5 Days Until Christmas!

There was a period of years when I stopped believing in Santa Claus. Santa knows this, and from my discussions with him, I know he holds me blameless. It was actually my Dad's fault.

Many Christmases ago I wrote Santa a letter. I'd written faithfully every year, but never quite gotten what I'd hoped for from him on Christmas morning. So on this particular year I tried a different strategy -- threatening Santa Claus:

Dear Santa,

I really want a VCR for Christmas. In fact, if I don't get one, I'm going to stop believing in you.

Yours Truly,
Aaron

Not long after my Dad sat me down for a little chat. My letter lay open on the table. I was aghast -- it was supposed to have been sent to the North Pole! He then told me flat out: "There is no Santa Claus and you're not getting a VCR." He said there was no money for one, to which I pointed out that I was asking Santa, not my parents, for the VCR.

I cried angrily that he'd read Santa's letter and wondered how I could go on. There was no comfort in return, only an admonition not to spoil it for the rest of the kids.

Only years and years later was my faith in jolly old Saint Nick restored -- when President Faust spoke of him at the 1999 Christmas Devotional and noted the similarities between Santa Claus and Christ. Not long after I found means to speak to Santa himself, who frankly forgave me (I had, after all attempted to extort presents from him) and we both lamented the actions of my father. We mused on the presents I might have had if I'd but believed in those intervening years. He then deftly deflected my hints that I should then get all of those lost gifts at the following Christmas, noting: It's the season that comes only once a year.

Santa also noted that retribution against my father would be swift. From reports, Santa instructed my grandparents (on my mother's side) to make sure that he got a tin of pretzels for Christmas (and Dad hates pretzels).

6 Days Until Christmas!

Inadvertent consequence of the Christmas season number 36: Jared now knows about whips. Yukon Cornelius has a whip in Rudolph the Rednose Reindeer, and Santa just happens to have whip for the reindeer in the book The Polar Express.

Consequently we've had to instruct Jared on the etiquette of whipping: when it is and is not appropriate. For example, it is ok to whip reindeer if you're driving Santa's sleigh (or a dogsled). It is not ok to whip Emily, or even to threaten to whip Emily.

And yet, despite our best efforts, the notion of "whipping" has found its way into our home.

7 Days Until Christmas

Somehow I'd forgotten what a guantlet of goodies the workplace can be at Christmas time. I fear there's little hope for me over the next few days.

Jared wrote a letter to Santa Claus tonight (with a little help). Knowing that Santa monitor's this blog, I did not think it wrong to make the contents of Jared's letter available to the jolly old elf through this medium:

18 December 2006

Dear Santa,

My name is Jared. Here is what I want for Christmas (I turn 3 on Christmas Day):

• The monkey that goes "like this" (on all fours);
• A tiger;
• A black good knight, and his horse and sword;
• A big momma giraffe
• A shark
• A cow
• A dinosaur
• A lion -- A daddy lion ( so he can fight the other lions)
• A snowman
• A Jessie Doll; a Zurg doll (a BIG, BIG Zurg from Toys-R-Us); a woody doll (even though I already have one;
• A Batman Dog
• The purple monkey at Toys-R-Us
• 2 More Buzz Light Years (even though I already have 2).

I've been really good this year Santa. I promise.
Love,
Jared
[Parent's note to Santa: Santa, you needn't worry. We told Jared tonight that even the best children only get 2 presents at most from Santa. Please note, however, that these restrictions do not hold true for the parent. Accordingly, on account of my exceeding goodness this year I am expecting everything on my list. Thanks Santa!]

8 Days Until Christmas

I wrote this a few years ago. It is certainly the work of an amateur, but it is mine.

Peace on Earth, Good will toward men
So peel the Christmas bells
Whose voice and song to hearts belong
And truth the Spirit tells

They toll the birth of Christ the King
And wake man’s deep desire
To reach within, and with his kin
Rejoice with heavn'ly choirs.

That we too could with them sing praise
And wintry souls refine
That we might show and He might know
Gratitude for gifts divine.

Let my soul sing! and with those bells
Proclaim His royal birth
And with that, then, good will toward men

And peace throughout the Earth

The Italian Stallion

Last night I was perusing some early reviews of Rocky Balboa – the unbelievable sixth installment of the franchise. They range from outright mockery to being pleasantly surprised. While I was reading, I got an unexpected email from a longtime friend asking me my thoughts on the new movie.

Of course, it’s utterly preposterous. But then, who cares! Anyone looking for anything realistic would’ve had to stop half-way through the first Rocky.*

Now admittedly, when I first heard this movie was coming out I laughed. (I’m still smarting from Rocky V – which never happened).** But after seeing the trailer, and finding out it comes out the day my brother Matt (a fellow Rocky enthusiast) returns from his mission in Mongolia. If that’s not a sign, then I don’t know what is. Besides, the trailer hits just the right notes -- and there seems to be a possibility of another glorious training montage set to music half-inspiring and half-corny. Even the possibility alone is worth the price of admission.

So I’ll see you in the theater on the 22nd. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to work out to the Rocky IV Soundtrack.

[Editor's note: The author indeed finished blogging and almost immediately thereafter logged 10 miles on the exercise bike, burning 566 calories in 26:13 -- all while churning to the Rocky IV soundtrack. I defy you to show me a better sound track to work out to].


*Let us count the ways of improbability: (1) Rocky: Rocky was already in his early to mid 30’s back in 1976; (2) Rocky II: Rocky is half-blind at the beginning of the movie. Mick slaps him—tells him Creed will cave in the left side of his face but that all goes away after Creed calls Rocky a “chicken” and Adrian emerges from her coma (and it never comes back); Rocky is also apparently mildly retarded (Stallone seemed to take that angle a little too far—even for a Rocky movie), but that went away after Adrian’s coma too because he read her a book; (3) Rocky III: Rocky and Clubber Lang inexplicably cross paths during pre-fight preparations, which causes Mick to have a heart attack (and die), but Rocky still decides to fight (and get creamed); Rocky later loses a 200 yard footrace to Apollo Creed by 50 yards when he starts training for real (though without the Eye of the Tiger), but, after he gets the Eye of the Tiger back, he wins; (4) Rocky IV: Rocky ends the Cold War by the 11th Round against Ivan Drago (after losing the KGB and running up a mountain side); Rocky V (which never happened): Paulie is somehow authorized to sign away power of attorney for Rocky and Adrian?! (and then they lose everything).
**This notion was first proposed by the Sports Guy, who writes for ESPN Page 2.

Symbol of the Season

In the Clark home*, Christmas is the most anticipated time of year. Any questions as to why should be easily answered by studying the picture below:



Behold, The 1 lb. Gilliam's Barber Pole! [I know, it's hard to take your eyes off it].
As far as I can tell, this Barber Pole is at least 10 years old -- perhaps as old as 15. If you look closely, you'll see the price tag is still on the top. It's from a store in Upstate New York that hasn't been around for at least a decade. Yet here it is, taking up precious space in our San Diego apartment.
My brother Nathan bought this giant piece of candy in a post Christmas sale -- he always preferred to buy the Barber Poles because he could make them last the whole year [for the which we thought him nuts -- since nobody in their right mind wants to be eating candy canes year round.] He apparently thought it was important enough to store while he was on his mission. Then, several years ago, he inexplicably gave it to us as a Christmas gift, and we've been treating it like a family heirloom every since.
That said, I have caught Michelle stealing a few hungry looks at the heirloom in recent days. To avoid any potential temptations, I've determined that she should never be in the same room alone with the Barber Pole -- lest she be overcome.
*By the way, Emily is on her fourth night of sleeping in her crib. We've had so much free time these past few nights that we hardly know what to do with ourselves.

Sweet Dreams

We decided on a bold course of action yesterday: Emily was to fall asleep on her own in her crib.

This may well mean little to you, and perhaps you've even rolled your eyes in reading my tales of sleep deprivation and late night drives with Emily all in an effort to woo her to sleep. We simply could not bear to have her cry herself to sleep if we could help it.

With Jared it was the same -- which lead to many torturous nights and to Jared not learning to sleep through the night until he was a year old. Emily's path started better but taken far worse turns, which has wreaked havoc. And what's more -- her sleeping habits are almost entirely our own fault.

So last night we resolved to leave her alone in her crib for the sake of our sanity. Emily bore it moderately well -- Michelle actually seemed to suffer the most. After a few hours of crying, though, Emily put herself to sleep.

Now we just have to get her to learn to stay asleep.

Oh, and in the meantime, we made a gingerbread house and watched "Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer" and "Frosty the Snowman":

(I'd like to think Jared was listening intently to my tutelage, but he's actually watching the TV)

(Michelle would have you know that she crafted the front. I would have you know that I made sure not a drop of frosting went to waste)

(Almost) A Day Without Christmas

I felt uncharacteriscally cheery this morning as I alighted from the Trolley and made my way to work. In the walk from the Trolley to the Office, I alternated between whistling and singing "Angels We Have Heard On High" but got caught up in singing a part to the chorus (that I love in one of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir versions) that I could no longer remember the melody.

That faded when Michelle called frantically looking for her car keys: She was to take the kids to Disney for the Christmas decorations, parade, and fireworks.

As it happened -- and for reasons I positively cannot account for -- I had taken both sets of keys with me to work. Only after our phone conversation did I discover this, and then had to make the despairing call to relay the news.

If we'd been in Irvine still this wouldn't have been but a small annoyance (since I lived across the street from where I worked). Here in San Diego, though, I commute in nearly an hour by trolley. All seemed lost today, and all seemed to be inadvertently my fault. That was a difficult feeling.

Ah, but this story has a happy ending. Sensing that things couldn't possibly be as hopeless as they appeared at first. I wandered in a daze down the hallway in my office and then queried a few colleagues if anything could be done. A friend of a co-worker offered to drive the keys back to our home, and only an hour or so was lost.

Santa must have been watching.

PS--Michelle says the Christmas Parade and Fireworks were well worth the trip.

It's a Wonderful Life

What do you do when you have a five month old daughter that doesn't go to sleep until near midnight most nights, and otherwise wants to be held and walking around the rest of the time (and this has been going on for three weeks)? Well, you certainly don't blog. In fact, you don't to get to do much of anything but wait and hope.

In other news, Michelle won a $25 Target gift card in a drawing at our community tree lighting ceremony yesterday. This was wonderful news -- especially since, before the drawing, I wisely made a deal that if either of us won one of the gift cards, we'd split it. (No comment on whether I'd have held up my end of the bargain if I'd won the gift card). Afterward, we headed straight over to Target to spend our winnings. Since Michelle wasn't enamored with the idea of using the gift card to stock up on Mint M&Ms (which were on sale for $2), we opted to finally purchase It's a Wonderful Life and White Christmas on DVD. Jared also got the toy hippopotamus he's been eyeing.

Maybe Emily will someday give Michelle and I a moment to watch these movies without requiring one of us to be up and walking -- carrying her around.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Our neighbors must have sensed my near total lack of free time the past few days, which has prevented me from spending time on frivolites like this blog. To help me out, they decided to get me up early by playing video games at 4 a.m. that just happened to be loud enough to cause me to pay a visit. Happy Thanksgiving indeed! (To their credit, they took my early morning visit quite well -- only now I find that sleep has fled from me -- Perhaps they'll let me play!).

We've been in our new apartment just under two weeks, and I've been working at my new job just about a week and a half. If I seem to be standing a little taller or breathing a little more freely these days one may well look to the fact that I no longer under any billable hour pressure. Of course, it might also be the fact that Mint M&Ms are on store shelves again.

Here some other recent thoughts/highlights:

• My trolley commute to and from work takes about an hour each way. Having come from a place where I was walking to work, this adds an extra two hours to my day automatically. Having assured Michelle this career move would end up being better for our family, I sure didn't gain many points on that front our first week here.
• BUT, the federal government is paying for my trolley ticket, and I've suddenly got lots of extra reading time. I've also found great entertainment value in watching security guards chase non-paying customers (including one who, apparently taking a cue from some movies and a recent TV show, lured the security guard into a trolley car and then tried hastily exiting the trolley car just before it started moving again).
• As mentioned previously, our great sacrifice in my taking this job is that we've given up DVR. No longer are we able to record tv shows at a whim to watch at our leisure, nor have we the power now to fast forward through commercials. Jared has actually taken this the hardest, who, apparently having never known the hardship of wading through commercials and living without tv on demandf, still cries whenever a commercial interrupts his programming.
• Today marks the end of this year's battle between Michelle and I over Christmas music. It ends only because she'll now (with the passing of Thanksgiving) officially allow herself to celebrate Christmas. As for me, any distinctions I made between permissible and impermissible Christmas music faded weeks ago. Now the battle becomes how much Manheim Steamroller she'll tolerate.
• Lastly, is there anything more depressing than a Charlie Brown holiday tv special? Why are these things so popular?

Happy Thanksgiving!

Thoughts Post Move

We managed to survive the move yesterday, though some of our things didn't (we've bid goodbye to our desk). Boxes are everywhere, and our new, smaller apartment is in total chaos. But, the internet is hooked up, so here are some random thoughts on the process:

• Our Elder's Quorum in Irvine helped load the truck yesterday -- we've got enough stuff now to warrant a 24 footer. I promised them a quick move and lots of donuts. Gratefully, I was able to deliver on both promises. Michelle and I were dumbfounded though at how many donuts were left after everyone left. Earlier in the day I'd bought two dozen, wondering if that'd be enough. Afterward, there were probably 8-10 donuts left. Apparently not everyone eats like I do.
• U-Haul promised a "comfortable" ride. They have an interesting definition of the term -- which apparently includes shaking violently at every bump in the road.
• I think our truck, fully loaded, got 3.5 miles a gallon.
• Any time you're gunning for something new in the home, just need to make sure the old one breaks inadvertently at some point in the moving process. I'm 90% sure this is why the desk broke on the drive down (I was fond of it; Michelle wasn't).
• One can probably truly appreciate the Little Ceaser's $5 pizzas only after a long moving day and amid mountains of boxes in the new home.
• The great sacrifice of this new job, our move, and our new budget restrictions, is that we've had to give up High Definition digital cable with DVR (a Tivo like service that lets you pause live tv and record programs) -- $70 a month, in exchange for "Limited Basic Cable" -- $12.50 a month. Much to our delight, though, ESPN2 and the Food Network (along with the Weather Channel and two C-Spans) are among the channels we're getting reception on.
• It's nice to have furniture worn out enough that you're happy to keep as long as you can but, when you realize there isn't room for it in your new apartment, you can just throw it away without any reservations. (Exibit A? Our love seat)
• Finally, and perhaps the best news of all, the Albertson's across the street has a day old rack!

Tomorrow, my first day at the new job.

Parting Thoughts

With less than 36 hours before we load the moving truck and head to San Diego, and with the left side of my face still numb from a visit to the dentist, a few parting observations from Irvine:

• A late night trip to Albertson’s last night revealed they’ve got about three shopping carts full of candy corn reduced to 25 cents a bag. I surveyed things, even picked up a bag of Autumn Mix, weighed the bag in my hands, and then tossed the bag back in and walked away. Even though it was only 25 cents, candy corn season is over. (Though don’t think that wasn’t difficult).
• You’ll note I mentioned going to Albertson’s last night, instead of Ralph’s. Yes, as I’ve mentioned before, Ralph’s grocery store and I are on the outs, but that’s not the reason I went to Albertson’s. Instead, Ralph’s has been closed for two days for remodeling. It appears they’re making it into a nicer, more expensive Ralph’s. We even got a packet in the mail with this week’s circular and a pamphlet with the new layout of the store. Among the new features: three full aisles to liquor! Sadly, however, the pamphlet had no information on the new whereabouts of the day old rack. Truly, it’s time for us to leave.
  Speaking of which, I despise moving.
• CVS (next to Ralph’s) is also trying to sell off their leftover Halloween candy. I noticed two days ago they had 15 or so bags left of Halloween Peanut M&Ms at $1.65 a bag. Almost as a reflex I reached to start grabbing all I could carry, but I stopped myself. The last time I went crazy buying Peanut M&Ms – foolishly thinking I could “store” them and have a year’s supply – I ate the year’s supply within a month. It probably wouldn’t be the wisest idea anyway since I’m looking to trim off another 10 pounds or so before Christmas.
• As to weight loss, I’ve decided that that period between Halloween and Christmas is the most ideal time to lose weight. Last year I dropped 15 lbs. in those seven weeks, though I sputtered and pretty much hovered around 250 lbs. the rest of the year. This year I seem to be on a similar track. I can’t tell if it’s the Halloween candy binging that brings me to my eating senses, the anticipation of binging on Christmas cookies, or some magic in the Season itself, but at no other time of year have I found this same kind of eating discipline and drive to exercise. It’s remarkable. (Just note how I’ve been able to resist by bargain basement candy corn and M&Ms).
• Did I mention I hate moving. If I’d been wise, I might have taken a little more time off to allow us to settle in down in San Diego before starting work. I was not wise. As it is, tomorrow is my last day of work here, and I’ll be starting work there Monday. Hopefully, though, the money we’ll save will allow me to start sampling the San Diego donut shops in earnest.

Christmas Carols in July (revisited)

With Halloween out of the way and things getting dark way too early, I've felt some inklings toward Christmas music. As I mentioned last year, though, this early in November that always means trouble in our home -- Michelle simply won't tolerate it until after the Thanksgiving meal.* Elsewhere, though, my siblings have started listening to it -- and I think my Father's been listening to it since August.

So, driving to a golf lesson, and intent on defying my wife, I tried playing some of my "Christmas Music" iTunes playlist that has just about my entire Christmas collection. It was 75 degrees outside or so and I had the windows down. When Manheim Steamroller came on, though, I almost shuddered. It was too early, and my system couldn't handle it yet.

Perplexed, I asked around -- to those willing to entertain the idea of Christmas music this time of year -- and some suggested to start with the religious Christmas music: Manheim, and the other whimsical, non-religious music might be a little to "hard" for this time of year. So instead, I tried easing into things this evening [with Michelle out of the house] by trying out my "Sunday Christmas Music" iTunes playlist from last year -- lots of Mormon Tabernacle Choir and the Messiah. This music is much easier to embrace, and honestly has me swept up again already (at least until Michelle gets home).

Perhaps that's the key then: save the whimsical stuff for after Thanksgiving, and start with the religious Christmas music in July.


* In fact, today she referred to herself as "the devil incarnate" in jest when referring to her zero tolerance policy. I said nothing, and there was an awkard silence for 7 seconds.

A Moment of Silence

I passed a gruesome scene yesterday as I made my way through the parking lot in our apartment complex. There, beneath the wheel of one of the parked cars, lay a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup smashed and melted. It was still in its original wrapping. No doubt this was the result of some careless child letting a prize piece of candy get away. As a result of the child's carelessness, this Reese's was forced to pay the ultimate price.

I bowed my head mournfully and respectfully as I passed, and then spent the rest of the day grieving.

The Morning After

At some point last night -- after Friday's Stake Trunk or Treat, after the afternoon office party (which is where one can really clean up if they're interested in a high percentage of "good candy"), and before actual trick-or-treating -- I realized that maybe we neither needed nor wanted the fruits of three solid hours of hauling the kids around to every house with a light on.

The thought was difficult to embrace and almost made me shiver. In the end, though, I think we were happier just hitting a few houses for 45 minutes or so, visiting the homes of people we know, and trying to keep Jared away from the "scary Halloween." Perhaps it was a breakthrough moment for me.

The aforementioned breakthrough might also explain why this is the first "morning after" Halloween in recent memory where I haven't been sorely remorseful for the volume of treats eaten the night before.

I Have Learned For Myself

Yesterday I tried sushi for the first -- and what I hope is the last -- time.

I went to lunch with great hopes.  My father, and several in the office, had spoken so highly of sushi that I did not hesitate when someone offered that we seek some out for lunch one afternoon.  Before going, however, I made sure of two things: (1) that I was going with someone who knew what they were doing and knew what to recommend; and (2) that we were going to a reputable sushi place.  I wanted to make sure that if I didn’t like sushi, there wouldn’t be any excuses.

Having assured myself of both of those things, we went. And alas, I don’t like sushi.  I tried mightily sampling the California roll several times – both with and without the wasabi/soy sauce mixture. I also tried the Rainbow roll and some eel thing.  My experience was that the wasabi was dreadful, and the sushi without the wasabi/soy sauce dip was tolerable, yet bland – certainly not worth spending my money on.

Afterward, I stopped at a fish taco place on the way back to work to try to feel better about my lunch.  It was hard, though, knowing I could’ve bought 20 bags of candy corn (or 10 bags of peanut M&Ms) for what I spent on that sushi.

Spider Bites and Other Insights

Behold the fruits of our latest family home evening:

See if you can guess who made the battle spider – twice the size of the other spiders and with candy corn spikes to ward off predators, while paralyzing its prey with fear. I find the indian corn best suited for this. Note also that Jared has his mouth stuffed with candy corn.

Other Insights:

• I’ve had several inquiries about where I stand on the “regular candy corn vs. indian corn” debate. I always reach for the indian corn first. If you’re looking for a faster sugar rush, buy the “Autumn Mix” and eat the pumpkins.


• By the way, there are two brands of candy corn: Brach’s and unwelcome imitations.


• Today marked my seventh (and last) straight day without sugar. (Yes, the sugar fast was in large part spurred by my weaknesses with candy corn). I celebrated the breaking of my sugar fast with the spider cakes [Note: I extracted the candy corn spines before I ate the cake – Never eat candy corn with your cake. The two are not complementary and you’ll find that neither tastes very good. Furthermore, you’ll find that your palate has been ruined for at least an hour].

Dream Come True

The Devil's Candy (Corn)

I fell for it again.





Every year Halloween rolls around, and every year I start craving candy corn. It’s been no different this year.

The cravings started a few days ago. I started looking out for candy corn sales at Ralph’s. I even went next store to CVS, hoping to find something under $1.00. Then, two nights ago, I even managed to come up with a reason to make a just-before-the-kids’-bedtime-trip to Target looking for a similar deal. [I was disappointed -- $1.75 for a bag of candy corn is highway robbery]. Yesterday, Michelle overheard me whispering instructions to Jared on the phone: he was supposed to pester Mommy into buying me candy corn.

Miracle of miracles, she bought me some. And I ate it. I ate just about all of it.

And here’s the thing about candy corn: it doesn’t taste very good. Oh, the first few kernels almost taste delightful. The waxy sugar – and it’s all sugar – melts between your teeth, possibly changes the color of your tongue, and seems distinguished more by the prospect of tasting good than of actually tasting good. So you take another handful. It’s a little bit tastier, but still unfulfilling. Better try another handful. This continues indefinitely until one reaches the sugar saturation point – the point at which your body cannot tolerate even one more waxy kernel. With every handful comes the hope of tasting better, yet after the second handful, it ends up tasting worse and worse. Yet on that downward slope, I keep eating -- hoping the next handful will taste as good as the first or second (note how, at this point, I’ve given up on it actually tasting good).

This is the take home point: of all the candy and sugar related treats I’ve ever binged on, candy corn leaves me feeling the worst.

Don’t ask me to explain why I keep eating it, ‘cause I can’t. The bag is open. The bag is in front of me. And my hand reaches for the bag. There seems to be something devilish about that corn (no wonder it’s the quintessential Halloween candy).

But lest you be fooled, there’s nothing cathartic about this post. As I surely as I tell you now it’s the devil’s candy (or maybe the devil’s corn), as surely I can tell you I’ll be craving it again tomorrow.

Yeah, Happy Halloween to you too.

Crónica De Una Noche Sin Descanso

Emily did not sleep easily last night. It was the third or fourth night in a row we’d had trouble getting her down. During such stretches, it’s hard to remember when things were ever different. Those kinds of evenings are so taxing on Michelle and I – especially when they happen consecutively – because we’re no longer battling the mere difficulty of the evening itself, but also the prospect that things won’t get any better the next night, or the night after that. Indeed, it might seem an odd thing to those not parents, but some of our most despairing moments as a couple have come on nights when we can’t get our kids to sleep.

Last night ranked somewhere in the top 5. We had Jared in bed just after 8 p.m.. Emily had not slept much all day, and been up until midnight the night before. This usually means Michelle hasn’t had any time to herself in the day. Such was the case yesterday.

We were foolishly optimistic: we had great hopes that she would go down before 9 p.m.. As it happened, though, those hopes only made the evening more difficult. Emily feigned sleep several times after nursing, but as soon as her back touched the crib she fussed and demanded our attention. We don’t know any better but to give it to her when she asks, so the waiting and the watching and the walking continued.

With each failed attempt at putting her down, our frustrations grew. I felt uncharacteristically short tempered as well, mostly because I’d set my heart set on an early bed time. Near 10 p.m. Michelle put her down again, and she took to it. We were tired enough by then that I almost immediately made my way to bed, while Michelle at last wanted to work on things she’d been hoping to get to all day.

A few moments into my evening rest, though, Emily began to fuss (her crib is in our room). I knew it was over. Michelle wasn’t of the disposition to willingly take her again all by herself, so I got up and somewhat despairingly took Emily back out into the living room as she screamed.

Emily stopped screaming, and looked around the living room and kitchen with expectant delight that there was still some nightlife. She watched an episode of Meerkat Manor with us, while I alternated positions with her, as well as back pats and back rubs, or gentle bouncing from couch positions (and standing). She gave no signs of being tired. She was enjoying things too much.

Near midnight we thought we had her down again, and we felt sure that nothing more could be required of us that evening – we didn’t think we could bear it any longer. As Michelle took Emily into the bedroom to lay down with her, though, I took a few moments to write in my journal reflecting on the experience. It had been a long, long night in the latest of a series of long nights, but it was seemingly over. The reflection spurred by the journal writing made me more submissive as I thought on things, and I wished I hadn’t been so short tempered and anxious in the hours before. I then made my way to sleep for the evening.

As I drifted to sleep, I thought on how lucky I must be that my greatest complaint was that my daughter would not sleep when I wanted her to. I thought on those whose trials dwarf the one I’d faced that evening, and I felt contrite. I suspected some would give most anything to experience what I’d been “suffering” through. That pleasant sense of self-reproach seemed like a good thought to end the evening on.

But my evening was not over.

Whether due to sickness or a more sinister motive, Emily was not ready for sleep. Her cry – after what was likely the fourth feigned attempt at sleep that evening – seemed almost unbelievable. The sound made my heart sink. It was more than Michelle could bear. It probably would’ve been more than I could’ve borne as well had I not had the reflective moments of journal writing minutes before. But I had had those few moments, and that made all the difference.

C.S. Lewis once mentioned (and I paraphrase) that we can either grip the dentist’s chair tightly, or rest our hands calmly on our lap – either way the drill drills on. I got up from my bed wearily, but more willing to figuratively let my hands rest in my lap as the drill drilled on. Tired and haggard as I was, I picked up my fussing little girl, left the bedroom for Michelle to rest in peace, strapped my daughter in her car seat, and took her for a drive through the finer parts of Irvine (and those with the least stop lights – Emily hates stop lights). She fussed for a long while, but I knew I could and would outlast her. In fact I think I even said as much to her at one point, and she got the message not long after.

Just after 1 a.m. we rolled back into our parking space. I brought my sleeping daughter into the bedroom and left her strapped in the car seat. I was too tired at that point to think where I’d find energy to face the next morning, but went to bed thinking that if more was required of me, I was ready. Ironically, that's when my evening ended.

Tonight, she fell asleep at 9 p.m.