Seva is almost 14 weeks old. And she continues to make progress, seemingly every day. Jeannie just mentioned to me that, earlier this evening (while I was at the gym), Seva did not cry at all during her bath, not at any point from beginning to end. This was a first. Apparently she is getting used to getting bathed. I think she even likes it now.
With that being said, though, there has not been one day in her short life so far in which she has not cried. She cries every day: out of hunger; because she has a dirty diaper; because she doesn't want to be laid down, but instead continued to be held; because she wakes up alone and wants attention; or sometimes simply because she is getting sleepy. A day will come when she will not cry at any point from when she wakes to when she goes to sleep for the night. I'm looking forward to that day.
Jeannie also wanted me to write here that Seva discovered our DirecTv remote control on Tuesday of this week, and she's been mesmerized by it ever since. The reason she likes it so much is that there is a part of it, near the middle, where there are buttons of several different colors (red, green, yellow, blue, orange, gray, and black) near each other. The colors obviously draw her attention. I witnessed it tonight for the first time. It was very cute and funny; she would just stare at the remote control and follow it with her eyes no matter where I held it.
Finally, as I wrote in a text message to my mom earlier tonight, Seva seems to be more vocal and more emotive these days, especially at times when both Jeannie and I are around and talking with each other. It's like Seva wants to join the conversation. It's funny and also amazing to see her continue to develop, albeit in small incremental steps, but on a daily basis. We've really been blessed. As I write this now, she's sleeping in her crib upstairs, our beautiful baby girl.
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Thursday, July 17, 2014
Monday, July 14, 2014
Lightning and Progress
Today was Jeannie's first day back to work after three months of maternity leave, thus her first day at the office since early April. That meant that today was my first day as stay-at-home dad with Seva. I've had three preparatory experiences, though: once when Jeannie was feeling very overwhelmed and she went to stay at a hotel in Center City, another time when Jeannie stayed at a hotel overnight with her friend Marcella who was visiting us from out-of-town, and a third time when Jeannie went down to Washington, D.C. to spend the night with her birth mother who was in D.C. for a work-related conference. So, today wasn't something totally difficult or new or overwhelming for me. In fact, I enjoyed a pretty good day with Seva.
We danced while listening to music a couple times. And as I've stated before, when Seva isn't sleeping, it's very often that she likes to be held, so I held her a lot today, often with her head either on my shoulder or, when she falls asleep, her face sort of planted into my neck between my shoulder and cheek/chin. Seva definitely seems to like dancing; I'm not sure yet if it's the sound of the music or the motion that comes with dancing or a combination of both, but if she's not getting too sleepy she often lights up when we're dancing.
I tell ya, when Seva is awake and alert, without any pressing needs like food or a diaper change, she's a beautiful little girl. There are moments when she just seems happy to receive attention and those moments are great. I'm really happy to be a father.
Anyway, the other part of my title above is a reference to the pretty nasty lightning storm that we had tonight. I was at the YMCA, doing some lifting when the storm began. I had to run home in the rain. As I got home, the storm seemed to intensify, with more and more lightning in the sky. Our DirecTv signal was totally out, until it came on for about 20 minutes, just in time for 6abc to interrupt regular programming (The Bachelorette) with updates on the progress of the storm and warnings for what to do in the event of a tornado. In the meantime, I cooked pork chops (seasoned with sea salt and Cajun seasoning), while Jeannie made rice (with light coconut milk and water). Finally, the storm abated and we were able to watch the Bachelorette while eating dinner and while Seva sleep for a bit in her bouncy chair. Overall, I'd say it was a good day and good night.
We danced while listening to music a couple times. And as I've stated before, when Seva isn't sleeping, it's very often that she likes to be held, so I held her a lot today, often with her head either on my shoulder or, when she falls asleep, her face sort of planted into my neck between my shoulder and cheek/chin. Seva definitely seems to like dancing; I'm not sure yet if it's the sound of the music or the motion that comes with dancing or a combination of both, but if she's not getting too sleepy she often lights up when we're dancing.
I tell ya, when Seva is awake and alert, without any pressing needs like food or a diaper change, she's a beautiful little girl. There are moments when she just seems happy to receive attention and those moments are great. I'm really happy to be a father.
Anyway, the other part of my title above is a reference to the pretty nasty lightning storm that we had tonight. I was at the YMCA, doing some lifting when the storm began. I had to run home in the rain. As I got home, the storm seemed to intensify, with more and more lightning in the sky. Our DirecTv signal was totally out, until it came on for about 20 minutes, just in time for 6abc to interrupt regular programming (The Bachelorette) with updates on the progress of the storm and warnings for what to do in the event of a tornado. In the meantime, I cooked pork chops (seasoned with sea salt and Cajun seasoning), while Jeannie made rice (with light coconut milk and water). Finally, the storm abated and we were able to watch the Bachelorette while eating dinner and while Seva sleep for a bit in her bouncy chair. Overall, I'd say it was a good day and good night.
Thursday, July 10, 2014
Thursday Walkabout
Almost every day for about the past three months or so I've read the daily reading on the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops website. For those not familiar with Catholic mass, these are the biblical readings used at Catholic churches around the country. A line from today's Gospel reading really struck me:
And as long as I'm on the topic of quotes, I turn my attention to a backward-looking perspective to a forward-looking one as I quote a tweet from Pope Francis earlier today and similarly apply it to my life now:
Whoever will not receive you or listen to your words -- go outside that house or town and shake the dust from your feet.This line resonated with me, since it feels so on-point with my feelings about my current job. I've written about this extensively before, so speaking of dust, I don't want to shake out the rug again right now and start a coughing fit. All I'll emphasize is, regardless of fault or causes, as that quote relates to my feelings on [...], it strikes a chord with me.
And as long as I'm on the topic of quotes, I turn my attention to a backward-looking perspective to a forward-looking one as I quote a tweet from Pope Francis earlier today and similarly apply it to my life now:
Do not be afraid to cast yourselves into the arms of God; whatever he asks of you, he will repay a hundredfold.Changing the topic and focus of this post, though, I'll share that Jeannie and I took a walk earlier this evening. We walked to Sister Cities Park to catch the tail-end of a low-key concert there. Then, we walked up to the lawn directly across the street from the Free Library of Philadelphia, where a play was being performed al fresco. On the walk home, we ran into two people, both connected to [...], the first the chairman of the [...] board of directors, who was out for a walk with his college-aged daughter. Then, closer to home, we ran into a former [.....] advocate/intern, who recounted to us the very long tale of the duplicitous actions of her boyfriend over the past 9 months or more. Hearing it from an outside perspective, it seemed obvious that she should cut all ties with him immediately. But I have a strong sense that she will continue to give him chances, or else she wouldn't have talked about him so much, and she certainly wouldn't be considering -- as she shared with us -- that she's looking to buy a house only two blocks from him. I pray that she comes to her senses soon, hopefully without getting hurt any, or at least too much, more.
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
Cycling in the Heat, and Thoughts of a Summer Past
I took a bike ride this morning. I left at 11:10am and returned at 11:46am, making it a 36-minute ride. Most of my ride was along the Schuylkill River Trail. After just checking Google maps, I estimate the ride to be about 10 miles. During the time that I rode, the air temperature was at or near 90 degrees and the dewpoint was high, around 72 degrees. By the time I got back home I was sweating like a racehorse. But it felt good, really good.
As I wrote recently, I feel like my holistic health is greatly improving: physical, mental, spiritual. There are two main components to it: 1) more time: to be with my wife and daughter, to lift weights and take bike rides, and to read, among other things; and 2) being away from the office. I had lunch with my good friend Madhu yesterday. One of the first things he said to me, when we sat down to eat at Sansom Kabob House, was that I looked better than I have in a while (or something to that effect). I told him that I feel better than I have in a while, and I shared very briefly why. It's good to know that, in such a relatively short time, I've been able to feel better and move in a positive direction. It's what I was very much hoping for, and I thank God so much for this and all blessings.
Meanwhile, as a note on a related element, I've put a bit more effort in the past couple days to do more reading. After a couple sessions, I'm now 200 pages into the 348-page (this edition, at least) Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez. It would take a pretty big push, but I would love to finish the book by the end of this coming weekend.
I have intentions -- and already the first book in line -- to change the direction of my reading. Immediately before the birth of Seva, I figured that I would only have the time and mental capacity to read fiction -- something that could be read in short spurts and would be a welcome escape from the rigors of early parenthood. Now on the third book of the three books I bought just before Seva's birth, I'm ready to read topics of more substance, non-fiction, and related to my field of work and the skills necessary to excel in it. I won't share the title of the book that's currently in the batter's box (since I haven't begun it yet), but I'll say that I'm looking forward to reading it, thus giving me added incentive to finish Love in the Time of Cholera as soon as possible.
Anyway, as I'm writing this, the sky is a weird color -- the sun is setting in the west but the sky is covered in low clouds as rain is coming down fairly steady. I just stepped outside on to the back patio to check on the kittens (as I'd recently mentioned in a post here). Earlier this afternoon I checked on them due to the strong heat. I saw three kittens huddled together in a matted clearing, then their mother cat came from my right, hissing at me -- more as a warning than out of any viciousness -- while slightly to the left of the huddle of kittens came another two crawling underneath the wooden fence separating our property from the neighbor's yard behind us. In total, there are five kittens: two mostly gray with black stripes, two with white patches and patches of gray/black, and one totally black. It was really cute to see. But as I just checked them now, all five are sort of huddled near each other, completely soaked and still getting pummeled with raindrops, while their mother cat is nowhere to be seen. I hope the kittens make it through this rainstorm. I wish there was something I could do right now, but I don't think there is. Since they don't realize it at all, Rocky and the Baby should be thankful to be indoors, where it's safe, warm, and dry.
Now, on to a totally separate topic, for some reason today I thought about the last "girlfriend" I had before meeting my wife. I put the word girlfriend in quotes because I can't say that I consider all past relationships as being at the girlfriend level. I don't know of any further classifications in the English language that allow for further distinction. I consider that I had three relationships with girlfriends, as I define that term, before I met and began my relationship with my wife. My relationship with Adaliz was a relatively short, 4-month relationship between my relationships with my last girlfriend and with my wife; although our relationship was sincere while it lasted, I don't consider it a relationship that rose to the level of girlfriend, mainly due to the length of the relationship. Adaliz was (really, is, but I'll speak in the past tense since the relationship is over) a beautiful girl. She had long straight dark brown hair, light brown eyes, and beautiful naturally tan Latina skin, being of half Salvadoran and half Venezuelan descent. Strangely (or perhaps not so, as assimilation and acculturation go), she spoke very, very little Spanish. She was very much into poetry and, somewhat on a broader scale, into art. In fact, one of my favorite memories with her was a date to the Modern Museum of Art in New York City. As I said, she was a visually and aesthetically beautiful girl. As with so many relationships, especially from the man's perspective, it was Adaliz's physical beauty that really drew me to her. I also loved her name, something about it made me desire her even more. Our relationship began just fine. We met at my friend Paul's wedding in Key West, Florida. At the reception, I found myself looking for, and then at, her quite frequently. Near the end of the reception, I knew that I had to say or do something, so I took the opportunity when she passed by me to say, "Are you going out [after the reception]? I hope to see you out there." I ended up seeing her shortly after, at a bar where nearly everyone went after the reception. I approached her when she was at the bar ordering a drink and I started a conversation; things started from there and we ended spending the rest of the night together, until I finally went back to my hotel room around 3am. During that time, she and I left everyone behind and went bar-hopping, during which time we talked and got to know one another. When ended the night on the roof of her hotel, overlooking the main drag in Key West, kissing and talking still with one another. I finally pulled myself away to go back to my hotel room, as I already mentioned. After that weekend, we kept in touch and followed through on plans to see each other. She lived in Hoboken, New Jersey, while I lived in Philadelphia of course. So, it was a long-distance relationship, something I vowed to never do again after the lesson I learned from the end of my relationship with Cherise. But due to my attraction to her, I was willing to overlook that at the beginning. The distance also helped to slow things down, or at least keep things from getting too passionate, which was a good thing. Looking back on it now, although I wouldn't have needed the time to reach this conclusion, it was a relationship characterized largely by sexual passion. I believe that we both cared about each other, for sure, but the reality was that our time together was less about what we saw or what we talked about than what we did together. It was a perfect cure -- for what it was worth -- from the esteem hangover that I was feeling from the miserable end to my relationship with Ileana. It really was, as I smile even now typing this. Sounds good, right? Well, as time went on, there were two issues that emerged, oddly and ironically both tied to lessons learned from previous girlfriends. First, I got tired of the distance, which I mentioned already was a main lesson from my relationship with Cherise. Second, I began to notice that Adaliz had a hot side, no surprise after having experienced and felt her passion in bed, but the prospect of a relationship with another young, hot-tempered, or less-than-even-keeled Latina was the last thing I needed after the misery and heartache I suffered at the hands of Ileana. I began questioning to myself the relationship with Adaliz and about two weeks before I ultimately ended it, I asked Adaliz for some time to think things over. That totally infuriated her, which further supported my second concern above, thus paradoxically driving me to call the end of the relationship almost right away after her reaction. What she may not have realized fully was that the emotional scars from my last relationship were still very fresh, and with my self-esteem already in a much healthier spot (due to Adaliz herself), I knew that I deserved much better, or at least different, than an immature temper. I have no qualms now with the decision I made to end the relationship with Adaliz. As fate would have it, I met my wife only the very next weekend after I ended it with Adaliz -- which any onlooker would say was a rebound, but I'm now married, happily so, and we have a beautiful daughter. If there's anything I'll always remember and cherish from my relationship with Adaliz, it was the passion, something that cannot be invented or feigned, and something which in its own right is a blessed experience from God. I believe that firmly with full faith. That's why, despite the brevity of the relationship, and any observer's writing it off as simply a rebound relationship, it was worth much more than that. I can say that because I was the one who lived it and I am the one who remembers it and cherishes it now.
Monday, June 30, 2014
Analysis of my relationship with Ileana, and how it still effects me today
With the benefit of the passing of time and the diminishing of strong feelings, I can more easily see my relationship with Ileana more clearly. There was a turning point in there somewhere, much much sooner than the actual end of the relationship. As with so many relationships, I'm sure there wasn't a specific day that there was a turning point. But looking back through old emails as mile-markers, I'd say it was somewhere between November 19, 2010 (when Ileana and I went to see George Lopez live at the Academy of Music) and March 29, 2011 (when we returned from three weeks in Costa Rica). If either one of us had any sense (me) or any courage (her), we should have ended our relationship after returning from that trip.
The fact of the matter was that I was 33 years old at that time -- ready not just for a relationship, but for marriage -- while on the other hand Ileana was only 24 years old -- fresh into post-college 20s and ready to be free. The problem was that I was too myopic to the possibility of life and love after Ileana and (frankly) too obsessed with her to have the sense to end the relationship, despite the consistent recurring waves of dissatisfaction and unfulfillment from her. For me, at that time, ending the relationship wasn't even an option.
The problem for Ileana was that she was caught between a rock and a hard place. The rock: the fact that she was only a couple years out of college and she wanted to live the "typical" life of a young woman in her mid-20s, proving her independence to herself by renting her own apartment, paying her own bills, working for herself, and in all other respects to be free and independent. The hard place: the prospect of a guaranteed relationship with a good guy with a good career, something that I know for a fact her own mother emphasized in her mother's support of me as Ileana's boyfriend. Ileana was caught between those two irreconcilable options. At times of difficulty and indecision on her part, I pointed this out to Ileana; thus, she can't say that she didn't understand the issue.
And the whole thing was a classic catch-22. Ileana would go through major ups and downs (I could speculate as to the source/cause of those mood swings, but I won't do any more than put it out there for the reader to guess). When she was in an anti-relationship phase, I would feel sad or scared that the relationship was going to end and that I had to "work harder." (I laugh at that now). I would "try hard," which would push her away even further, since that was a threat to her freedom. Then, I would get the message and back off, which would then play into her insecurities and she would come back to me. I also suspect that she came back out of guilt -- for having abandoned the relationship for whatever period of time and towards the end of the relationship (or perhaps much sooner) for having cheated on me with other men. So her guilt and insecurities would bring her back to me -- the shittiest reasons for a woman to ever come back to a man. And the whole thing continued like that for months. It was an emotional disaster, especially as more and more time went by.
As I wrote above, one of us should have ended the relationship at the year-and-a-half mark, when we returned to Philly from Costa Rica. That trip was so horrendous that I haven't been back to Costa Rica since then. It left such a sour taste in my mouth -- I didn't have any fun with Ileana. The whole trip was a stressful debacle. Her lack of any sense of humor or ability to have fun killed the trip. And playing myself into that serious mood and emotional tenor, I was very critical towards Ileana during that trip. As I said, it was a disaster. We should have broken up then, but my lack of sense and her failure to overcome her fears kept us in a paralysis for the next year -- requiring that we each do some really shitty things to each other to finally wake our senses to the reality of our dysfunctional, toxic relationship.
As I look back now, I can live with the lessons learned from that failed relationship. I'm happily married now, with none of the issues that marred my relationship with Ileana. What does bother me is that around that time frame of late 2010 to early 2011, the negativity and seriousness and lack of sense of humor of Ileana -- and my relationship with her -- began to effect my mood and humor. And I do not think I've fully recovered my own sense of self since then. It's something that I've talked about recently with my wife, Jeannie. I read through old emails and facebook posts from before November 19, 2010 (to pick a mile-marker): I was funny, I was light-hearted, I didn't take myself too seriously. But after March 29, 2011 (again, simply to pick an easy mile-marker), I'm not so funny, I'm angry much more than I care to be, I often have little patience, and I'm quite serious (and I have a lot more gray hair). In short, I can't stand what I've turned into. I know that negative and challenging experiences at work have played to a certain degree into this transformation, but I place the main onus and cause on my relationship with Ileana. And that's the part that still makes me angry (ironic, right?).
I really want a fresh start. I pray to God for another transformation, this time a positive one, a return to basics, to the real me: someone funny and light-hearted and witty and sarcastic and playfully immature. Fortunately, God has blessed me with a wonderful wife, who makes me laugh sometimes and who laughs at almost all of my silly jokes. I've also been blessed with a beautiful daughter, Seva, who has already helped to bring out the playful side of me, and will hopefully continue to do so as she gets older and turns from a baby into a little girl. I've only been free from my toxic and hurtful relationship with Ileana for just over two years. I know that I shouldn't expect changes to come so soon. But I hope (and pray to God) that, come 2015, 2016, and beyond, my true self shines forth and I can reclaim my happiness in life. I trust that these were hard lessons that I needed to learn, to value the importance of commitment and reciprocity in a mutually respectful and mature relationship and to finally grow up. Still, I just want to be happy, not just in the moment that I do something silly or enjoy a fun moment with Jeannie or Seva, but deep down in the core of my being. I'll be patient and hope that God hears my prayer and answers me.
In the meantime, dear reader, I hope this post clarifies to you who I am these days. If you know me and I've hurt you in any way over these last three years, I hope you understand better where I'm coming from. And I hope that you will forgive me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Dear Seva
Dear Seva,
You were born on Saturday, April 12, 2014 at 8:39am at Pennsylvania Hospital, 800 Spruce Street, 3rd floor, labor/delivery room #9, in the great city of Philadelphia.
But let me back up a few steps. My last day at work had been Tuesday, April 8th. Although I was supposed to go into work on Wednesday morning, I had been feeling demotivated and to be honest somewhat depressed at the thought of going into work, and in addition your mother had two appointments with the midwife, at 11:00 a.m. and 2:00 p.m., so I decided not to go in to the office and instead spent the day being with your mother.
Your mother's first appointment, at 11:00 a.m., was a non-stress test (NST), for which I was not allowed to go back, since it was conducted in a room where other expecting mothers could be (although there were no others there at the time). I took the time to get a coffee at a sidewalk cafe across the street from Washington Square, reading a book, while waiting for your mother come out. When she joined me, we walked to a restaurant on Chestnut Street to get some lunch. Then, we went back to the medical building for her next appointment at 2:00 p.m.
Your mother's second appointment, at 2:00 p.m., was a check-up with the midwife, who conducted an examination of your mother. After checking your mother, the midwife predicted pretty confidently that you'd be born either the next day (Thursday) or Friday. With that information, I decided (as I had been leaning anyway) to take off the rest of the week from work to be with your mother.
I've written in previous posts about those two days, so I won't go into too much detail here. I'll just say that I encouraged your mother to walk a lot, to hopefully encourage childbirth and thus your arrival to this world. Your mother had several rounds of Braxton-Hicks contractions, so we knew that things were moving forward. We were both very excited to meet you, knowing that you'd be joining us any time.
The whole day Friday passed by, though, without any real action. So, your mother and I settled in for the night. We cooked a late dinner of spaghetti with meatballs and spent most of the night on the couch, watching television. Funny enough, we watched the movie Due Date on TBS. Then, towards the very end of the night, around 1:00 a.m., your mother started getting contractions that seemed different than the Braxton-Hicks contractions.
I went to sleep at 2:00 a.m., knowing that Saturday would be a big day. Your mother went to her own bed, where she thinks she may have slept a little bit, but she's not sure to this day. Before falling asleep, I said a prayer, asking God to guide me to balance love and support for your mother on one hand with the firmness and discipline to direct your mother throughout labor and delivery.
Your mother woke me up at 4:30 a.m. I could hear her down the hall, breathing very heavily. She yelled out to me directly that it was time to go. I got up, got dressed, brushed my teeth, and quickly went downstairs to fill up a plastic Gatorade bottle with water from our Brita water container. Meanwhile, your mother was strongly urging me to hurry up the whole time.
We went outside to the car, which we'd strategically parked directly across the street from our apartment and which we'd already packed in advance. With no traffic whatsoever on the streets at that time in the morning, I drove us to the hospital, where we arrived at PETU (the perinatal evaluation and treatment unit, I think it stands for) on the third floor some time between 5:00 and 5:15 a.m. I left the car parked in front of the main entrance to the hospital, locked, but with the hazard lights on. It would stay there like that for the next four-plus hours.
Once in the PETU, your mother and I were basically alone for the next 2 hours while they said they were prepping a delivery room. But I'm pretty sure it was really a change in shifts. A nurse would come in every half-hour or so to check the monitors hooked up to your mother and just to generally check on your mother's progress. For about 90% of the time, though, it was just your mother and me. I guided your mother to breathe and stay focused. In between contractions, when your mother would continue to look at me, I would tell her to close her eyes and rest her head on my arm; I told her to rest while she could, before the next round of contractions came.
Near the two-hour mark, around 7:00 a.m. as I can recall, your mother urgently told me to get the doctor, saying that you were coming. I walked outside our room, and saw a circle of nurses and resident doctors sitting around in a circle. It looked like they were eating food or drinking coffee, probably at the end of their shift, but I couldn't tell for sure. I told them that your mother was ready to go into labor and we needed some help. The resident doctor came into the room and examined your mother again (as he had when your mother first arrived); he agreed that progress had been made, even in that relatively short amount of time.
Some time at or around 7:00 a.m. they took us to the delivery room down the hall. They took us to room L9, as I can remember. Your mother was in full-on labor at that point. I stayed by your mother's side throughout the whole process, holding her hand and coaching her as best as I could. The midwife finally arrived, although I can't say for sure at what time, probably around 7:30 a.m. if I had to guess. The midwife was a young woman with a very warm and supportive disposition. I felt better when she was there and I think your mother was very happy that the midwife was there; I think if there was anything holding back your mother from giving birth, the arrival of the midwife was like a figurative green light for your mother.
I'll never forget that your mother's water broke at 8:00 a.m. on the dot. When it happened, your mother just announced it in a matter-of-fact kind of way. From that point on, we were definitely in the home stretch. Your mother was lying on her side, almost always holding one of my hands, and most of the time looking at me eye-to-eye. Upon the midwife's instruction, your mother lifted her top leg upward and held it from the back of her knee. Seeing that it helped, I grabbed your mother's leg from the front, just below the knee, and held it up and open. And that's how we remained, while your mother pushed and pushed and pushed, while breathing and breathing and breathing. I coached your mother by telling her firmly, while looking directly into her eyes, "breathe!" "strong!" "steady!" "good!" "exhale!" and just repeated those words in different combinations over and over again. In the final five minutes or so, your mother would scream in exhalation at the peak of her contractions, and that was when I knew she was in the most pain, but also making the most progress. As I said, your mother was only in this final phase for only five, or perhaps at most ten, minutes.
You joined us, Seva, at 8:39 a.m. It was an all-natural birth -- no drugs, no pills, no shots, just the old-fashioned way -- and almost the whole time until the end it was just your mother working and me doing my best to guide and encourage her. Your mother did a great job and I'm so proud of her.
Since the midwife noticed that there was meconium in the amniotic fluid, the nurses had to take you, immediately upon your birth, to a table on the opposite side of the delivery room. It put me in a somewhat awkward position, since I wanted to remain at your mother's side to make sure that she was okay and so she knew that I was continuing to support her, but on the other hand I definitely wanted to see you and be with you. I did my best to walk back and forth between your mother and you.
When the nurses sucked the fluid out of your mouth, you let out your first cry. It was the happiest, most beautiful moment of my life. I felt tears of joy well up in my eyes. I was so beyond happy to be a father. And so our relationship began at that moment and, God willing, shall continue for many, many years, if not forever.
Your mother and I were transferred to a post-delivery room, room 664 to be exact, on the 6th floor of the hospital, where we stayed for the next couple days. The rest of that first day, Saturday, you, your mother, and I just rested and enjoyed our first hours as a family. This had been our plan from the beginning. Slowly, over the course of the day, we began notifying people by text message and email (your mother on her Samsung Galaxy S4 smart phone and me on my iPhone 4S smart phone). People were very, very happy to hear that you'd finally made your appearance in the world. And I can't tell you how many times I heard that people loved your name (I'll have to write that story in a separate post soon).
The next day after that, Sunday, April 13, 2014, we allowed a very limited number of visitors. Your mother and I originally didn't want anyone to visit until after we returned home, but there were some people who were eager and completely insistent to meet you. Right after we returned to the room from a lactation class, your Aunt Jess was there, ready to meet you. Later, your Grandpa came to meet you. And shortly after that, your Mita, along with Eric, came to meet you too. Everyone was so happy to meet you. You mostly slept throughout all the visitors; you were calm and content on that second day of life.
That night (and I write this as much for my own memory), since the hospital cafeteria was closed, I went out by myself a couple blocks up Spruce Street to Varga Bar. The high temperature that day was an unseasonable 81 or 82 degrees Fahrenheit, so by that time of night, around 9:00 p.m., the air temperature was perfect. The doors and windows to the restaurant were wide-open. After I ordered my kobe burger (according to their website: "lancaster county aged cheddar, applewood smoked bacon,
caramelized shallots, organic greens, heirloom tomato, fries"), I sat there, looking across 10th Street to Kanella restaurant, taking in the aura and ambiance of their lights, the exposed brick of their interior walls, and I was in a complete state of euphoria. From the weather to the feeling to my state of being in that moment, everything in the world seemed perfect. I consciously thought and reflected that I don't deserve to deal, any more than necessary, with any negativity or naysayers in this world; and I hope to God, Seva, that you learn and know the same thing. You deserve the very best of this world, which you'll have to work hard for of course, but I do not want you to ever settle for any relationship or workplace or situation that diminishes your sense of self-worth and dignity. You are a beautiful girl, woman-in-the-making, and your mother and I love you with our whole heart and soul.
After you passed some tests (hearing, jaundice, etc.) with flying colors the next day, Monday, the hospital began preparing you for discharge. Your Grandpa and Carol came for a visit, to give us a hand packing up. When we finally walked out of the hospital around 1:00 p.m., I was holding your mother's hand with my left hand and holding you in your car seat with my right hand. We walked out on to the sidewalk of 8th Street, your first breaths in the outside world, as a family all hand-in-hand. It was a wonderful, iconic moment that will always remain in my memories, and something which I hope you can visualize some day when you read this.
We arrived home shortly thereafter, before 2:00 p.m., on Monday, April 14, 2014. You met Rocky and the Baby very soon after getting home. And now, only three days later, we're still in the sometimes difficult process of adjusting to our new life together. Your mother has forgone a lot of sleep, which in tandem with some swirling hormones, has led to a few bouts of crying. I've done my very best to reassure her that we're all here, we're all alive, the sun will rise tomorrow, and these are only the first of many challenges that we'll undoubtedly face, and overcome, as a family.
I could write on and on about all the details from these past few days . . . And now, after going upstairs to see your mother and our friend Katy (who's here visiting with her daughter Grace), you're actually in my lap right now! As I write this, I just looked into the eyes of your 5 day-old self and told you "I love you," and whenever you happen to finally read these words, please know that I love you now and always, my little girl.
You were born on Saturday, April 12, 2014 at 8:39am at Pennsylvania Hospital, 800 Spruce Street, 3rd floor, labor/delivery room #9, in the great city of Philadelphia.
But let me back up a few steps. My last day at work had been Tuesday, April 8th. Although I was supposed to go into work on Wednesday morning, I had been feeling demotivated and to be honest somewhat depressed at the thought of going into work, and in addition your mother had two appointments with the midwife, at 11:00 a.m. and 2:00 p.m., so I decided not to go in to the office and instead spent the day being with your mother.
Your mother's first appointment, at 11:00 a.m., was a non-stress test (NST), for which I was not allowed to go back, since it was conducted in a room where other expecting mothers could be (although there were no others there at the time). I took the time to get a coffee at a sidewalk cafe across the street from Washington Square, reading a book, while waiting for your mother come out. When she joined me, we walked to a restaurant on Chestnut Street to get some lunch. Then, we went back to the medical building for her next appointment at 2:00 p.m.
Your mother's second appointment, at 2:00 p.m., was a check-up with the midwife, who conducted an examination of your mother. After checking your mother, the midwife predicted pretty confidently that you'd be born either the next day (Thursday) or Friday. With that information, I decided (as I had been leaning anyway) to take off the rest of the week from work to be with your mother.
I've written in previous posts about those two days, so I won't go into too much detail here. I'll just say that I encouraged your mother to walk a lot, to hopefully encourage childbirth and thus your arrival to this world. Your mother had several rounds of Braxton-Hicks contractions, so we knew that things were moving forward. We were both very excited to meet you, knowing that you'd be joining us any time.
The whole day Friday passed by, though, without any real action. So, your mother and I settled in for the night. We cooked a late dinner of spaghetti with meatballs and spent most of the night on the couch, watching television. Funny enough, we watched the movie Due Date on TBS. Then, towards the very end of the night, around 1:00 a.m., your mother started getting contractions that seemed different than the Braxton-Hicks contractions.
I went to sleep at 2:00 a.m., knowing that Saturday would be a big day. Your mother went to her own bed, where she thinks she may have slept a little bit, but she's not sure to this day. Before falling asleep, I said a prayer, asking God to guide me to balance love and support for your mother on one hand with the firmness and discipline to direct your mother throughout labor and delivery.
Your mother woke me up at 4:30 a.m. I could hear her down the hall, breathing very heavily. She yelled out to me directly that it was time to go. I got up, got dressed, brushed my teeth, and quickly went downstairs to fill up a plastic Gatorade bottle with water from our Brita water container. Meanwhile, your mother was strongly urging me to hurry up the whole time.
We went outside to the car, which we'd strategically parked directly across the street from our apartment and which we'd already packed in advance. With no traffic whatsoever on the streets at that time in the morning, I drove us to the hospital, where we arrived at PETU (the perinatal evaluation and treatment unit, I think it stands for) on the third floor some time between 5:00 and 5:15 a.m. I left the car parked in front of the main entrance to the hospital, locked, but with the hazard lights on. It would stay there like that for the next four-plus hours.
Once in the PETU, your mother and I were basically alone for the next 2 hours while they said they were prepping a delivery room. But I'm pretty sure it was really a change in shifts. A nurse would come in every half-hour or so to check the monitors hooked up to your mother and just to generally check on your mother's progress. For about 90% of the time, though, it was just your mother and me. I guided your mother to breathe and stay focused. In between contractions, when your mother would continue to look at me, I would tell her to close her eyes and rest her head on my arm; I told her to rest while she could, before the next round of contractions came.
Near the two-hour mark, around 7:00 a.m. as I can recall, your mother urgently told me to get the doctor, saying that you were coming. I walked outside our room, and saw a circle of nurses and resident doctors sitting around in a circle. It looked like they were eating food or drinking coffee, probably at the end of their shift, but I couldn't tell for sure. I told them that your mother was ready to go into labor and we needed some help. The resident doctor came into the room and examined your mother again (as he had when your mother first arrived); he agreed that progress had been made, even in that relatively short amount of time.
Some time at or around 7:00 a.m. they took us to the delivery room down the hall. They took us to room L9, as I can remember. Your mother was in full-on labor at that point. I stayed by your mother's side throughout the whole process, holding her hand and coaching her as best as I could. The midwife finally arrived, although I can't say for sure at what time, probably around 7:30 a.m. if I had to guess. The midwife was a young woman with a very warm and supportive disposition. I felt better when she was there and I think your mother was very happy that the midwife was there; I think if there was anything holding back your mother from giving birth, the arrival of the midwife was like a figurative green light for your mother.
I'll never forget that your mother's water broke at 8:00 a.m. on the dot. When it happened, your mother just announced it in a matter-of-fact kind of way. From that point on, we were definitely in the home stretch. Your mother was lying on her side, almost always holding one of my hands, and most of the time looking at me eye-to-eye. Upon the midwife's instruction, your mother lifted her top leg upward and held it from the back of her knee. Seeing that it helped, I grabbed your mother's leg from the front, just below the knee, and held it up and open. And that's how we remained, while your mother pushed and pushed and pushed, while breathing and breathing and breathing. I coached your mother by telling her firmly, while looking directly into her eyes, "breathe!" "strong!" "steady!" "good!" "exhale!" and just repeated those words in different combinations over and over again. In the final five minutes or so, your mother would scream in exhalation at the peak of her contractions, and that was when I knew she was in the most pain, but also making the most progress. As I said, your mother was only in this final phase for only five, or perhaps at most ten, minutes.
You joined us, Seva, at 8:39 a.m. It was an all-natural birth -- no drugs, no pills, no shots, just the old-fashioned way -- and almost the whole time until the end it was just your mother working and me doing my best to guide and encourage her. Your mother did a great job and I'm so proud of her.
Since the midwife noticed that there was meconium in the amniotic fluid, the nurses had to take you, immediately upon your birth, to a table on the opposite side of the delivery room. It put me in a somewhat awkward position, since I wanted to remain at your mother's side to make sure that she was okay and so she knew that I was continuing to support her, but on the other hand I definitely wanted to see you and be with you. I did my best to walk back and forth between your mother and you.
When the nurses sucked the fluid out of your mouth, you let out your first cry. It was the happiest, most beautiful moment of my life. I felt tears of joy well up in my eyes. I was so beyond happy to be a father. And so our relationship began at that moment and, God willing, shall continue for many, many years, if not forever.
Your mother and I were transferred to a post-delivery room, room 664 to be exact, on the 6th floor of the hospital, where we stayed for the next couple days. The rest of that first day, Saturday, you, your mother, and I just rested and enjoyed our first hours as a family. This had been our plan from the beginning. Slowly, over the course of the day, we began notifying people by text message and email (your mother on her Samsung Galaxy S4 smart phone and me on my iPhone 4S smart phone). People were very, very happy to hear that you'd finally made your appearance in the world. And I can't tell you how many times I heard that people loved your name (I'll have to write that story in a separate post soon).
The next day after that, Sunday, April 13, 2014, we allowed a very limited number of visitors. Your mother and I originally didn't want anyone to visit until after we returned home, but there were some people who were eager and completely insistent to meet you. Right after we returned to the room from a lactation class, your Aunt Jess was there, ready to meet you. Later, your Grandpa came to meet you. And shortly after that, your Mita, along with Eric, came to meet you too. Everyone was so happy to meet you. You mostly slept throughout all the visitors; you were calm and content on that second day of life.
That night (and I write this as much for my own memory), since the hospital cafeteria was closed, I went out by myself a couple blocks up Spruce Street to Varga Bar. The high temperature that day was an unseasonable 81 or 82 degrees Fahrenheit, so by that time of night, around 9:00 p.m., the air temperature was perfect. The doors and windows to the restaurant were wide-open. After I ordered my kobe burger (according to their website: "lancaster county aged cheddar, applewood smoked bacon,
caramelized shallots, organic greens, heirloom tomato, fries"), I sat there, looking across 10th Street to Kanella restaurant, taking in the aura and ambiance of their lights, the exposed brick of their interior walls, and I was in a complete state of euphoria. From the weather to the feeling to my state of being in that moment, everything in the world seemed perfect. I consciously thought and reflected that I don't deserve to deal, any more than necessary, with any negativity or naysayers in this world; and I hope to God, Seva, that you learn and know the same thing. You deserve the very best of this world, which you'll have to work hard for of course, but I do not want you to ever settle for any relationship or workplace or situation that diminishes your sense of self-worth and dignity. You are a beautiful girl, woman-in-the-making, and your mother and I love you with our whole heart and soul.
After you passed some tests (hearing, jaundice, etc.) with flying colors the next day, Monday, the hospital began preparing you for discharge. Your Grandpa and Carol came for a visit, to give us a hand packing up. When we finally walked out of the hospital around 1:00 p.m., I was holding your mother's hand with my left hand and holding you in your car seat with my right hand. We walked out on to the sidewalk of 8th Street, your first breaths in the outside world, as a family all hand-in-hand. It was a wonderful, iconic moment that will always remain in my memories, and something which I hope you can visualize some day when you read this.
We arrived home shortly thereafter, before 2:00 p.m., on Monday, April 14, 2014. You met Rocky and the Baby very soon after getting home. And now, only three days later, we're still in the sometimes difficult process of adjusting to our new life together. Your mother has forgone a lot of sleep, which in tandem with some swirling hormones, has led to a few bouts of crying. I've done my very best to reassure her that we're all here, we're all alive, the sun will rise tomorrow, and these are only the first of many challenges that we'll undoubtedly face, and overcome, as a family.
I could write on and on about all the details from these past few days . . . And now, after going upstairs to see your mother and our friend Katy (who's here visiting with her daughter Grace), you're actually in my lap right now! As I write this, I just looked into the eyes of your 5 day-old self and told you "I love you," and whenever you happen to finally read these words, please know that I love you now and always, my little girl.
Friday, March 28, 2014
Friday night musings
Work
I'm in an abusive relationship with the family law unit of [...]. I'm committed to the relationship: I show up every day, I work consistently, I don't take time off unless I'm truly sick or for a pre-planned vacation. Yet although I'm committed, I'm taken for granted by the other side in the relationship. I've never once been offered praise or a complimentary word or a positive word of recognition by my supervisor or anyone in the unit. If anyone in the unit denied that, I would ask the cross-examination question: "can you produce one email or written evidence of having done so." And like an abusive relationship, when it's not the default of being taken for granted, when I do get attention, mainly from my supervisor, it's criticism, it's what I've done wrong. Just like the oppressed party in an abusive relationship, I'm made to feel like shit and that I'm never good enough.
Culture
In current events, Philadelphia Eagles wide receiver DeSean Jackson was released today. I'm fine with it. Although he's certainly talented, I still think he's overrated. Similar to my criticism of members of my own field of law, I dislike how DeSean has such a big ego. Show up and do your job, do it well. The media is claiming that there is evidence that he associates with gang members, who have been tied to murders. I also dislike the glorification of violence and crime so prevalent in a certain element of the American hip-hop, urban, primarily American-of-African-descent culture. Leaders of society -- chief executive officers, business owners, politicians, coaches, lawyers and judges, media personalities, and others -- should set a stronger, more vocal example against the acceptance or acquiescence of this culture of death. So, with all that being said, I'm fine with the Eagles releasing DeSean Jackson.
Love
I feel so blessed to have Jeannie and Rocky and the Baby in my life. With our baby daughter on the way, due to arrive any day now, we're really becoming a family. My marriage, and my relationship, with Jeannie is strong and healthy. And Rocky and the Baby are there for me, making me happy day in and day out for the past nine years. As much other shit may be going on in the world, from my office and beyond, I thank God that my life at home is good and stable and healthy. Thank you, God.
Monday, March 17, 2014
Weekend Update
Friday, March 14, 2014
I left work early to come home, get changed, get the car, pick-up Jeannie from work, and drive north on I-95 to get to Philly's northern suburbs to Cozy Tots, a semi-annual consignment sale for baby stuff. My friend Tobin, who recommended the baby flea market to me, said that he and his wife Sharlenn had gotten stuff worth nearly $1k for only $300. Since the event was cash-only, Jeannie and I each hit the ATM hard in anticipation for the event. You can imagine our disappointment at only getting $26 worth of goods. Part of it was that traffic on I-95 was so bad that we arrived at Cozy Tots about 30 minutes after the doors opened, just long enough to possibly miss out on the best stuff. The other part of it, though, is that Jeannie's dad has done an amazing job at already getting so much of the big stuff that we need, and additionally people like Johnny (the door guy at 42 South 15th Street) and Mary (our building's cleaning lady) gave gifts that were totally unexpected. So, even before going to the baby sale, we were already stocked up on a lot of important gear.
I was feeling pretty frustrated at the heavy traffic and my inability to get us to the event on time, as well as our lack of success. So, I decided (unilaterally and in my own head) to take us to Manayunk for dinner. I mentioned it to Jeannie shortly after we pulled out of the parking lot and she was on-board. So I drove south on Route 611 to Route 1, which I took south to Ridge Avenue, which took me to Main Street Manayunk. We found a parking spot on the Philly end of Main Street, then walked most of the length of Main Street to the suburban-facing end, where we arrived at Taqueria Feliz. I had been jonesing for some Mexican food for a while, at least a couple months, and this place really hit the spot. Feeling up for a hit of alcohol, I ordered a Margarita Feliz with salt on the rim of the glass. We also got an order of guacamole and chips before we left the bar for our table. I ordered enchiladas de pollo with a really delicious mole sauce. To end the meal, we also ordered churro-flavored ice cream. All in all, it was a great meal. I would totally go back.
Saturday, March 15, 2014
I had a speaking engagement at the Community Hospital in Chester, PA on Saturday morning. My friend Laura had invited me to come out to speak to a group of Spanish-speaking mothers who meet once per month to discuss all sorts of issues that effect them. Jeannie was nice enough to join me, which really did make me happy. Before leaving on our short car ride, this time heading south on I-95, I stopped at La Citadelle for a large cup of coffee for the road. Once again we hit a little bit of traffic, totally unexpected at this time of day, and so a bit unnerving, but we got there only a minute or two past 10am. Not wanting to be late, I was somewhat happy that none of the guests were there yet. We didn't start until around 10:40am, after only three women showed up. It was fine with me though. I felt honored just to be there and get a chance to teach some custody law to some people that probably wouldn't normally have the opportunity to get that kind of information.
On the way back, I dropped off Jeannie at the DMV at 8th & Arch Streets to officially change her state-issued identification card to match my last name (and thus, prepare ourselves to all share our family name with the impending arrival of our daughter). I drove home, where I met Jeannie's dad and he and I put together the crib. Then, after I ate a quick lunch, we left to pick-up Jeannie outside of Reading Terminal Market and we went to Ikea to pick out (after a long walk through the store) a platform bed frame with storage for Jeannie's bed in the baby's room. We had just enough time to drop it off at home before we left for dinner.
We had a birthday dinner for Jeannie at Marrakesh, just off of South Street. Along with Jeannie and I, of course, were Jeannie's dad and his good friend, Carol, along with Jeannie's high school friend, Cathy and her husband Aiden. We enjoyed the seven-course meal, although the music was definitely a bit too loud, especially since Jeannie's dad is hard of hearing. And, speaking for myself at least, I enjoyed the belly dancer who came through to perform for our dining room. All in all, it was a really nice experience.
Afterward, Cathy and Aiden came back with us to our place to check it out, look at some photos, and just hang out for a little while before they headed back to their hotel in Mount Laurel, NJ.
Sunday, March 16, 2014
Although Jeannie and I could have both used a day to sleep in, we couldn't do so because we had Sunday mass at St. Charles Borromeo at 9:30am. Right when Jeannie and I stood up to walk up to the altar (for Jeannie to receive her blessing and for me to receive communion), I put the sealed envelope, with my birthday card to Jeannie inside, on Jeannie's spot on the pew. When we returned, Jeannie noticed it and I encouraged her to open it and read it there, while I said my usual prayers and thanks to God. I realized that Jeannie had started to cry from reading it; it made me happy, because what I wrote came directly from the heart. I'm glad that she could feel in that moment how much I love her.
After mass, we walked north to Chestnut Street to catch a 42 bus heading east across town, to get us to my mom's house, where we met Mita, Eric, and Jessica for a brunch of blueberry French toast, sausage, and coffee. We hung out for about an hour and a half, then came back home to begin the long process of errands and clean-up. We all played different roles in assembling Jeannie's bed frame, watering the plants, sweeping the floors, washing the dishes, and running the vacuum. At one point, I ran out by myself to do some food-shopping at Trader Joe's. And towards the end, Jeannie helped Jess to edit her resume. By the time Jess and Jeannie's dad left for their respective car rides northwards to their homes, Jeannie and I walked to visit our friends Corey and Laura for a birthday / St. Patrick's Day dinner there.
Corey and Laura had slow-cooked in a crock pot some meat, rutabaga, carrots, and cabbage. Overall, it was a very tasty meal, especially the meat, which was very nicely seasoned with spices. We watched the Selection Sunday show on television while we chatted. After dinner, we each ate a mint chocolate cupcake that I had bought at Trader Joe's to have as a birthday dessert for Jeannie. Luckily, Corey and Laura had birthday candles, so we were able to light them up and sing "happy birthday" to Jeannie. Despite feeling pretty tired from the weekend as a whole, it was really great to see and spend time with our friends.
After getting home, I somehow mustered the energy to shave and give myself a haircut, then even do a little bit of reading before hitting the sack around 11:30pm. It was a long and fruitful weekend. And it was totally worth it.
I left work early to come home, get changed, get the car, pick-up Jeannie from work, and drive north on I-95 to get to Philly's northern suburbs to Cozy Tots, a semi-annual consignment sale for baby stuff. My friend Tobin, who recommended the baby flea market to me, said that he and his wife Sharlenn had gotten stuff worth nearly $1k for only $300. Since the event was cash-only, Jeannie and I each hit the ATM hard in anticipation for the event. You can imagine our disappointment at only getting $26 worth of goods. Part of it was that traffic on I-95 was so bad that we arrived at Cozy Tots about 30 minutes after the doors opened, just long enough to possibly miss out on the best stuff. The other part of it, though, is that Jeannie's dad has done an amazing job at already getting so much of the big stuff that we need, and additionally people like Johnny (the door guy at 42 South 15th Street) and Mary (our building's cleaning lady) gave gifts that were totally unexpected. So, even before going to the baby sale, we were already stocked up on a lot of important gear.
I was feeling pretty frustrated at the heavy traffic and my inability to get us to the event on time, as well as our lack of success. So, I decided (unilaterally and in my own head) to take us to Manayunk for dinner. I mentioned it to Jeannie shortly after we pulled out of the parking lot and she was on-board. So I drove south on Route 611 to Route 1, which I took south to Ridge Avenue, which took me to Main Street Manayunk. We found a parking spot on the Philly end of Main Street, then walked most of the length of Main Street to the suburban-facing end, where we arrived at Taqueria Feliz. I had been jonesing for some Mexican food for a while, at least a couple months, and this place really hit the spot. Feeling up for a hit of alcohol, I ordered a Margarita Feliz with salt on the rim of the glass. We also got an order of guacamole and chips before we left the bar for our table. I ordered enchiladas de pollo with a really delicious mole sauce. To end the meal, we also ordered churro-flavored ice cream. All in all, it was a great meal. I would totally go back.
Saturday, March 15, 2014
I had a speaking engagement at the Community Hospital in Chester, PA on Saturday morning. My friend Laura had invited me to come out to speak to a group of Spanish-speaking mothers who meet once per month to discuss all sorts of issues that effect them. Jeannie was nice enough to join me, which really did make me happy. Before leaving on our short car ride, this time heading south on I-95, I stopped at La Citadelle for a large cup of coffee for the road. Once again we hit a little bit of traffic, totally unexpected at this time of day, and so a bit unnerving, but we got there only a minute or two past 10am. Not wanting to be late, I was somewhat happy that none of the guests were there yet. We didn't start until around 10:40am, after only three women showed up. It was fine with me though. I felt honored just to be there and get a chance to teach some custody law to some people that probably wouldn't normally have the opportunity to get that kind of information.
On the way back, I dropped off Jeannie at the DMV at 8th & Arch Streets to officially change her state-issued identification card to match my last name (and thus, prepare ourselves to all share our family name with the impending arrival of our daughter). I drove home, where I met Jeannie's dad and he and I put together the crib. Then, after I ate a quick lunch, we left to pick-up Jeannie outside of Reading Terminal Market and we went to Ikea to pick out (after a long walk through the store) a platform bed frame with storage for Jeannie's bed in the baby's room. We had just enough time to drop it off at home before we left for dinner.
We had a birthday dinner for Jeannie at Marrakesh, just off of South Street. Along with Jeannie and I, of course, were Jeannie's dad and his good friend, Carol, along with Jeannie's high school friend, Cathy and her husband Aiden. We enjoyed the seven-course meal, although the music was definitely a bit too loud, especially since Jeannie's dad is hard of hearing. And, speaking for myself at least, I enjoyed the belly dancer who came through to perform for our dining room. All in all, it was a really nice experience.
Afterward, Cathy and Aiden came back with us to our place to check it out, look at some photos, and just hang out for a little while before they headed back to their hotel in Mount Laurel, NJ.
Sunday, March 16, 2014
Although Jeannie and I could have both used a day to sleep in, we couldn't do so because we had Sunday mass at St. Charles Borromeo at 9:30am. Right when Jeannie and I stood up to walk up to the altar (for Jeannie to receive her blessing and for me to receive communion), I put the sealed envelope, with my birthday card to Jeannie inside, on Jeannie's spot on the pew. When we returned, Jeannie noticed it and I encouraged her to open it and read it there, while I said my usual prayers and thanks to God. I realized that Jeannie had started to cry from reading it; it made me happy, because what I wrote came directly from the heart. I'm glad that she could feel in that moment how much I love her.
After mass, we walked north to Chestnut Street to catch a 42 bus heading east across town, to get us to my mom's house, where we met Mita, Eric, and Jessica for a brunch of blueberry French toast, sausage, and coffee. We hung out for about an hour and a half, then came back home to begin the long process of errands and clean-up. We all played different roles in assembling Jeannie's bed frame, watering the plants, sweeping the floors, washing the dishes, and running the vacuum. At one point, I ran out by myself to do some food-shopping at Trader Joe's. And towards the end, Jeannie helped Jess to edit her resume. By the time Jess and Jeannie's dad left for their respective car rides northwards to their homes, Jeannie and I walked to visit our friends Corey and Laura for a birthday / St. Patrick's Day dinner there.
Corey and Laura had slow-cooked in a crock pot some meat, rutabaga, carrots, and cabbage. Overall, it was a very tasty meal, especially the meat, which was very nicely seasoned with spices. We watched the Selection Sunday show on television while we chatted. After dinner, we each ate a mint chocolate cupcake that I had bought at Trader Joe's to have as a birthday dessert for Jeannie. Luckily, Corey and Laura had birthday candles, so we were able to light them up and sing "happy birthday" to Jeannie. Despite feeling pretty tired from the weekend as a whole, it was really great to see and spend time with our friends.
After getting home, I somehow mustered the energy to shave and give myself a haircut, then even do a little bit of reading before hitting the sack around 11:30pm. It was a long and fruitful weekend. And it was totally worth it.
Sunday, March 2, 2014
A Day to Thank my Enemies
On this date, March 2nd, I thank all those who have broken my heart, insulted me, offended me, failed to believe in me, underestimated me, or talked shit about me behind my back. Two years ago today, on March 2nd, 2012, Ileana walked out on me, walking right out the door to my apartment at 1015 Bainbridge Street. I haven't had any direct contact with her since.
Earlier today, before I got out of bed to take a shower before church, I thought about two episodes where I really felt hurt and then ashamed of my reaction. First, when I was a senior in high school, I remember dating for a very short period of time one of the most desirable girls of the junior class, Marissa McCormick, a beautiful girl with lush, curly hair. She was a goalie on the field hockey team. And she was later that year voted as the best looking girl of her class, or something along those lines. I remember going on a double date with her and Mike Potter and the girl he was dating at the time. We went to the Friendly's right by the Marlton Circle (the intersection of Routes 70 & 73, no longer a circle for at least four or five years). Anyway, it may have been later that night after the double date that another guy, Tim, from our football team threw a house party. We had lost to Pemberton earlier that day, putting this whole episode on Saturday, October 14, 1995. Marissa and I both went to the house party. I don't remember if I picked her up to go there, or if we just met there. But we were definitely dating, or so I thought. I don't remember much about the night, except that I think I was trying to play it cool by not being attached to her. Maybe that was my mistake, because I recall that I hadn't seen her for a while and so I went looking for her. I opened the door to a bedroom to find her sitting on the bed with one of my friends on the team, John Cidoni. It's possible that I immediately jumped to a false conclusion, but even my written description now seems hard to justify, so I was understandably hurt by what I saw. I remember going back downstairs where I had been sitting in the basement. I remember talking with Taryn Young and I think also with Mia Tatum, a couple of the cheerleaders, both very beautiful young women in their own right. And I remember getting upset to the point of crying. I admit before God and whoever later reads this that I'm a sensitive guy; there's no doubt about that. But I still feel a bit ashamed at my emotional reaction. Although I had good reason to feel betrayed -- not so much by Marissa, between whom we had not likely developed any kind of allegiance, but more so from my friend, Cidoni -- I still feel like I could have handled the situation with more grace.
The second episode didn't happen too much later, as the calendar would indicate. I was a sophomore in college, so this was the fall of 1997. It happened during a football game, although I don't remember which one. At that point, I was still our team's starting wide receiver. The moment really hit me at halftime, although it had been building up since some point in the second quarter, and at a deeper level pretty much since the start of the season. I had a terrible first half, dropping at least a couple easy balls. The point in the second quarter, that I refer to just above, was what should have been a very easy catch, but was instead a dropped pass. I was frustrated. And it had been building for a while. I was being underutilized by the coach, Barry Streeter. In other words, I felt that my skills and my talents were being taken for granted, or even worse just disregarded. That was the issue, not so much the frustration of the moment, but the fact that I felt like less of a person than I had considered myself. It made me question my identity as a football player, as the best wide receiver that I knew. And when I got into the locker room at halftime, it was too much to hold back. I took off my helmet and cried by my locker. I couldn't handle it. Again, I think back to this episode and I wonder if I had the emotional grit to handle the situation with more grace, perhaps wait until a more private moment to release my pent-up frustration and self-doubt. Or perhaps not. Perhaps that was exactly what needed to happen.
When I look back at both of those moments, I see that something "good" came out of each one. After the first, I developed a hunger to hit Cidoni in tackling drills and the like during practice. Before that, I'd always had an aversion, if not fear, to hitting and being hit. My love for the game of football had more to do with displaying my skills in having really good hands to catch the football and exceptional speed to set myself apart, athletically, from everyone else on the field. Now, in reaction to this episode of hurt, I wanted to punish Cidoni. And I overcame my fear of hitting others as hard as I could. I remember that it was later that same season that I put a huge hit on Aamir Dew in our win against #6-ranked nationally Toms River North. And I wasn't scared any more of getting hit.
After the second episode, I think I began to realize that my own identity was more than a football player, or at least it had to be, and I had to figure out how so. Right before I was supposed to report to camp in August 1998, I called Coach Streeter to tell him that I wasn't going to return to the team. I had been developing as a team leader during the off-season work-outs, but I decided to apply those skills elsewhere. I joined our college chapter of Amnesty International and eventually led it to the second biggest budget for a student organization on campus and ushered in a period of increased membership and activity on campus.
Maybe this is all revisionist history on my part, especially since I still feel a bit of shame from my reaction to both episodes of hurt. I hope I'm remembered for more than just my reactions. I hope I'm remembered for being genuine in my emotions. And more than that, I hope I'm remembered for the positive aspects: for being desired by a really desirable girl, for being a great football player, for being a good organizational leader, and for always putting my heart into whatever I did.
Circling back to the commemoration of today's date, I also know that I was devastated by Ileana walking out that door. The next two months marked one of the biggest depressions of my life (on par with my third year of law school). Similar to the first story, I felt rejected by a girl. And similar to the second story, I felt like I had lost a big piece of my identity. But like both stories above, something really good came out of it: only six months later, to the day (September 2, 2012), I met my wife at a Labor Day barbecue I hosted at the very same apartment at 1015 Bainbridge Street. And not just that, I had learned the importance of valuing and cherishing my relationship with my partner. Since then, I'm very aware that I've been blessed by God, and I'm very thankful.
Sometimes, it's the people who hurt us in some way that teach us the most. This March 2nd, I thank those people by still being here, being alive, and being happy.
Earlier today, before I got out of bed to take a shower before church, I thought about two episodes where I really felt hurt and then ashamed of my reaction. First, when I was a senior in high school, I remember dating for a very short period of time one of the most desirable girls of the junior class, Marissa McCormick, a beautiful girl with lush, curly hair. She was a goalie on the field hockey team. And she was later that year voted as the best looking girl of her class, or something along those lines. I remember going on a double date with her and Mike Potter and the girl he was dating at the time. We went to the Friendly's right by the Marlton Circle (the intersection of Routes 70 & 73, no longer a circle for at least four or five years). Anyway, it may have been later that night after the double date that another guy, Tim, from our football team threw a house party. We had lost to Pemberton earlier that day, putting this whole episode on Saturday, October 14, 1995. Marissa and I both went to the house party. I don't remember if I picked her up to go there, or if we just met there. But we were definitely dating, or so I thought. I don't remember much about the night, except that I think I was trying to play it cool by not being attached to her. Maybe that was my mistake, because I recall that I hadn't seen her for a while and so I went looking for her. I opened the door to a bedroom to find her sitting on the bed with one of my friends on the team, John Cidoni. It's possible that I immediately jumped to a false conclusion, but even my written description now seems hard to justify, so I was understandably hurt by what I saw. I remember going back downstairs where I had been sitting in the basement. I remember talking with Taryn Young and I think also with Mia Tatum, a couple of the cheerleaders, both very beautiful young women in their own right. And I remember getting upset to the point of crying. I admit before God and whoever later reads this that I'm a sensitive guy; there's no doubt about that. But I still feel a bit ashamed at my emotional reaction. Although I had good reason to feel betrayed -- not so much by Marissa, between whom we had not likely developed any kind of allegiance, but more so from my friend, Cidoni -- I still feel like I could have handled the situation with more grace.
The second episode didn't happen too much later, as the calendar would indicate. I was a sophomore in college, so this was the fall of 1997. It happened during a football game, although I don't remember which one. At that point, I was still our team's starting wide receiver. The moment really hit me at halftime, although it had been building up since some point in the second quarter, and at a deeper level pretty much since the start of the season. I had a terrible first half, dropping at least a couple easy balls. The point in the second quarter, that I refer to just above, was what should have been a very easy catch, but was instead a dropped pass. I was frustrated. And it had been building for a while. I was being underutilized by the coach, Barry Streeter. In other words, I felt that my skills and my talents were being taken for granted, or even worse just disregarded. That was the issue, not so much the frustration of the moment, but the fact that I felt like less of a person than I had considered myself. It made me question my identity as a football player, as the best wide receiver that I knew. And when I got into the locker room at halftime, it was too much to hold back. I took off my helmet and cried by my locker. I couldn't handle it. Again, I think back to this episode and I wonder if I had the emotional grit to handle the situation with more grace, perhaps wait until a more private moment to release my pent-up frustration and self-doubt. Or perhaps not. Perhaps that was exactly what needed to happen.
When I look back at both of those moments, I see that something "good" came out of each one. After the first, I developed a hunger to hit Cidoni in tackling drills and the like during practice. Before that, I'd always had an aversion, if not fear, to hitting and being hit. My love for the game of football had more to do with displaying my skills in having really good hands to catch the football and exceptional speed to set myself apart, athletically, from everyone else on the field. Now, in reaction to this episode of hurt, I wanted to punish Cidoni. And I overcame my fear of hitting others as hard as I could. I remember that it was later that same season that I put a huge hit on Aamir Dew in our win against #6-ranked nationally Toms River North. And I wasn't scared any more of getting hit.
After the second episode, I think I began to realize that my own identity was more than a football player, or at least it had to be, and I had to figure out how so. Right before I was supposed to report to camp in August 1998, I called Coach Streeter to tell him that I wasn't going to return to the team. I had been developing as a team leader during the off-season work-outs, but I decided to apply those skills elsewhere. I joined our college chapter of Amnesty International and eventually led it to the second biggest budget for a student organization on campus and ushered in a period of increased membership and activity on campus.
Maybe this is all revisionist history on my part, especially since I still feel a bit of shame from my reaction to both episodes of hurt. I hope I'm remembered for more than just my reactions. I hope I'm remembered for being genuine in my emotions. And more than that, I hope I'm remembered for the positive aspects: for being desired by a really desirable girl, for being a great football player, for being a good organizational leader, and for always putting my heart into whatever I did.
Circling back to the commemoration of today's date, I also know that I was devastated by Ileana walking out that door. The next two months marked one of the biggest depressions of my life (on par with my third year of law school). Similar to the first story, I felt rejected by a girl. And similar to the second story, I felt like I had lost a big piece of my identity. But like both stories above, something really good came out of it: only six months later, to the day (September 2, 2012), I met my wife at a Labor Day barbecue I hosted at the very same apartment at 1015 Bainbridge Street. And not just that, I had learned the importance of valuing and cherishing my relationship with my partner. Since then, I'm very aware that I've been blessed by God, and I'm very thankful.
Sometimes, it's the people who hurt us in some way that teach us the most. This March 2nd, I thank those people by still being here, being alive, and being happy.
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Snowy night
It's a snowy night in Philadelphia. We had 9.8 inches of snow fall late last night into this morning. Then there was a lull for most of the day up until now, as I write this. But we're expected to get the back end of the nor'easter tonight, which will give us another 1 to 3 inches of snow. I just got the email that the office will be closed tomorrow. Taking into account that I was off today and we're off on Monday for Presidents' Day, I'm in a 5-day weekend.
Today is notable for more than the snow. Jeannie is 33 weeks pregnant today. Meaning that, if that calculation is accurate, we'll be the proud parents of a baby girl in about 7 weeks, give or take, depending on when our little girl decides to arrive. The expected due date is April 3rd.
Although I see with my own eyes how Jeannie's belly is getting bigger every day, it doesn't seem quite real to me. There are, however, those moments when it hits me and I feel very excited. For example, I almost always walk north on 18th Street for a good part of my walk to work in the morning. And I daydream about walking with the baby to Rittenhouse Square when the weather is warmer in a few months. I'm looking forward to being a father. And I'm so happy that Jeannie will be the mother of my child (maybe, hopefully, some day: children). Although no one can ever be totally prepared to be a parent, I think we're both in a good place in our lives that this is the time. I feel good about it and I have faith in everything about it.
Speaking of faith, since just about a year ago, we've been attending mass at St. Charles Borromeo Church very regularly. We've grown to love the feeling of warmth and community there. It's where Jeannie and I got married just two months ago, on Saturday, December 14, 2013. Father Ed is a great guy and I really like how down-to-earth he is, which translates to his style of homily. The fact that it's just a couple blocks up the road makes it really easy for us to get there on Sunday mornings. It's one of those things that may seem insignificant at first blush, but it's one of the greatest sources of happiness and stability in my life over the past year. And I hope and intend that we'll continue to attend and become more a part of the community.
Rocky and the Baby are healthy and doing well. Rocky was just on my lap a few minutes ago as I was typing the early part of this note. The Baby is on the couch with Jeannie, who happened to fall asleep there about a half-hour ago. As hard as it is to believe, Rocky and the Baby turned 9 years old this past Christmas (2013). I got them just past Valentine's Day 2005, so at this point they've been in my life for nearly 9 years. It's amazing. Talk about family, they've been a part of my daily life for 9 years, seen me through changes of relationships, been with me through moves to new residences, seen me happy and sad, and been with me throughout it all. I love them so much. I hope they can feel it or know it somehow. I'm just so thankful to God that Rocky and the Baby are in my life. Every Sunday at church, I pray for their good health and happiness.
The chapter of my life at PLA is likely coming to an end later this year. It's something that I hesitate to put in writing, even here, because of my concerns of keeping my intentions known to only a very small circle of loved ones. I mention it only so when I look back I'll see that it was something already in the works as of this date, and sooner I assure you.
Jeannie and I recently came back from India. Initially, Jeannie was going there for work and I was just going to take advantage and tag along. When Jeannie's employer (who happens to be my friend) found out we were getting married, he very graciously offered Jeannie the first week off there, so she and I could effectively have a honeymoon, which we hadn't planned or really intended to take. We were very happy to take the opportunity. For the first three days or so, we were in Delhi. I had the blessing to see the Taj Mahal for the first time in my life. Then, for my last seven days there, we stayed in Bengaluru, in the south of India. On the first two days in Bengaluru, I went out for daylong pilgrimages, in which I roamed the city, mostly on foot, but also by public bus. Those two days, away from the routine of my everyday life and accompanied only by my solitude, allowed my mind to roam as freely as my legs were taking my body. By the grace of God, I received a lot of inspiration, in terms of concrete ideas for my next professional chapter, as well as the even more important feeling of confidence or dare I say destiny. The shining example of the latter was a date that came to my mind that I must launch my next chapter. That date is my target. I have a goal, and so now the time from now until then shall be dedicated to the details that must be filled in so I can feel as prepared as I possibly can be.
I sometimes struggle with resisting the temptation to judge others who I consider to be unjust or self-centered or biased. For example, I believe one of the lawyers I work with has a big ego and likes to draw attention to herself. But the thing that irritates me more than that simple point is that others seem to have bought in to her "brand," so to speak. They've bought in to her ego, which I believe is bigger than her actual value or talent, not to take away from or underestimate that the talent and skills that she does have. In another example, there's this community activist in South Philadelphia who, numerically at least, has a large following on facebook. I believe that she is racist; to put it bluntly, I believe she hates white people. Being "white" in color and mostly European in heritage, I take offense to some of what she writes online. Up until now, I've swallowed my thoughts and not responded, but just a couple weeks ago, I finally wrote a sharp reply to her online. Similar to my first example above, it bothers me when someone has too much influence, too loud of a voice, for a position that's either biased or too self-centered. I really can't stand it. But I know I have no control over how people, these people in particular, act or what they say. And I have no control over how others receive their message or consider their personality. I can only be me. Recently, perhaps in part looking ahead to changes later this year, I've started to be just a bit more vocal on facebook, in terms of what I write for my own posts and also in reply to others. I've been mindful not to come across as too overly confident (which would be ironic) or too critical of others. I hope I've succeeded on those counts.
Finally, just as an update, I'm currently reading the New Testament. For the second time ever. A couple years ago, from around December 2011 to maybe May or June 2012, I read the Bible from cover to cover, Old Testament through New Testament. This time I'm just reading the New Testament. As of now, I'm at 2 Corinthians. Not to be cliche, but it's a good book. It's helped to give confidence to me in my daily life, especially professionally. Overall, my faith is stronger, although I know that I need to be careful not to take anything for granted, faith in particular.
Today is notable for more than the snow. Jeannie is 33 weeks pregnant today. Meaning that, if that calculation is accurate, we'll be the proud parents of a baby girl in about 7 weeks, give or take, depending on when our little girl decides to arrive. The expected due date is April 3rd.
Although I see with my own eyes how Jeannie's belly is getting bigger every day, it doesn't seem quite real to me. There are, however, those moments when it hits me and I feel very excited. For example, I almost always walk north on 18th Street for a good part of my walk to work in the morning. And I daydream about walking with the baby to Rittenhouse Square when the weather is warmer in a few months. I'm looking forward to being a father. And I'm so happy that Jeannie will be the mother of my child (maybe, hopefully, some day: children). Although no one can ever be totally prepared to be a parent, I think we're both in a good place in our lives that this is the time. I feel good about it and I have faith in everything about it.
Speaking of faith, since just about a year ago, we've been attending mass at St. Charles Borromeo Church very regularly. We've grown to love the feeling of warmth and community there. It's where Jeannie and I got married just two months ago, on Saturday, December 14, 2013. Father Ed is a great guy and I really like how down-to-earth he is, which translates to his style of homily. The fact that it's just a couple blocks up the road makes it really easy for us to get there on Sunday mornings. It's one of those things that may seem insignificant at first blush, but it's one of the greatest sources of happiness and stability in my life over the past year. And I hope and intend that we'll continue to attend and become more a part of the community.
Rocky and the Baby are healthy and doing well. Rocky was just on my lap a few minutes ago as I was typing the early part of this note. The Baby is on the couch with Jeannie, who happened to fall asleep there about a half-hour ago. As hard as it is to believe, Rocky and the Baby turned 9 years old this past Christmas (2013). I got them just past Valentine's Day 2005, so at this point they've been in my life for nearly 9 years. It's amazing. Talk about family, they've been a part of my daily life for 9 years, seen me through changes of relationships, been with me through moves to new residences, seen me happy and sad, and been with me throughout it all. I love them so much. I hope they can feel it or know it somehow. I'm just so thankful to God that Rocky and the Baby are in my life. Every Sunday at church, I pray for their good health and happiness.
The chapter of my life at PLA is likely coming to an end later this year. It's something that I hesitate to put in writing, even here, because of my concerns of keeping my intentions known to only a very small circle of loved ones. I mention it only so when I look back I'll see that it was something already in the works as of this date, and sooner I assure you.
Jeannie and I recently came back from India. Initially, Jeannie was going there for work and I was just going to take advantage and tag along. When Jeannie's employer (who happens to be my friend) found out we were getting married, he very graciously offered Jeannie the first week off there, so she and I could effectively have a honeymoon, which we hadn't planned or really intended to take. We were very happy to take the opportunity. For the first three days or so, we were in Delhi. I had the blessing to see the Taj Mahal for the first time in my life. Then, for my last seven days there, we stayed in Bengaluru, in the south of India. On the first two days in Bengaluru, I went out for daylong pilgrimages, in which I roamed the city, mostly on foot, but also by public bus. Those two days, away from the routine of my everyday life and accompanied only by my solitude, allowed my mind to roam as freely as my legs were taking my body. By the grace of God, I received a lot of inspiration, in terms of concrete ideas for my next professional chapter, as well as the even more important feeling of confidence or dare I say destiny. The shining example of the latter was a date that came to my mind that I must launch my next chapter. That date is my target. I have a goal, and so now the time from now until then shall be dedicated to the details that must be filled in so I can feel as prepared as I possibly can be.
I sometimes struggle with resisting the temptation to judge others who I consider to be unjust or self-centered or biased. For example, I believe one of the lawyers I work with has a big ego and likes to draw attention to herself. But the thing that irritates me more than that simple point is that others seem to have bought in to her "brand," so to speak. They've bought in to her ego, which I believe is bigger than her actual value or talent, not to take away from or underestimate that the talent and skills that she does have. In another example, there's this community activist in South Philadelphia who, numerically at least, has a large following on facebook. I believe that she is racist; to put it bluntly, I believe she hates white people. Being "white" in color and mostly European in heritage, I take offense to some of what she writes online. Up until now, I've swallowed my thoughts and not responded, but just a couple weeks ago, I finally wrote a sharp reply to her online. Similar to my first example above, it bothers me when someone has too much influence, too loud of a voice, for a position that's either biased or too self-centered. I really can't stand it. But I know I have no control over how people, these people in particular, act or what they say. And I have no control over how others receive their message or consider their personality. I can only be me. Recently, perhaps in part looking ahead to changes later this year, I've started to be just a bit more vocal on facebook, in terms of what I write for my own posts and also in reply to others. I've been mindful not to come across as too overly confident (which would be ironic) or too critical of others. I hope I've succeeded on those counts.
Finally, just as an update, I'm currently reading the New Testament. For the second time ever. A couple years ago, from around December 2011 to maybe May or June 2012, I read the Bible from cover to cover, Old Testament through New Testament. This time I'm just reading the New Testament. As of now, I'm at 2 Corinthians. Not to be cliche, but it's a good book. It's helped to give confidence to me in my daily life, especially professionally. Overall, my faith is stronger, although I know that I need to be careful not to take anything for granted, faith in particular.
Monday, July 29, 2013
Good day today
I'll keep this short, since it's getting late. Highlights of the day:
1) Helping a humble man, client M.D., by going with him to personally file a motion for special relief at the clerk of family court this afternoon. We had a nice conversation about God, church, and his relationship with his son, whose mother had denied him access for the past two weeks. Mr. D. needed our help now, since the name on the caption was his Muslim name, while he now uses his birth name again. Taking a nice, easy stroll on such a beautiful day, and for such a good cause for a good man, was a great feeling.
2) Having a good, long conversation just now with Mita. We talked about my relationship with Jeannie and I also told her a lot about my conversation with Father Ed. I don't often get to talk with Mita like that, but I'm very happy when I do.
3) Oh, and I had a pretty good work-out at the gym earlier this evening: dumbbell incline bench press; dumbbell triceps kick-backs; dumbbell bicep curl and press; and barbell bench press. As you can see, it was very focused on chest, bi's, and tri's. Good stuff. When I got home, I even did a final set of push-ups.
Now, hopefully I'll get a good night's sleep tonight...
1) Helping a humble man, client M.D., by going with him to personally file a motion for special relief at the clerk of family court this afternoon. We had a nice conversation about God, church, and his relationship with his son, whose mother had denied him access for the past two weeks. Mr. D. needed our help now, since the name on the caption was his Muslim name, while he now uses his birth name again. Taking a nice, easy stroll on such a beautiful day, and for such a good cause for a good man, was a great feeling.
2) Having a good, long conversation just now with Mita. We talked about my relationship with Jeannie and I also told her a lot about my conversation with Father Ed. I don't often get to talk with Mita like that, but I'm very happy when I do.
3) Oh, and I had a pretty good work-out at the gym earlier this evening: dumbbell incline bench press; dumbbell triceps kick-backs; dumbbell bicep curl and press; and barbell bench press. As you can see, it was very focused on chest, bi's, and tri's. Good stuff. When I got home, I even did a final set of push-ups.
Now, hopefully I'll get a good night's sleep tonight...
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
FAITH [email to Paul]
Paul,
Anthony is with you today, just as he is with you every day. He is still very much alive with us and within us.
You've sometimes mentioned to me the frustration of the question "why?". The way I look at it is this: at your job, you trust the company's CEO to do whatever is best for the company, even if you don't understand or agree with his decisions. But of course, the CEO very likely knows a lot more than you do about what's best for his company, and you lack the perspective he has and the information that he has available to him.
God is the same way, but God created everything, including that CEO and you and me and Anthony. God's perspective, as the Creator of everything, is higher up than anything or anybody else. And not only that, the amount of information available to God is limitless and infinite, so God can make the most informed decisions possible in the interest of what's best for His "company": everything, all of existence. And of course, God is perfect, so that totally and completely reinforces every decision. Even if you and I can never understand those decisions.
In both cases, we put FAITH in those who are in positions of power and authority. And God is the ultimate power and authority. Our only mission is to serve God, wherever we are and wherever He sends us, in this lifetime and beyond.
God bless you Paul. You're like a brother to me. And so, we'll both be thinking of Anthony today. Peace and Love, [...]
Anthony is with you today, just as he is with you every day. He is still very much alive with us and within us.
You've sometimes mentioned to me the frustration of the question "why?". The way I look at it is this: at your job, you trust the company's CEO to do whatever is best for the company, even if you don't understand or agree with his decisions. But of course, the CEO very likely knows a lot more than you do about what's best for his company, and you lack the perspective he has and the information that he has available to him.
God is the same way, but God created everything, including that CEO and you and me and Anthony. God's perspective, as the Creator of everything, is higher up than anything or anybody else. And not only that, the amount of information available to God is limitless and infinite, so God can make the most informed decisions possible in the interest of what's best for His "company": everything, all of existence. And of course, God is perfect, so that totally and completely reinforces every decision. Even if you and I can never understand those decisions.
In both cases, we put FAITH in those who are in positions of power and authority. And God is the ultimate power and authority. Our only mission is to serve God, wherever we are and wherever He sends us, in this lifetime and beyond.
God bless you Paul. You're like a brother to me. And so, we'll both be thinking of Anthony today. Peace and Love, [...]
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