St. Jude Trike-A-Thon!

It's that time of year again, Logan is participating in the St. Jude Trike-A-Thon at preschool! He is hoping to make his fundraising goal for the second year in a row and needs your help! If you are able to make a donation, any amount, no matter how small will help this worthy cause. All proceeds go to St. Jude Research Hospital.

St. Jude is internationally recognized for its pioneering work in finding cures and saving children with cancer and other catastrophic diseases. St. Jude is the only pediatric cancer research center where families never pay for treatments that are not covered by insurance, and families without insurance are never asked to pay.

Click on the link below to donate to Logan's fundraising page!

Thank you for your time!
Matt, Brandi & Logan

Connect Four, The Most Dangerous Game

Monday night I was playing Connect Four with the kids. With a five-year-old you can play by rules and have an actual game. With a five-year-old and a two-year-old, it quickly devolves into a contest to see who can shove as many red and black checkers into the slots as possible to fill up the board. When the checkers are spilled, it also becomes a bare-knuckled, scratching, screaming fight to see who can drag the most checkers into their laps. (I could have gotten the most if I really wanted to.) There was also a little bit of sticking one of the black checkers in my eye and pretending to be a pirate, which the kids then tried to imitate.

That’s not the most dangerous part, though. The most dangerous part comes in the disassembly. Our version of Connect Four is a little different from the version in the above video. As a kid I had the version in that old commercial and that think would fall apart if you breathed on it too hard. The newer version snaps together so it’s sturdier, and has a ring around the base that not only makes it more stable, but makes sure that checkers don’t go rolling all over the place when you slide open the bottom of the board.

I had it all taken apart except for the last side. It didn’t want to come free, but I had to get it off to store it back in the box. I applied a little more pressure (I didn’t want to break anything so I was trying to be careful) and the support leg came away from the board in a sudden jerk. My thumb was in the way and the dull bit of plastic that was sticking out dug in.

I tell you people, watch out for Connect Four, otherwise, this could happen to you!

Proud

Last year, Brandi decided she wanted to make a huge change in her life and go back to school to ultimately go back to work. She had wanted to stay home with the kids during the early years, and we were able to make it work, so that’s what she did.

Ever since she’d had Logan, the exceptional care she’d received from the nurses and nursing assistants made her want to enter into that field. She waited until the right time, and then after some discussion, she went back to school to become a certified nursing assistant.

It meant some changes in our house, but we adjusted. She threw herself into the coursework and passed with one of the highest grades in her class. I had no doubt that she would do well, despite her own worries, and I was proud of her for going after what she wanted and being so dedicated to her goals.

After a relatively short job hunt, she successfully landed a job at a hospital nearby that is, from everything we’ve heard, hard to get a job at unless you know someone. She’s been working there evenings and overnights and although it’s been a big transition (and we’ve both lost a lot of sleep) she’s helping people get better and building a career for herself.

She might not always be happy to be leaving the house at night to start a shift where she’ll be on her feet all night and then have to deal with the kids the next day, but she goes out there and provides the best service she can helps people in the healing process. (She gets some pretty good stories out of it too.) I’m proud of all the work that she’s done and the way she sticks with it, and I’m proud of the fact that she’s followed her dreams and made a big change in her life.

Adventures in Parenting: Milk Run

The other night I was getting in bed, it was a little after midnight, the missus was at work a little more than an hour into her overnight, and the kids were asleep. I had checked on Ava a couple hours before when she started crying, and I knew she was fine, but I wouldn't be able to sleep again until I checked on her. I got up and crept into the kids' room. Of course as soon as I set one foot inside the room she sat up and said "Daddy, more ba-ba." Tired and ready to fall over in exhaustion, I trudged down the stairs to warm up a little more milk so she'd go back to sleep.

I poured out the milk, which left not enough milk for the next morning. So I sent Brandi a text letting her know she'd have to pick up milk in the morning and laid down, figuring she wouldn't get the message until I was on my way to work and leaving her no option but to stop at the store on the way home. Not my best move, I know. Of course, just a couple minutes later, she texts me back that I'll have to get it. She won't have time in the morning because she has to take Logan to school when she gets home.

I throw on some jeans and a t-shirt and run out for milk. Brandi's dad's up, so I let him know that I'm running out, and I go to find some milk. It's 12:30 by now, so Walgreen's is out of the question. The one by us is only open till 10:00. I run over to Jewel, but that's apparently only open to 12:00. Gas station? Nope, that's closed too. I'm trying to figure out where I can go to get milk this late at night, and decide on going to the 24-hour Wal-Mart in the next town over when I pass by a 7-11 that's still open.

When I get there, there's one car in front of the store, one person pumping gas, and another car off to the side. There's a woman in the car in front of the store waiting for one of the guys inside. As I walk in, a tall skinny guy is leaving. I get the milk and approach the counter where a guy with really short hair but a rat tail about half way down his back is trying to decide between a Hustler and some other hard-core porn mag, which I didn't happen to catch the title to. After looking over the covers, he decided to go with the latter. After he paid, the cashier rang up my milk and rolled his eyes at the guy leaving with his porn.

I exited the store and saw the first guy and his girlfriend hunched over something in the car, concentrating intently on something. I figured it was one of two options, drugs or scratch cards, and really it probably wasn't scratch cards.

I returned home with the milk and crawled back into bed, now completely awake and unable to fall asleep.

Breaking Musical Law

On my way into work this morning, as I was switching out CDs for the audiobook I'm listening too, the radio station that came on (94.7) broke musical law. It was a horrible atrocity and I was genuinely surprised, especially by the sequence of songs that was played.

The song that was playing as I switched out audiobooks was none other than Queen's Another One Bites the Dust. Musical law dictates that this must be followed by the We Are the Champions. But that wasn't what happened. Instead, Another One Bites the Dust was followed by The Hustle. WTF? The Hustle? There are only four unique words in that fucking "song." This will not do. Admittedly, I wasn't really in the mood to listen to either Queen song, and in fact I ended up popping in an Eagles of Death Metal CD because the audiobook I'm listening to right now is making me a little stabby. However, it is musical law, and I must rectify it.

Understand that if you listen to one, you must listen to the other.

Ladies and Gentlemen, The Eels!

This is where I'll be tomorrow night. Watching these guys.



I haven't seen them since they came to Chicago for the Shootenanny! tour in 2003. Can't wait.

And while we're at it, have another song.

Blizzard Survival Depends on Garbage

So the other night, Logan and I were sitting on the couch watching an episode of Shaun the Sheep before he went to bed. My father-in-law was sitting on the recliner next to us. The house was silent except for the antics of the above mentioned claymation quadruped. Without any kind of preamble, my father-in-law says “If I were stuck out in a blizzard and there are garbage cans out like we have here, I’d dump one out and then climb inside. If you pack some snow around it, it’d be like an igloo.”

I remained silent, waiting for more. Sure enough, it came.

“Of course, you’d have to lift the flap a couple times so all the snow doesn’t pile on top of it.”

Again, I paused. When there wasn’t any more forthcoming, I asked why, on a humid, 90+ degree day would he be thinking about getting caught outside in a blizzard.

“Gotta know what you’d do in case of an emergency,” he said. This was followed by “That cools you down, thinking about being stuck in a blizzard,” a minute later.

I may have mentioned here before that we live with my father-in-law and that he is blind. He has been blind for close to three decades now, and consequently, spends a lot of time living in his head. This is not the first off the wall, seemingly spontaneous thing that I’ve heard him say, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.

I suppose, if I were stuck outside in a blizzard and I couldn’t find any other shelter, I may empty out someone’s garbage can on the street and climb inside. That seems like an effective way to try and keep some warmth contained. The garbage cans we have (pictured above) aren’t roomy, but would provide enough space to squat down in.

It’s not like living in or near garbage cans is unheard of either. There’s at least one high-profile individual I can think of that’s known for residing in a garbage can. Maybe it’s not such a bad idea after all.