girl:progress

MaxedPotato

This kid can suck his thumb like a champ, sing along while his dad plays the drums, and, oh yeah, he's really fucking cute.

{Click photo for more of the tub o'baby.}

I am not cool, but he was.

Yeah, there's a photo up on Dooce's site of her devoted and handsome husband, Jon, wearing a swimcap that I gave her. What the photo does not show is what a retard I was when I met her. I wanted to be cool. Really. I failed. Horribly. But I had been taking care of mentally unwell people all weekend and we all know how mentally unwell I am, so there was a reason, but still, I really, really wanted to be cool.

My grandfather died last week. He had been sick for a long, long time, and it was not a surprise to anyone, but I spent a lot of time with him when I was little, when my dad was dying. He was a quiet man. He used to take me for ice cream pretty much whenever I wanted. He had nose hairs that size a small twigs. He ate chopped raw onions with almost every meal.

I wrote his obituary yesterday. I've now written the obituaries for both of my biological grandfathers. Here is a small part of the story of George Chester:

George Chester Hall died peacefully on Thursday, March 9th. George was born in Decatur, Texas in 1922, one of six children. In 1939 he lied about his age to join his oldest brother, Howard, in the Texas National Guard. He, along with his brother, brother-in-law, and most of the 2nd Battalion, 131st Field Artillery, became prisoners of war when the Dutch surrendered the Island of Java to the Japanese in March of 1942. Save for the year he and a small group of prisoners spent lost and starving in the Burmese jungle, he was in a Japanese prison camp, first in Java, and then in Burma for 42 months. There he and the rest of his Battalion worked to build the, Burma-Siam Death Railway, made famous in the film The Bridge Over the River Kwai. After his year lost in the jungle, he returned to the prison camp. His brother was dying of Dysentery and George was to be executed for his escape, so Howard and George switched dog tags in order to save George’s life. Their parents believed it was George, and not Howard who had died in the camp until George returned to the US and called to tell them otherwise.

Back in Texas, he was admitted to a military hospital in San Antonio where he met his sister Grace’s friend, Betty Jean Campbell. They were married October 26th, 1945. Except for his long, frequent trips to the grocery store to do her bidding, they were together until Betty died in 1988 of ovarian cancer. George and Betty lost an infant son, Ricky in 1946, a son-in-law, Stephen in 1977, and another son, Robert in 1996.

George worked for GTE for over 35 years, first as the only telephone man in Carrollton, Texas when he and his family moved there in 1959, and then as a test board operator. In 1988 a co-worker of George’s learned that he had never applied for the military awards and commendations he was set to receive. On July 5th, 1988, months before his wife, Betty died, George was presented his awards, including a purple heart and five bronze stars in a surprise ceremony at his office by U.S. Rep.Dick Armey, R-Denton. Surrounded by his family, George told the Dallas Morning News that “stubbornness” had kept him going during his horrific years in the war. He was a lifelong Methodist and labor liberal Democrat, serving as a Divisional Union Steward for CWA for many years.

He is survived by his daughters, Patti*, the Reverend Doctor Georjean and her husband Doctor Mike, and Jannette; his grandchildren, Reese and Kristi, Barry and Cyndi, Mandi and Chris, Sonnet and Alex, and his devoted baby, Calei and her partner Elliott; and his great-grandchildren, Tyler, Hannah, and Madison, and Caitlin; his brother, Hugh T., and his Sister-in-Law, Christa.

* Last names removed to protect the crazy.

Manwich

I know, I know, forgive me, but I so want to be in the middle of this.

Running for the shelter...

In case you were wondering what happens when you up your dosage of anti-depressant/anti-anxiety medication and start a new prescription, a sedative, at the same time, under doctor's orders, in case you were wondering about all that, I'll just go ahead and tell you. First there is the crying. This is something you've been doing off and on for a couple of days anyway. There are babies everywhere around you. Austin has been hit with some kind of fucking pandemic. There are reminders everywhere of what you don't have - what you are missing. You will have lunch across the table from a charming 7 year-old you've just met who is interested in discussing how weird it is that a baby can come out of such a small spot. Together you will imagine other humorous places a baby could come out of. She will find this hilarious.

She will, of course, ask you if you have kids. Then she will ask you if you are a teenager. For the first time in almost thirteen years you will wish the answer to that question is 'yes.'

When you first take the sedative, you will feel slightly off-balance. Do not panic. This is normal. As time goes on and you evaluate your physical and psychological experience you will not feel sedate. You will however feel as though something very large and heavy, let's say both of the Samoan Twins tied together in the same diaper, is sitting on top of you.

You will get mad at your dog because he accidentally steps on your foot. You will get very, very mad at him.

Then there is the crying. It is epic, hysterical, non-cathartic. You walk to the bedroom to begin your nightly bedtime rituals and collapse on the bed heaving and saying, quietly, to no one in particular, "Please, please, please, please," and "No, no, no, no." Your husband will be very concerned.

You will try to sleep, after all, this is a sedative. That's what they give hysterical, grieving women to make them sleep, right? You will twitch through most of the night, sleeping sporadically, fitfully.

You will wake up exhausted. The bags under your eyes are a rainbow of colors. You will stay in your pajamas on the couch all day. Your husband, so busy and stressed out at work, will be more concerned when he walks in the door at the end of the day with hamburgers and you begin to cry into yours. This will continue until the drug finally makes its way completely out of your system. You will not be taking it again.

Upon realizing and then remarking that I had never heard her belch in the almost 7 years I have known her.

"My belches are decidedly demure. You can quote me on that."

--Miss B. Louise

Done.