I'll be getting an iphone in the next couple of days. I am curious to know of anyone's essential apps for the iphone.
Comment and let me know what you use!
Friday, April 24, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
a wedged nate in a great tightness
It had been a pretty uneventful afternoon. Minus some issues with rest time, it had been a great day. The boys were playing really well together, and I was able to get a head start on cleanup and dinner. Then the noises began. They went something like “Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, OUCH!” and then, “Daddy, come up here!” I met Noah at the stairs and he said, “Daddy, Nate’s stuck.”
Let me preface this with: this has happened before. Nate has been stuck before. Not quite like this, and not with this much drama, but the kid loves to try to stick his hands, elbows and legs in places. This time, he really couldn’t get out.
The boys have these cool animal chairs we got from some good friends. One is a tiger and one is a zebra. The zebra has a small space between the mane and the ears. Nate’s arm was wedged there.
He was quite panicked, and if I breathed on him wrong he said, “ouch!” Step one, try to gently maneuver it out. No dice. Only screaming as if I had put his fingers in molten lava. I was gentle and careful. This is the same kid that broke his arm, so I wasn’t underestimating what he could have done.
Think. Oil! I ran downstairs grabbed some olive oil (and the camera), and back upstairs to see what I could do. Didn’t do anything except aggravate the child who also doesn’t like to be dirty.
I now explain to Nate that we either have to make his arm hurt a little or cut up the chair. The chair versus the limb was not a hard decision. He was now ready to destroy the chair. I hopped downstairs to the garage, grabbed my handsaw and back upstairs.
Every stroke of the handsaw brought, “Ouch, ouch ouch!” After about 5 times of that, I’d had enough. It was time to get the business done. Time for powertools.
Here is the thing I’ve learned about young boys this afternoon. If the situation is scary, don’t add sharp things and volume. I brought in my portable skil saw, talked clearly that it would be loud, put them in the appropriate safety gear, and fired her up. The moment the saw hit the wood and made that screaming sound that saws against wood make, my boys simultaneously reduplicated it. It wasn’t pretty. I consoled for about 10 minutes.
So it was back to the handsaw. Since I couldn’t get close enough to his arm without cutting him, I decided I’d try to cut a V in the wood and then try to break off the piece that was pinching him. Let’s just say that this was an arduous process. Every movement was a cry of agony. Unnecessarily so. I got the V cut out, but this chair was strong.
I then decided I could use the drill to drill some holes and weaken it. Nate was excited about the drill. He so bad wanted out. It had been about an hour since I had first gone upstairs.
Three precisely drilled holes later, and he was free! And the poor zebra had a haircut and was destined for scrap.
Let me preface this with: this has happened before. Nate has been stuck before. Not quite like this, and not with this much drama, but the kid loves to try to stick his hands, elbows and legs in places. This time, he really couldn’t get out.
The boys have these cool animal chairs we got from some good friends. One is a tiger and one is a zebra. The zebra has a small space between the mane and the ears. Nate’s arm was wedged there.
He was quite panicked, and if I breathed on him wrong he said, “ouch!” Step one, try to gently maneuver it out. No dice. Only screaming as if I had put his fingers in molten lava. I was gentle and careful. This is the same kid that broke his arm, so I wasn’t underestimating what he could have done.
Think. Oil! I ran downstairs grabbed some olive oil (and the camera), and back upstairs to see what I could do. Didn’t do anything except aggravate the child who also doesn’t like to be dirty.
I now explain to Nate that we either have to make his arm hurt a little or cut up the chair. The chair versus the limb was not a hard decision. He was now ready to destroy the chair. I hopped downstairs to the garage, grabbed my handsaw and back upstairs.
Every stroke of the handsaw brought, “Ouch, ouch ouch!” After about 5 times of that, I’d had enough. It was time to get the business done. Time for powertools.
Here is the thing I’ve learned about young boys this afternoon. If the situation is scary, don’t add sharp things and volume. I brought in my portable skil saw, talked clearly that it would be loud, put them in the appropriate safety gear, and fired her up. The moment the saw hit the wood and made that screaming sound that saws against wood make, my boys simultaneously reduplicated it. It wasn’t pretty. I consoled for about 10 minutes.
So it was back to the handsaw. Since I couldn’t get close enough to his arm without cutting him, I decided I’d try to cut a V in the wood and then try to break off the piece that was pinching him. Let’s just say that this was an arduous process. Every movement was a cry of agony. Unnecessarily so. I got the V cut out, but this chair was strong.
I then decided I could use the drill to drill some holes and weaken it. Nate was excited about the drill. He so bad wanted out. It had been about an hour since I had first gone upstairs.
Three precisely drilled holes later, and he was free! And the poor zebra had a haircut and was destined for scrap.
Monday, April 13, 2009
an air traveller's lament - text from the broken link
Dear Continental Airlines,
I am disgusted as I write this note to you about the miserable experience I am having sitting in seat 29E on one of your aircrafts.
As you may know, this seat is situated directly across from the lavatory, so close that I can reach out my left arm and touch the door.
All my senses are being tortured simultaneously. It's difficult to say what the worst part about sitting in 29E really is?
Is it the stench of the sanitation fluid that is blown all over my body every 60 seconds when the door opens? Is it the wooosh of the constant flushing? OR is it the passengers asses that seem to fit into my personal space like a pornographic jig-saw puzzle?
I constructed a stink-shield by shoving one end of a blanket into the overhead compartment-while effective in blocking at least some of the smell and offering a small bit of privacy, the ass-on my body factor has increased, as without my evil glare passengers feel free to lean up against what they think is some kind of blanketed wall. The next ass that touches my shoulder will be the last!
I am picturing a board room full of executives giving props to the young promising engineer that figured out how to squeeze an additional row of seats onto this plane by putting them next to the Lav. I would like to flush his head in the toilet that I am close enough to touch and taste, from my seat.
Putting a seat here was a very bad idea. I just heard a man Groan in there! This sucks!
DEPICTION OF A MANS BUTT IN MY FACE
Worse yet, is I've paid over $400.00 for the honor of sitting in this seat! Does your company give refunds? I'd like to go back where I came from and start over.
Seat 29E could only be worse if it was located inside the bathroom. I wonder if my clothing will retain the sanitizing odor...what about my hair! I feel like I'm bathing in a toilet bowl of blue liquid, and there is no man in a little boat to save me. I am filled with a deep hatred for your plane designer. and a general dis-ease that may last for hours.
We are finally descending and soon I will be able to tear down the stink-shield, but the scars will remain. I suggest that you initiate immediate removal of this seat from all of your crafts. Just remove it, and leave the smoldering brown hole empty a place for sturdy/non-absorbing luggage maybe, but not human cargo.
an air traveller's lament
Just heard about this Continental Airlines letter on a message from Rob Bell. I couldn't stop laughing in the car. The diagrams are awesome too.
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