to explain how to conjugate an irregular verb, the wheel can fall off your wheelbarrow very quickly.

The chief protocol officer was addressing a crowd of which I was a part. He opened the floor to questions.

"What's the rule on PDA?" a spouse inquired.

The protocol officer got the look of someone trying to conjugate "to be" in an obscure martian dialect.

"The old guard would have you believe that PDA while in uniform is NEVER acceptable, but social mores are changing in this regard. What was the circumstance you found yourself in?"

I forgave the protocol officer for ending his sentence with a preposition. It's a grammatical error the old guard would NEVER find acceptable.

"I had my arm checked for a TB screening. It came up positive. I had to go to the clinic for further tests. My husband was waiting with me while he was on his lunch break. When they called my name to go into the lab for further testing, he didn't kiss or hug me because he was in uniform..."

I mentally put palm to face. It wouldn't have even occurred to me NOT to give The Doctor this kind of reassurance had I been in this situation. Would I have had been tased by the protocol police?

The answer was no, as the protocol officer explained, "under those circumstances, no one would have faulted your husband for reassuring you as you went to get your tests. As I said, mores are changing on this issue. Reasonable amounts under proper circumstances are allowed..."

Egads. I didn't think I was in the land of reasonable. Good to know.