Buzz Cut

So one day I came home from work and my wife admitted to trying to cut our son's hair and "screwing up"... big time. She had told me that morning she intended to cut his hair, and I admonished her to please... please... please... don't cut his hair. She promised she wouldn't, but then she did. So I was pretty pissed. I told her that she "didn't respect me" and that she "probably wanted to divorce me" and then I said stuff like "maybe your life would be easier if I just buried myself alive"... you know... stuff that most people say when they're in a fight. Then I said, "If you really love and respect me, then you'll shave your head." She was feeling juuuuust guilty enough to storm into the bathroom and close the door. I listened for a little while... then I heard the clippers going, but the sound was NOT the sound of clippers-cutting-hair.

I went into the bathroom and saw my sweet wife standing in front of the mirror holding the clippers to the back of her neck... kind of like she was trying to psych herself into shaving her head. I chuckled and said, "C'mon, Boodle (pet name). We both know you're not going to shave your head." Just then, she put the clippers to the back of her neck and drew one swift line from the back of her neck to the middle of her forehead. My eyes were about as big as dinner plates and then I just started laughing.
I helped her finish of the rest of her head and she began the process of growing her hair back. It's been slow going, but she's finally to a point where she can look at herself in the mirror and say, "Yeah... ok. I look cute." I guess I can never say my wife doesn't love me again.

Down's?

With our first two kids my wife (and I) submitted to pretty much every test the doctor recommended throughout the pregnancy. Now that I look back, I think that may have been because I was always present for every appointment and so I didn't realize that I was the one saying "yes" whenever a test was suggested. Well, this time I missed an appointment and Betsy was there without me. Well it just happened to be the visit when they ask if the mother would like to test the baby for Down's Syndrome. Betsy decided not to for only one reason: there's a chance of false positives. Her rationale was that she preferred to not be told our child was Down's only to find out upon birthing that she actually WAS. I probably wouldn't have asked, but when she returned from the appointment Betsy volunteered the fact she had refused the test. Initially, I understood her reasoning, but lately it's been bothering me. Now it's too late to test and so we won't know until she's born, but I keep thinking I'd rather be TOLD she's Down's and be surprised when she's born to find out she's NOT than to assume she's not and be surprised to see the huge forehead when she comes out. It's a serious concern I have.

And another thing: If I were to have a Down's baby, I REALLY think I'd be okay with it, but it would be depressing if our only girl ended up being Down's. Not that I'd wish Down's on either of my two boys, but I'd really have a hard time with my only daughter being Down's. I don't know. I'm probably rambling, but I'm legitimately concerned. Ever since Betsy told me she'd turned down the test, I keep having these moments when I envision a Down's baby floating around in her belly, kicking and punching like any other infant. I just wish I knew and I really hope I don't sound like I'm mocking anyone or anything... though it wouldn't be below me to do such a thing.

Skivs

One day in the recent past, my son was running around is his briefs... as usual. It looked like fun to be able to run around so careless and free, so I dug my only pair of briefs out of my bottom drawer and ran around for a little while with him. He wasn't as excited as I thought he'd be. Neither was my wife. And I was pretty cold. I don't know why he doesn't get cold. Seriously.

My family... minus me.

This is my family. Tyton, Boston, Betsy and our mastiff Sharona. She's about 175 lbs. Sharona that is... not my wife. My wife is about 145 lbs... but that's mostly because she's about 7 months pregnant. Normally she's around 110 or so. Man, I hope she doesn't read this.

142 lbs of Pure Muscle

There was a period of time while I was working graveyard shifts when I was losing weight pretty dramatically. My problem was that I don't have an appetite when I'm tired. I also lose my appetite when I'm nervous and this weight loss happened right about the time I was getting married and having sex for my first time... so my nervousness was just about as intense as it could possible be. I remember I had a checkbook and I had a signature quote over the signature line that said "142 lbs of pure muscle". That was a lie. I was actually about 125, but I thought that would be too embarrassing to put on a checkbook. But then my wedding starting getting closer and my appetite vanished (along with frequent bouts of diarrhea which happen pretty much whenever my heartrate goes over 80 beats a minute). I actually got down to 116 lbs and I was getting pretty nervous. Then a few years later I started to gain weight again. Maybe I was finally getting used to the activities that take place behind closed doors, but I think mostly it had to do with my daily intake of metamucil. This kept me regular to a point where I no longer had "episodes" with my bowels. At least not as frequently. I mean, it still happens occasionally... like when my bishop talks to me in the hallway at church and says, "We'd like to hear from you and your wife this Sunday." My stomach gurgles a little bit. But when he says, "Your topic is 'How did the faithfulness of the Pioneers help them with their Struggle to overcome temptation and be led away from their Worldly Treasures into a land of promise and freedom to worship?'" Then I make a mad dash for the bathroom and call the bishop later that night to accept the speaking assignment. This is my life.

Intro... of sorts.

I'm thinking that I probably don't need to introduce myself since the odds are slim that a complete stranger has stumbled across this blog and is currently thinking, "Who is this interesting, skinny, yet strangely attractive young man? He speaks volumes in so few words. How is it possible that a boy who appears to be too young to view R-rated movies able to spout off such profound knowledge with such a limited vernacular?" Those are good questions, but I mustn't answer them, since doing so would be a complete contradiction of my original idea... that being... no one WOULD ask those questions. Follow?

Skydive Ogden

I didn't really know what to expect when I arrived at Skydive Ogden. I knew that I was excited, and I knew that my wife was nervous, but other than that I had no idea what to do or what to think. My wife and son accompanied me to the hanger to provide emotional and mental support. I worked a graveyard shift the night before and I hadn't had an opportunity to sleep, so I was feeling the fatigue on top of my own nervous excitement. I was having a lot of different feelings as I kissed my wife and son and boarded the airplane.

The plane took off and I heard everyone in the airplane cheer. It sounded like that's what they did every time. There were about 10 people in the airplane, including my friend John Maxim and his wife, Lara. We were the only jumpers on student status. Everyone else was experienced. I looked out of the airplane after about 5 minutes and tried to find my house. It wasn't that hard. I'd logged onto "MapQuest" a few times and seen the satellite image of my street so I knew what to look for. Brad, my tandem partner, showed me his wrist altimeter and I saw that it read 4,000 feet. He told me that it would be going all the way past the 12 to the 1, which was 13,000 feet. I nodded my head. In a raised voice, Brad asked if I remembered what to do when we left the plane. I told him that I was supposed to throw my arms and legs back and arch as hard as I could. Brad said that he wanted to do something a little different, if I was comfortable. I told him that I could not be any more comfortable than I already was (I didn't mention that I could also not be any more uncomfortable than I already was I had pretty much peaked out). Brad told me to cross my arms in front of my chest and roll out of the airplane into some front flips. I nodded my head. I glanced down at Brad's wrist and saw the altimeter read 8,000 feet. Brad reminded me to keep my eyes open and count how many times I saw the bottom of the plane. I clenched my hat and goggles tighter in my hands. I figured that Brad would tell me when it was time to put them on.

All of the sudden the plane did something weird. It got a lot quieter and for a second, I thought that it might have stalled. I looked around to assess the situation. Everyone seemed to have a different look on their face. Some of the jumpers were actually on the move. I didn't know where or what they were moving for, but I got scared. One of the jumpers opened the hatch. I thought that something was wrong and it was time for everyone to bail. But I wasn't fully harnessed to Brad and I was still holding my goggles. Then I saw one of the jumpers jump out. Then the hatch was closed as quickly as it had opened and everyone was sitting down peacefully. I looked over to John and yelled, "Did you know that was going to happen?" He nodded his head and shot me a nervous grin.
I looked at the altimeter on another jumpers’ wrist. We were at 10,000 feet. I looked out the window and saw Pineview Reservoir. In order to drive there I'd have to go through the canyon, but here I was, high enough in the sky to see it. We were slightly higher than the tops of the mountains and I noticed that there were some clouds underneath us.
Brad yelled in my ear that he was going to be tightening up the harness and that I should probably put on my goggles. I looked around and saw that everyone was doing some sort of weird skydiving handshakes that involved some hits and multiple snaps. I did not know anyone besides John and Lara, so I held my hand out to John so that we could perform a dodgy rendition of the handshake. But it wasn't just John that grabbed my hand. One-by-one every single person in the airplane began touching my hand and wrist in order to express their acceptance of me into their family. As I shook everyone's hand, I felt a closeness to them that I hadn't felt since my high school graduation. Here were a group of men that were about to jump out of an airplane from 13,000 feet. Any number of things could happen enroute to earth and everyone knew it. This silent handshake was the expression of brotherhood that prepared everyone for the coming event.
With all of my gear firmly in place, I looked one last time at Brad's altimeter.
It had just passed 12,000 and was swiftly on its way to 13. I took a deep breath and counted down the last few seconds of semi-security. Then the door opened. All of a sudden, I realized that they hadn't told me what to do in case of an emergency. I was harnessed to this guy that I had barely met. I did not have an emergency rip cord. I would have been happy with smelling salts. What if a bird hit Brad in the head as we were falling and knocked him out? I'd be slapping his face and pulling his armpit hair for the 75 seconds that it took us to hit the ground. But it was too loud; the wind and the airplane. I couldn't ask him what I was supposed to do in an emergency. I had missed this episode of Worst Case Scenario on TBS Superstation. It was too late, anyway. Brad and I waddled to the edge of the airplane. I looked down and saw a whole bunch of very small things. He rocked forward and said, "Ready". I reminded myself to keep my eyes open. He rocked back and said, "Set". This was it. I was about ready to fall. I tucked my chin to my chest and blinked a couple of times.
Then I was falling. I didn't hear Brad say, "Go". Did he forget? I noticed the bottom the airplane, then I noticed the ground, then the bottom of a smaller airplane, then the ground, then I saw a very small airplane flying away from me. Brad tapped my shoulders which was my signal to arch. I arched as hard as I could and I immediately stabilized in a 120 mile per hour freefall. I realized very quickly that I couldn't hear anything. It might have been the wind, or maybe it was the rapidly changing altitude. I wondered if gum would have helped. I looked around for a few seconds. I looked at the ground and it didn't appear as though things were getting bigger. Everything was still very small. I also noticed that I didn't feel like I was falling. I felt like I was driving a car down a very steep hill... a very, very steep hill. I wanted to express my excitement by yelling, "Woo Hoo". I opened my mouth only to find my lungs had instantly filled with 120 mile per hour air. I forcefully screamed as loud as I could, but I didn't hear anything. It was either the wind, the altitude, or maybe I was falling faster than my yell. Then Brad touched my forehead which was the signal that he would be opening the parachute.
The parachute was opening and I was rapidly slowing from 120 mph to 10 mph.

Then it was over. The freefall had ended. Fifty seconds of freefall had ended. The only thing I could think of was, "When can I do this again?"