Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 557

She works in cheese

My daughter is apparently becoming the Andy Goldsworthy of food.

Or at least of dairy products.

Though I think it's important to find a cliché and exploit it, I'm not sure what kind of audience this kind of temporary art would garner. 

I wonder how much money Andy Goldsworthy makes in a year.

Gratitude journal: Dental technology

Tonight I am grateful for advances in dental technology that allow me to still have my teeth today. 

In a 1988 car accident that left me temporarily dead, my bottom row of teeth were dislodged when my jaw struck the steering on my way into and through the windshield.  The entire row of teeth were literally floating around in my mouth until dental surgeons wired them down in hopes that roots would re-establish themselves and I would be able to keep at least a few of them.

Yesterday's dentist appointment confirmed once again that the surgery was a success.  Since 1988 I have required just two root canals as a result of the accident.  One was done a year after the accident and the other was done three days after my honeymoon.  Every other tooth, except for the one I swallowed during the accident, is still healthy and strong.

Twenty-five years later, I find myself wishing I knew those surgeons' names so I could thank them for their efforts. 

Twitter goodness

There are a lot of reasons that I use Twitter. One small but no less significant reason is the wisdom that I find amongst the people I follow. 

I read two especially insightful commentsthis weekend that I thought I would share.  Following their actual name is their Twitter handle in the event you would like to follow these people as well. 

All I want is for someone to look at me the way my dog looks at my sandwich. 

- Mark Peters @wordlust

People who don't volunteer often interfere.

- Kathleen Schmidt @Bookgirl96

Best umbrella ever.

My wife and I are a little obsessed with the way our daughter says umbrella.

We're probably a little biased, but we find it unspeakably cute.   

Claras first day

Yesterday was my daughter's third birthday.

In my continued series of posts from Greetings Little One leading up to her birthday, an account of the birth of my daughter, originally written on January 25, 2009. 

Tomorrow will be the last day for these reminiscent posts.

______________________________________________

Our day began yesterday, at 11:53 PM, when you mother awoke me from twenty minutes of glorious sleep to inform me that her water had broken. In fact, it was still breaking as I awoke. I could hear the splashing from the bed. Despite the hours of birthing class and hundreds of pages that Mommy and I read on pregnancy, we both stared at one another and asked, "What do we do?"

It was at this point that both us fell into a possible "I told you so" situation.

For me, I doubted that your mother was experiencing contractions, since the brutal, possibly hedonist midwife earlier that day had told me that there was "no mistaking contractions" and that we would not be having a baby this weekend.  Since you mom said that she thought it might be contractions, I assumed that she was experiencing cramps and that we should probably not go to the hospital yet.  I recommended that she return to bed. 

This did not go over well. 

Your mother, in a bit of a panic, insisted that we leave immediately and refused my suggestion to call the doctor first or to bring Kaleigh to the Casper's house before heading off.

Less than fifteen minutes later, she was on the phone with the doctor, and for a moment, she was wishing that the Caspers weren't already on their way to our home.  The doctor said to get to the hospital immediately.

Oh well. Mommy and Daddy aren't always perfect.

After loading up the car and waiting for Jane to arrive to pick up Kaleigh, we were off, leaving the house at 12:30.

Seven minutes later, we arrived at the hospital, and I dropped Mommy off in order to park the car. I said, "Don't wait for me. Just go up."

She replied, "There'll be no waiting for you" and exited the car. I admit that I secretly hoped that by the time I made it up to the sixth floor, you would be well on your way out.

No such luck.

Mommy was filling out paperwork with a nurse when I arrived in the delivery center, and it was at this time that I finally understood the degree of Mommy's pain. As she was being asked questions, her responses were not very coherent. Of course, her contractions were coming every three to four minutes, which explained the pain.

After being led to our room, we met Cassie, the first of two nurses who we would come to adore throughout the process. Cassie was with us throughout the evening, making us comfortable and helping us try to catch a few hours of sleep. After arriving, we learned that Mommy was almost entirely effaced but not dilated at all. We were shocked. On the way over, we took wagers on how dilated she would be. She said four centimeters would make her happy, and I was hoping for seven.

Zero was a disappointment.

Thankfully, our humanitarian doctor, who doesn't believe that women should ever suffer through childbirth, offered to administer the epidural immediately, even though birthing class instructors informed us that it would not be done before four centimeters. This was the first of what we discovered to be several false statements made by birthing class instructors, including their assertion that the hospital had no Wi-Fi, which I am using at this moment.

I left the room for the epidural (though Cassie said I could stay if I wanted, which my birthing instructor said would never happen), and even though Mommy hasn't said much about the procedure, it seemed to go well. The anesthesiologist was a bit of a jerk, but otherwise, the needle, the meds, and all the horrifying aspects of this procedure went off without a hitch. Mommy was terrified during this process, possibly more than any other time in her life, but she held up like a trooper.

With the epidural on board, her pain vanished, the lights were turned off, and Mommy and I managed to sleep for a couple fitful hours.

Mommy actually slept very well. 

The chair that I attempted to sleep in was a device that harkened back to the Spanish Inquisition, so I managed only a cursory amount of sleep.  Later I found the wisdom to open the chair into a bed and sleep soundly for an hour or two. We slept from about 2:00 to 4:00, when Cassie checked Mommy again and found her fully effaced and 4 centimeters dilated. Lights went out again until 6:00, when Cassie checked and found Mommy fully dilated.

Hooray. I expected a baby before breakfast and I said as much.

She began pushing at 6:30, but in the midst of a shift change, in which Cassie left us and Catherine took over, it was decided to allow you to "drop some more on your own" before resuming to push.

When Catherine first appeared, we didn't know who she was, but being the woman she is, your mother immediately requested her name and rank, and we learned that Cassie was leaving us. Cassie was wonderful; an easy going, friendly, and warm woman with three young kids of her own who was perfect for helping us to rest and relax during the night.

Catherine was warm and friendly as well, but she was also a bit of a drill sergeant, specific and demanding in her orders, and it was just what your Mommy needed when she began pushing again around 8:00. This was the hardest time for your mother. She pushed consistently from 8:00 until 11:30, but because of the placement of your mother's pubic bone and the angle of your head, you simply would not come out. The vacuum was attempted briefly, but at last, it was determined that a c-section would need to be done.

A few interesting notes from the pushing:

Several times, Catherine encouraged Mommy to find some anger with which to help push. "Get mad," she would say. "Find something to be angry about." Your mother continually asserted that she had nothing in her life with which to be angry. Finally, Catherine acknowledged that she was dealing with the sweetest person on the planet.

Your mother never yelled at me and never uttered a single word of profanity during the entire process.

Throughout the pushing, I was receiving and sending texts to your grandmother, Justine and Cindy, who were all dying to find out what was going on. I also managed to update my Facebook and Twitter accounts throughout the morning and set up a system by which I could work on my novel between contractions.  I would slide across the room on an office chair, first to Mommy when the machine declared that it was time to push, and then back to my work when there was a lull in the action.

I was actually quite productive. 

When the vacuum was brought into play, the room filled with about eight doctors and nurses. At one point, a nurse asked me to hold your mom's leg, which I had been doing all morning. Catherine said, "Not him. He doesn't get off of that stool."  Though I didn't feel queasy or weak in the knees, she saw something in me that indicated otherwise. Later I was sent out of the room to "Drink some juice."

When the decision was made to extract you via c-section, things got fast and furious and I left your mom for the first time today in order to don a pair of scrubs while she was rolled into the operating room and prepped. It was at this time that I was forced to remove my Superman tee-shirt, which had been specifically chosen for the event. I wanted your first glimpses of me to be reminiscent of the man of steel.

The best laid plans of mice and men.

When I entered the OR, the doctors were already working on your mother, and I inadvertently caught a view of her before I was ushered to a stool behind the screen and told not to move.

I almost didn't make it. 

I had no idea what a cesarean section entailed, nor do I ever want to see it again.

Sitting beside your mom's head and three anesthesiologists who were busy at work injecting Mommy with more medicine than I could have ever imagined, I listened and waited with her. It took about fifteen minutes before I heard your first cries and one of the doctors leaned over the screen and said, "Here it comes.  Do you want to know if it's a boy or a girl?"

"Yes," we said in unison.

"It looks like… a girl," he said, and immediately thereafter, the docs behind the screen began asserting the same. We began crying while we listened to your cry and caught our first glimpses of you as a nurse was preparing to weigh you. A couple minutes later, after managing a 9/9 on your apgar scores (I was hoping for perfect tens), you were handed to me, the first time I have ever held an infant without the protection of a sofa and many cushions.

You were simply beautiful.

Because of the position that Mommy was still in, she wasn't able to see you well until Catherine finally took you from my nervous arms, flipped you upside down like a football, and held your face to hers.

I'll never forget this moment.

Your mom was forced to remain on the table, arms outstretched and pinned, for more than an hour while the doctors stitched her up. She began to go a little stir crazy for a while, unable to move and shivering uncontrollably, and we tried to calm her by massaging her shoulders and rubbing her arms.

That's the thing about a c-section: Getting the baby out is a piece of cake.  Putting the woman back together is akin to Humpty Dumpty and all the King's men.  No one tells you that it's going to take more than an hour, and I was hungry.  I just wanted to leave and eat a chicken sandwich. 

Eventually the surgery ended, and you were finally handed to Mommy. The two of you were rolled into Recovery while I had the pleasure of telling your grandparents, Aunty Emily, and soon-to-be Uncle Michael all about you. There were many tears. Your grandfather laughed, your grandmother cried, and in keeping with her character, Emily was indignant over her inability to see you and her sister immediately.

She's one demanding babe.

I eventually got my chicken sandwich, but not before briefly fainting on my walk down to Friendly's restaurant on the first floor.  I hadn't eaten in quite a while, and I hadn't slept much at all, so the combination of the two, plus the stress of the morning, sent me toppling over.  Nurses rushed over to see what had happened, and as they helped me up, I cried, "I'm just so hungry.  I just want to sit and eat something."

It was a delicious chicken sandwich.  One of the best of my life.

It's almost 9:00 PM, and we are now sitting in our room, resting and chatting. You are asleep and have been for the past few hours. I must leave soon in order to go home so that I can teach tomorrow and use my time off when you and your mom are at home. My students will be thrilled to see your photos and hear all about you.

For your mother, the three plus hours of pushing were her greatest challenge of the day. For me, the greatest challenge will be leaving this room tonight and not taking you with me. I want nothing more than to hold you in my arms for the next week.

We love you so much, little one. Welcome to the world.

Gratitude journal: Andy Mayo

Tonight I am grateful to Andy Mayo, the person who initially conceived of The Clowns, the rock opera for which I subsequently wrote the book.  While I have enjoyed the writing process immensely and am proud of the work that we have produced, none of this would have ever happened without Andy.

Though the plot and characters have changed significantly since his original conception, Andy was the one who gave the project structure and backbone.  He handed me the vessel into which I poured my words. 

And that was just the beginning. 

He wrote and recorded the music, initially singing all the parts himself until managing to assemble a stable of signers to fill the parts.

He forged a relationship with The Playhouse on Park, and he was the driving force behind getting our read-through produced. 

He assembled and rehearsed the band. 

He designed the posters, post cards and other promotional material for the read through.

He filled many of the seats during our two performances. 

I'm sure he did things that I am not even aware of. 

For my part, I changed the story a bit, created a new protagonist, fleshed out his original vision of the characters, wrote the dialogue, and apparently changed the show from a drama to a comedy in the process. 

But that's about it. 

Andy was the person who made things happen. 

Andy was the one who moved this project from imagination to action.

Tonight we met with the producers of the playhouse in order to receive feedback from the read-through and discuss the next stages of the project.  At one point, Andy requested a deadline from the producers, citing his inability to get me to work without one.

In that moment, I realized that Andy has not only been managing this project, but in many ways, he has been managing me as well.  Keenly aware of my limited free time and multitude of projects on my plate (including teaching his daughter), he has somehow found a way to keep me focused and invested in this project when other things could have easily pulled me away.

I probably haven't make things easy for Andy, and yet through it all, he has been positive, energetic, enthusiastic and the consummate partner. 

The man has great passion for this project, and I am so grateful to have him on my team. 

Or more appropriately, I am so grateful to be on his team.

Sick of your date asking to split a dessert? I have the solution that will change your life forever. Seriously.

It's a truth universally known that no man actually wants to share a dessert with his date. 

When it comes time to order dessert, it is quite common for a woman to suggest that the couple split a dessert. 

My wife does this all the time.  And I agree to the arrangement, as do most men, even though in our heart of hearts, we are screaming, "I want my own dessert, damn it!  Get your own slice of pie and keep your mitts off mine!"

When it comes to ordering dessert, women are their mothers and men are the six-year old versions of themselves.

But now I have a solution, and it shames me to think that it's taken this long to figure this out:

If the lady asks to split a dessert, happily agree to the division and then order a dessert of your own as well. 

It's perfect. 

The six-year old inside a man's body gets his own dessert plus a half of another while the lady's request is adequately granted as well.

It's actually a better scenario than if both parties simply ordered their own dessert.

In fact, it's not even a solution to the problem.

It's an upgrade on life. 

It was a girl!

Today is my daughter's third birthday.

In my continued series of posts from Greetings Little One leading up to today,the first post written after my daughter was born, from inside the delivery room:

______________________________________________

Greetings Little One

Welcome to the world, Clara Susan. I have so much to tell you about today, but for starters, you were born at 11:49 AM this morning via unplanned cesarean section. You're a big girl: 8 pounds and 21 inches long.

Much to share about today's adventure, but I'll tell that story later tonight.

Kind of surprised that I used the phrase damn it in a letter to my soon-to-be-born daughter

Today is my daughter's third birthday. 

In my continued series of posts from Greetings Little One leading up to today, the last post written before my daughter was born, from inside the delivery room:

______________________________________________

It's time

This will be the last post before you are born, little one. Mommy is fully dilated and getting ready to push. Soon we will meet and our lives will never be the same. Our family of two will suddenly become three, and with this new addition, many, many things will change.

Mommy and I have talked about how much we love our life as it's presently constituted and how much of that life may change with a baby. At times, the thoughts of these changes have scared us. We love our lives, damn it, and we want much of it to remain the same. But it's okay. Though we intend on retaining as much of our previous life as possible, we are just as excited about the new adventures that you will bring.

It's remarkable to think about how quickly things are about change. Last night Mommy and I were eating roast beef sandwiches and watching Battlestar Galactica, our last supper as childless parents. Now we are minutes away from meeting you for the first time.

Our journey together is about to begin.

Thank goodness for hospital Wi-Fi.

Gratitude journal: A ticket and a kaleidoscope

I forgot to write a gratitude journal last night, so this post will include things from yesterday and today.

Yesterday, I was grateful for my Patriots season ticket, which I hung around my neck as I emptied my rental car and returned it to Enterprise. The woman at the counter saw the ticket dangling from its plastic sheath and asked if I had attended the game on Sunday.

Five minutes later she told me that she was giving me a 25% discount on the cost of the rental. 

"Patriots fans need to stick together," she explained. 

I was then driven to Pep Boys by another Enterprise employee who was also a Patriots fan. We talked about the game for the entire ride.

When I arrived at Pep Boys, I was met by the manager who I had been coordinating my repairs for the past several days. The job was two days overdue, and he knew that the delay had been forced to rent the car in order to attend the Patriots game on Sunday.  He is also a Patriots fan, and after chatting with him about the game for fifteen minutes, he reduced my $2,300 head gasket repair bill by more than $400.

When his boss asked him about the reason for such a large discount, he said, "Customer satisfaction. And he's a Patriots fan."

Season tickets aren't cheap, but they saved me a lot of money yesterday.

Tonight I am grateful for my daughter's love of her kaleidoscope. 

Clara listens to recorded books, uses an iPhone and iPad with surprising ease and even pounds away on our keyboards from time to time, but she is still mesmerized by something as simple as a kaleidoscope.

A good reminder of the simple pleasures of life.