Standing tall and walking proud of myself

I can walk! That's right, my friends: What started Thanksgiving weekend as a serious toddle has become a slow but steady heel-toe adventure. I tip my cap and welcome myself to transportation of the biped variety. With a pair of socks and a classy set of Velcro shoes, I walk from the kitchen to my bedroom, and from the living room to the it-always-seems-to-be-closed-when-I'm-around-bathroom door. I can walk. And, I'm just so darned proud of myself.

Sam's getting big. I mean it. At six weeks, the kid's chubbin' out of clothes that I just barely fit into at his age. How does he do it? I'm thinking I'd better get my eye-pokes and skin-pinches in now, because I'll quickly lose the battle once my kid-brother establishes a sense of balance. Ah well. It sure is fun to have another little one around. I promise to post pictures of the boy soon.

A bit of local news: Both Sam and I are sporting Packer gear today, in honor of theVikings-Giants cancellation and the caving of the infamous Metro dome roof. What a weekend! Three cheers for 15+ inches of snow, functioning snow blowers, and the opportunity to watch the Packers instead of the Vikings. Go Pack, go!

The holiday season fast approaches. They're hosting a living Nativity scene at our church this year. I think the event is set for next weekend, and so far, no one has volunteered a Baby Jesus. I wonder if Sam would have the hutspa to lay in an outside manger for an hour, surrounded by ... well, perhaps I can volunteer to be a shepherd .. or a sheep ... while he basks in the glory of infant holiness. We'll see.

We're off to see G&G Conrad before they high-tail it to their winter hide-away, and then we're rollin' to Omaha rels for Christmas. I'm excited! I watched Mom start a draft of our Christmas letter last night. She says she's still thinking about how best to document the many thoughts, lessons and happenings of the year. Keep your Christmas cards coming, my friends! Mom promises to send you one in return.

Happy December! (And yes, I'll let you know what comes of the living Nativity scene ...)

Ken

Somebody call the doctor Frankenstein

Well, they did it. Mom and Dad went and had a baby, and now I can safely say that I have the coolest kid-brother in the world. Tipping the scales at nine pounds three ounces, Samuel Corrigan Conrad was born on Halloween night. How's that for spooky, scary and totally awesome all at the same time? I'm planning his birthday parties already.

Truth: Albeit cool to have Sam for a brother, I'm not quite sure what to make of this mini-me that looks and cries but doesn't talk. He throws up at least once every time he eats, never can decide if he really wants his nook, and his scream can be heard at least three houses down. I'll have to remember to ask Mom if I was ever that loud.

Speaking of Mom, she's home from work full time now. How sweet it is! While I'm proud to say that nothing about my behavior has really changed due to our family's new arrival, it's sure swell to be able to crawl onto Mom's lap in the middle of the day and listen to her read a few of my cardboard books.

And Dad ... well, Dad hasn't missed a beat. Thrilled at the good fortune of two healthy boys, and tickled about the mere fact that his favorite drinking buddy is back on the scene (yes, that's Mom), Dad's loving life. He's one of the most laid-back, take-it-as-it-comes parenting naturals I know (or, have heard about anyway). His demeanor, and his humor, his ability to change the lyrics of every nursery rhyme, and his big bear hugs are what makes this household go, and for that Mom, Sam and I give ceaseless thanks.

Until next time,

Ken

First trip to the barber shop quartet

I'd hoped my October post to you, my reader, would include pictures and stories and your basic oohs and ahhs over a new sibling. Alas, Mom's still round and waddling. We're less than a week from the proverbial due date; I promise to keep you all in-the-know.

The past few weeks have seen sunny days, brilliant fall colors, caramel apples, Dad's (and Mary Kate's!), birthday, my Grandma Corrigan and my Grandma and Grandpa Conrad. Grandma Corrigan is a whiz with the scissors. In seven minutes flat, she snipped a few snips in such a way that my hair no longer flops into my eyes. She even cleared the runway over my ears and trimmed the almost-mullet look I'd apparently been portraying in the back. I'm looking dapper if I do say so myself. Thanks for the new do, G-ma.C.!

G and G Conrad joined us for the 2010 Viking/Packer debut; Dad completed his happy dance before bedtime. Such fun times in this Corrigan-Conrad abode, I tell you. We're counting down the days for Baby Corrigan Conrad's arrival. As it stands, I may have to hold down the fort myself on Halloween night, and I haven't yet decided on a costume. Options include (but are not limited to): a ghost, a clown, a pumpkin, a black cat, or the E-trade baby.

What's your vote?

Later,

Ken

Paint the town red velvet cake

My September birthday landed on a Thursday this year. Lame. Had I my druthers, I'd have pushed for the weekend so that all three of us could have hung out for the day. Ah well. As it stood, I found myself greeting the anniversary of my birth with red-rimmed eyes and an old-man cough. Wicked head cold, I tell you. (Apologies once again, Mary Kate, Nora and Greta for having to cancel my birthday dinner party due to illness.)

The good news is that Dad came through like the champ that he is with made-from-scratch red velvet cupcakes layered with homemade cream cheese frosting.

Um. Simply. Delicious. Thanks to Dad for the treats, Mom for the birthday hugs, and all of my loyal readers for the birthday cards and practical gifts. Mom and Dad are particularly pleased with the simplicity of this birthday celebration. Here's hoping my second year proves just as adventurous as my first.

In other news, we're gearing up for a new addition to the family. Be it a boy or a girl, I'm simply hoping I don't lose my priority seating in the back seat of the car. (Where has the whole front-facing-car seat option been all my life? The traveling world is a whole new place when you can keep tabs on where you're going - rather than where you've been.) Mom has exactly four weeks and three days to go, and she seems more than ready for day last of this gestational journey. And, come to think of it, so does Dad. A patient, patient man, he is.

It's October tomorrow. As we march to the beat of multi-colored trees, high school soccer games, shorter days and longer nights, may this message find you whistling to the tune of the autumn air, and painting your own town red with simple pleasures throughout your days.

Until next time,

Ken

Rest in peace be with you

Approximately ten days ago, Mom and Dad and I piled in the family Buick and high-tailed it to Cleveland, Ohio to remember, celebrate and commend my Great-Grandpa Corrigan. After four years of suffering from Alzheimer's disease, he passed away at age 84: Just four days shy of his 61st wedding anniversary. I agree with Mom: I'm glad he's no longer suffering, but it sure is tough to say goodbye.

Great-Grandpa Corrigan sounds like a solid character. Father of 10 children, WWII Vet, stellar husband and community leader, he balanced hard work with humor and appreciated life for its array of human experiences. Could I be like him someday? I watched as four (count 'em, four) scheduled wake times and one funeral overflowed with friends, family, credit union co-workers and customers, neighbors old and new, and faces from as far back as grade school joined us to pay their respects to the man I get to call my Great-Grandpa Corrigan. That's so cool.

And my Great-Grandma - let me tell you - she handled the whole affair with a grace and style that I can only hope to emulate if I'm ever in the same position. Her faith, acceptance and resiliency is an inspiration. Recognized by my Great-Grandpa (even in his final days) as "the love of his life," I pray that my Great-Grandma continues to dwell within the peace that she and my Great-Grandpa shared together.

As a result of the shared family goodbyes, tears, and happy memories, I'm inspired to re-evaluate the quality of my every-day-ness. Our road trip to Ohio allowed me to discover two heroes: of whom I'm sure Mom will tell me about often. As I grow into my own ability to imagine, identify, remember, and emulate, I hope that my spirit and character becomes, in part, a reflection of my Great-Grandma and Great-Grandpa Corrigan.

Until next time,

Ken

Bacon on a stick in the mud

It’s melt-me hot today. I love summer. I love cardboard kid books, and I love the Minnesota State Fair. I think it’s the bread stuff that surrounds that pronto pup thing that really got me whistling Dixie about this state fair business. I mean really, when I stop to think about the goodness that seeps from the deep-fried, on-a-stick, fresh-from-the-husk, hot-and-sticky-and-all-you-can eat options that run amok within this great-get-together 1.5 mile radius, I am simply overwhelmed by the gluttonous glory that ensues. Good thing it only happens once a year. Because I’m hooked. Sign me up for next year, Dad: I call front seat of the inevitable two-kid stroller.

I crawl. It’s what I do. This week I figured out how to pull myself into a standing position. It’s just the getting down again that’s got me stuck. At first I just let out an ear-splitting scream: short, piercing, and just the right octave to get the attention of any near-by caregiver. Although the vocal outburst accomplishes my objective (ahh … thanks for easing me back into my sitting position), this attention-getter really doesn’t go over so well with the surrounding adults. I must work on remembering how to de-elevate myself from the vertical position. (Note to self: Taking a nose-dive into the toy bin whilst reaching for the singing cow toy doesn’t count.)

Yesterday Dad and I followed our typical routine of carting Mom to work. It’s really quite relaxing. On the radio, the MPR guy spoke of New Orleans, oil spills, a reputation mess for Toyota, a potential double-dip recession, and the mildly increased rate of consumer spending. While I typically enjoy news radio, the experience makes me wonder whether the whole country simply needs a bout of refreshment: time to think about something besides stock prices, postponed retirement plans and oily gulf coasts. Perhaps we all need a nose-dive into a toy bin or a walk to the nearest Pronto Pup stand.

I digress. As we watch our summer turn into fall, let’s keep it keep it real and remember the simple pleasures throughout our days. While the world’s events may not be as straightforward as my cardboard kid books, the month of September promises a few more simple stories worth sharing.

Until next time,

Ken

In the middle of the night crawlers

Greetings to my blog-loving, summer-soaking, requesting-me-to-write-more-often readers out there!

Life's been good this last month. With both the Conrad family reunion and the Corrigan family reunion celebrated in July, I'm still feeling a bit like a kid and Christmas - minus the sub-zero temps, prettily-wrapped packages and incessant caroling, of course). We graced the Conrad family reunion in style: with roughly 18 adults, 5 dogs, 4 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, a gross amount of mosquitoes (and a partridge in a pear tree), I found my baby-self to be the center of rapt attention. Glory! Ten days later, we met the Corrigan clan in northern Minnesota for an equal amount of family fun. As the 9th of 12 (soon to be 14!) grandkids under the age of five, I'm humbled to tell you that this reunion found me not-so-much the center of attention ... rather, simply a part of the kid chaos. The good news: My cousins rule.

Aside from the stupid life jacket (pictured), everything about this July family time leaves my head spinning in giddy happiness.

In other news, Mom's 11 weeks away from baby #2, and her middle-of-the-night feedings have begun. I guarantee you that she's been up since 4:00 this morning: nibbling on some crackers and tapping along with the baby kicks. She probably tried for a solid hour to go back to sleep before finally acquiescing to the soft glow of the blog-o-sphere.

I finally figured out this business of crawling. Who knew the size of my world could expand so quickly? I keep Dad on his toes now: lapping the living room in 30 seconds flat. (First the fireplace poker, then the big tall plant in the corner, and wrapping it up with a bee-line to the bathroom toilet. My time's improving...)

Life is good, my friends. Keep reading, and post a comment or two if you'd like. It's always great to hear from you! I'll keep the updates coming. Until then, be well and remember to wear your life jacket.

Ken

Full court press the button

I've acquired a new skill: Extend the index finger of the right hand and press the button. Press again! Press the carpet. Press the couch cushion. Press Dad's nose. Press Mom's glasses lens. Who cares what you press? It's a button. If I press, then something happens. Mom smiles; Dad laughs. The toy puppy says I loooooove you. And, as of last night, the dishwasher runs.

That's right, my friends. After approximately 20 months of marriage, Mom and Dad finally bit the bullet and joined the 1960's. A portable dishwasher sits in our kitchen - like it was born to be there. Three cheers for reduced kitchen cleanup time and for craigslist.

In addition to pressing buttons, Dad's recently introduced me to Tough Love Tummy Time. (Can I help showing no interest in moving? I'm far too busy learning other tricks: like my call-and-response to Dad's snoring, my dance moves from the sitting position, catching the Micky Mouse beach ball, and - of course - pushing buttons.) While I'm no closer to crawling now than I was a month ago, I must say, tummy time really isn't all that bad.

A brief something on the parents: Mom's getting more pregnant by the week - more votes for another boy than for a girl, I daresay. We'll see. Summoned to jury duty last week, Mom sits on call-in status. Twice per day, she calls the courthouse to see if her legal know-how and fair judgement is needed within Hennepin County. So far, not needed. Dad's kicking some booty around the house. The landscaping is finished, the compost heaps are doing their thing, and day by day, the neighbors become more envious of the sweet dinner-time smells wafting from the kitchen windows. (Dad signed us up for a specific Community Supported Agriculture group this summer. Who knew kale had so many uses? More on that in my next entry.)

Welp, I best be off to bed. This teeth-growing, tummy-timing, button-pushing beau needs his beauty sleep. Until next time,

Ken

Riding the wave of the future

We doubled-down on Hole in One and cashed in at $4.20 today. Who'da thought an afternoon at Canterbury Park could be such a thrill? While Mom and Dad busied themselves with wins, places and shows, I feasted my eyes on the vast arrays of flip-flops, sneakers, ankles, shins and other baby strollers. Never in all my days have I seen such a variety of appendages and babies strategically strolling at my height. Three cheers for the umbrella stroller!

We're planning a birthday bash for a mutual friend at the Corrigan/Conrad Estates. At the conclusion of our planning session, last week, our soon-to-be-birthday girl waved goodbye. And I waved back. I'm not yet proud of it. The wave is choppy, completely from the shoulder, a bit spastic, and not entirely within my control. This nonverbal method of socializing, however, does light the smiles of all adults around me. And so, I'll work on it. Next time I see you, I hope to have perfected this method of hello and goodbye.

In other news, I'm due to be a big brother this fall. Mom's 19 weeks along and feeling fabulous. While pregnancy seems to have become a normal state within her marriage (temporarily at least), her bod's holding up, her spirit soars, and she's glad there's only one baby in there. Dad's giddy with excitement at the prospect of another me; I think he thinks it's a boy. We'll see what the first week of November brings ...

As we launch into the first days of summer, I hope this note finds you smiling.

Until next time,

Ken

PS - We're takin' votes! Will it be a boy or a girl? Comment on this post ... we'll tally 'em up.

Little Boy Blue Cheese

It's pothole season in Minnesota. Thirty-five degrees during the day and single digits at night: the Toyota tires bark their displeasure across the rough-and-tumble pavement that is the metro area. I can endure the teasing for only so long; will spring time ever arrive?

Greetings, my fellow readers. Apologies for falling off the page; January and February have proven interesting months. With the encouragement of fellow bloggers and a semi-regular schedule on the horizon, I promise to greet ye via computer screen more habitually.

I fought (and won) the battle against my first cold last month. Mom agrees with me that the virus was tougher for her and Dad to watch than it was for me to actually fight. After a week of sniffling and sneezing, I acquired the cough similar to that of Joe Camel and Mr. Marlboro. Three cheers for humidifiers and Children's Tylenol.

In other news, Valentine's day passed with the flurry of love-struck cupids. (Thanks for the valentines, Grandma and cousins!) Mom and Dad celebrated the Hallmark holiday with a bottle of wine from the basement tavern and a few wicked games of cribbage. They're cute.

My latest affinity includes Vanna White and the Wheel of Fortune. While always especially pleased with the cleverness of the Before and After puzzles, I find myself more curious about the lifestyle that said Vanna and host Pat must lead. After 30+ years hosting the same show, what does one do with the time and money that remain after the mere 6 hours per week it must take to record the show? The mind reels at the possibilities. Nonetheless, I am fascinated by the glowing letters, the ageless smiles, and the Sony card holders, and the seemingly countless trips to resorts, spas and beaches. I'll buy a vowel, if you please.

Hope this scribbled meandering finds you well.

Until next time,

Ken