It's New Year's Eve.

The economy sucks. Job security means job insecurity. Money sucks. We have lots of questions about our future. We have lots of questions about our ability to be really good parents during these times. We question our marriage. We question our choice to live warmly down here and not up there. We spend much of our time in a state of limbo, I'm afraid to admit, because we don't have a direction to head towards. When we are struggling to stay afloat, it is hard to enjoy the things that make us unique, loving, sharing people. And that can take a toll, don't you think?

Blah blah blah

Here's what I’d like to do. Or maybe, more accurately, here's what I've been saying I'm going to do for the last four New Year's... I really do believe that by bumping up my lifestyle a notch, by developing these "simple" steps in my life, that these will make a difference:

1. Eat Better & Drink Less
2. Return to Church
3. Vitamin C, a strong combo of B-Vitamins and St. Johns Wort
4. Inventory our Finances and Develop a Budget
5. Exercise 1 hour every day

By "making a difference," what I mean, is that I really do believe that these 5 steps will make me feel better, sleep better, and open doors. I'm like really close to becoming that grumpy old man with a rake in my hand that yells at cars to slow down. Although, I will never own black knee socks.

But what do I really want for 2009?

1. To hold hands and to make out more
2. That Matthew will learn to change his own diaper before he learns to walk
3. That David will stop randomly dialing our cell phones and saying Hi Poopiebutt and hey, look at my peepee!
4. That Josh will actually call me back before my thirteenth voicemail.
5. And to actually grow grass in the backyard

But sincerely?

1. That Michele remains in love with me for another 365 days. (and nights?)
2. That my Mom and my Dad will stay healthy for another year
3. That I'll be able to see Josh more next year
4. That David and Matthew will still be breathing every time I check on them when I say Goodnight
5. That the shop can hold on and I won't lose my job next year
6. And as crazy as this sounds from me, that I will be able to "hear each morning, the Lord's loving Kindness and He will show me the way in which to walk, for in Him I have entrusted my soul, and my family's soul."

I know there are so many more things that deserve to be on each of these lists.

I hope and believe somehow, that 2009 might be a year that we are able to address the things that are important to each of us and we are able to share them with those that matter, and the results will be something better for us all.

Hey -It's New Year's Eve, Cheers!

And Slow Down!

The Sunday Afternoon Baseball Strut

I watched Josh play ball today.

Time flies. I am a bad Dad. If I don't inadvertently drive through Binghamton, NY then I live 1253 miles from my son. I haven't seen Josh play in over two years. It doesn't feel like it's been that long, but sorry as I am as a human being, that's the case.


My father played baseball, and loved it. I played baseball, and loved it. Josh plays ball, and he loves to play. There is really no connection there, except maybe some transcendental thing that I don't understand, nor do I know how to explain it, except that for some reason it feels like it matters. Or I want it to matter. Whatever.

I watched Josh play ball today.

Josh has this "strut."



Josh has this thing I can only describe as a baseball "strut," like he belongs on the ballfield. It's not cocky. It's not like he's walking on his toes. It's a baseball thing. He simply could just be leaning on the fence talking with teammates and he looks like whatever he is saying, it is something that's best kept in the dugout, or in the bullpen, and you shouldn't interrupt.

Don't get me wrong - without cleats on, Josh is a goof. He's lanky, he looks asleep in nearly every photo I take of him and has a really poor, probably inherited, sense of humor. He thinks he's a sixteen year old ladies man with patches of chin hair. I must admit though, that he does grow nice sideburns and probably got the sleepy eyelashes from his mother, but not in a feminine sort of way.





Oh he's gonna love that close-up!



He really does have some sort of a "Baseball Strut." He looks comfortable, like it's almost cocky, but not quite. He stands up tall. Playing ball is his thing. And it shows. It makes a Dad proud. That's a pretty cool feeling for a Dad to have. Especially for this bad Dad.

Josh started playing baseball doing the T-ball and Little League thing. He was a skinny kid with skinny chicken legs. He said wearing a cup hurt his legs; so even though he always brought the cup, he never wore it. His Mom tells a story, much better than me, about his first year in baseball, and playing centerfield. Skinny kid, skinny chicken legs, no cup. He must've been seven, but looked like five and a half with his big ol' eyeballs and skinny chicken legs. Suddenly, she says, in the middle of the inning from center field he yells out, "Time Out! I need to get my cup!" I kind of picture everything going silent here.

"I need to go pee, and I need to get my cup!" Imagine the silence now.

Poor kid - thought a "cup" was a "cup" you wore to go pee in during a game, so you wouldn't have to leave the game! Oh boy. And how can you blame him? Kind of makes sense when you put it that way, doesn't it? Secretly, I hope Josh does make it to the big leagues someday, just so his Mom can tell that story to ESPN.

Josh comes from a family that has supported and encouraged him. I believe that their support and their encouragement has given him the structure to realize what is important to him. I believe that their structure and the focus on his sports has kept Josh a good kid. It can’t be easy for them and it must be tougher the older he gets.



When he walked out to that mound today, he had his "strut" going on. I remember seeing this "strut" at about nine years old. He owns that mound. He knows that field. He acts like he knows what he is going to throw 3 pitches from now, maybe even 3 batters from now. But it is natural. He is comfortable. He is walking with confidence. He belongs there. He is standing up tall. Three pitches into his first batter, another Father commented, "He has great velocity." Makes a particular Dad proud hearing that. The lead-off batter put up a good fight, a few foul balls, and full count. Josh missed an inside corner and even though a pitching coach yelled, "Good spot, that's where you want to be all day," he walked him. Next batter popped out with a weak pop-up to first, maybe even foul. One out. Another father said something about Josh's fastball getting to the mitt in a hurry - then Josh mixed us all up with an off speed pitch that surprised us all. To accentuate the point he followed up with another off-speed pitch that had the batter so baffled he was still swinging when the ump was done yelling, "Strike Three!" With two outs and a runner held on first, Josh ended the inning with an authoritative pitch that resulted in a blooper pop-out to third. Nothing goofy about his "strut" off the mound. Not even a smile. Business as usual is the way it looked.

I have a baseball story from when I was younger than Josh, maybe twelve. It was a close game and I got thrown out trying for third. My Dad erupts from the stands from behind home plate. I get to the dug out and sit down. I'm bummed I didn't make it to third, but already thinking about what we needed next. Something doesn't seem right, it's kind of quiet - a little too quiet, and I see the home plate umpire, a 70-something year old man we call Miranda, taking off his shin guards and throwing them up over the backstop - at my father - telling him to ump his own damn game, and I see Miranda silently and slowly like slow motion, walking down the third base line, out through left field, getting into his car and driving away...

I watched Josh play ball today. I wonder if my Dad ever had the pride and the butterflies I had today. I wonder what Josh thinks when I watch him play.

I should probably go tell him.

Christmas Magic

It's all a blurr.

I had to double check the calendar and see what the date is today. I can't believe I haven't kept track of every teeny-tiny detail of this Holiday to share with you ad nauseum.

Big highlights:

Josh is Here. That is huge. Nana is Here. David is Four. Being Four at Christmas is pretty cool, not only for him, but for everyone watching him experience the magic of Christmas.

Nana baked and Nana baked. We love this woman.

Christmas Eve with Friends. Christmas Dinner shared with Friends. Michele's slowly cooked ham, then grilled with fresh pineapple.

Josh goes to Baseball Camp. He's excited. Though, it's strange for this father to drop him off at a motel for 5 days. Is it okay to say I miss him? He's like, "Geez, Dad, you are worse than my mother..."

The weather is phenominal. We got in a Christmas Beach Jam and a Day-After-Christmas Beach Jam.

A quick couple of beers with friends at The Milltop Tavern in St. Augustine - and trying not to take the view for granted. Absolutely beautiful view in a beautifully historical way.

Dinner last night, sitting on the patio out back, steaks on the grill, skewered shrimp. Is this really December?

...wishing today wasn't Sunday!

Feeling Blog Pressure

I am feeling pressure. My sister's blog is funny and witty and even includes amazing photos. Each day, I check it out and I get blog envy. How in the world can she post a blog nearly every day with a house full of kids and a yard full of farm animals that fill the yard (and the neighbor's yard) with farm animal poop? I feel like I'm being pulled in all these directions and I can't concentrate. I don't even have farm animals.

I was going to whine and complain and pretty much vent about how how crappy things feel right now - and then I peeked in on David.

Poor kid is sound asleep upside down in his bed. Looks like he’s going to need braces someday with that big, ol' cute, snoring mouth of his. He's not snoring loud; no, it's more of a rattling breeze, like it's making the blinds move, kind of sound. It's the kind of sound that you put your hand to your heart and whisper "Precious" right out loud like the angels can hear you, and then you realize how queer that sounds and you belch and scratch your butt to become manly again. David's in these baby blue airplane pajamas that Mom got him when he was probably, One, but he still wears them 3 years later. They are paper thin and missing the hem and stuffed way up his armpits and his buttcrack. I look at his face, and his little face looks like he's seven years old and then I look at his pajamas and I wonder if he's going to need meds when he's actually seven years old. Poor kid is so fricken innocent looking, and precious. He has these amazingly beautiful eyelashes. He took a bath tonight, so now his bedhead is sticking up all over the place. He actually believed me when I asked him last week if he ever saw the Cow that comes through his window each night and licks the top of his head while he is sleeping..."You kidding??" He asks it with six "i"s" in the word - he says it like: "You kiiiiiidding?" It's a heart-melter.

And then I checked in on Matthew and he rewrites everything Innocent and Precious. What is it about a sleeping infant? One, Thank the Lord, he is sleeping.

Being Zero is an amazing time. Even though Matthew's going through all this stuff with Osteo, you would never know it. During the day, he's a happy clapper, his eyes light up when you make chicken sounds and he braces for you coming at him with an armpit tickle. He makes this sighing sound and you think if you had a heart attack at that very moment, your life could end, but your life would still have meaning. Matthew can't really crawl, but somehow we keep finding him halfway across the house eating out of Ruby's bowl with a flip flop. He rolls around like a professional and has made it to the Christmas presents so many times that he's chewed and drooled off enough of the nametags that Michele might unwrap the Craftman Socket Set and I will get the Squishy-Wishy-Washy-Caterpiller toy. But looking at him now, asleep, with these big hands and his Mom’s thick Sicilian knees, he really is sweet, and he really is so innocent that you can't help but to forget about the crappy money stuff and the stress stuff and gosh I wish I had more hair and less buddha belly stuff.

And then I glance over at Michele. Sound asleep, snoring like a whoopee cushion attached to a ventilator on high. Her lip must be dry and it’s stuck, curled up on a top tooth like she’s a snarling rabid badger. She’s in flannel pajamas with kitty cats all over them. The pillow gave her a big ol red wrinkle across her forehead and down her cheek. It looks like a scar from a horrific knife fight. One eye is halfway open, but only like a slit, so I wonder if she’s actually watching me and pretending to be asleep. I pull my pants down and jiggle all silly like, and I do that dance where I shake my shoulders that she hates so much, but nothing, she didn’t even roll her good eye. Oh wait, same reaction when she is awake and I pull my pants down. But you know what’s strange – she still Glows. She is Radiant. There is something pure, something sweet about the feel of her skin, the color of her skin. She warms me. Just looking at her warms me. Does that make sense?

And then I realize it’s after midnight and I belch and I scratch and I go out and post a really ridiculous blog that thankfully does not include any pictures.

My Sunday Morning Kayak Story

So here is my Sunday Morning Kayak Story:

I decided to try and launch from the beach into the surf today. Normally I paddle on the Intracoastal Waterway or amidst creeks and marshes, but this morning I hoped to paddle alongside some dolphins.

I was nervous. It looked calm outside the breakers, but the sets were pretty close together and then there'd be a small set; timing would be everything. I should be able to break through in seconds.

I got in and immediately got stuck in the wet sand. I missed my timing.

Once I got going, the books say "Paddle hard, lean forward into the waves and don't stop paddling til you are further out than you think you need to be." So I paddled hard, leaned forward, yelled the F-word about a hundred and fifty times and took what seemed like twenty minutes to get through the crashing waves. Waves crashed on my kayak, waves crashed on my head and I'm sure everyone in their condos was wondering who in the world was yelling "F-this" Holy-F" "Holy F-ing Sh-!" on such a beautiful morning. I paddled and I paddled and I swore and I swore and I got that feeling that I was paddling in wet cement. Every muscle was burning and I wanted to throw up. I was trying as hard as I could and was not going anywhere and the waves kept coming and coming; I'd get my boat lined up but didn't seem to move forward an inch.

My kayak was full of water. Call me an idiot, a rookie, a stupid fool, but I did not wear a skirt because a book I read says "it gets too hot in FL to wear a skirt" and like a rookie idiot stupid fool, I thought I'd ride OVER the waves and get to the other side...But in reality, I am belly button deep in water and trying to paddle a two-ton barge. Thank God I was still afloat and could aim into the waves.

So I spent 20 minutes or so pumping out my kayak. My arms were like jelly. Once I stopped pumping, I spent the next twenty minutes trying not to throw up. I was so nauseous I actually wanted to throw up, but like I said, I did not have my skirt on and I wasn't about to lean over far enough to vomit over my boat. Thankfully I did not vomit and thankfully my kayak did not fill up with the stinging jellyfish that were washing up on the shore by the hundreds.

So I rested. Big waves rolled under me, my shaking stopped and I got my courage back. No need to call the Coast Guard. I turned around and began paddling back. F-the dolphins.

With the rolling waves, I enjoyed approximately 2.5 seconds of enjoyment. 2.5 seconds of "Wow, this is cool."

At 2.6 seconds, the nose of my kayak dug in deep under water, the wave turned me to the right and I rolled over into the water. Commence the next 150 F-words.

I exited cleanly and I almost smiled at the cleanliness of my exit, except, the kayak was on top of me and I could not surface. I still had my paddle. I did not panic. I waited a sec and then I surfaced. The books say, "Don't EVER get between your boat and shore because a big wave could knock the boat into you and cause serious harm."

I was indeed between the boat and shore and in the split second I surfaced, I was reminded of that. I got hammered by my kayak across my shoulder and head. I think this may have been where I lost my sunglasses. Um, yes, I did swear again. I tell my son - swearing is wrong, don't ever swear; but I might understand him telling me he swore when he had a kayak on his head and there are stinging jellyfish the size of softballs in the water.

No serious harm was caused. My PFD was majorly important and worked perfectly. I was able to conserve energy as I watched my kayak begin its journey, half submerged, towards shore without me in it. At least it was still afloat, at least I still had my paddle and at least I hadn't swallowed too much salt water and I was still capable of saying the F-word repeatedly. Which I continued to do so repeatedly.

I caught up to my kayak and began pumping it out. And pumping it out. It was still too deep to stand and the waves were actually crashing onto me and the kayak, but I got it floating again and we began swimming to shore.

I lost my sunglasses. I lost a towel. I swam with a paddle, a deckbag, and a cover in one hand and pushed the kayak with the other. OMG I was exhausted.

Once I got to shore, I emptied out the kayak again and rested. Man, I did not enjoy this. A surfer came up, asked if I was okay, which I was, and he said he was coming in because the waves were too steep and crashing too strongly. Wow. I would never have guessed.

Seriously, I would never have guessed. As I sat and watched the waves ahead of time, it didn't look that dangerous at all.

Later on in the day, my two-year-old son came running up the beach to me yelling, "Daddy! Daddy!" I bent down to one knee and he gave me this big tight hug with his two-year-old head on my shoulder. I closed my eyes as he hugged me.

That was a pretty special hug.

Sea Kayak for sale. Books not included.

03.2007

Random Monday Catch-up

Nana arrived safe & sound. We realize it must easy getting here, but hard leaving there.

Matthew is doing better - more movement, better reflexes. Blood work done today; lab results tomorrow. Pray for better results than last week! If Matthew disappears, check Nurse Lucy's house. She loves him. Lathered him pretty good in kisses she called, 'sugar.' Although she did say he's only in the 10 percentile (aka: short runt) and then said out loud, "But You have a 'Big ol' Average Head.'" Is that official medical terminology?

Is it acceptable to listen to The Muppets in the truck without a four-year-old in the truck with you?

We passed the nuclear power plant with all this steam billowing out, on the way to the airport and David asked, "Is that where they make clouds?" We thought he was ingenius until he saw a pond and yelled, "Look! Duckses!"

Popeye's Chicken. Al's Pizza. In particular Al's Mediterranean Calzone with green olives. I salivate at just the thought.

I need to blog about food. I am very opinionated and can drool at just the memory of good food. Remind me to tell the Pan Seared Tuna on a Bed of Deep-Fried Spinach and the Chilean Sea Bass with the Green Curry Reduction Story someday... It's a rather long title.

David needed a $5 present to bring to school for his Christmas Party. I found a really cool Spiderman Puzzle and bought it, all proud of myself. As the afternoon wore on, I could feel my stomach perculating, but I couldn't figure out why. I came home all excited about my find, like I just made this big cat action kill, but confessed my concern that something didn't feel right.


Without hesitation, Michele promptly asks, "Did you buy David one? He LOVES puzzles, and he LOVES Spiderman." She didn't even spell out the words and just said them out loud like he couldn't even hear her! I was aghast.

"um, no..." And weakly, "It was the last one." I said it almost like a question.


Seriously, David does - he loves Spiderman and even more so, he's like a Puzzle Freak. He loves puzzles and constantly amazes us with how quick he can finish a puzzle and act like a smug 4-year-old puzzle freak. It's scary. Nana got him this rather frightening puzzle of the human digestive system - you think I'm kidding? - Who would ever think of even making somthing like this up? - And he finished it within a matter of minutes and promptly showed us, proudly mind you, where poop comes from.

"So, why didn't you, you big fat loser of a father, pondscum, lowest germiest bacterially infested cell on earth, keep the Spiderman Puzzle for David, and find something else for the daycare party?" I'm pretty much sure that's the way I heard it.

"eeerrrrr...uuuummmm....dddduuuuhhhh...."

I'm way thinking I'm not having sex this week.

Oh wait, did I mention Nana arrived safe and sound?


I'm pretty much sure I won't be having sex this entire winter.

Matthew's Osteo

Matthew came home tonight. It's been a crazy week.

The Friday after Thanksgiving, I noticed that Matthew wasn't using left leg.

You know how a horse or dog will keep a lame leg pulled up? Matthew was doing that with his leg. He seemed fine - all happy and smiley and hungry and gassy; a typical 8 month old. (A typical 43-year-old a particular wife might say) Except, he wouldn't lower his leg. We tried to straighten it, and wow, no doing. He cried like a little girl scout. We wondered if David jumped on him in the play pen. But there was no swelling, no redness, nothing obvious. The leg wasn't warm and his toes wiggled fine.

X-rays showed no trauma and no broken bones. A blood test came next, and sure enough, his white count was high and we got scared. Signs of an infection. But was it Viral or was it Bacterial? A viral infection, something I had not ever heard of, is like a virus, like strep throat, but it attaches itself to a joint, typically the hip, and is cured by a series of simple antibiotics and Motrin. A bacterial infection in the bone is much more serious. Just ask Mikey - oddly, at this age, he was diagnosed with a bacterial infection in his ankle, Osteomyelitis, and spent 3 months in the hospital. This was like, 30 years ago.

We got sent for another round of labwork, more blood tests, 48 hours later - and what was on the lab form they were testing for? Osteomyelitis. Damn. An MRI was also scheduled for 7am the next morning.

Our pediatrician said it would not only be a coincedence that two people just knowing each other would be something, but the chances of two in the same family having Osteo would be even more so. There is nothing genetic, nothing that connects anything, except just plain dumb luck. Welcome to the Emerson Family, Matthew...

Carl: So was it what you feared it would be?
Dr. Cooper: Yes. It is a bacterial infection in the bone and a bone absess.
Carl: Please tell me things have changed in 30 years?
Dr. Cooper: Nothing has changed in 30 years.
Carl: Um, what? My brother Mikey was in the hospitial for 3 months with Osteo.
Dr. Cooper: Ok, Yes, A lot has changed in 30 years!

We returned to Wolfson's Children Hospital and thought, initially, that we would have to go through another experience at ER to get admitted. Our Monday afternoon ER experience had lasted over 8 hours. We got home at 2am. We couldn't believe it took going thru ER each time to get immediate results and a possible admittance. Dr. Cooper "fiddled" and made about 400 phone calls as she put it, and got us a direct admit. Phew. We were facing surgery either that night, or in the morning. Surgery!

God Bless the Ortho. The Ortho doctor, wanted to avoid surgery on Matthew. Being 8 months old, she hoped to "tap" the infection, develop a culture and try a rigid regiment of antibiotics. The Infectious Disease Doctor (not to be confused with an Infectious Doctor) reluctantly agreed. The culture never did take effect and grow, but the aggressive antibiotics seem to be working - his white count is stabilizing and his responsive movement is returning to his leg.

Matthew has a bacterial infection and absess in his left leg, above and into his knee joint.


By all guesses, guesses mind you, the infection seems to be not IN the bone, but on top of the bone and between the lining of the joint and the bone itself.


This still seems to be pretty serious stuff. NOT as serious as if the infection got into the bone, but we still have a long road ahead. Matthew came home tonight and has a PICC line into his arm. This is like the Daddy Warbucks of IV lines. Matthew will face hour long antibiotic treatments 3 times a day for the next 8 weeks and follow-up appointments twice a week for the next 8 weeks. Nurses will come to our house and take blood twice a week to measure the progress. We spent over 2 hours tonight with a Home Healthcare Nurse learning how not to infect our child even further and training us to provide him the procedures. Wow.

And all this is based on the hopes that the infection has not gotten into the bone - that it's remained on top of the bone and between the lining.

Tonight is the first time I've been home since Friday. With David and school, it's been easier for Michele to sleep at home and get him to school. I've worked when time allowed and am doing my best to juggle both. I have a strong responsibilty for both - this inner struggle must be a guy thing? But mostly, I've gotten to bond with Matthew in an amazing way.

I'll share more later, but it's almost 1am and I feel like my butt's been kicked. I'm wiped. Both Matthew and David have had their schedules totally messed up too. (I think David is dressed for school already and Matthew is just going down for a nap)

Wow it feels good to be home.



12/08/08

Matthew's Arrival

Matthew was born in March this year, and entered the world with a scream and a hole in his lungs. He went through a pretty amazing ordeal and we put one foot in front of the other, experiencing and witnessing an amazing healing.

Now, we are going through a new set of fears - at 8 months old, he's stopped using his left leg and we're trying to figure out why. It could be nothing, it could be something.

These current fears have brought back a lot of emotion I felt during the first weeks of his being born. I have an unorganized series of family updates, and a head full of unorganized memories.

At first, I thought I'd keep this blog from being too personal - I had concerns about using family names and pics in a open forum like this blog. But I'm beginning to think that this blog would be a great way to organize some of the experiences we went through and to keep fresh the amazing miracles that prayer and an helpless child can bring together.



Most of you reading this, know us, and know how humbled were were to be cared for so deeply. From time to time I will add pieces of Matthew's adventure to share. It might be silly or it might be sappy, and or it might even be more personal than I originally intended this blog to be, but it's something I don't want to ever forget. Maybe by being in writing, the small details won't be forgotten.



12.03.08