New Post

For a little while I tried not to post things on my blog on Fridays or Saturdays. I really like getting comments on my blog and I learned that weekends are not a good time to post things and then expect people to comment. I'm not positive of the reasons, but I think my guess is pretty good. First of all, I don't think people have as much time to kill on the weekends (as opposed to when they're sitting at work during the week) and as a result, they don't waste their weekends reading blogs and then commenting on them.

Secondly, by the time people DO have time to kill (on Monday at work), they don't leave comments because they figure it's an old post (3 days) and people don't usually read the comments on old posts so... "Why bother commenting if Cameron will be posting something new later today? I might as well just wait to comment on his new post this afternoon."

Ultimately, I've decided if I feel like posting something on a weekend I'm going to try not to put much thought into it. Maybe just post something easy that I've written in the past... or maybe a couple of photos. Nothing big. But if YOU'RE like ME, then you'll be excited when you see I've posted something new while you're clicking around on Saturday afternoon or maybe Sunday just before church.

Wow. That dialogue was almost completely unnecessary.

I have a folder of letters I've written to my brothers while they were on their missions. I also have saved all of my update letters mailed out to family and friends approximately four times a year, titled Daley Record of Events... or D.R.E. I've decided to scan in all of my written letters and typed updates (that I haven't previously had stored) and put them on my thumb drive. I've opted to post one today for your reading pleasure.

I hope it brings you happiness on this wonderful weekend.

Indiana Jones/Dr. Pepper Hat Prize

I got a pretty sweet surprise in the mail the other day. It was my totally kick "a" Indiana Jones/Dr. Pepper Hat Prize. Luckily, the hat doesn't say anything about a crystal skull or else I might have thrown it away. Indiana Jones 4 totally sucked. But the hat is sweet and it smells like Dr. Pepper.

Our Weekend

I almost called the doctor today to see if he still had the opening on Thursday to perform my vasectomy. Seriously... I almost did. I didn't... but I almost did. Our boys got sick on Memorial Day. Luckily our holiday plans didn't involve leaving our own property so we didn't have to cancel anything. My wife hates our sectional couch, but it worked out great for our two sick kids. She thinks it's too big and looks ridiculous, but we can't afford to buy anything new or anything made of cow, so we're stuck with this couch we got for free from a friend of mine who told me I could have it so long as he could give it to me "as is". Come to find out "as is" means completely covered (completely covered [yes I felt it necessary to type it twice]) with dog hair. Dog hair in every nook and cranny... every square inch of surface area, including unexposed surface area. I bought a 10-pack of lint rollers from Costco and Betsy and I used every single sheet from all 10 rollers. Then we vacuumed and shampoo'd the thing twice. The next day Boston peed on it.

My boys got sick yesterday. It started as a fever. I was in the kitchen when my wife yelled, "He's throwing up! Get a bowl!" By the time I got the bowl and made it in to him, I caught about 1/2 cup of sweet smelling vomit in the bowl. The other three cups were in Betsy's cupped hands, on the couch, on the blanket, all over Boston's right arm and puddled in the crevasses of Boston's pajama top. I kept trying to reassure Boston that it was no big deal. I had to breath out of my mouth when I carried Boston into the bathroom and had to touch his puke dripping sleeves to get his shirt off. Most of the throw-up from his shirt ended up in his hair by the time I had him undressed (I actually contemplated cutting the shirt off like the EMT's do when someone has a serious injury). Then I had to drain the bathwater after he got in cause there were so many chunks. I almost decided to just let the water stay in the tub, until I saw the yellow cloud forming around his wiener, since I didn't have time to let him pee before getting the vomit rinsed off him.

Three days ago, Tyton was waking up in the morning, stretching and talking to Boston who was standing by his bed. Then Tyton yelled, "Boston is pooping!" After I sat Boss on the toilet (with his Blues Clues seat acting as a booster), I started picking up rock-hard turds with Kleenex trying to make sure I didn't miss any. Then I noticed the puddle of urine on the carpet where Boss was standing. I could hear Season crying in the other room and Betsy was trying to soothe her. Tyton decided he wanted to help soothe her, as well, so he got out of bed and smushed a couple of the turds into the carpet and tracked them into our bedroom. Then he stepped onto the bed frame while saying in his "It's okay" voice, "Are you okay, Season? Why are you sad?" Then his foot slipped and Tyton's face hit the window sill. Tyton starting crying and screaming that his nose was bleeding. I had a tissue in both hands holding squished Boston poo and Betsy was holding Season in one arm, Tyton had his hands cupped under his nose and Boston was sitting on the toilet CLAIMING he didn't have to poo anymore.

How was your weekend?

The Vasectomy Monologues: Part 3

My wife and I were married in September of 2001 and by February of 2002, she was pregnant with our first kid. It was planned, though, I promise. We both wanted to have children and it made the most sense for us to have them as soon as possible. Since we had only dated for about 3 weeks, ultimately we didn't have much time to really get to know each other before the mood swings and nausea started. Over the last six years whenever we think about the first chapter of our marriage, we seem to drift toward the same question: Should we have waited to start our family until after we'd had a chance to get to know each other?

I think we did things the best way we could have. But every time I think about our future, I think ahead to the day when our children will be grown-up and on their own. Betsy and I will be able to go on cruises and vacations as a couple that we never had a chance to do when we were in our early 20's. Our kids will be adults and we'll still be young enough to enjoy each other's company... hopefully.

So whenever we have another child, the "18 year" stopwatch starts all over again. Right now, we'll both be almost 50 when Season is old enough to go to college or get married or move out or something. If things work out the way I'm planning, I'll have the summers off to spend with my wife and we can hang out with our kids and their families.

Betsy also has pretty rough pregnancies. They're not really DANGEROUS pregnancies... they're just really hard on her. When a pregnancy is hard on a wife and mother, it also makes for very trying times for the husband and children. We also recently moved into the house we'd like to live in for the next 50 or so years... and it only has 3 bedrooms with the possibility of adding a fourth at some point. So with three children, it works out pretty well. They can each have their own room when they hit their teenage years.

Betsy stays at home and takes care of the house and children and I work for the government. I get the occasional "cost of living adjustment" on my paycheck, but we are not in a position to be able to afford a large family. We are in the unfortunate situation to need to decide whether we should have more children and have yearly vacations in our backyard in a tent, or stop having kids and be able to afford an annual road trip or Disneyland adventure. For some, the decision would be easy (and different depending on who you are), but for us it's been tough.

There are other reasons we've decided to stop having children, but these are the least intrusive and more obvious ones.

Three days ago I was standing in my kitchen looking out the window at my two boys playing on the rope swing hanging from our apple tree in the backyard. My wife had just put Season to sleep in the crib and she walked up behind me and we both watched our kids playing. I told her how happy I am to have such a wonderful family and how blessed we've been to have such healthy and handsome children. She agreed and expressed her satisfaction with how well we've done with our life and with our family. I said something about how much fun it's going to be when Season is old enough to play outside with our boys. We both laughed at the mental image of watching Season learning to walk and stumbling around in the backyard with her two big brothers. Betsy said something about the size of our yard and how relieving it is to have so much space for our kids to play. Then I asked if she could picture any more kids playing in the backyard. She smiled and started walking into the bedroom to check on Season when she said, "Yeah... I could have one more."

This shocked me quite a bit. I followed her in to the bedroom and we started having a complicated conversation that still happens to be going on... on and off. All of the same reasons exist for wanting to be done, but we've been able to dismiss most of them by using fairly simple logic.

Our three kids are about 2 1/2 years apart each. So even though it's tempting to get my vasectomy now, we've been wondering if it makes more sense to wait until the time we'd normally be wanting to get pregnant again (in about 2 1/2 years) and then see how we feel. The problem with that rationalization is we can both picture ourselves wanting another baby... and another baby... and another baby. We've been wondering if we should use logic and common sense to make a decision like this or if we should use our gut/heart/spiritual prompting.

Since this conversation started three days ago, Betsy is still saying she feels like we're done. I also feel like we're done, but it scares me to think that I'm deciding NOW (with my vasectomy) to have the future decision taken away. I want to be able to decide in three years if I want another baby. I don't feel like I should have to make the decision now.

I called the Doctor and canceled my vasectomy. I was wondering if I was going to be able to type this blog post in such a way where I didn't seem like too much of a wuss. For the record, I'm not scared of the doctor messing with my balls and sticking a huge needle into my scrotum. I'm cool with that. I'm just not ready for the side-effects of the doctor messing with my balls.

Stay tuned for Part 4... coming in 2 1/2 years.

Del Monte

The other day Betsy bought a case of Del Monte canned peaches. Usually the peaches are scrum-diddly-umptious... but for some reason, the first can of peaches was completely nasty. Betsy said that she could squish every peach against the roof of her mouth and it would simply dissolve. I laughed a bit as she poured most of the can into Sharona's food dish... even though I was crying a little bit on the inside since each can equates to approximately $1.30.

The next day Betsy opened another can of Del Monte canned peaches and I heard her groan while I was checking out all my friends blogs on the computer. She said something about how upsetting it was that she couldn't enjoy the peaches like she usually does. This time I asked to try a peach before she gave them to Sharona. When I put the peach in my mouth, it was so extremely soft, I wondered how it was able to even keep the shape of a sliced peach. It tasted like a peach, thankfully, but the texture really threw me off. It was almost as disturbing as the sound of cauliflower squeaking when you bite it (which is why I don't eat cauliflower).

Well, since I was already on the computer, I clicked the Google link on my "favorites" bar and then typed in "Del Monte canned peaches". About three clicks later I was plugging in my personal information and began typing about my less-than-ideal experience... explaining in great detail the grotesque nature of the peaches, but countered my complaint with extremely flattering comments about our more common enjoyment of Del Monte products.

While I was typing up my Verbal Kung-fu, I remembered how often I would do this sort of thing when I was a teenager. I would be eating a bowl of Frosted Flakes and reading the side and back of the cereal box for the hundredth time because we couldn't afford the newspaper in my house and I wasn't old enough to read the Ensign (not because my parents forbade it... only because it was boring), and I'd stumble across a phone number underneath the words "Questions or comments, call".

I grabbed our cordless phone while pouring my second bowl of yummy, sugar-coated, flakes with the intent of simply talking to a representative about my cereal consumption as well as my personal opinions regarding their product. I figured they were used to getting complaints... cause, really, why else would you call? I decided I would make their day by just offering an innocent "comment" or asking a simple "question" about their product. On this particular occasion, I asked how they were able to cook such delicious sweetness into each and every flake. She prodded me as to why I was asking such a question. I struggled to think of a reason other than "Cause nobody else is around for me to talk to" and ended up with something like "cause every once in a while I stumble across a naked flake and I can't help but wonder what went wrong". Well she instantly asked for my name and address so she could send me a coupon for a free box of Frosted Flakes. I tried to explain that I wasn't unhappy with the quality of the product, but she wouldn't hear it.

It wasn't five days later I had my own personal 21 oz box of Frosted Flakes. The same thing worked with Strawberry Quick, by the way.

I got this letter in the mail the other day along with a check for $7. Thank you Del Monte. Even though you addressed the letter to a "Ms", the facts remain... you nourish my family and enrich our lives... everyday.

Remote

When I was single and living in my parents basement, I hardly ever misplaced anything. I always knew where my stuff was. I always left my keys and wallet in the same place... day in and day out. On the rare occasion when I couldn't find something like my sunglasses, I could easily go through the list of places I might have left them. In the car. By the tv. The back of the toilet. On my headboard. And I could always find them within a few minutes.

Once I moved out of my parents house and moved in with 8 other dudes, things changed a little bit. If I misplaced something, I could sometimes locate them by going through a list of places they might be. But if I couldn't find them, I'd assume one of my savage roommates borrowed whatever it was without permission. At that point I'd go through the expanded list of possible locations. In John's room. Under Adam's bed. In Tom's car. Under Abe's pillow. It took significantly longer to locate my personal items, but I could usually find them.

Once I had children... all of this changed. If I ever lose something... it's gone... with few exceptions. There's no such thing as a "it's probably here" scenario. There's no limit to where my stuff could be. I've found my tools (ie Hammer, tape measure) in the refrigerator. I've found my DVD's in my kids drawers in their bedroom. I've found applesauce in my kids' backpack. I'm pretty sure most of our missing remote controls end up in the garbage cans and are inadvertently thrown away. By the time we realize our remote is probably in the garbage... it's usually already in the dumpster or has already been hauled away.

I don't think my kids are trying to hide my stuff on purpose. I think they just get carried away with their imaginations. Tyton has been known to hide his stuff from Boston and then forget where he hid it. I found Ty's Spongebob DVD on the top shelf of the cupboard the other day. I asked him what it was doing up there and he said Boston kept taking it out of the case and rubbing it on the wall. Tyton had pulled the kitchen drawers out like stairs and climbed to the countertop. He then climbed up the shelves like a ladder with the DVD in his mouth until he could put it on the top shelf.
I've actually watched Boston open the fridge to get a drink from his sippy cup, but he was carrying a stuffed animal and needed both hands. He placed his stuffed animal next to the milk, grabbed his cup, got a drink, put the cup back and closed the fridge... leaving his FurrBerry alone between the grapes and eggs to slowly freeze to death. I think Boston would feel even worse about it if he knew the fridge light goes off when the door closes... leaving his toy in the cold, pitch blackness of refrigerator hell.

I usually find myself chuckling when I find things in odd places. It's hard to be mad when I'm picturing how the X-box controller found it's way behind the dryer. I get a little upset, though, when I see brand new rolls of toilet paper floating in the toilet. That's just a waste.

Please, won't you be... my neighbor?

(My apologies to those who read the first portion of this post before it was posted in it's entirety. I inadvertently published this post before it was completed.)

There are probably several of you who read my blog on a regular basis, but are virtually strangers to me. Everything you know about me can be found somewhere on my blog… and even then you probably question whether I’m exaggerating my own experiences for entertainment purposes. I’m about ready to give you another nugget of information about me. I work for Adult Probation and Parole as a supervising agent… that really means I’m a glorified babysitter who gets paid poorly, but has an above average benefits package. I deal with criminals every day. My caseload consists mainly of drug-related offenses (ie. Drug possession, drug dealing, burglaries and thefts that are committed to pawn stolen items for drug money, forgeries of checks to get money for drugs, forgeries of prescriptions in order to get prescription drugs… you get the idea). But I also have regular contact with sex offenders.

I have a difficult time with the sex offender population, like most people, but I’m in a unique position. I’m forced to have professional contact with them and don’t have the luxury of avoiding them altogether like everyone else.

While I was at work last week, my wife called me and said she was in the middle of perusing the Sex Offender Registry. She located an individual who lives right around the corner. In fact, his backyard runs perpendicular to my own back yard at almost a 90-degree angle. She told me his photo wasn’t coming up so I took the liberty of looking him up on my work computer. Sure enough, this was the guy who had initiated several conversations with me at the back of my property over the past seven days and had even shown up on my doorstep to talk about my dog enclosure. His offense: Sodomy on a Child.



Well you can imagine our frustration at the prospect of sharing a property line (about 10 feet) with a registered sex offender… though I’ve said many times “It’s the sex offenders who’ve never been caught who people should be MOST worried about”. Nevertheless, I decided that measures needed to be taken to protect my family and myself. I told my wife I would tell him to stay away from my house and my family the next time I saw him. She didn’t like the idea of this kind of confrontation, but she knew it was necessary.

If you know me, you know I only fear two things: Confrontation and rejection. (This was the main reason I had such a hard time dating.) It’s because of these two fears that people are surprised when they find out what I do for a living. They’re even more surprised if they ever find occasion to witness me doing my job. They’re often astounded that the fun-loving Cameron they toasted marshmallows with on Saturday could be so confrontational and vicious with a convicted felon… often handcuffing and swearing with very little sympathy or mercy. Because of my career, I thought it would be a breeze to speak my mind to this violator of children. I was especially frustrated that this “guy” had already found a reason to ring my doorbell, knowing I have small children.

Two nights ago I heard my dog barking at the back of my yard. I walked out there expecting to find a cat or raccoon making faces at my dog, knowing she was tethered to the ground. Instead I found this S.O. doing something to the fence separating our yards at the back of my property, deep in the trees and shrubbery that is growing uncontrollably. (I discovered later that it was nothing malicious. He was trying to untangle some branches of his tree that had grown through my fence.)

I called him over to me and initiated the beginning of a surprisingly awkward, but completely necessary conversation.

Cameron: "Hey, AJ, c'mon over here for a second."
AJ: While walking away, "You didn't do what I suggested with your dog over here. I see that you-"
C: "AJ, forget about my dog. Come over here for a second. I need to talk to you about something."
A: (still on the other side of my fence) What's up?
C: I wanted to let you know that I work for the Department of Corrections. I'm not sure you knew that.
A: (face drops very noticeably) No, I didn't.
C: Well I came across some information the other day... I think you know what I'm talking about.
A: (sheepishly) Yeah.
C: I know it's an old offense-
A: It was in '85 and I went down in '86-
C: Let me finish, AJ. I was gonna tell you that it looks like you've been keeping your nose clean since your offense. Either that or you haven't been caught.
A: No. I haven't done anything since then. I have more eyes on me than the President of the United States.
C: I don't doubt it, but listen, AJ... I know it's an old offense and it appears as though you've been doing what you're supposed to do. In fact, I noticed you came in in January for your yearly registration.
A: Yup, I've been doing everything I'm supposed to do. More than half the people on the block know about this and I've got more eyes on me than the President-
C: I know, AJ, but... and I'm trying not to sound rude, but I have kids... and nowadays you can't be too safe, you know?
A: (looking slightly embarrassed) I understand.
C: I think it would be in both of our best interests if you kept your distance from my house, my yard, and my family, ok?
A: I understand. But if you ever need help cleaning up this jungle you have back here-
C: You know what, AJ? I'm not interested in your help. I have enough on my plate near the front of my yard. I appreciate the offer, but I think you need to keep your distance.
A: I understand. (begins making unrelated small talk about cleaning the gutters in public streets)
C: I'm going inside now, AJ.
A: Oh. Ok then.

I felt like the conversation was sufficient. I also told my wife to let me know if he made any effort whatsoever to talk to her or the kids. If he does, I'll go to his tin shack and explain the seriousness of his situation... with a little more force. Maybe I'll take my partner over there when we're all geared up. But hopefully that's the end of it. Hopefully.

Soup Bone

We've had our dog since we got married. She's an English Mastiff but is often confused with a Bullmastiff since they're a more popular breed. I remember how excited I was to have a big (giant) dog. When she was about a year old (and about 150 pounds) I took her with me to McDonalds to pick up some dinner. She was in the bed of my truck while I was going through the drive-thru. All of a sudden my truck started idling kind of funny. My car felt like the engine was about fall out. It was shaking and bouncing and I started to get nervous because we couldn't afford any major repairs to our vehicle. Just then I looked in my rearview mirror and saw Sharona scratching her ear with her back leg. She was really going at it. Then she stopped scratching... and so did my idling problems.

She's so much fun and my kids love her. I have to punch her in the face occasionally when she tries to break out of her enclosure, but she spends most of the time in the house so she seldom causes us any problems.




My wife gets grossed out whenever I bring home one of those gargantuan soup bones from the store. It's supposed to be an "outside treat", but after my wife saw Sharona carrying this bone around for 45 minutes waiting for us to let her in so she could enjoy it in her room... my wife finally caved and let her bring it in the house. I usually have to take the bone away from her at night because she keeps us awake when she chews on it... and she's in the basement while we're upstairs.

It's gonna be a sad day when she dies.

The V Monologues: Part 2

I called a couple days ago to schedule my vasectomy. The receptionist said my normal doctor didn’t perform them, but there were two other doctors in the same office that did. I told the receptionist that I’d prefer to have the procedure performed by the doctor with the most experience. I also asked if the doctor had had a vasectomy himself… you know… so he could sympathize. She laughed a little and said something about how it was her first day, but that she’d ask. Before I could tell her I was joking, I found myself on hold.

I guess she decided not to answer my questions. When she came back on the phone she told me I had to have a “vasectomy consultation” before I could have my actual vasectomy. I asked if I could schedule the consult for the same day as the surgery. Nope. I guess there’s a mandatory waiting period… like if I was buying a gun. She scheduled my consult for today.

When I got to the doctors office, I was surprised when they told me I had to pay my regular $15 co-pay. Seriously? They’re gonna make me pay $15 to have a doctor try to talk me out of having a surgery that would end up costing me hundreds more? It seems like they should be able to roll the co-pay into my vasectomy bill.

The lady came out a few minutes later and escorted me back to the doctor’s office. She started taking my vitals and decided to make some small talk. “So you’re getting a vasectomy consultation, huh?” I was a little surprised the nurse/assistant felt comfortable enough asking me. “Yeah. I am.”

“How many kids do you have?”

“I have three kids.”

“How old are they?”

“Five, two, and six weeks.”

Then she says, “You’re happy with just the three kids then?” It was at this point I started to wonder if maybe she was the one doing my consultation. Why else would she be asking me these types of questions?

“Yeah. I’m happy with the three. We decided we’re done.”

“Oh. Ok. I mean, we live in Utah, so it’s kind of odd to see a vasectomy after only three kids.”

“Um… I can see that, I guess. We’ve just decided that we have our family and didn’t want to bother with other forms of birth control.”

“Ok. Well the doctor will be in pretty quickly. He’s just right out in the hallway.”

A few minutes later the doctor came in and sat down. He had my file but decided to ask anyway. “What am I seeing you for today?”

“Well, I’m here for the required vasectomy consultation. My wife and I decided this was the best way to go.”

He expresses his peace of mind knowing my wife had agreed to the procedure. Then he goes over all the details that I’d already read about on the internet. He told me about every little detail about the procedure. Details that I’m not really sure I needed to know. I mean, really… if he just answered the basics like “What kind of pain can I expect?” “Is this really permanent?” and “How long afterwards before I can use it for something other than removal of liquid waste?” I think I'd have been fine.

Luckily I know enough people who’ve had a vasectomy that I knew the answers to most of these questions. However, this doctor is really serious about his vasectomies. Everyone I’ve talked to explains the procedure like this: “They numbed me up, made a little slice in my sack, snipped both tubes, tucked the severed ends back into my scrote and threw in a couple stitches.” Good. Great. No problem.

Not this guy. He started talking about NOT cutting… but using what’s called a “tissue separator”. He made a peculiar hand motion when talking about the “tissue separator” using the fingernails of his index finger and thumb. Then he started talking about how it takes a hour and a half because of the EXTREME measures he takes to ensure the tube stays severed. Stuff about removing a segment of each tube, peeling back the tissue from the ends of the tubes, cutting off additional vas deferens, then wrapping the "pulled back" tissue up over the top of the vas deferens… (I envisioned it kinda like wrapping a miniature bottle of Sparkling Grape Juice with tissue paper at Christmas time. You know how you pull it up over the top and tie it all together? Except MY tissue paper will be living tissue that will eventually grow together creating a permanent seal that can’t be broken without freezing it and thawing it repeatedly for several days followed by a sharp blow with a claw hammer).

Ok. That’s cool.

Finally the doctor explains that there will be no stitches because, luckily, the scrotum has the ability to constrict itself to close the opening created by the “tissue separator”. I know this is true for several reasons… one of which is because my scrotum was the size of a quarter for our entire conversation.

Then he scheduled my vasectomy for May 29th... right after he made sure he could find my vas deferens. I hope that's routine. If not, I owe him dinner.

Profile

So I've gotten some crap lately about my profile photo. I guess some people aren't happy with the way it makes me look. There are some homophob's out there as well as some individuals who appear to be "anti-drop-dead-gorgeous"... so I've decided to change my photo. I think this is necessary to keep my single female friends, married female friends, and even my female cousins from thinking about me in an inappropriate way. This might also dissuade some of my male pursuers from embarrassing me in public again. Let me know which photo I should choose. I can't decide.

The Vasectomy Monologues

My wife and I are a pretty open couple. When I say "open" I don't mean we invite third parties into our bedroom (sorry Chris), I just mean we don't have very many secrets. We talk openly with family and friends and occasionally complete strangers about such topics as bowel movements, "toys", previous transgressions, and anything of a reproductive nature (ok so mostly it's me talking openly, but Betsy participates and seldom gets embarrassed, often nodding in agreement with an infrequent obligatory "Cameron!" spoken in a surprised tone when we both know she could see it coming a mile away).

Recently, however, my wife and I made the decision for me to have a vasectomy. For the first time in the duration of our marriage we actually debated whether our decision and chosen path should be a topic of discussion around our respective dinner tables. We were back and forth as to whether people needed to know. Ultimately it came down to two things: "What will people think?" and "Can we really keep it a secret?"

The first question ended up being a pretty easy question to answer. Ready? "Who cares?" We talked through all the pros and cons and ultimately decided it was the best solution for our family and it did not interfere with the plans we have made for our progression in this life or the next. (I may choose to go into the common questions and hypothetical scenarios later on in this mini-series, but not now).

The second question was a little bit harder to answer. Even if we wanted to keep it a secret like my dad did for so many years (sorry dad, I totally just outed you), we weren't sure if we could. I mean, I could picture myself at Christmas dinner at the in-laws saying something impulsive like, "It's weird cause I've only had to shave my face once a month since my vasectomy. They told me that's not how it's supposed to work. Crazy, huh?" Everyone would look at me all shocked... probably thinking I'm making some sort of off-the-wall joke. But then they'd see my smile fade to a look of embarrassment and all the blood in my entire body would instantly travel to my face and ears. Even if I wanted to brush it off as a joke, it would be impossible because the beads of sweat on my top lip and other non-verbal cues would have already alerted the entire family to the truthfulness and subsequent mortification of my vasectolictified statement. So we decided if we were comfortable enough with getting a vasectomy, then we should be comfortable enough defending our decision if need be... and need will probably be with some of my more "replenish the earth" type of friends.

I've decided to document my experience over the next few weeks via my blog. It'll probably be interspersed with posts about my new Indiana Jones Hat Prize which should be coming any day now, as well as some other random posts about my family and friends.

Thanks for reading and wish me luck.

Season and Sunface

We blessed Season today and had some family over afterward for lunch. Here are a few photo's from today. By the way, her dress might LOOK like it's the most uncomfortable outfit in the entire world, but Season told me herself that it's nothing compared to trying to squeeze out of Betsy... so she knows it could have been worse. Plus, Season should HAVE to wear an uncomfortable dress. It's the least she can do since she didn't need to be circumcised.

And it's a good lookin' dress.




One last note. Betsy hates it when people make, what she calls, a "sunface"... so I have no idea why she chose to take a photo of her husband making one. Maybe she just liked my cool Castle Grayskull shirt.