Magnet for the Strange

As I was leaving work yesterday, I had two rather bizarre, and seemingly unrelated, experiences.

I had parked on the fourth floor of the parking deck, so I decided to use the elevator. I pushed the button and waited patiently for the elevator to arrive. And arrive it did. The doors opened...and then started to shake violently. I mean, "consider filming another Exorcist in this elevator" violently.

I bravely (stupidly?) stepped onto the elevator anyway, figuring it would stop in a second or two. Of course, it did not. The doors did not close and I did not want to stick around to see what happens.

As I stepped out, a lady asked me if that noise was the elevator. I replied with, "Yes...and suddenly the four flights of stairs don't seem so bad." She agreed and followed me up the stairs. I may have saved her life and/or soul that day. God knows what that elevated lift had in store for us.

After safely arriving at my car (which, thankfully, was NOT violently shaking), I began my winding trek out of the parking deck. Before heading home, I had to run an errand...which took me past the McDonald's on Veteran's Parkway.

To my surprise, there was a grown man standing between the road and Mickey D's screaming at the passing traffic. I have no idea why. Perhaps he realized the futility of hitting the "button that does nuttin" on the corner and decided to purge his rage at the very objects that were impeding his travel.

Or maybe he's bat shit nuts.

Either way, it was a strange afternoon. Glad I could share it with you.

Checkout Lane Hell

There should be a special line at Sam’s for people that split their order into more than one transaction.

…or a special place in Hell for those people.

Consumer’s choice.

An Infant's Guide to Mischief and Mayhem

Admittedly, a three-month-old's lack of fine motor control and general inability to move around under his or her own power makes said three-month-old a pretty benign threat in the field of trouble making. However, much like passive or nonviolent resistance, there are techniques that infants can (and will) employ to cause at least some degree of rascality within a social situation.

Izzy employed one such technique just last Sunday while we were in Chambana visiting Auntie Anne (my sister...not the pretzel store).

Quick backstory: We went to pick up Sarah's bridesmaid dress. She's in Anne's wedding this summer. We had a gift certificate for a free Monical's family pleaser that we received after completing our birthing class. Anne is still a po' college student, so we invited her out to dinner. And scene.

We stopped by my sister's apartment, picked her up, and drove to Monical's. We were seated quickly, ordered, and in no time we were enjoying salad, breadsticks, and what passes for pizza at Monical's (that's another post).

Then...it began.

That unmistakable noise...a harbinger of doom...the none too subtle clue that someone's immediate future was about to become very unpleasant.

"Is she grunting?" I asked Sarah in a worried tone. "Yeah," she sighed.

"Uh-oh." I moved Izzy's car seat to the other side of the booth. Mother scooped up daughter and diaper bag and made a beeline for the bathroom. Anne and I remained at the table, continuing our meal.

Time passed...then more time passed. I glanced at my watch. Anne bravely volunteered to check on the girls. "Almost done," she reported back.

Finally, Sarah and Izzy returned to the table. I was not surprised to see that the outfit Izzy went into the bathroom wearing was not the same one she was currently sporting on her return trip. I was, however, surprised to see that she was barefoot.

"She pooped through her outfit," Sarah said. "It was awful. I just wanted the mess gone. We lost a sock...I think I threw it away with the diaper. The other one is in the diaper bag."

"Wait," I said. "You threw one sock away and saved the other one? Why?"

"Well, I think I threw it away. I don't know...it might turn up."

At this point I was thinking, 'What does it matter? These socks won't fit in a matter of weeks. We can buy new socks...let it go, woman.' I did not verbalize these thoughts.

So you see, pooping oneself in public (at an eatery, no less) is part of an infant's small, yet surprisingly effective, arsenal of anarchy.

At this point, you may be questioning the child's motivation. Perhaps you'd say, "Matt...babies are running on instinct. There's no malice here...no malevolent or malicious intentions."

And you'd be wrong. Babies are adorable and devious little gremlins...and mine likes to poop through outfits in public. And before you say"My child never did / would ever do anything like that!" consider this.

Your kid might be dumb.

Hey brother, can ya' spare a snot-sucker? -OR- How I Felt Like A Criminal At The Hospital

If you're a parent, then you already recognize the importance of the beautiful blue item pictured here.

For the uninitiated, let me be the first to tell you that the bulb syringe (AKA Blue Bulb of Doom...AKA Snot-Sucker) is an essential piece of equipment in every new parents' toolbox. Infant congestion is not fun for anyone and the sounds a congested baby emits do not make for pleasant listening. When one is without a proper Snot-Sucker, everybody suffers.

My wife has a bad habit of leaving this thing at the baby sitter's house when she picks up Izzy. We have another bulb syringe that came in a first aid kit, but it doesn't work as well. As we've already covered, a stuffy baby is a real bummer. So, I decided that today I was going to find another, duplicate bulb syringe to keep at the sitter's house. As a Father-of-the-Year award nominee (in my own head), I thought that made a lot of sense.

Acquiring one was not as easy as I expected. I figured Walgreens would have one, but they did not. They DID have a more modern, battery powered version of the snot sucker. However, I was not prepared to spend 20 bucks on something like that.

Now...I would consider myself a reasonably intelligent and logical man, so I decided to go to the hospital's birthing unit to see if the nurses had an extra bulb syringe. This is where my day continued to go south. I strolled up to the nurses desk and asked if I could have one of these syringes to take home. The nurses behind the counter seemed reluctant to comply with my request and threw a knowing look to one of the other nurses. Immediately, I knew something was up.

The nurse that received said glance (You know...the one who is perpetually having a bad day) spoke up and asked, "What are you going to use it for?"

What am I going to use it for? Is there some sort of illicit or illegal act that one can do with this syringe and I haven't heard about it yet? I'm going to take it home and frost a cake with it, lady. No...I explained that our child was congested and that I would be using the device to extract snot. This really put her on alert. The nurse looked at me like I had two heads.

"She seems a little old for this. Did your pediatrician tell you to do this?" she asked.

"Yeeaaaaah," I responded slowly. I filled her in on my situation (IE wife forgetting it at babysitter's, etc).

She then proceeded to tell me that Izzy was a little old for this and that she shouldn't need it. I then wanted to ask her if she actually had kids and does she realize just how much snot a two and a half month old generates. While I didn't say that, the look on my face must have read that I meant business because she took a little walk to the supply room and gave me one.

This lady really irked me. I mean, is there some way that people are melting these things down and getting high? Why was she so suspicious of me? I just wanted a spare to keep at the baby sitter's house.

For the record, I described this nurse to my wife and she's pretty sure she dealt with her when she was in the hospital giving birth to Izzy. She was a pain then, too.