I Only Hope We Get Free Tickets

A professional entertainer attempted some audience participation with Thumper and may have regretted the decision. His exact words to me were, "He's going to have his own show before long!"

We've gone to live children's music shows before, most notably the live summer shows at Symphony Square which I have mentioned here and here, and we've also gone to a couple of Sunday morning free kids' shows at Ruta Maya, including one by a very nice stay-at-home mom named Sarah Dinan who invited me to join her play group once upon a time, though that play group eventually turned me down. Thumper has enjoyed all of these shows except for the last one at Ruta Maya, known as Mr. Leebot, billed as Devo for kids. We walked in the door and Thumper declared it "too loud," saying that it "made his belly hurt." So we haven't been back to Ruta Maya since. Though he's enjoyed most of the shows, he's been suspicious of attempts to get him to dance, or to sing along, or clap in time.

But today we checked out ScottyRoo and Christini at the Cherrywood Coffeehouse. It was a very small, informal, intimate performance that seemed heavily ad-libbed. There were perhaps half a dozen families with kids from one to four years old. What I really enjoyed about the show, despite the really bad pre-schooler-targeted stand-up comedy and puppet bits between songs, was that it was the first time Thumper actually participated in audience-participation moments. When they asked if anyone were afraid of bees or bugs that bite or sting before "Baby Bumble Bee," he raised his hand. He sang along in a couple of places, he jumped in front of his chair during "Pet Kangaroo." The more he warmed to ScottyRoo, the chattier and more outgoing he got until he finally was standing in front of ScottyRoo's keyboard holding a full conversation, oblivious to the audience behind him. He told ScottyRoo his full name and age, he asked if ScottyRoo were afraid of dragons or triceratops and advised him he need not be afraid of baby triceratops because they come from eggs and are tiny. Some of the time, ScottyRoo had no idea what he was talking about, as when he asked if ScottyRoo liked Despicable Me, the movie we were going to see after the show. ScottyRoo said, "Spooky what? Is that a TV show? I probably wouldn't like it if it's spooky. I get scared easily."

ScottyRoo had been playing an extended musical interlude on his keyboard throughout this exchange then looked at me and said, "He's going to have his own show before long!" I took this as a cry for help. I wondered if maybe I should've intervened sooner, but I figured if ScottyRoo didn't want his show hijacked by a three-year-old, maybe he shouldn't engage them in conversation like that. It was time for us to leave to make it to our movie on time, so we exited stage right while ScottyRoo sang about his friend Thumper who likes dragons and triceratops.

I'm in Therapy...

...and Thumper is just not happy about it. My broken finger is healing well, but when the orthopedic specialist held it and asked me to wiggle the tip and I couldn't generate so much as a twitch, she said, "You need to be in physical therapy. Now. Tomorrow."

I was unconvinced about the wisdom of beginning a plan of treatment that involved somebody forcibly bending my finger when the bone is still in pieces, but now that I've been to two PT sessions, I understand that the injury itself wasn't the biggest hurdle on my way to recovery; instead it's the tendons and ligaments that have tightened up during the three weeks that my fourth and fifth fingers were immobilized in a splint. Maybe y'all already knew this, but it's stunning to me. Three weeks without moving it, and it's as if it were an intricately detailed wooden carving of a finger.

I strain to bend it until the muscles in my forearm ache and the rest of my fingers are trembling from the effort, and nothing happens. I stare at it and try to bend it with my mind like a spoon in a magic trick, and it just sits there. I try to type because my physical therapist says that's an excellent exercise for it, and it hovers above the keyboard. If so short a period of immobility has turned my tendons into stone, how is it possible that anyone who has been bed-ridden for any length of time ever manages to get up and walk again?

I took Thumper with me on Monday morning, and he colored in his coloring book and chatted with several therapists and patients as they went through their exercises. To keep him from getting scared or upset, I tried hard not to show pain on my face or in my voice as my therapist forced my finger to bend. As she was working on my hand, I asked her about toe walking, something Thumper does when he's barefoot around the house. Our pediatrician has been concerned for as long as Thumper's been walking, but I've ignored his concerns because it was something he mostly did when he was nervous, like during doctor visits. Recently, it's seemed like he might be doing it more, so I brought it up with my physical therapist. She called over another therapist who works with children more, and he had a couple of suggestions, including putting swim fins on him at home to force him to heel strike when he walks. The more we talked about it, the darker the cloud over Thumper's head became and the less he had to say. Finally I asked him if he was mad, and he said, "Yes, because I don't want physical therapy!" None of what we talked about involved him getting PT, but he made the leap in his mind and decided getting PT was definitely a bad thing, even though I wasn't writhing in pain, nor was anyone else in the office that day.

So when I told him last night that we would be going to physical therapy again today (our second PT appointment), he said, "Are you going a million times? I'm going to do something fun with Mama when you go."

At 3 times per week, it's going to be a long four weeks...

A Blog Header Retrospective

I've had a lot of fun over the years creating new blog headers in Photoshop. I haven't done a great job documenting where I found each of the Photoshop brushes that I've used, and I've barely documented the fonts at all. I'm sorry. If I used something of yours and didn't credit you, let me know. I take no credit for any of the brushes or fonts, only the photos of my kid and his toys.

JUNE 2008, By Beth of Be Design.


JULY 2008, I used Mythology Vol. I by Centric Studios, and Crack Brushes II by hawksmont, both found on brusheezy.com.


AUGUST 2008, ED01 brush set by KaliJean on PSBrushes.net


SEPTEMBER 2008, v. 1, Dumpster Brushes by Dubtastic Design Labs and Physiology Brushes by Centric Studios, both of which I found on Brusheezy.com. "Astigma" font by Mike Doughty at Mike's Sketchpad.


SEPTEMBER 2008, v. 2, A still from the video for Justin Roberts' "Willy Was a Whale."


SEPTEMBER 2008, v. 3, ED02 brush set by KaliJean on PSBrushes.net


SEPTEMBER 2008, v. 4, I'm sorry I can't attribute the photos better. I think I got them off of a stock photo site, but I can't remember. It was inspired by "White Winter Hymnal" by Fleet Foxes. Here is the blog post that references it.


OCTOBER 2008, Keren's Abstract Brushes Vol. 1, and her Flies as well


NOVEMBER 2008, I lost the attribution info on this one. I still have the zip file, and the brush is called 07_hires_tree_brushes.


DECEMBER 2008, I think this one cam from flina


JANUARY 2009, Cafeina brushes by: archnophobia; Robots and Wires brushes by: Dex Multimedia


APRIL 2009


JUNE 2009


JULY 2009


SEPTEMBER 2009, Frame Brushes by alteredteddybear


NOVEMBER 2009, Splatter Brushes by FlowGraphic.com


JANUARY 2010, Ultimate Brush Pack by axeraider70


MAY 2010, DJ Brushes from brushforphotoshop.com


NOVEMBER 2010


DECEMBER 2010, Street Soul font by Endie

A Name to Strike Fear in the Hearts of Evildoers

On December 8, I broke my little finger. The urgent care clinic took three x-rays, taped my pinky to my ring finger, and advised me to see an orthopedic specialist the following week. On December 13, the orthopedic specialist repositioned the finger, splinted it, took 3 more x-rays in the process, and told me to come back in a week to verify that it hadn't moved. On December 19, I became convinced that I had pneumonia (again), and returned to the urgent care clinic, where they gave me two chest x-rays and confirmed my suspicions. Today, I returned to the orthopedic specialist, who took three more x-rays of my hand, was unsatisfied because of an obstructed view, and took two more.

So that's thirteen x-rays in twelve days. When I mutate into a superhero from all of the radiation, I shall call myself Iron Lung.

I'm not sure how this works. Does bronchitis left untreated become pneumonia? Would you Google that for me? Or are pneumonia and bronchitis separate and unrelated conditions? I suspected a couple of weeks ago that I might be developing either bronchitis or pneumonia. I had a little pain in the right side of my chest, but nothing terribly alarming. I remember telling my Primary Care Physician once that I had heard that untreated bronchitis will not resolve on its own, and he told me that wasn't true, that it may or may not. So I thought this time I'd wait and see what happens. I ran a couple of 5Ks in the meantime, which, I reasoned, I'd never be able to do with a serious respiratory condition. The pain improved, in retrospect largely because of the Vicodin I was taking for the broken finger, so I thought I was on the mend. When I stopped taking the Vicodin, the chest pain returned, along with an alarming spot of blood, prompting me to seek, at long last, medical attention.

The problem with having a wonky pair of lungs is, you never know when it's regular wonky or serious wonky. Even with pneumonia confirmed by chest x-rays, I don't feel that much different than I do on any given Monday evening.

I Give You: The Finger

I broke the little finger on my left hand today, and I'm just giddy about it. It makes me inordinately happy. I know; it makes no sense. It's the second broken bone of my life. I have 2 older brothers who were both Emergency Room regulars, but it took me until I was in my 30's to break my first bone, and that was a tiny little bone in my right wrist that I broke falling down on my bike. This doubles my total count, which is a stupid, macho thing to be happy about, but I just am. There, I said it.

Also, I'm just kind of amazed at the low pain level, which is another stupid, macho thing to be proud of, but there it is. I was riding my scooter, chasing after the boy on his bike on the way back home from getting the mail. I hit a chasm in the sidewalk and watched myself fall in slow motion, almost sure I could recover right up until the moment my glasses went flying and I felt skin on my left hand and knee come off. I stood up, picked up the strewn envelopes, and noticed that the little finger on my left hand was pointing upward at an alarmingly unnatural angle.

I put my glasses back on and thought, "I dislocated my finger. I should straighten it out before it starts to hurt." So I pulled it out and down. It looked better, but was still pointing up and to the left a bit, so I tried again. It still wasn't straight, so I thought, "I should go see a doctor to straighten it out before I make it worse."

Thumper must have heard me fall. He turned back, and seeing me lying in the gutter, yelled, "Daddy!" I told him I was OK, but I had a boo boo. He asked me if I was going to see a dentist. I told him I'd go see a doctor. He said, "OK. We'll eat dinner first."

So we went home, and I called Aerie, who had been planning on working late but rushed home so that I could go to the doctor without bringing the boy along with me. Thumper asked me if my boo boo was all better; I said it was not. He suggested that Gummi worms might make it feel better.

I took 2 Naproxen and made the boy dinner while I waited for Aerie to get home. I began to believe it might be broken, since it appeared to bend at a spot that was not a joint. But it didn't hurt enough to be broken.

So I went to the Urgent Care clinic, and the receptionist filled out my paperwork for me since I'm left-handed. The doctor came in and said, "Let me guess: what did you punch?" I told him my story, and he told me the x-ray tech would be in to see me in a minute. I had 3 x-rays taken, which only hurt a little when the x-ray tech and his trainee wanted a shot from the side, with my hand resting on the injured finger. I asked the tech if it was broken, and he said, "Only the doctor can diagnose. Do you want to see it?" This is the shot I looked at:



Not seeing the straight line across the bone that I expected to see, I said, "Oh, I guess I just dislocated it after all." The tech said, "Only the doctor can diagnose; he'll be in in a minute."

I sat in the exam room for a few minutes until the doctor knocked and entered, declaring, "You broke the crap out of it!" He pointed at the x-ray and said, "It's a mess. You broke it here, and here, and here..." He wrapped it up to the 4th finger and gave me a Vicodin prescription "So you won't be cursing my name at midnight tonight" and told me to see an orthopedic hand specialist in a week or so.

Later, the x-ray tech walked me out to unlock the door since I'd stayed past closing time. I said, "So you must've had a laugh when I said I'd only dislocated it." He said, "Yeah, I told the doctor what you said. We all thought it was pretty funny. I can't say anything, though."

So there you go. I busted my finger in multiple places, and it didn't really hurt much. I'm a man, baby! Yeah!

Warrior Dash

I signed up for Longhorn Run last May to motivate myself to work out harder, thinking I had little chance of actually completing it, or at least completing it without walking some part of the course. I surprised myself by succeeding, and of course, I immediately stopped working out and lost most of my fitness and endurance.

So I signed up for Warrior Dash to motivate myself to work out harder. I seriously underestimated how tough it would be, though. I thought, "It's just a 5K; I've already done a 10K. How hard could it be?" and I didn't train nearly as hard for this one as I did for the Longhorn Run.

Here I am approaching the finish, trying to look like I still have some spring in my step, but I was seriously dragging:



The difference was the terrain and the obstacles. Somehow I'd convinced myself that there were only 3 or 4 obstacles, and that they were mostly for entertainment value, since the event seems largely about the silly costumes many participants wear and the beer and turkey legs to be had on the other side of the finish line. It turns out that some of those obstacles, like high-stepping through a field of tires and climbing a pyramid of hay bales and scaling cargo nets, were downright tough. There weren't any long hills, but there were lots of little ones, as well as some slick, steep creek beds to navigate.

I trained mostly by running on the treadmill, with some weights thrown in here and there and an occasional outdoor run. My running strategy has been to find a nice, steady, sustainable pace and focus on my breathing. On this course, though, with all of the up-and-down, and the broken ground, and the 11 obstacles interspersed throughout, I couldn't find my pace. I couldn't steady my breathing. I was winded all the way and did much more walking than I anticipated.

My oldest brother ran the course with me. He said that he's never been much of a runner, preferring biking and softball. When I talked about running a 35-minute 5K, he acted like I was nuts if I thought he was going to be able to keep up with a pace like that. But throughout the course, he was well ahead of me, and while he got winded here and there, I think most of the time he spent walking was for my benefit. Here he is waiting for me to finish the third-to-last obstacle:



In the end, I wasn't as proud of my performance (though at the time I'm writing this, official results have not yet been released) as I was after the Longhorn Run. But I feel more motivated moving forward than I did then. Both of my brothers, several friends, and Aerie are all talking about running another one in the Dallas area in April, and there is no doubt in my mind that I'm going to have to step up my training significantly over the next 5 months if I'm going to be proud of myself when I stagger up out of the mud the next time.



The other great thing about Warrior Dash was the after party. Thumper had a blast. He and his cousin danced their butts off and charmed all of the ladies within a 50-foot radius. They did the Cupid Shuffle:



And the Macarena:



And, uh, whatever this is:



And with everyone else showing off their bodies:



He just couldn't resist showing off a little himself:



I'm not sure what was up with the shoes, though:

Bro-Bonding

I should be blogging about Warrior Dash, a 3.2-mile obstacle course I ran today with my oldest brother. My older brother was going to run with us, too, but at the time we registered, a huge uncertainty in his family's life prevented him from committing, and so, the uncertainty resolved, he was only able to stand at the finish line and cheer us on. It was a fabulous time, and I'll tell the thrilling tale soon, but what I wanted to say instead was that I'm glad for my family, and glad for brothers who enjoy each others' company, and good conversation, and periodically forging anew those old connections that we take for granted and getting to know anew people we think we know, though it's been so long since we've seen or really talked to them. I love my family, despite and because of all its foibles. I'm getting all sentimental and sappy, so I'm going to sing some Tim Michin. I know, I already posted this song; I just really like it. And it says something about family that I really want to be true for Thumper, no matter how nutty his relatives may be:

"And you, my baby girl,
My jet-lagged infant daughter,
You'll be handed 'round the room
Like a puppy at a primary school,
And you won't understand,
But you will learn some day
That wherever you are and whatever you face
These are the people
Who'll make you feel safe in this world,
My sweet blue-eyed girl.

And if, my baby girl,
When you're twenty-one or thirty-one
And Christmas comes around,
And you find yourself 9000 miles from home,
You’ll know whatever comes,
Your brothers and sisters and me and your mum
Will be waiting for you in the sun.
Whenever you come,
Your brothers and sisters,
Your aunts and your uncles,
Your grandparents, cousins,
And me and your mum.
Will be waiting for you in the sun,
Drinking white wine in the sun."