Snow on the blooming redbud tree is not that uncommon in the Southeast.
The air was filled with the sounds of yard work this weekend in my neighborhood. I even noticed one of the neighbors planting annuals around her mailbox...a task she most assuredly will repeat next month. Like many others this weekend, she fell victim to the Calender Spring/Actual Spring trick bag. What? That's right...the Calender Spring/Actual Spring trick bag. Trust me, it got me one year too.
The calender tells people the vernal equinox (aka Spring) happens most years on March 20, as it did this year. Days and nights are of relatively equal length as the sun travels around our planet's equator. Despite the mystical sooth sayings of a certain pudgy rodent in upstate Pennsylvania six weeks earlier, the exit of cold weather is much more orderly, predictable. Everyone in the South knows cold weather hasn't officially ceased until each of the 'mini-winters' have run course because there is a big difference between the season called Winter ending and cold weather ending.
There are three distinct phases, generally speaking, that precedes the departure of cold weather in the Southeast. Granted, this isn't new stuff...Farmers' Almanac has been printing it since 1818 with far more accuracy than that witchcrafty groundhog in PA...and farmers use the phases to determine when certain crops should be planted. The indicator for the arrival of each phase is the blooming of certain plants.
We are currently experiencing Redbud winter here. Although it was a nice toasty 74 degrees on Saturday, the blooming of the Eastern Redbud tree has brought with it a cold snap that calls for a chance of snow just a mere 4 days removed from warmer temperatures. After another brief warming spell, dogwood trees will bloom and with that another cold snap usually around 3 or 4 days long. Last to arrive will be blackberry winter...somewhere around the first of May. The distinct brier can be seen blooming all along Southeastern roadways with promises of fruit for cobblers and pies by July 4th...making the last of the cold spells a little more bearable.
Now when I was but a young lad in the times before central air conditioning (at least at our house), I knew when I heard the hoot of the Hoot Owl outside my window after sunset it would soon be time to raise the windows at night and take off the white Fruit of the Loom t-shirt during the day.
Of course, I now know that scientifically speaking there are no Hoot Owls, just the native Barred and Common Barn Owls, and the louder hoots are timed to their mating cycles. Still, even though Spring officially started March 20, for me cold weather isn't truly gone until the owls have made their presence known...a happier time for us all.
So for this boy from the Southeast, forget the lessons in horticulture related weather...warm temperatures and hooters go hand in hand for me.
Been pretty hectic and I apologize for no new stuff lately. Hopefully next week will see a lighter load...
Today is my youngest first birthday. Let's look back a year.
The 'Third day at hospital' look- Mrs. Tony C wears it so much better...and she just delivered a human being!
So, our little bundle of joy arrived last Thursday morning at 8:08 am coming in an ounce shy of six pounds and half and inch short of 20. She's a mini-human...my little tiny dancer. Dad couldn't be prouder if he'd push her through his own...well...let's not get carried away crazy here.
Almost a week later, I still stand in complete awe of a Divine design that produces such a glorious moment called child birth. As I stated in my last post, my role was minuscule. I managed the wet wash cloth, camera and thick skin. Ice chips weren't necessary...but I had it covered none the less. The delivery staff were nothing short of amazing. A well-oiled machine that made this former Marine officer beam with glee at the management of organized chaos that occurs when another number is added to the roll of the human population.
Oh yes...and it's a most beautiful concert.
Maestro, aka, Dr. B was unflappable. While the subject of recent post have involved the OB/GYN experience for yours truly as a bull in a china shop, the calming effect of Dr. B sharing a fly fishing story involving his own son while I chewed scissors through a cord both a part of my new daughter's body as well as her mother's should go down in bedside manner lore. The situation was potential for the medical school instructional film series. Had my mind focused for even a brief moment on the task I was actually performing...to two of the most important people in my life...or my eyes wondered to where the cord went on either end...someone would have been using the cold wash cloth on me.
I'm not sure my HMO would have covered that either.
Look. I'm no stranger to bloody situations, or weak-kneed, or even fainthearted. I pulled a guy's molar once with a pair of pliers and gauze pads (no, he didn't owe me money...he actually wanted it pulled). I've lanced boils and blisters with a flame-sterilized K-bar (now we're talking pus). I've recovered a severed finger to hopefully be reattached! Hey...I'm no girly-man people!
Sorry. I guess Marines and former Marines just get a little defensive if we come across a bit squeamish or weak. It's a natural reaction. Some brainwashing...I mean indoctrination...no, training...last a lifetime. Besides, 'cutting the cord' has a completely different meaning/context in our field manual. But we won't discuss that here because some of you might be a little squeamish...
Thanks Dr. B for helping me save face by not ending up on my face...oh, and kudos for helping bring my little tiny dancer into the world. To use a fishing phrase...she's a keeper.
I'm probably going to offend a few people today...
But then again, when has that ever stopped me from writing something? I just want to plead with Christians to lighten up a bit when it comes to Christmas, Easter and...Halloween!
Egad!
Not the eve of evil, the celebration of satanic, the ALL HALLOWS EVE! As God fearing faithful, we can't condone the night dedicated to the living dead! What are you thinking?!
The blogosphere is full of post today addressing the issues of Halloween, so naturally, I'm jumping in with mine. I mean seriously, do you think my 3-year old has any idea the origin hails back loosely to the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain? I'm pretty sure she doesn't even know any Celtics...besides, we are all Lakers fans. Purple and gold baby!
Every holiday season, the Celebration Police show up and start spouting off about the secular roots of this, the demonic connections to that, the square root of...anyway. Most do it in the name of Jesus. Funny thing is...I don't ever remember Jesus ranting about any of this nonsense. To me, the Celebration Police come off a lot like the...no Tony C...don't go there...don't say it... a lot like...don't say it Tony C... the Pharisees!
I can't believe you went there!
Believe it brother, that just actually happened. Christians need to accept we live in the secular world. Our job is to put God in all we do. That's how we don't become of the world. I could care less where Christmas started. In my home, we focus on the Christ element of the season. Same with Easter. Halloween is a little more challenging, but I've found a few costume idea's that might appease the Celebration Police just a tad:
Where it all started...
With thanks to David Johndrow at Fire & Grace, nothing screams Christian like the fall of man. (Recommended for adults only)
God's Holy Word
Ring doorbell. Say 'Trick or Treat.' Receive candy. Jump on top of them. Bible bashing on a whole new level. Amen.
Eternal Lake of Fire
One of my personal favorites. A little tricky getting in and out of the car.
Wow...oops! Sorry. I was emailing that to Mrs. Tony C for a Christmas present idea (how embarrassing).
If you chose not to celebrate Halloween this or any other year...more power to you. That's your call, and I respect that. But if you get a hankering for a Twix bar Monday night...swing through Stone Edge Subdivision. I'll be dressed like an Egyptian handing them out.
Hard to believe a year and another addition has happened in my family since this post! September is always the very busiest month for me professionally, so please be a little understanding as I mix in the old with the new this month. Today, one of my personal favorites about my beloved Crazy Tomato.
Thanks for reading!
Kids really do say the darnedest things... (Originally posted 9/14/2010)
I'm on my second rodeo when it comes to 2-year olds...
That's my little fire gem to the right. Another blessing from Heaven and living proof to me just how much God truly loves me. Of course, tough love is love none the less.
Carlee is the second of my two...soon to be three...daughters. While both girls share several common traits (i.e stubbornness, impatience, fiercely competitive, etc.), there are also some core differences. Carlee's older sister (Tony C version 2A) was for the most part a very soft spoken toddler. She spoke quite often but mild-mannered. True to stereotypical profiling, she is now a loud, annoying teenager...but I still truly love her (Happy 15th Birthday yesterday).
Tony C version 2B is far more in-your-face than version 2A as indicated by this recent exchange:
Tony C: (looking over counter in direction of dishwasher) Carlee? Are you messing with the dishwasher buttons again? You know that's off limits. Carlee?
Version 2B: (slight paused, then popping into view with hands out) You don't worry about me! Tony, you just don't worry about Carlee and worry about Tony!
Tony C: (off-balance by the rebuttal) Excuse me?
Version 2B: You just don't worry about me. You worry about Tony, and Carlee will worry about Carlee.
Tony C: (regaining composure) Come here! Come right here, right now!
Version 2B: But I don't want a spanking! Just don't worry about me!
Tony C: Now!
Version 2B: (chin tucked into chest, lower lip puffed out and mumbling) I don't want a spanking.
Tony C: (lifting tot up onto the table and looking right into her eyes) I worry about Carlee because it's my job to worry about Carlee. I'm your dad! Don't tell me not to worry about you. Understand?
Version 2B: (under breath) Yes sir.
She does actually call me Tony part of the time, and while this is a point of contention with some of my extended family, I'm cool with it. Her sister went through the same phase and grew out of it (and I'm sure on to calling me much worse behind closed doors).
While there is rarely a day goes by that Mrs. Tony C and I aren't entertained by our rambunctious toddler who seems to be obsessed with bodily functions involving digestion or shedding her clothing whenever and wherever opportunity presents, her matter-of-fact dialog and take on life keeps us in stitches...as well as...on edge.
One recent morning while preparing to depart for school and work, I let the teenager deal with getting the toddler ready (mom departs at 6:30 am for work). After 15 minutes of bickering and crying (by both I might add), I headed downstairs to let the teenager finish what she had started:
Tony C: (yelling back upstairs) Girls! It is time to go...no...past time to go! Get a move on it!
Teenager: (with toddler screaming in the background) Dad...she won't let me put her clothes on her!
Toddler: Stop! Don't touch me! Stop!
Tony C: Carlee! If you don't let your sister help you get dressed...
Toddler: No! I want you to do it!
Tony C: If I have to come back up these stairs, you will definitely get a spanking for not listening! Let your sister dress you...we have to go now!
Toddler: Come spank me! I want a spanking! Then you can put my clothes on!
While I've never heard those words come out of the toddler's mouth again, I should have punished the teenager too for not finishing the task and letting a 2-year old get the best of her...but then I'm sure she has plenty more lessons still yet to come before she's off to college.
Funny how birth control can come in many different forms.
Three years!! Today, I start my fourth year of blogging on Blogger while seriously contemplating a move to WordPress. Ironic. My very first post (Is it just me? I kinda doubt it...) was the beginning of a love affair that has been a number of things- fun, stressful, irritating, rewarding and satisfying just to name a few.
Just to do a bit of celebrating, I thought I would reissue the post that has received the most hits of my 258 muses. To be honest, I'm somewhat surprised by this post receiving 1286 hits since February of this year and claiming the spot. It's not even controversial! So without further adieu, I give you a day in the life of Joe Pony.
Thanks for continuing to read Tony C Today.
The Adventure of Joe Pony...(what we'll do for our kids). Originally posted February 4, 2011
To say I love my daughters would be a gross understatement. I adore my girls! So needless to say, I was crushed when the 3-year old (aka the Crazy Tomato) was heartbroken and confused when I didn't take Joe Pony to work with me yesterday.
Who's Joe Pony you ask?
Having all girls, there's not very many toys for little boys in our house. I know better than to include the numerous sports toys and balls laying around the house because I understand the spirit of the Title IX of the Education Amendments of 1972. But I digress...
So me and the Crazy Tomato were playing with her My Little Pony toys the night before in our living room. She had one called...Rainbow or something, and wanted to know the name of the one I was playing with at the time.
Tony C: Joe.
I'm not very good at naming inanimate objects. Nicknames for real people I can whip out in a flash. Dolls...not so brilliant. So my baby blue pony was Joe Pony...despite the fact it was wearing a skirt. Hey! I don't judge peopl....pon...toy things. Okay?
When Mrs. Tony C told me the Crazy Tomato came into the living room the next morning and saw Joe Pony in the floor, it broke my heart to think she was disappointed or maybe thought I didn't have fun playing with her. So...for the benefit of my own personal Jan Brady (she's the middle child, keep up), I took Joe Pony to work with me today and documented the whole adventure for her to enjoy.
Okay...I had a little fun with it too.
Joe Pony prepares for the mad dash that starts each workday for me. Between us, I don't think Joe combed its hair this morning.
The teenager just doesn't get the spirit of the situation and chalks it up...as usual...as dumb!
She seems to have forgotten the numerous tea parties yours truly attended between 1998 and 2001 as the international guest of tea drinking events known as Mr. Cumberbucket...
Joe Pony isn't required to wear a seat belt in my state because...well it's plastic. A legal loophole liberals haven't figured out to date.
Traffic was light this morning in the overcast commute.
We got to work a little ahead of schedule today. I hope Joe Pony doesn't get the wrong idea that's a normal occurrence for me.
That unkempt hair is killing me. How embarrassing!
Joe Pony had a difficult time comprehending the company's complex telecommunications system. Then again...so does everyone else at work.
A true student of Dale Carnegie principles, Joe Pony decided to give the Billing Department a hand since they were down a person today due to illness.
During a pretty lengthy post-lunch meeting, Joe Pony nodded off, so we decided to play the old 'everyone quietly leave the room' joke. It was a real hoot!
Joe Pony's making new friends fast by being good natured.
While visiting the Shipping and Receiving Department, Joe Pony met a long lost relative. It was a very nice surprise to the day, and we all gathered around and sang For He's a Jolly Good Fellow just to add to the festive moment.
I was completely shocked to find Joe Pony had wandered into the President's office and was trying to pull up a 'racey' website on his computer. He claims someone else put him up to it.
Luckily, the company firewall prevented me from having to access the computer later and do some selective web browser history cleaning.
All in all, it was a great experience bringing Joe Pony to work with me today. I just need to remember not to play with the rather large Molly Dolly with her before bed during the week. She's not very nice and might damage my reputation at work...
I'm not a coffee drinker. Never have been. But, I live with two females that love the stuff. We could debate if a 13 (soon to be 14) year old should be drinking coffee...but I won't go there. I accept the argument that a cup of coffee can't be any worse than a bottle of soda. Moving on...
So from time to time, I find myself at the local Starbucks, which might as well be eastern Slovenia for me. It's like a completely different world...a make-believe world where people speak a pseudo-foreign language and pretend to be high society...or hip...or something I'm apparently not. Now, I understand the Italian connection with the origin of many coffee drinks coming from Italy, and the implied chicness of the whole fiasco called Starbucks, but what I don't get is the absolutely ridiculous sounding process for ordering.
I'm not Italian-illiterate either. Besides the Learn A Language While You Drive cassette series I played for months before an Italy trip that fell apart the day prior to departure, the Sopranos were a weekly ritual at my house (God forgive me). I know Italian...well...some Italian. I know latte is Italian for milk, I know grandemeans large. What I don't understand is why a grande iced vanilla latte at Starbucks isn't a large cup of milk with vanilla flavor. What gives?
So, this morning I find myself alone in the drive-thru at Starbucks filled with anxiety. Since I love my wife more than any earthly thing, I'm doing this for her. For me... it's virgin territory. I refuse to order when we all go together, making my wife or the teenager do the honors...and..always making fun of the process. I want a frappa mocha latte ventior some other ridiculously sounding fictional concoction. But here I am...ready to order.
Speaker: Welcome to Starbucks. Would you like to try one of our fancy smancy new sandwiches?
I'm frozen. What did she say she wanted?
Tony C: Just a minute please.
Speaker: (Sarcastically) Take your time and order when you're ready.
Now, I'm sure the seven hundred and twenty cars behind me want just that...me to take my time. I glance over the menu board looking for some type of trigger word...but it's all so...foreign.
Uh, uh mocha, latte, venti, frappachino, cappachino...before I even realized, I say...out loud into the speaker...
Tony C:Frappa mocha latte...uh
Speaker: (Again with the sarcasm)Excuse me sir?!
Nothing would do my heart more good than to break into a speaker rant over why Starbucks had to stop selling the black and white cookie...it's all I ever liked there! But I have loved ones waiting in the balance on me performing this simple task.
Text message! Thank you Jesus! She sent what she wanted in a text message! A few quick clicks...
Tony C: I'll take a iced vanilla latte venti please. Not a perfect delivery...wrong indefinite article grammatically...but hey...I'm a rookie.
Speaker: That will be $4.33. Thank you pull forward.
$4.33! For a cup of coffee! I'm I picking this up IN Italy? That's an entire #1 Value Breakfast Meal WITH a large iced tea at Mickie D's.
As I'm pulling forward, I notice the 'Coexist' bumper sticker on the BMW in front of me...nice...this is now the company I keep...very nice.
By request, here's a best of Tony C Today from 2009. I'm still driving the same Mazda (with a new mirror), and the mad dash still happens Monday through Friday...
My commute to and from work each day
I live in a quite little town of just over 50, 000 people. Each work day, I travel to my office in a neighboring little town which also has just over 50, 000 people and back again at day's end. My 24 mile commute is mostly conducted on a stretch of Interstate I-26, which by the way, actually starts where I get on at Exit 1. I say it starts there and eventually ends in Charleston SC because, quite frankly, the pendulum is far off balance when comparing the two ends...but that's another blog down the road (pardon the pun). Plus...as I stated... it's Exit 1.
Don't get me wrong. I love my little town nestled in the mountains of East Tennessee. My commute is decorated with breath-taking scenery that people commuting in other parts of the country would love to see...that is...if I could take time to look.
My stretch of I-26 is more akin to a NASCAR race at one of the circuit's super speedway tracks than a leisurely drive through the countryside. It's white-knuckled driving at its finest and not for the timid or faint of heart. Part of that equation is created by the fact that probably half of one city works in the other neighboring city... and vice-versa. Throw in the natural 'banking' on this particular stretch of interstate and you've got a recipe for some of the best amateur racing since Hanna-Barbera's Wacky Races was cancelled in 1969.
Several months back, I was very content not to get drawn into the daily suicide run. I would cruise along smoothly at the posted speed limit, listen to my iPod via my car stereo (thanks Mrs. Tony C Today), and reflect on the day to be or the day that was...depending on which way I was traveling. Lines of cars would blaze by at blurring speeds, and I would fight back the competitive person I truly am with a God bless you directed at the aggressive drivers. Being an avid Seinfeld fan, I borrowed Frank Costanza's serenity now ...which was a little to 'New Age' for me... and added a more pious tone.
There was a safety issue holding me back too. The tires on my '99 Mazda Protege were a little worse for the wear...well...actually, they were pretty bald. Several hydroplaning incidents during wet weather had contributed to my throttled back demeanor not to mention a number of impromptu prayers.
Then it happened. Rubber only goes so far and mine was passed the point of safe highway travel, so I bought a new set of Goodyear Eagles. The playing field might be changed to near level in my mind and the game had changed.
Now wait a minute. It's not like that first morning I hit the top of the on-ramp at Exit 1 doing 75 mph ready to race. No, it was much more subtle. A guy following right on my bumper trying a 'drop and go' around me to avoid slowing down.
God bless you.
The 'run up, cut over in front of you' move to get around you and the other 4 cars behind you in the left-hand lane.
God bless you!
How about the back and forth lane switcher behind two cars travelling parallel as if to intimidate someone into speeding up or slowing down.
GOD BLESS YOU!
That's was it...I was in the race. After all, I'm a much better driver than 95% of the yahoo's out there, and the Protege still had a little punch left in all 4 cylinders...most of the time. And that funny noise at speeds over 70 mph? Well that's where Michael W. Smith on the old iPod comes in handy. If I can't hear it over W. Smith...is it really a problem?
Fast forward to a mere week ago (okay, I'll stop with the puns now). I leave work ready for the weekend that was just 24 miles ahead. After clearing the speed traps at the city limits, it was on like Talladega.
Just a mile or little more into the jaunt, I looked around to survey the field. I was car number 4 in a line of 9 cars on the inside with a line of 12 riding the right lane...all packed together...all screaming down I-26. A quick glimpse to my immediate right found a Ford Escort Station Wagon circa 1992 running on the emergency spare tire on the right side back driven by a older man in a zen-like state of concentration determined not to lose a spot in line.
God bless you!
Directly behind me was an angry looking man driving a black SUV with a phone in his right hand, a cigarette in his left hand partially out the window... leaving me with the uneasy feeling of wonder to exactly what was steering his vehicle planted on my bumper.
God bless you!
Then it happened. You always hear tragedy seems to occur in slow motion, and to that cliche I can attest because as I watched the tire piece fly up in the air from underneath the vehicle in front of me...it seemed to hang there...suspended...as if it were a movie special effect. A quick mental calculation and I knew the gator (as they're known in my neck of the woods) was going to hit my vehicle somewhere up front. I couldn't swerve right or I'd take out Phil Jackson and his gimped Escort. If I slowed down suddenly, I risked being plowed over by the 5 cars in tow or being the catalyst to a potentially very bad wreck. Besides, the Marlboro Man was too consumed in conversation and nicotine to react quick enough.
Please God, don't let it break my windshield...not the windshield!
I watched the tire chunk reach apex and begin the plunge.
Please not the windshield!
It was heading right for the windshield on my side. With a loud slap, the tire half hit the windshield directly in front of me and half slightly off to the left, quickly disappeared...taking my driver's side mirror with it. Poof...gone.
Shake and bake!
The pack never broke stride as we barrelled toward the weekend. My windshield was undamaged, my right side mirror MIA, and my nerves a little rattled...but I never touched the brakes. I've determined my daily commute will require some regular training to make sure I have the intestinal fortitude to endure and prevail...that and I'll have to drive in the right hand lane until my new mirror gets here. I'm painting '00' and 'Mean Machine' on the Protege along with Ricky Bobby under my door window...
Guess I'd better take this off first...
No, on second thoughts, I'd better leave it...and just forget the new paint scheme.
To say I love my daughters would be a gross understatement. I adore my girls! So needless to say, I was crushed when the 3-year old (aka the Crazy Tomato) was heartbroken and confused when I didn't take Joe Pony to work with me yesterday.
Who's Joe Pony you ask?
Having all girls, there's not very many toys for little boys in our house. I know better than to include the numerous sports toys and balls laying around the house because I understand the spirit of the Title IX of the Education Amendments of 1972. But I digress...
So me and the Crazy Tomato were playing with her My Little Pony toys the night before in our living room. She had one called...Rainbow or something, and wanted to know the name of the one I was playing with at the time.
Tony C: Joe.
I'm not very good at naming inanimate objects. Nicknames for real people I can whip out in a flash. Dolls...not so brilliant. So my baby blue pony was Joe Pony...despite the fact it was wearing a skirt. Hey! I don't judge peopl....pon...toy things. Okay?
When Mrs. Tony C told me the Crazy Tomato came into the living room the next morning and saw Joe Pony in the floor, it broke my heart to think she was disappointed or maybe thought I didn't have fun playing with her. So...for the benefit of my own personal Jan Brady (she's the middle child, keep up), I took Joe Pony to work with me today and documented the whole adventure for her to enjoy.
Okay...I had a little fun with it too.
Joe Pony prepares for the mad dash that starts each workday for me. Between us, I don't think Joe combed its hair this morning.
The teenager just doesn't get the spirit of the situation and chalks it up...as usual...as dumb!
She seems to have forgotten the numerous tea parties yours truly attended between 1998 and 2001 as the international guest of tea drinking events known as Mr. Cumberbucket...
Joe Pony isn't required to wear a seat belt in my state because...well it's plastic. A legal loophole liberals haven't figured out to date.
Traffic was light this morning in the overcast commute.
We got to work a little ahead of schedule today. I hope Joe Pony doesn't get the wrong idea that's a normal occurrence for me.
That unkempt hair is killing me. How embarrassing!
Joe Pony had a difficult time comprehending the company's complex telecommunications system. Then again...so does everyone else at work.
A true student of Dale Carnegie principles, Joe Pony decided to give the Billing Department a hand since they were down a person today due to illness.
During a pretty lengthy post-lunch meeting, Joe Pony nodded off, so we decided to play the old 'everyone quietly leave the room' joke. It was a real hoot!
Joe Pony's making new friends fast by being good natured.
While visiting the Shipping and Receiving Department, Joe Pony met a long lost relative. It was a very nice surprise to the day, and we all gathered around and sang For He's a Jolly Good Fellow just to add to the festive moment.
I was completely shocked to find Joe Pony had wandered into the President's office and was trying to pull up a 'racey' website on his computer. He claims someone else put him up to it.
Luckily, the company firewall prevented me from having to access the computer later and do some selective web browser history cleaning.
All in all, it was a great experience bringing Joe Pony to work with me today. I just need to remember not to play with the rather large Molly Dolly with her before bed during the week. She's not very nice and might damage my reputation at work...
My wife is a petite lady...when she's not pregnant.
On the other hand, she's married to a man about a ham biscuit away from shopping at the 'big and tall' men's shop, and I'm only 5 foot 7...so it's sure not for the 'tall' part. We are finding the logistics of having two people in the house of considerable girth a rather unpleasant experience. Again.
Mrs. Tony C has done a wonderful job not gaining as much weight this go around as she did with our first child. I'm convinced the reason we have a red haired 3-year old is directly connected to the mass quantities of watermelon consumed by her mother while she was processing in her womb. If watermelon futures were an actual commodity traded in Chicago, there would have been some rich people made in 2007.
Still, pregnancy does by very nature expand a person even in the best of weight management conditions. I'd love a reason to just be fat. Actually, I have a reason, and it's called being static. Sure I could throw out the usually culprits of excuse like I'm big boned, have an inactive thyroid, or conspiracy theories on high fructose corn syrup, but the fact is my big old butt is the only thing inactive. I'm not in the game anymore.
Mrs. Tony C would confirm that I'm not really a big eater. I occasionally splurge on ice cream (my food vice) or have an Oreo binge once in a blue moon, but for the most part, the problem isn't food. I went from being a multi-sport high school athlete, to a competitive power lifter, to a US Marines, to being a professional desk jockey. That's not an excuse...it's actually a reason for me to be more active. Working a desk job is way more stressful than you might think, but then that's a different blog post all together.
So I'm fat and Mrs. Tony C is 8.5-months pregnant. We've gone from spooning before we fall asleep each night to something that resembles the yin-yang symbol...
Or maybe closer to the Greek letter phi... Either way, it's just not as intimate as before being pregnant. But then again, I guess that's how we got back to being pregnant. But, I digress...
I've made an additional vow with my wife that I will put forth maximum effort to lose weight with her after the baby is born. I know I'm not in my twenty's anymore, or even my thirty's, and the task is not going to be easy. But it's just darn embarrassing when both parents have to ask the toddler to help with putting their socks on in the mornings. Lord knows I'd never ask the teenager.
So look for a slimmer, sexier Tony C next summer my dear readers. I won't bore you with the play-by-play details of the quest. There are too many inspiring people out there who do a much better framing job on that story than I ever could. I just want to be able to once again share the same side of the booth with my lovely wife, go horseback riding, kayaking, or ride a teeter-totter together in the park without launching her into low Earth orbit. I want to climb into bed and snuggle up close to my smoking hot wife and spoon with my love on a frosty night...
Wait a minute! I've got to make an appointment with a urologist ASAP!
Last 'Best of' this week. New stuff coming next week.
I had a dream as a young boy...
When Neil Armstrong stepped out of Apollo 11's Lunar Module in July 1969, I was sitting beside my grandmother watching on her black and white television. Although I was completely unaware at the time, she was dying from cancer and would take her own final trip just a few months later. I treasure that memory... and miss her today.
As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be an astronaut. After a few flying lessons from a former Leatherneck pilot in an old cub prop plane, I was ready for the big show. I had it all mapped out. Through Vanderbilt for commissioning in the USMC. Flight school. Carrier duty. Instructor School. Test Pilot Program. Astronaut Program. Space!
God had a different plan. I never made it to step two...vision 20-40...unacceptable for flight training.
Now don't get me wrong, I was crushed. But looking back at how NASA changed from the glory days of Apollo through the routine grind of Skylab to driving a space bus called the Space Shuttle, maybe my dream wasn't the only one that faded.
When NASA finally announced a plan to go back to the moon, my batteries recharged. Since the birth of my fire-haired toddler, our daddy-daughter motto has been 'Red hair to the Red planet'. * We routinely participate in low gravity simulations and centrifugal exercises. By my calculation, NASA would be about ready for a Mars launch about the time she would be completing her PhD in astrophysics with an emphasis is subatomic particles. With a double undergraduates in geology and chemistry, she'd be a shoe in for the maiden voyage.
But once again, another dream is smashed...
The Obama Administration has deep-sixed the Constellation program which was the first step to put a working outpost on the moon by 2020 and a reasonable step toward a Mars mission. Again, don't get me wrong. I understand how expensive such an undertaking would be and there is actually logic in Obama's push to privatize some parts of space travel. Apollo cost $145 billion in today's dollars...not chump change, but not bailout money either. At the height of the program, NASA employed over 440,000 people. That would sure help some key employment indicators today.
NASA must be up to much more important things these days with the upcoming retirement of the space bus and Virgin Records sponsoring a new era of space tourism...sort of an Age of Aquarius deal I guess. The budget for NASA is still pretty rich at $19 billion for 2011, not the $27 billion for the Department of Agriculture for high fructose corn sweetener subsidies, but that's a different blog post now isn't it?
So how will NASA be spending their billions in the near future with no major space exploration planned? Funny you should ask...because just this week we got a glimpse of the new NASA:
Richard Gross, a scientist at NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena, Calif., and colleagues calculated that Saturday's earthquake in Chile shortened the Earth day by 1.26 microseconds. A microsecond is one-millionth of a second.
I'll bet that stinkin' guys an astrophysicist too...
*Disclaimer- Mrs. Tony C neither condones, encourages nor appreciates anyone who does condone and encourage her daughter to participate in interplanetary space travel, extraterrestrial colonization, human endurance experiments and any training to wit.
I was reminded of that fact last weekend when the teenager went to eat with other family members and brought back leftovers for the fridge. Like her old man, she's loves hot wings and went to a restaurant noted for great wings. Little did she know the anxiety she would create in her father when he opened the refrigerator door later that day to see the take-out box from...
Allow me to explain.
There was a time in the life of Tony C Today when I would frequent said establishment. All that changed when my heart was taken by Mrs. Tony C Today...and for the better. It was bliss and constantly falling rose petals as we honeymooned for several years. Oh, we had the occasional disagreement about trivial issues...fan on or off at night, Heinz or Hunts, toilet seat issues, etc. The most consistent point of disagreement was the dreaded 'Where do you want to eat?' question...the focal point cause of conflicts in so many modern relationships....it would almost be my undoing too.
It was a typical weekend night as Mrs. Tony C and I travelled down our town's version of restaurant row. We had done it all way too many times.
Tony C: Where do you want to eat tonight Dear?
Mrs. Tony C: Where do you Honey?
Tony C: Your choice Pookie. Whatever you're in the mood for tonight.
We rolled down the street passing restaurant after restaurant...
Mrs. Tony C (glancing over at the familiar owl sign): I've never eaten at Hooters. How about...
Let me state with scientific certainty that a Nissan Pathfinder can conduct a 90 degree turn traveling at 32 mph without a major component flying off. Just FYI.
Mrs. Tony C: Whoa! Hooters it is!
Tony C: Are you sure Dumpling...I mean...it is something different.
Mrs. Tony C: For me it's different. Sweetie, you've been here before.
Tony C: Yeah, but not in years Sugarlips.
Mrs. Tony C: We'll give it a try.
As we walked up to the door hand in hand, my carnal self began to imagine the combining of the old with the new...could it work? Should it work? As the door flung open and we were greeted by the Hooter Girl Beth, that last question came across my love's lips...
Mrs. Tony C: When was the last time you was here?
Tony C: Years...
My answer hung in the air as we walked through the door and were greeted by...
Except 'Norm!' wasn't yelled...it was MY name.
Not since jumping from an airplane have I felt the sensation of overwhelming pride and complete utter terror simultaneously. It honestly had been years since my last visit, but little did I know that as my life had moved on...the lives of some of my old friends had been pretty much static and very predictable.
I knew, instinctively, the next few seconds could forever change my horizon...
Mrs. Tony C: HOW long did you say it's been since you've been here?
Tony C: Pookie...I just know these people from way back...honest.
And then, quite possibly, the counter move of my entire life...
Tony C: Do you want to go someplace else? It's really no problem. We can leave.
Mrs. Tony C: No...we're here. Let's just eat.
For some reason, the experience wasn't what I had pictured though. The food was average at best, and the service is a lot different in mixed company...I mean...the die are cast in that situation. Not that I desired the silly flirtations that usually...what I really mean is...I wasn't looking for the girls...at the girls...aaagghhhh!
Sometimes I'm just an idiot.
We don't really use pet names for each other anymore. Not sure we actually ever did...and I've not seen one single rose petal fall since that dreaded day.
Good thing Mrs. Tony C fell in love with a doofus...one very lucky, forgiven idiot!
This week, I'm selecting a few of my favorite Tony C Today post for you with the promise of new stuff next week. Hey! I'm eight months pregnant you know...(does that work for men too).
If a podcast told you to jump off a bridge....
Describing my taste in music as eclectic might be a tad understating. My iPod playlists are a mosaic of genres that even David Letterman couldn't link to a specific stereotype. And, like most people...I just love music. Pop to Pavarotti, rock to religious, Free Bird to funk, classical to country...a little or a lot of each is all on there...and I listen to it all.
Who's Grayson Hugh? Song on my iPod. Have you heard of the Amazing Rhythm Aces? Original version of Third Rate Romance on my iPod. Do you remember Robbie Dupree? Squeeze? The Clash? Ronnie Milsap? The Manhattans? Pablo Cruise? They're all there. LTD or Hot Chocolate ring a bell...you sexy thing?
Now before all of you kids born during the Reagan administration or later stop reading, I've got plenty of music released on something other than vinyl too...even that catchy tune by Yael Naim from the Macbook commercial ...'I'm a new soul, I came to this strange world, Hoping I could learn a bit bout how to give and take.' I really like songs with 'la la' or 'hey hey' in them...seems hip.
I sing in the car most days. I also keep a pair of drumsticks with quick access for good grooves or rolls coming up in a song. My thoughtful wife got me a new car stereo for Christmas that syncs with my iPod. Good stuff...keeps my hands free for drumming parts. I don't really embarrass easy, so singing and drumming doesn't cease when there's an audience...say at a red light or on the Interstate. The same principle applies when I sing in the choir at church. Can I sing? Doesn't matter...I do it anyway. Hey...make a joyful noise...the good Book doesn't say anything about melody. Sometimes, I sing while I play drums in our church Praise Team, but I don't do it often. The Music Director gets upset because sometimes I forget I'm the drummer...first and foremost. Being a drummer draws me to different music styles to some degree. I make fun of the Bee Gees on this blog from time to time, yet the groove of Night Fever is mesmerizing to me...and hard to master. Although I'm not that fond of country music, it was Don William's son who helped me with the switch from guitar to drums while I was in college, so I feel somewhat obliged to keep some old school Nashville around...even though Don Jr. played classic rock in a college band. I also went to school with Marty Roe of Diamond Rio...great guy, great voice...but dances like the white guy he really is. (You young people probably need to google Don Williams)
Are we what we iPod? Hmmm...that's a pretty philosophical question that has great points on both sides of the debate. Music touches and affects everyone....good and bad. I don't think, as a Christian, it's a requirement for me to listen to only Christian music. Besides, it's a little difficult for me and the wife to...well...get 'to know each other' with Ray Boltz playing in the background. Okay, bad choice...let's say Mercy Me. Now Boyz II Men or James Ingram, on the other hand...bow chicka wow wow. I do subscribe to the 'garbage in, garbage out' method of parenting, so I don't want to come across a hypocrite either.
I was forever changed one day when I heard my high school football coach belting Maneater...Hall and Oates style...while he showered after football practice. Wow...now I need a mental Tic Tac.
I'm on my second rodeo when it comes to 2-year olds...
That's my little fire gem to the right. Another blessing from Heaven and living proof to me just how much God truly loves me. Of course, tough love is love none the less.
Carlee is the second of my two...soon to be three...daughters. While both girls share several common traits (i.e stubbornness, impatience, fiercely competitive, etc.), there are also some core differences. Carlee's older sister (Tony C version 2A) was for the most part a very soft spoken toddler. She spoke quite often but mild-mannered. True to stereotypical profiling, she is now a loud, annoying teenager...but I still truly love her (Happy 15th Birthday yesterday).
Tony C version 2B is far more in-your-face than version 2A as indicated by this recent exchange:
Tony C: (looking over counter in direction of dishwasher) Carlee? Are you messing with the dishwasher buttons again? You know that's off limits. Carlee?
Version 2B: (slight paused, then popping into view with hands out) You don't worry about me! Tony, you just don't worry about Carlee and worry about Tony!
Tony C: (off-balance by the rebuttal) Excuse me?
Version 2B: You just don't worry about me. You worry about Tony, and Carlee will worry about Carlee.
Tony C: (regain composure) Come here! Come right here, right now!
Version 2B: But I don't want a spanking! Just don't worry about me!
Tony C: Now!
Version 2B: (chin tucked into chest, lower lip puffed out and mumbling) I don't want a spanking.
Tony C: (lifting tot up onto the table and looking right into her eyes) I worry about Carlee because it's my job to worry about Carlee. I'm your dad! Don't tell me not to worry about you. Understand?
Version 2B: (under breath) Yes.
She does actually call me Tony part of the time, and while this is a point of contention with some of my extended family, I'm cool with it. Her sister went through the same phase and grew out of it (and I'm sure on to calling me much worse behind closed doors).
While there is rarely a day goes by that Mrs. Tony C and I aren't entertained by our rambunctious toddler who seems to be obsessed with bodily functions involving digestion or shedding her clothing whenever and wherever opportunity presents, her matter-of-fact dialog and take on life keeps us in stitches...as well as...on edge.
One recent morning while preparing to depart for school and work, I let the teenager deal with getting the toddler ready (mom departs at 6:30 am for work). After 15 minutes of bickering and crying (by both I might add), I headed downstairs to let the teenager finish what she had started:
Tony C: (yelling back upstairs) Girls! It is time to go...no...past time to go! Get a move on it!
Teenager: (with toddler screaming in the background) Dad...she won't let me put her clothes on her!
Toddler: Stop! Don't touch me! Stop!
Tony C: Carlee! If you don't let your sister help you get dressed...
Toddler: No! I want you to do it!
Tony C: If I have to come back up these stairs, you will definitely get a spanking for not listening! Let your sister dress you...we have to go now!
Toddler: Come spank me! I want a spanking! Then you can put my clothes on!
While I've never heard those words come out of the toddler's mouth again, I should have punished the teenager too for not finishing the task and letting a 2-year old get the best of her...but then I'm sure she has plenty more lessons still yet to come before she's off to college.
Funny how birth control can come in many different forms...
This is a re-post from October 2008. I don't normally post today, but I'm feeling lead to put it up again. Have a terrific weekend!
Over the 18 months of managing the http://www.stickwithjesus.com/ website (sorry, no longer up), I received a number of interesting emails from both atheist and agnostics. For me, it's easier to relate and respond to the agnostics, because I've been where they are spiritually at a point in my own life. The arrogance of atheists, however, really bothers me (I know, that's not very Christ like…I'm working on it). I had a conversation of the atheist variety this past weekend.
Atheists always want to bring up Pascal's Wager in discussions. Of course, the lack of scientific evidence is also a popular point for atheists, but responding to the point that there is no proof God exists is too easy…"Prove He doesn't exist." I think Thomas Aquinas covered this best almost 800 years ago in SummaTheologica.
So what is Pascal's Wager? Here's a quick refresher for you:
Blaise Pascal was a famous French mathematician, physicist and religious philosopher in the mid-1660's. People my age probably remember the computer programming language named after him in the late 70's and early 80's (and the only subject in college I made a D, thanks Blaise). Needless to say, he was a pretty smart fellow. His philosophy, however, took on a very rigid, structured matrix that didn't allow for more pliable principles and concepts.
In his Wager, Pascal attempts to provide an analytical process for a person to evaluate options in regarding belief in God. This is often misinterpreted as simply believing in God or not. As Pascal sets it out, the options are two: live as if God exists, or live as if God does not exist. There is no third possibility.
Therefore, we are faced with the following possibilities:
You live as though God exists (in obedience to His Word). *If God exists, you go to heaven: your gain is infinite (best case). *If God does not exist, you gain nothing & lose nothing.
You live as though God does not exist. *If God exists, you go to hell: your loss is infinite (ouch, not good). *If God does not exist, you gain nothing & lose nothing (no time to gloat either).
With these possibilities, and the principles of statistics, Pascal attempted to demonstrate that the only prudent course of action is to live as if God exists. Now that's a nutshell version of the Pascal's Wager, but if you want more detailed information, click on the link above. For those mathematically challenged, like me, best leave it here...just trust me.
Atheist, for some reason, rally around the Wager as the only possible explanation a rational person could believe in a 'fantasy' like God. When backed into a corner during a heated debate on God, it will come flying from an atheist out of no where…"You're just hedging Pascal's Wager on heaven and hell!" Then you'll get a 'top-that' look in their mind that surely closes the deal…well, not quite.
You see, my belief in God has little, if anything, to do with the fear of going to hell. Besides, you can't base your commitment to God on just logic. He wants your love willingly and true. God knows your heart, so you can't bluff or hedge your way into heaven.
I love God because He is gracious enough, merciful enough to love me…yes me. That still blows my mind! The Creator of all that is, all that was, and all that ever will be cares about the most insignificant creation He made…me. Wow!
And how do I know? Because I talk to Him every day. I feel His presence in my life every day. I have His word that has stood the test of thousands of years to read from daily. I don't need the logic of Mr. Pascal and his mathematical equation to tell me to put my faith in God. Jesus took care of that long before Blaise…Hey, maybe we need a programming language based on His teachings.
My teenager has been playing on a competitive soccer team now for about 5 years. As for me, I never played the game much less understood the concept of running around for over an hour to win or lose 1-0 and never legally hitting anyone...but then again, I spent my teenage years banging my head into other teenagers playing the football spelled with two o's.
Point goes to the current day teenager.
Playing on a travelling team has allowed us to play in soccer tournaments in other cities and take in the 'best of' what the host town offers. This past weekend was a revisit to the city of Asheville, North Carolina. Our prior visit a year ago was somewhat limited by an eleven month old in tow, so this year Mrs. Tony C wanted to experience the cultured downtown area on a weekend evening and expose our girls to a taste of the artsy side.
Now, I know some of you are trying to wrap your head around the words North Carolina, cultured, and artsy all in the same sentence, but downtown Asheville has really emerged as a mixing grounds of artist, musicians, locals and tourist...at least according to a visitor website I looked up.
Mrs. Tony C (reading from tourist brochure): Asheville skipped the urban renewal process that stripped the character from many down towns...
Tony C: Sounds eclectic (eye roll).
Mrs. Tony C: I'll bet the buildings are really old and beautiful. Didn't you always want to be an architect?
Tony C: Actually that's George Costanza...I wanted to be an astronaut...
Mrs. Tony C: Astronaut...architect...whatever. Sounds like an excellent place to expose the girls to a different cultural environment.
Tony C: So is a NASCAR race, but...
Mrs. Tony C: Tony! Don't start! We have an obligation in the educational process of our girls. We'll go downtown after the second game and walk around. I heard there's a great pizza place called the Mellow Mushroom downtown....sound okay?
Tony C: Sounds fantastically stoner...
Mrs. Tony C: Tony!
Point goes to Mrs. Tony C.
After conducting a drive-by to check out the downtown scene, I found a relatively close parking spot because it was still early. Navigating the 'renewed' streets of the downtown area was quite interesting and using the GPS on my Blackberry was no help. Finding our dining destination would require my innate sense of navigation....good thing I was along.
So we wondered around aimlessly in the downtown area while I tried to orient my internal compass for over an hour. Along the way, our girls were definitely exposed to a new cultural experience that included new vocabulary words, public marijuana smoking, three exposed breast, an impromptu phallic sculpture, and a crack ho...well...okay, I didn't actually see the crack, but she left no doubt about the ho part.
Point goes to Mrs. Tony C. (for educational experience).
Teenager: Is that art dad? (Pointing at street performer painted white head to toe)
Tony C: That's performance art dear.
Teenager: Is that art? (Pointing to sculpture of old junk parts)
Mrs. Tony C: That's welding metal art.
Tony C: A.K.A. lowbrow... (Hateful glance from Mrs. Tony C)
Teenager: A.K.A? What's that? Hey...is that art?
Tony C: A.K.A...also known as...and no, that's a lady breastfeeding...don't stare.
It was about this time I gave up on my internal GPS and asked directions from a lady with more facial piercings than I would have believed humanly possible. We were actually only a block or so away from the Mellow Mushroom...which turned out to be a pretty good place to eat. I was just a little paranoid about the green on top of our pizza, but turns out it was actually just oregano.
Point to Mrs. Tony C.
The walk back to the car was a pretty quick pace...especially when stuffed with pizza and soda. The near two-year old was completely worn out from a day in the sun, as was the teenager from a day on the field. I suddenly realized there were very few other people with strollers...very few...and all of them had the same look of astonishment I'm sure that adorned mine and my wife's face. Just before leaving the happening downtown area, we crossed one last performing artist. A well proportioned young lady in only a golden bodysuit and bright, white wig frozen in place.
Tony C: Remember what that's called?
Teenager: Performing art?
Tony C: Yes it is...let's give her a dollar and see what she does.
Mrs. Tony C: Tony! (real hateful glare)
Tony C: Second thought, let's get to the car before it gets dark...
As many of you already know, I'm a very fortunate man. A blessed man with a beautiful family held together by the family nucleus...Mrs. Tony C. It's no secret. I don't deny it. The two girls and I are just electrons spinning wildly around that solid center. I accept and embrace her role in our...nuclear family (sorry, that was too easy).
Although we share a very strong set of core beliefs, there's just enough variations in our individual way of thinking to keep life interesting in our marriage...without causing major strife. For example, I'm an ice cream fanatic while her food fix is bread. She likes the sheets all tucked in tight before we sleep, and I find the constriction a sure recipe for insomnia. I detest reality TV, and she...okay...I'm lying. I love reality TV too...but not the Kardashians!
However, never were our differences more apparent than the day this commercial aired while we were watching the Discovery Channel:
Tony C: That was the creepiest thing I believe I've ever watched...on a number of levels.
Mrs. Tony C: Really? I liked it.
Tony C: No way! Was it a car commercial or a promotion for a socialist society that embraces synchronized child labor?
Mrs. Tony C: Don't be so sarcastic. It's a representation of humans as nature to suggest we are one with our environment.
Tony C: Okay!Here we go...the tree hugger makes an appearance! It was freaky. They're little kids...or midgets...little people...whatever...
Mrs. Tony C: It was probably done digitally.
Tony C: ... or in China. After that Olympic opening ceremony in Beijing, we got good insight into how 'extra' people fit into a socialist society. Poor Chinese kids were probably beat for missing the cues.
Mrs. Tony C: The whole point of the commercial was to get you to buy an environmentally friendly car. Why is that so bad?
Tony C: I believe either your parents ran around butt-naked at Woodstock with the rest of the hippies or you have a Gore gene somewhere in the family tree.
Mrs. Tony C: Woodstock? Weren't you there?
Tony C: I was five!
Mrs. Tony C: Hey, you watched an Inconvenient Truth...
Tony C: Stop!We promised never to discuss that...ever!
Mrs. Tony C (chuckling): Yeah...we did...
Yes, my wife's a tree hugger, at least a part-time tree hugger. An environmentalist. She reads and believes National Geographic. In a way, I admire her commitment to recycling, conservation, and protecting the planet God entrusted to us. But, the conservative in me won't let it show. Her motives, on the other hand, are genuine and sincere. Just don't tell her I said so...
Tony C (having a nightmare): The kids! Midgets! Waves and waves...falling, falling! Toto! Where's my dog! My dog!
Mrs. Tony C:(awake from the commotion): Tony!
Tony C (groggy): Whoa! That was weird. Really weird. I was in that creepy Prius commercial...
Mrs. Tony C: It's okay. You can tell me about it in the morning. I love you...good night.
Tony C: Oh...okay. In the morning...(sigh)...stinking Prius. (Kicking wildly) Why... are... these... stupid sheets tucked in at the bottom so tight!
Mrs. Tony C (under her breath): ...idiot...
Tony C: What?
Mrs. Tony C: I love you.
Tony C: Oh...love you too. Hold me?
Mrs. Tony C: Don't I always...
Disclaimer: I have never watched or read An Inconvenient Truth. If anyone says otherwise, you should consider the source to be a pathological liar, unless I happen to be married to that person...which would still mean she lied...well...at least to me.
With thanks to David Johndrow at 
Either way, it's just not as intimate as before being pregnant. But then again, I guess that's how we got back to being pregnant. But, I digress...
I'll bet that stinkin' guys an astrophysicist too...
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