Building Castles on the Beach

Xander was supposed to be born on December 25, a Christmas miracle. He was almost born on October 10. Instead, he was born on November 15, 2010. It was a long and costly ordeal, but this is the result: He's happy to be here. If you missed it, read part one of this yarn here . The following might make slightly more sense. The doctors told us that it was safer at 34 weeks for the baby to be born than to remain in utero sans amniotic fluid. On Sunday, November 14, sleeping on the hospital couch like I'd done many nights for weeks now, I awoke early to the nurse's administrations as she monitored May and the baby. Xander seemed ready. He was active, practicing his leg extensions or something, and there was still no sign of infection in either mom or baby, so we were told to prepare ourselves. May had been sequestered in a long-term care room, and we had made it our own over the weeks. I had brought dozens of DVDs and books from home. The wide windowsill held a veritab

I had such lofty goals. My Netflix cue was paved with only the best intentions. But, alas, I fear time has run out. When we brought the baby home from the hospital back in December, we set up a feeding station in the nursery. Our comfy glider/rocking chair fit perfectly in the corner between the crib and dresser drawers. We set up a small shelving unit and situated in it the hospital-grade breast pump we rented and a couple of baskets for various feeding accessories. Mostly, though, the baskets ended up storing our Kindles and iPods. This is as good a place as any to mention that May wanted to nurse the baby and began pumping her breast milk as soon as she could after Xander was born. He nursed now and then as he learned to eat during the month he was in the hospital. (See here for the beginning of that story. The rest is still pending.) But when we took him home and were left to our own devices, we worried about his nutrition. He needed calories, and with breast feeding we couldn

This is how my third period class went on Friday. It might only be really funny to another teacher, but I submit it for your approval no matter what you are. Alas, we read the original. Minimal carnage. In my IB (honors) class, all students are required to complete oral assessments, commenting on a passage from certain texts. This time it was Pride and Prejudice . In order to complete this task in one day, they rotate in groups of three from planning time (A) to speaking time (B) to being a recorder (C). In effect, there are six or seven students recording their commentaries into a digital device at the same time. I had previously arranged to use a nearby empty room for the planning stage. So I took the first group (A) down the hall, and the room was locked. The teacher had told me she'd be there, but there she was not. I found out later that the main office called at the end of second period and asked this teacher to cover a gym class. (It happens often that there aren'

A few weeks ago I watched another father carrying his little girl around at church. She couldn't have been more than a month older than Xander. She might have even been Xander's age, just born on time. Anyway, this father was carrying her around like fathers do: football style, superbaby style, underhand seat style. But something was amiss. I couldn't put my finger on it. Xander wasn't with me. We hadn't taken him out much at that point, and we definitely weren't taking him to church. Old people wheezing and sneezing into their gooey handkerchiefs. Toddlers touching every surface in the chapel with their grubby little hands. I exaggerate, but my wife's sister's two kids were perfectly healthy for 18 months, the age when Mormon babies are allowed in the nursery at church while their parents go to Sunday School. Within hours both kids ended up in the hospital with RSV. True story. An old-timey oxygen tank. No shoulder straps. So I watched this other

He's Invincible. You can tell. Note: I originally wrote this as an exercise to show my students about responding to and reviewing a text. I reprint it here with my permission. (Also, check out my other book reviews by hovering over the Shelfari down there.) When I started reading comic books in earnest a few years ago, I decided that the best ones are about new superheroes or characters with no superpowers at all. Robert Kirkman’s Invincible and The Walking Dead , Brian K. Vaughn’s Y the Last Man and Ex Machina, or Bill Willingham's Fables immediately spring to mind. I tried, but I couldn’t really get into the old characters—Spiderman, Batman, Superman—with their story lines that go back fifty-plus years. Even the contemporary issues of these titles have a stale feeling to them, like everything’s been said that can be said. A nd the old comics are difficult enough to read if only for the outdated art and coloring. It’s like watching The Love Boat and recognizing that ho

You could say I've been a science fiction geek from a pretty early age. But growing up, I didn't watch Doctor Who . All I knew about it was a mishmash of sci-fi hokum, cheesy effects, big white-guy afros, and somehow Gary Glitter was mixed up in there, too. I'd seen bits of the show on PBS stations early Saturday mornings or late Friday nights, but it always seemed at least a decade dated and I could only watch for a few moments before losing interest. I remember once distinctly thinking I was watching cable access, like someone was making their own version of Doctor Who in their backyard, when Tom Baker entered the shot and I realized it was the real show. How I knew who Tom Baker was, I don't know. Perhaps my hyper-awareness of the goings-on in pop culture began before I knew it. Perhaps I'm just a giant nerd. Then in 2005 or thereabouts (it might have been 2006 when it started in America), I saw ads that the SciFi channel was going to start broadcasting a

You've been dying to know. It's been stressing you out. You've had bad dreams. The thought of it makes you want to go kick a teacher in the shins. So I present to you...his first time at the cotillion...let's give it up for...Xander's normal belly button! Yay! (Imagine Kermit the Frog here.) If you missed the previous post with the gargantuan outie, read this . It might even be an innie. Time isn't acting at full strength, however. It performed its magic on his tummy region, but his lungs still need some work. If you missed my post about his need for piped in air, read this . He's on 1/16 of a liter of oxygen, which is a tiny amount, but it's what he needs so that he doesn't over-exert himself. We lug him around with his nasal cannula trailing behind, but once a day for an hour, we're allowed to turn off the oxygen. I suppose it helps build his stamina. We can now take him outside for little while, or carry him downstairs, and we don't

My feet hurt. I have a headache. I forgot my water bottle today and by lunchtime I was parched. My lips were dry, my throat was scratchy, and my temples throbbed. I was not ready to go back to school today. I like the built-in straw. But tomorrow I will have my water bottle handy, and it will be a better day. Actually, other than my little dehydration predicament, the first day back from paternity leave went swimmingly. My class of seniors is down to six students. Ten are on the roster, and one girl tends to leave halfway through the period and not come back. She had a nurse emergency today. I've decided not to argue with her about it. So we were down to five until a student I've never met (he was new to the class in March) walked in with about 20 minutes left of our 100 minute class. My other senior classes tomorrow have larger rosters but about the same percentage of attendees. They have 14 class periods left before graduation. You'd think that wouldn't be so