This past weekend I started phase one of my patio installation.

We have a rather small back yard that was totally bare when we moved in 11 months ago. Over the past few months we have had grass, irrigation and drainage installed and many plants will be going in soon as well. But the biggest project is our patio. When our landscaper laid the sod for us, I had him frame out a 10 foot by 10 foot area for our patio. This patio will be right up against our sliding glass door. The builder who built our house installed a single concrete step outside our sliding glass window that has been a stepway to dirt. While useful, this step was not going to work with the paver/tile that we’re installing. There was only one thing to do. So, I headed to Home Depot and rented a jack hammer.

Now, let me tell you that my wife - the same wife who has no qualms about asking me to climb up on the roof to install Christmas lights on our 25 foot high gutters - was freaking out that I was going to kill myself with the jack hammer. Here I am, reveling in the fact that I get to use this awesome piece of machinery - basking in my masculinity, if you will - and I have the love of my life tell me she doesn’t think I can handle it. Well, wounded pride aside I decided to proceed. Now, I’m not sure what she pictured but I imagine it was the jack hammer going out of control and somehow piercing my torso where I would die a slow, agonizing death, leaving her widowed with two babies. It was a risk I was willing to take. Besides, I haven’t read about too many freak jack hammer accidents in the local paper (Nail guns, on the other hand…). So, as I began the jack hammering process, I look up and see Andrea with the camera taking pictures of me with the jack hammer. I figure she either wanted to record the last minutes of my life or that she somehow thougtht I was “looking cute” with my jack hammer (she tends to do that - turn anything masculine I do into something cute. *sigh* What’s a guy to do). Anyway, five minutes of jack hammering and I was done. I had, somehow, managed to escape death. Phew!

Now, we wait for the pavers to arrive this week and I will dedicate the coming weekend to laying the perfect patio. Hopefully I’ll live to tell you about it.

Overheard at a Starbucks today…

Mom: Honey, climb into this chair here.

Three year old girl: Mommy, I can’t!

Mom: Honey, I don’t want you to use that word. Yes, you can.

All I have heard about changing diapers on a boy is that you gotta be extra careful once you’ve taken the dirty diaper off. Apparently the cool air prompts a shot off the starboard bow - many times hitting the person changing the diaper or, perhaps worse, shooting himself in the face. Up until now, the only way to avoid this was to position a plain old boring cloth diaper over the pee pee while changing diapers. Well, now there’s something more, my friends. Now, our friends at UncommonGoods.com (Okay, they’re not really my friends. I mean, I don’t even know them. But they’ve never pissed me off so they’re okay in my book) present the Pee Pee Teepee. Your changing table won’t be complete without one.

The Pee Pee Teepee - for those who don’t like pee in the face.

This weekend Andrea and I made another trip to Costco. On the weekend. In the middle of the day. Apparently, everyone else in Chula Vista had nothing better to do on a gorgeous Sunday than to frequent Costco as well. The things we do for cheap consumer goods.

Upon entering you have to be aware of your surroundings and know exactly where you want to go because once you miss an aisle there’s no safe way to double back. Moving through Costco is like running with the bulls in Pamplona - you have to keep moving or you’re going to get run over. There’s no such thing as browsing at Costco - you have to be quick and decisive. Unfortunately, Andrea wanted to browse - after all we’re still new to the Costco experience - and I was following her with the cart. Now, even in her very pregnant state, she could dart across aisles like the frog crossing the street in Frogger (she’s deceptively quick for a pregnant woman). I, on the other hand, was forced to follow in the large, cumbersome cart and many times I didn’t make it. I kept getting run into or cut off by crazy shoppers (in fact, I think there’s a direct correlation between crazy Costco shoppers and crazy Southern California drivers). Finally, we were able to make the rounds of the entire store where we bought many things we probably didn’t need but did anyway because it was cheap. We’ll be eating pastry for the next two weeks (Tip: Don’t go to Costco when you’re hungry).

Of course, this will all be worth it when we’re only paying 13 cents a diaper - crucial when you’re changing 140 diapers a week.

Santa Cruz High School - my alma mater - won the Division III California state basketball championship last night. While I am proud that these boys represented my school well, I’m happiest for Coach Pete Newell Jr. Coach Newell is the son of legendary basketball coach Pete Newell Sr. who is now known mostly as being a guru for big men but also coached Cal to it’s last NCAA championship. Coach Newell is retiring from coaching and he will be missed. While I never played basketball, I was a pretty good athlete at SCHS and Coach Newell always went out of his way to congratulate me on my athletic achievements.

Thinking of this made me reflect on how important teachers and coaches are to young students as they begin their journey towards adulthood. I was blessed to have caring, dedicated teachers and coaches who, to this day, mean more to me than they will ever know. Perhaps I should have told them - because I wonder if they really realize how important they are to kids growing up.

I hope my own children are lucky enough to have the types of teachers I had growing up. And I hope I’m wise enough to let these teachers know just how important they are to my child and to my family.

I stumbled across a pretty cool baby clothes site called Retro Baby. Here you can honor your 70’s and 80’s TV and Film heroes by ordering these very special onesies. You can get Mr. T from the A-Team, the Bionic Couple, Umpa Lumpas, and even a “Who Shot J.R.” onesie.

My favorite (maybe I can slip this one on when Andrea isn’t looking):

This weekend we finally purchased our cribs. Actually, we purchased them the prior weekend but since we are the last people on the face of the earth not to own a vehicle that seats a small army, we didn’t have any way of getting the cribs home right away.

We solved that problem by appealing to our good friends Chris and Kristie who gave half of their Saturday to getting our cribs. We’re lucky to have such good friends. Although, I did notice that no one offered to help me put them together. I mean they may be good friends but that doesn’t mean they’re crazy! Everyone knows that putting together a crib is similar to assembling the human genome - a lot of patience and a lot of guessing at where things belong.

At least, that’s what I’ve heard. Having never been down this road before I was assuming the worst - especially after attending our “Multiple Expectations” class where the guy next to me claimed how difficult this crib building thing was. “All I can say is that the second crib was easier to assemble than the first.” he said knowingly.

So, it was with great trepidation that I tackled the cribs. I took them out of their rather large, bulky boxes and pulled out the instructions and the little baggie of bolts, nuts and wooden pegs. I noted they had the same hexagonal screw head that requires the use of an Allen wrench. Luckily since I’m an expert IKEA furniture assembler, I recognized the need for my trusty Ryobi cordless drill with the Allen wrench attachment. With that in hand, I went to work - ready to spend countless hours deciphering directions that were printed in Latvia, aligning mis-aligned holes, searching for missing parts, and encountering all kinds of mayhem.

I was done in 45 minutes.

That’s right - my life has come down to bragging about how fast I put together cribs.

Stay tuned for next week when I chronicle my amazing ability to hang a wall paper border.

Since finding out we’re expecting babies, words that used to be normal, every day words that I wouldn’t think twice about, have suddenly taken on more meaning. Here are some examples…

1) Nursery. Now, did you think of a place where you can buy plants or a place that you spend hours painting, putting together furniture and that someday soon will smell like diaper rash cream, or if you’re not breast feeding, something much worse (Because, who are we kidding, there ain’t no such thing as a non-smelly diaper container)

2) Butt Paste. Speaking of diaper rash cream… Before I started frequenting the baby aisle at Target, I would have thought Butt Paste was a gag gift at a 50th birthday party. But no, it’s an apparently highly regarded cream for diaper rash. I’m gonna purchase a lot of Butt Paste just so I can go around saying it. Butt Paste. BUTT PASTE. “Honey, could you hand me the Butt Paste”

3) Bottle. In my college days, a bottle was something you looked forward to hitting when finals were done or when you got a good grade on your test or, if you’re like my brother, made it to class that day. Now, I hear the word bottle and I’m wondering if it has a slow, medium or fast flow nipple.

4) Crib. Now, I don’t usually refer to my house as a “crib” but now that we shelled out a boat-load of money for two cribs, we might as well be making another mortgage payment.

5) Breasts. I’ve never talked more about breasts than in the past six months - and I was a member of a collegiate sports team where breasts seems to always be one of the top two topics of conversation. I have even accompanied my wife to the department store to purchase bigger bras. Normally, I would have been excited about this change of events but, sadly, both breasts are already reserved.

6) Free Time. I used to have “free time.” And I know that when the babies come the concept of “free” time will be even further removed from my lexicon. However, Spring Training has already started, the babies are still 3 months away, and I can’t even tell you who the fifth starter of the San Francisco Giants will be. It’s sad, really.

7) “Honey, do I look big” Now, this has taken some getting used to. Like all men, I have always avoided this question like the plague. Now, there’s no getting around it. Andrea is indeed, getting big. Way big. Like Mount Everest big. She’s so big the cat keeps looking for her lap. Of course, I can say with all honesty that it’s the most beautiful sight that I have ever seen. I love that belly!

8) Every song with the word “Baby”. Do you realize how many songs have the word “baby” A lot. Like every other song. Now, I have never actually heard anyone that I personally know call their significant other “baby.” But I guess, when it comes to singing, it rolls off the tongue better than “honey bun.”

9) Paycheck. Now we used to have paychecks that were more than big enough to live comfortably. But now, with a rather large mortgage and impending child care payments, I may have to teach Andrea the tricks I learned in my graduate school bachelor days (Honey, did you know that if you mix tuna with the Top Ramen, you can save half for tomorrow night’s dinner)

10) Family. This word has always meant a lot to me. I have always been very close with my immediate family and I will always love and cherish them. But now, the word Family is taking on even greater meaning. I’m starting my own family with my wife and two beautiful babies. How very, very fortunate I am.

Tonight we finished our last birth preparation class. We were commenting how nice it will be to have our Friday nights back again as we left the front lobby to head towards our car. Out front was a man and a woman putting their newborn twins into the car for their first ride home. We congratulated the couple and wished them well.

As we walked off, I couldn’t help but feel a bit more excited.

Twins are coming. Only three more months.

Eric at More Diapers describes every parent’s worst nightmare - being suspected of abusing your child. I can’t imagine how frustrating it must be to be looked at as a suspected child abuser. I think Eric and his wife handled the situation tremendously.