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Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Fahvuh’s Day or In Which I Make A Very Big Announcement

If you can slog through this mess, I promise there’s a payoff.  I think.  This is a story about when an ordinary day suddenly turns interesting.

On a Sunday a while back, I had to stand up and say a few words during communion in our early service.  It happened to be FAHVUH’S DAY, as Jack puts it.  I’d been up too late trying to organize my thoughts.  I usually do my rehearsing/rehashing out loud while floating in the pool, but it was already past 10.  I had run a good bit Saturday morning, so I ended up stretching out some tired muscles on the bedroom floor.  And by this time, some tired neurons, too.

Next day, I dragged myself out of bed and made my way through my warmup and finally over to the gym.  My head wasn’t exactly clear, but it was plenty clear enough to dread proving myself a complete fool to 400 people.  The workout ground itself out, ticktocking from monotony to enjoyment and back again.  They do that.

My pre-workout shot of chocolate milk had used up Jack’s 2 percent.  So I careened over to HEB in my rickshaw of a car, and headed back to the milk case.  There was one other person in the aisle, obviously an athlete of some stripe, his cart already about a third full even that early in the morning.

Back to the house to nuke the leftover half-caf homemade espresso in a mason jar and down the last of the Peanut Butter Captain Crunch.  I know, I know - truly the Breakfast of Champions everywhere.

I threw on my standard not-trying-too-hard Suit-No-Tie… but I really was trying a little harder than normal, so I actually shaved.  We were late.  I flew over to the church building and just made the little informal meeting of those who would serve during the morning’s worship.  The song before communion was Alas and Did My Savior Bleed.  Alas.  Bleed.  Got it.

Apparently my bit went over okay; people were very kind in their reactions.  I’m not well known at the church, and am rusty at that sort of thing, anyway.  My voice gets this odd quaver in it now.

We finished up with Bible class, me in the phenomenal Romans class taught by my all-time favorite preacher, a man truly gifted in simplifying (and then relating) complex theology.  Majesty had rolled her aaaaaalmost healed sprained ankle again while teaching the little tribe of three year olds (+Jack “I Play A Three Year Old On TV”).  Back to the big black orthopedic walking boot for her.  We slowly edged out to the truck, The Dude in tow.

Majesty had the keys, and hopped in the driver’s side.  But I almost always drive.  Y’know, because I’m pretty much insufferable as a passenger.  Hey, it’s no secret.  I look at her, and before I get a chance to protest, she says, “My foot hurts, and I’m going to let you out at the store to get some milk.”

AHA!  THIS IS MY CHANCE TO FINALLY PROVE I’M A GOOD HUSBAND DON’T BLOW IT E.C. DON’T BLOW IT DON’T BLOW IT…

“I already got milk.  I already got it.”  HA!  TAKE THAT.  TAKE THAT, WOMAN!

She sputtered (obviously shocked that I could’ve been so responsibly thoughtful, like, ever) and then said words I will not forget:

“Then you can get some orange juice.  And a pregnancy test.”

I just grinned like an idiot, stunned, halfway in the passenger seat, halfway out.  I don’t even remember what I said – I think I just managed a big, dumb, “Okay!”

She said later that she hadn’t told me beforehand because she didn’t want to spook me for my communion talk, which I really appreciate.  I don’t want to imagine the sweaty, blathering, giggling result otherwise.

H.M. also said that she didn’t plan to tell me in a parking lot.  It just happened.  But I couldn’t - and still can’t - imagine a better way to be told:  “Hey, get some Tropicana.  No pulp.  And I’m pretty sure you’re going to be a father.  So remember, the big picture here is NO PULP.”

I have learned at least two things from all this.  First, sometimes Father’s Day is meant to be taken literally.  Second, I think there’s something fishy going on with those big black orthopedic boots.  Seriously.  We found out about Jack when I was waddling around in one of those things after a leg break.  Anybody know how we can get immediate government funding for a study?  We’ll all be RICH.  Rich, I tell you.

Anyway, watch yourselves out there.  One minute you’re limping to your physical therapy appointment, the next you’re digging the Pack ‘N Play out of the attic, down 250 grand plus college.

In truth, I had learned this part already, but the OJ/Fatherhood announcement was a pointed reminder that my timetables, plans, and absolutely surefire knowledge of the future are all pretty much a bunch of smoke and guesses and worthless nonsense.  But anybody with any sense knows that.

I have so many things swirling around in my head now.  And as you’d imagine, I’ve got plenty to write about, too.  I have too many questions.  But most importantly, I have thanks, praise and adoration for God in my heart for answering prayers.  We would covet your prayers as well.  (And your large cash donations.  There's that.)

So it's Round 2, then.  Ding, ding.

8 comments:

J & J said...

CONGRATULATIONS, what a blessing! :)

Jennifer said...

Love, love, love the story, and you know I am THRILLED for you guys.

Courtney Robertson said...

Congrats!!! So happy for you guys!!

Morgan said...

Congrats! That's awesome news!

Courtney Squillante said...

Congratulations! So excited for you guys!! It's STILL gotta be the coffee from our Sunday school class- except I'm not sure how you guys would have gotten any... Hmmmm.

El Comodoro said...

I'm telling you the ortho boot played a part in this.

Donna said...

Whoohoo! We need more folks like you guys in this world- biggest question- WILL YOU CHANGE the blog name? And will we have another captain or maiden on the high sea? SO EXCITING! Congratulations!

El Comodoro said...

Will we change the blog name? Hmmm. Not quite sure, but I really doubt it.

No, I think the birthright of every (modern) firstborn child is first billing on the family blog.

But I guess they can always sell it for a bowl of stew at some later point.