Welcome To My Journey of Fatherhood.

A BMHAB Christmas Carol

2010-12-31T23:59:00.000-06:00

As a father I often wonder what my children's life will be like after I'm long gone. Perhaps they'll take after dear old dad and constantly find themselves always busy, always working, always getting their hustle on. One could say that wouldn't be such a bad thing.. you know taking after daddy.. being busy keeps you from being in trouble. The whole idle minds, devil's workshop scenario was hit hard when I was a kid. So the Jacksons STAY busy. That's gotta be a good trait to pass on to your kids, right?

This past Christmas eve all of those beliefs were brought into question. I call it my Blackman Having A Baby Christmas Carol. You see, each of us has one, but too often we are too busy to realize it. Somewhere, at some point in time, something has happened to you, that has made you stop and think twice. Now exactly what you've thought of, I'm not sure, but the mere fact that a second thought was given to a particular event means that you've take a second look at that situation. Confused? Hell I am. Let me just share my story and perhaps "unconfuse" you.

It's Christmas eve and my wife and I have just finished taking inventory of the gifts for the kids. Trying to avoid World War III in the household, we knew we were one present short of an equal distribution from dear old Saint Nick. So being the BMHAB type of guy that I am, I volunteer to head out to the local "WWF -Mega Throw Down-Get Yo Hands Off My Toy Cause I Saw it First-Free for All" store (aka Wal-Mart) and purchase that last gift. That one last gift that would signify an end to all Christmas shopping. You know that one gift that upon returning home I could pour a cup of Egg Nogg, kick up my feet, and listen to the Temptations sing Christmas songs. Hurriedly grabbing my raincoat I bundle up so I could brave the elements, jump into my car and off I go. As expected, I walked into the aftermath of an atomic explosion in the toy section of Wal-Mart. I thought, man I do not have time to sift threw all these toys looking for that last perfect gift, so let me get an associate who works here and make them sift threw all these toys in search of that last perfect gift. "Ummm, excuse me can I get some help?" After, a look at that said "If one more person ask me that question I will kick their ass" the associate said "sure what can I help you with?" I said, "I need a toy for a girl, I want it to look like a computer, I need it to cost around twenty bucks, and I need you to help me find it." Chirp, chirp, chirp... "Well" he said, "let's look over here." A few minutes later he emerges from a pile of toys with... you guessed it, the perfect gift. "I'll take it," I screamed. That was it. I was done, finished, fina, el fineto, and yes it had a price tag that was under twenty dollars.

After waiting several minutes in the check out line from hell, you know the one where the person in front of you always takes an extra 20 minutes just to dig their wallet or checkbook out of the world's largest purse, I started up the Lincoln and made a bee line towards home.

Ring, ring, ring.. "Hello," I said. "When are you getting home? The kids and I miss you." "Honey, I'm right around the corner. I'll see you guys in just a few minutes." Well, someone had a different plan other than the one I had envisioned. Upon making a left turn, my vehicle began to fish tale and head into oncoming traffic. I attempted to straighten the vehicle out and regain control, but to no avail. A few short seconds later, I would find myself sideways in a gully wedged in between some type of water pipe and a retaining wall. The nose of the vehicle was submerged in water, the front windshield broken, and the passenger side air bag was deployed. Oh, did I mention my life flashing before my eyes.. all I thought about was not being able to give my little girl that perfect last gift that I'd ventured out to get for her. After gathering myself, I immediately called my wife. "You'll never guess what just happened," I said in a calm voice. "I just had a wreck, I'm right around the corner, and I need you to bring the insurance information." Not, being able to fully go into detail with my wife, I again asked her to come to my rescue. Fortunately, two guys had pulled over and came to help me out of what could have been my tomb. Unhurt and a bit shaken, I took a deep breath and gave thanks to God that I was still here. My wife and kids would soon arrive and witness the scene that I was unable to describe earlier. "Daddy, are you okay? What happened to your car?" Daddy had a wreck and yes I'm fine. "Okay you didn't tell me it was like this, I'm thinking fender bender" exclaims my wife. "You hurt?" "No, I'm fine."

So after reassuring not only my wife, EMT's, the police, and the numerous passers-by that my condition was a okay, I began the long wait for a tow truck to come and fetch the love of my life out of its unfortunate predicament. It's during that wait that my Carol came to premonition. I begin to think about my past, the present, and the future.

The Past - I can remember a time when my Christmas's were like any other day. I grew up knowing the reason for the season, but the older I got the further I got away from it. No Christ, no tree, no gifts, no nothing. To me it was a waste of time. As a child, I can remember once that we didn't have any presents under our tree so my sister and I went around the house and found things to wrap just so it would look as if we had presents. Man who were we fooling? I think that was the beginning of the end of celebration for me.

The Present - Leading up to Christmas, I was so busy that I never found the time to put up the yearly decorations. It wasn't until my children talked about me, and my neighbor placed a bag of leaves in Christmas decor in my front yard did I get with the program. Five days before Christmas and I'm putting up Christmas lights and hanging decorations.. talk about your bah humbug.

The Future - While sitting there waiting on what seemed to be an eternity, I begin to think "What if the outcome had been different?" How would my wife explain that there was no more daddy. What would Christmas be like with such terrible news of my demise. I would never see their graduations, weddings, and birthdays. How would my wife raise them all alone?

You see that day I had been searching for that perfect gift. That search lead me out into the cold. It had me frantically searching through a pile of toys in the midst of a war zone. It landed me in a ditch and totaled my car. I had been searching for something materialistic, when all along that perfect gift was right there. It was the gift of TIME. Taking time to spend with loved ones, to tell them how much I loved them, and to remind them and myself that life is too short and tomorrow isn't promised. Now hoping that the confusion at the start of my Carol is now "unconfused, " the moral of this story for both you and I is this.. slow down, take your time, and remember those things that are of importance. Wow... lesson learned!

Be blessed while being a blessing to others. Happy New Year.

Let's Expand This Thing:

2010-12-29T20:55:00.000-06:00

Hey there readers, followers, and groupies (I think that covered everyone). I hope you have enjoyed "Black Man Having a Baby." I know I have. But, I know hearing about my children all the time can be a bit overwhelming or perhaps come across as being conceited. Trust me, I'm not. So, BMHAB is going to expand. I'm not an expert on raising children, but I do have a jump start on most.

Here's what I'm thinking.. how about you tell us what you'd like to see. So many of you have weighed in on what we should include and the direction we should be going and trust me "WE ARE LISTENING". So at the start of the year this is what you'll see:

-Weekly blog posting

-Daily Tweets

-Reality Pilot (starring The Jackson 5)

-Momma Said - Daily posting on Facebook from BMHAB Better half.

-And the starting of a Childrens Book

Wow.. yea let's do this. I believe in this and so have you. Over the years, you have shown your support and we'd like to say thank you. But, we are going to need one more favor from you.. no it's not a financial contribution (although we have trey babies and everyone has to go to college, trade school, devry, truck driving school, somewhere other than sittting on my couch being a bum), but the favor is to help us spread the word. That's easy, and it won't cost you anything... just a little bit of time. One thing I noticed is the majority of my readers are females. Now, don't get me wrong I'm not complaining, but I am trying to reach men as well.. so ladies... I'd like to hear from you. How can I get more male readers and keep my site tasteful and family oriented?

I'm excited and look forward to a new year. Here's wishing all of you A Happy New Year! See you on the otherside of 2011.

BMHAB

From the Archives.. "Sir You Can Not Drive 90 miles an Hour"

2010-10-26T10:41:00.002-05:00

Dear Readers, thought I'd reach back into the archives and pull one of my favorite postings. Enjoy.. leave a comment.

It's Sunday morning and I'm heading off to church. Time to get my "praise" on. Lately I've attended both services, one at 8am and the other at 11am, this due in part that I help with the church's media ministry. "Honey" I say to my lovely wife, "I'm heading off to church, and I will see you at the eleven o'clock service". Little did I know this would not be the case.

As I'm driving into the city I start to reminisce on all the things I'd had accomplished the day before. We really wanted to paint our living room, and somehow I got volunteered into doing it on a Saturday. Something about her not going to be at home all day was the perfect explanation given. So hence there went my Saturday. We have these extremely high ceiling's and me being the plan-ahead-get-everything-you-need-in-advance type of husband that I am, I borrowed a ladder from one of my friends. Paint brush in hand, I began to create a masterpiece that even Picasso would be proud of. I'm painting, easing my way up the ladder as the ceiling continues to get higher and higher. At one point I have to decide.. do I stand on the top part of this shaky ladder despite the warnings on the ladder telling me not to or do I accept defeat and realize I'm just not going to be able to reach the top part of the ceiling. Oh, believe me I rationalized and pondered over this question for a period of time. I even backed away from the wall and took a good long hard look at the open white area that I couldn't reach with my brush, and tried to somehow convince myself that it looked okay. You know some type of art deco. It didn't work. I don't know if you have ever seen this on cartoons but I sure have. Now that I think about it, I think that's where I got the idea. The cartoon character is trying to perhaps change a light bulb or get something off a shelf and they just can't quit reach it, so they began to stack various pieces of furniture so they can use it as a hasty ladder. Well let's just say I tried it and it wasn't pretty. Use your imagination, can you picture this. Kitchen table, coffee table, end table, and chair.. I think that's the order that I stacked them. Now I see why they say cartoons are so violent and influential. Man I could have busted my butt down to the "white meat". Okay.. note to self, "no cartoons for baby." As for the wall, mission accomplished.

I finally make it to church and I'm smiling still thinking about the circus act I'd pulled off. I never take my cell phone into church but as fate would have it, this one particular Sunday I stick it in my pocket. Things are going great. The choir sounds really good, the bass is kicking, I'm really starting to get my praise on. Then all of a sudden something tells me check my phone. I do. One missed call appears on the screen. I scroll to the menu and it says the call was from the house. I quickly call home and ask, "is everything okay?" "Come quickly" my wife said, "I need to go to the emergency room, something is wrong with baby". That's all she needed to say. The next thing I knew I was on the highway, emergency flasher on and doing about 90 miles an hour. What is going on? What in the world could be wrong? I just left the house and everything was fine. Okay Stone, everything is going to be okay, that's what I kept telling myself. Take it easy, just get there in one piece. Drive you fool, just drive. Oh, s!#$@, there goes a cop car. Just my luck. What do I do? Do I slow down with hopes that he'll take the next exit or do I speed right past him and hope he doesn't see or stop me. I chose the latter, and of course he sees me zip past him at about 90-95 miles and turns on his lights. "Now what," I ask myself. I could keep going, ignore the lights, don't stop, I see it on TV everyday. My wife needs me, she's in trouble and I'm not gonna stop and I didn't. For the next 5 or 6 miles I see these flashing lights in my rear view mirror and I'm telling myself that I have to get home. I'm on a mission, my wife needs me. At one point I thought, okay What is this cop thinking? Does he think he is on a high speed chase? Of course not, why would I be driving with my flashers on if it wasn't an emergency? Pay attention Mr. Officer can't you see I'm in a freaking hurry. By now I know he's probably called in on his radio telling everyone at the station "I gots me one of them there high speeds chase and he's not stopping." Well, five miles into this so called chase it hits me, the voice of reason, and it tells me "brotha man, you gone have to pull this here vehicle over or you're gonna get in some serious trouble". I do. I pull over and immediately grab my wallet pull out my drivers license and stick it out the window. Up walks what I call the African American version of Barney Fife. Sir, do you know how fast you were going? Yes, I said, I'm in a hurry. Something is wrong with my wife. We are having our first baby and she called me to say she needs to go to the emergency room. I'm going home to pick her up and take her there. Sir, you can not drive 90 miles an hour down the highway. I know that but my wife is pregnant. It's our first child and she says she needs to go to the emergency room. Okay, I hear you, but Sir you can not drive 90 miles an hour down the highway. Why didn't you call an ambulance? Because, my wife called me. It's our first child and she says it's an emergency and I need to take her to the emergency room. By this time I'm thinking "man just give me a ticket or do what ever you need to, but I'm heading to the house to get my wife." As if I hadn't heard him the previous times he says it again, "Sir, you can not drive 90 miles an hour down the highway." I look at him and say, okay, I'm sorry and drive off. Finally I get to the house and my wife comes rushing out the door and we take off heading to the hospital. I ask her what's wrong? But she starts crying and gives me an explanation that I'd rather not share with others, but believe me it was an emergency and I had to get to the hospital.

Upon arrival, and a couple of dollars later for the parking we find ourselves inside the emergency room. "Can I help you," asked one nurse. Yes was all I heard then came the tears, non stop ever flowing tears. Stone you gotta stop crying.. no not really it was my wife crying, had you going there for a minute. Anyway after I explain things to the nurse we find ourselves in a waiting room. My wife has gotten undressed and put on the gown with no booty in the back, you know the one, and I'm sitting in a chair trying to remain calm. She tells me this is a birthing room. So me being the in-a-strange-place-mess-with-all-the-gadgets type of husband that I am, I chill. In walks another nurse and starts in on my wife. Fifty questions later she's rubbing a stethoscope on my wife stomach attempting to find the baby's heartbeat. Okay, I'm not a doctor nor do I claim to be one, but I swear its been at least ten minutes and this nurse is still trying to locate the baby's heart. You can only imagine what my wife is going through as she stares at me with tears in her eyes. God no, please no. I don't know what I'd do, please hear my prayer I whispered. "Bingo, we got a heartbeat" exclaimed the nurse. Uh, bingo my (input explicit word here). Oh that's what I said. "Okay we have a heartbeat, I'll go get the doctor". A few minutes later in walks a young girl and I'm saying to myself she must be looking for her momma. Can't she see she's in the wrong room, aint nothing in here but us black folks and um I really think this kid is lost. "Hello, I'm the Doctor" What seems to be the problem. Oh Lord, it's Doogie Houser M.D. and she's looks like she can't be any older than sixteen. Why is my wife giving me that death ray stare as if I'm suppose to say something and I don't know what in the world to say. Oh God, Please Help me. I remain silent. I just continue to sit quickly in a corner and wait for the perfect moment to excuse myself from the room. It comes. Like a Christmas present on Christmas day, it comes. When the young doctor tells me she's about to use what I call "the big salad spoons" on my wife that was exactly what I needed to hear. "Uh, Baby I'll be out in the hallway, call me if you need me." Trust me gentlemen it wasn't about to be a pretty picture in that room, especially when I passed a nurse with a huge rescue one flashlight as I bolted out the door. A few minutes later I was called back into the room. "I'll be right back with the results in just a moment," said the young Doogie. Well, how was it? What do you think, she asked. Um, I think I'm gonna have to get us some of these "stirrups" I said, they could be pretty handy one day. "How do they work," I asked as I proceeded to mess with them, pushing every button, and extending them as far as I could. "Would you leave stuff alone." Just as I have them extended to their never-before-or-never-again-will-they-ever-be-this-high-stage I hear footsteps coming down the hallway. Can you imagine me struggling, attempting to get these things back into their rightful place without getting busted? Needless to say I was able to do it and get back in my chair clear across the room by the time Doogie walked in. Come on, Did you ever doubt for one minute I couldn't do it?

Given a clean bill of health, my wife and I returned home and thanked God that all was well. Keep us in your thoughts, because we will always keep you in ours.. especially when it come time for a baby sitter.

Public Vs. Private

2010-07-16T17:24:00.002-05:00

In an effort to keep peace in the household I have allowed my wife to post to BMHAB. Since she did actually have the baby(s) its the least I can do. So please enjoy and post your comments.

Public Versus Private:

My little darlings are growing up fast. They have sprung up before my eyes and I can’t believe that Jack is already headed to kindergarten. After attending a private pre-school, I’ve been struggling with the idea of putting Jack in public school. First of all, it’s free!!!(Ya’ll know I have three kids). Secondly, the elementary schools in our neighborhood are great! As a matter of fact, the school that Jack would attend has been given an exemplary rating by the state for the past few years! I have been waiting for the day that I would be able to keep more money in my pocket and what do we do? We sign him up for kindergarten at his private school. So why am I on the private school fence? Could it have anything to do with the Joneses?

In the past few weeks, I have had several important meetings (translation: happy houred) with several of my clicks and they have all have jumped on the private school bandwagon. Let’s start with my L.O.T.S –Ladies on the Sauce group. I know the name might throw you off, but we handle very important issues in life…over a few drinks. The more drinks, the less important the issue…but I digress. The LOTS gals are all my friends from high school and we meet about three times a year! Well, at our last meeting, the subject of private schools came up. Now, we all went to Woodrow Wilson High School in East Dallas! But not one of their kiddos is going public. We had everything from St. Marks to Hockaday represented at the table, but nothing from our hood!!! The reasons varied, but the result was the same…they didn’t think public school could cut it. Some of my Southside mommies feel the same way. I have friends who live in Cedar Hill and Desoto and drive their kids to First Baptist, Greenhill, Ursuline, and Jesuit! The tuition, plus the gas, equals the same amount as my college tuition…sometimes more. From the environment to the education, mommies feel that public school falls short! Or does it?

As part of a research project for my masters, I did a comparison between public and private schools. What I found shocked even me! Public schools, when looking at the entire picture and not just the stories on TV, did better than private schools on national tests. Public and private run neck and neck during the elementary years, private even leads during this time in English and language arts. But public schools close the gap in secondary education and even whip private schools in math and science scores across the nation. No matter how much paper I flipped or resources I googled, public schools did better, in the long run that is!

Now realize that after having said all that, I still may not change my mind. Private schools seem to feel better to some mommies. I like the fact that my kiddos are getting some “ligion” in school and that a little more attention is paid because they have smaller classes. I like that, since I am paying my money…and a lot of it, the administration seems to pay a little bit more attention to what I have say and respond quicker to any requests that I might have. I like the “faux” feeling that my kids are safer and are exposed to less sex, drugs and violence in private school.

But I have to ask myself. Am I preparing them for the real world?

Baseball, Hot Dogs, & Apple Pie.. The American Pastime..

2010-03-30T00:53:00.013-05:00

Okay before you stop reading this because you think I’m about to write about how proud I am to be an American, then keep reading because you are way off base (no pun intended). Although I am proud to be an American, I'm even more proud of my son and daughter and what they did this past weekend. I know you've all heard the saying baseball, hot dogs and apple pie... it’ s just about as American as you can get. It's what being American is all about. Hell, I’ve heard that saying hundreds of times in my life, but it’s never really done anything for me. It's never moved me like I’ve seen it move people. Its meaning was so foreign to me. Growing up in my neighborhood, one could say "Kickball, Bologna, and a Push Up from the Ice Cream truck was as American as one could get. That's what I'm talking about!!!

However, this past weekend, my son and daughter had their opening day for T-ball. They are both on teams called the "Red Sox “and they both wear the number 1 on their jerseys. Trust me this was purely coincidental. After a long opening day ceremony that morning, I had to get the kids ready for their games. My wife had a previous engagement so she wasn't able to help. Gotta hate it when that happens. My daughter did a great job. She had two hits, scored two runs, and stopped a ground ball while attempting to play short stop. Not bad for a three year old, not to mention she’s the only girl on the team. Outside of telling her to stay focused and remember her baseball ready stance, I think she has all the makings of an Olympic gold medal athlete who just so happens to play baseball for a hobby. You Go Girl. So after her game the gang was hungry. I made the biggest mistake in asking "What do you guys want to eat?” "I want a cheeseburger with mustard"..."and I want chicken nuggets with ketchup." Okay we’re at a baseball field, not a shopping mall. Our choices are very limited... so I say, "let’s go get some hot dogs." Ahhhh, was all I heard, but that soon changed after I bribed, I mean suggested candy bars for desert. Man, the power of sugar sure is simply amazing.

While we are enjoying our “oh so delicious” hot dogs, my wife and youngest son arrive just in time for the next game. Okay you guys sit here, finish eating, and I'll go and check on the team to see if anyone is here. Well, to my surprise not only are they here, they are lining up heading out on the field to warm up. Immediately, I run back over to the concession stand, and yell at my son who has just started eating his hot dog. "We have to go, shove that hot dog in your mouth, grab your gear and let's go." So here we are, running through the crowds, my son has one shoe on and one shoe off, he's got a mouth full of hot dog, his little sister is crying cause she's can't sit and finish eating, Mom is grabbing the rest of our dinner and our youngest son cause he ain’t about to walk (hell come to think of it he ain’t about to crawl either), and daddy’s having flashbacks from the time he was late to a game when he played in high school. It wasn't pretty. Now I’m not sure if the coaches noticed my son being late or just didn’t say anything. Either way he slid on the field and started warming up with the rest of the team. Soon, afterwards the Ump yelled “play ball” and we were under way. I'm standing next to the dugout giving him some last minute instructions, while the coach is calling out names to go in the game. To my surprise he doesn't call my son’s name. He and another kid are sitting on the bench and I’m in shock. “What the”.. was my first response after looking at my son who has no clue why he's still in the dugout and everyone else is on the field. So being the all-knowing-black man having a baby- dad that I am, I tell him to stay focused and be patient. I quickly make my way over to my wife in the stands and say what every dad says at this moment in life... “I can't believe they didn't start our son. He’s better than half the kids on this freaking team.” Her reply, “calm down, it’s gonna be okay.” Okay my a@%$, I’m thinking. What the hell are all the practices for, if he’s just going to sit on the freaking bench? I was just about to lose it and my wife goes “Look.” And before my very eyes… the baseball gods have heard my bitchin and performed a miracle. My son is getting his glove on to go outfield. That’s right he’s heading into the game. Miraculously, some kid had yelled out, “I gotta go pee,” right before the game started and they needed to replace him. Thank you baseball gods! But I’m wondering, technically, does that count as my son starting the game? Mmmmmm. Well, I know one thing, he never came out of the game after that. By the time the game had ended, he had played 1^st base, gotten 2 outs in one inning, had 2 hits, 1 RBI, and scored 1 run. Now check that out! I think we might have a Satchel Page on our hands. Could it have gotten any better you ask? Yes, it could. He was awarded the game ball afterwards. Talk about a Blackman Having ‘a Baby walking around the ball park peacock proud with a grin from ear to ear, and you would be talking about me.

So now I know you’re saying “I don’t get it” what is the connection with the whole baseball, hot dog, and apple pie thing?’ Must I break it down for ya? On the drive home, it hit me like a ton of bricks. It’s not the game of baseball. It’s the experience! You see, it could have been dodgeball that my kids were playing. We could have been eating ham sandwiches. It’s not what you are doing that counts. It’s the building of memories that comes with spending an entire day focused solely on your kids. It’s being there to see them perform at their best (or worst) but being there nonetheless! It’s the look on their faces when they realize they’ve done something cool and you were there to see it! It’s the ear to ear grin when you are there to give them a high five afterwards. You see, that day we played baseball and ate hotdogs. But the apple pie came in the form of me being proud of my kids. And trust me it doesn’t get any more American than that!

Implementing the "table top mentality."

2010-03-24T12:21:00.003-05:00

Have you ever heard the saying "the family that prays together, stays together? Well, I'm guessing that phrase came about when families weren't so busy and actually had time to do things together. As a kid, we had family night every night. Yea that's right our family night was spent sitting around the dinner table. I remember being outside playing my butt off and hearing my Mom's voice half way up the street screaming "Time for Dinner".. which actually meant stop whatever you're doing, get in this house, wash your hands, and get to the table, before I finish fixing your plate, so that we can say grace, and eat dinner together. My, my, my, how things have changed. When was the last time you actually sat down at the dinner table as a family? Oh, and the holidays or special events don't count.

Today, many families are so busy that eating together is something unheard of. I can recall many of those conversation around our dinner table. You know like, "How was your day", "How was school", "What did you learn in class today"... does any of this sound familiar? Surprisingly, my siblings and I would always have an answer to those prying questions, because we learned "I don't know" or "nothing" was not a good answer. That little "pow-wow" we held around that black Formica table top with chrome legs helped to solve a lot of problems in my life. Conversation about girlfriends, boyfriends, friends and who their parents were, parties, sleep overs, homework, whatever it was, it pretty much came out around the table at dinner. That tradition lasted for many years, and as a Black Man Having Trey Babies, it’s something I'd like to pass on to my familia... I figure that table-top mentality was good then, so surely it has to be good now. But a word of advise, “Be careful what you say, it can always come back to haunt you.”

My wife and I have two totally different schedules. She works a morning gig, like out the door by 7am, and I work the night shift, come in the door around 11pm. My wife hates those hours because she has to deal with the kiddo's during the "prime time" of day. So, being the good husband that I am, I always try and meet them out for dinner during my lunch hour. Yea, it gets expensive, but I figure it’s a small price to pay to give them that "table-top mentality." In the course of this venture, we have come up with a short list of "Kid-Friendly" establishments.. in other words places that won't throw us out for having "loud” children or where the patrons don't give you the evil eye because they either have no children nor do they ever want them.

One of our favorites eating establishments is an authentic Mexican restaurant. They have become so accustomed to us that they've given us our own booth, at least that's what I'm thinking being that we always are seated in the same booth. It’s the one in the very back, near the kitchen away from the other customers. I guess they figure the noise from the kitchen would help drown out the outdoor voices that our kids too often use. Knowing that we only have a small window of opportunity before everything goes to hell in a hand basket, my wife and I have implemented some time saving strategies. One of which is the bathroom drill. As soon as we are seated the first thing I ask is “Who has to go to the Restroom?“ and as always the replies are “not me”. But being the all wise and all knowing father that I am, I suggest we go anyway just to be on the safe side. Mmmm how thoughtful of me.

Another time saving strategy; one should have the menu completely memorized so that as soon as the waiter brings out the water, chips, or whatever, you’re ready to order. Never, and I repeat NEVER give the kids a choice. Always tell them what they are having while faking to read that same menu you have already memorized. Making those small tips a priority can save you a lot of headache.

Once things have settled down a bit, I start the conversation off with a big "So how was your day, how was school?" (Check me out drawing upon that table top mentality that has been so well embedded in me, Mom would be so proud). I can always count on my oldest to answer first being that he has an obsession with being first in everything. "I got a GREEN today", which in his world is the best he could achieve that day. In my world, it tells me he didn't piss the teacher off, curse out any of his classmates, start a fire in the restroom, or pinch any little girls. Had he replied "I got a RED today" our conversation would have taken a turn for the worst. Been there, done that, will go there again I’m sure. My daughter on the other hand will usually repeat what the oldest has just told us, so we make believe we are hearing it for the first time. We also reaffirm what she says with a bunch of really’s, girl get outta here, and for real’s.

At some point during this meal malay, my wife and I will attempt to hold our own conversation. Between the “sit your butt down,” “stop playing with the salt,” “don’t lick the salt of the table,” “use your indoor voice,” “stop staring and pointing,” “get from under the table,” I‘ll squeeze in an….

“How was your day?”

“It was ummm, hold on… if I have to tell you one more time! I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked how was your… didn’t your Mom tell you to stop that? Your day, how was your day?”

“That’s it, do we need to go back to the restroom? My day was fine, how’s your going?”

I’m sure you get the picture. The whole “table top mentality” can be equated to the building of Rome, it’s not going to happen over night. No one said it would be easy, but we’ll keep at it with the hopes that our children will pass it on to their families. I figure if it was good enough for the Walton’s and the Huxtables, then it’s good enough for the Jacksons. By the way, after the numerous attempts at holding our own adult conversation during dinner, we always conclude the following: 1. We’re crazy to even think we could hold a conversation with this rowdy group of high strung kids. 2. No matter how crazy we think they are, we are truly blessed to be in their company. 3. Despite all the chaos, we both are having a pretty good day.

Let's not get it Twisted...

2009-12-25T17:13:00.006-06:00

In celebration of Christmas, the Jackson 5 would like to wish each and everyone of you a safe blessed holiday. We also asked that you not forget the reason for the season. Yea, all the gifts, food, and fun are great, but never forget why we really celebrate the date. In other words let's not get it twisted. Happy Birthday Jesus.

As we prepare ourselves to enter into a new year, let's reflect on what once was, what is happening, and what will be. Our family has faced some challenges this year and we know without your kindness and love we would have never made it. BMHAB wants to say "thank you." Thank you for your support, your friendship, and your prayers.

We Are Family...

2009-10-29T15:24:00.011-05:00

Wow, long time no hear from... but its been quite a year. So far we've had five deaths in the family, one of which was our kids goldfish Goldie. I thought explaining his death to the kids would be hard, but now I'm faced with telling them their beloved Papa has gone to see Jesus. This morning I took a stab at it and was quickly reminded that He (Papa) could help take care of Goldie. Mmmm, never thought about it like that. I can't wait to see what the next couple of months have in store for us. As a person of faith, the only thing that comforts me is knowing, "he'll never put more on us than we can bear."

This year has taught me a lot about family. Some you can live with, and some of them you'd like to... well I'd rather not say. Whenever I'm asked about my family, I always refer to Tyler Perry's "Meet the Browns." If you've heard of them then you know us. In a nutshell, we are the "drama for yo mama-always got something going on-never ending story-what's next-oh that doesn't surprise me- Jackson family." Sounds a bit like your family too, huh? Well, if you don't believe me here are a couple of examples. Example 1: I received a phone call from one of my siblings telling me they had a 15 minute presentation/tribute they wanted to do at our sister's funeral. On top of that they needed to get in touch with someone at the church to see what type of equipment/support they had and they would need to set a time to do a sound check prior to the start of the service. "What?" Or how about, the sibling who showed up late to my Dad's service, sometime during the eulogy. Then while viewing the body they are sooo distraught, they almost pass out in the casket, but yet after returning to their seat they're somehow able to drum up enough strength to burst out into one of the world's loudest solos. Gotta love it. Oh, did I mention the 2 fights I had to break up, the police being called for a possible kidnapping, and the argument over a baseball cap, a pair of sweats, and a wig. Can you say "DRAMA."

As a Black Man Having a family, I have to teach our children that blood is always thicker than water. That when it comes to family you have to love them unconditionally, and be there for one another... no matter what. Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers and remember tomorrow is not always promised, but having that one crazy family member is guaranteed! Love em, hate em, they are still family.

Thanks Dad:R.I.P.

2009-09-11T10:48:00.010-05:00

I have always tried to find the humor in life. Believing everything that happens has its own rhyme or reason. Its purpose or dis purpose, and or its lesson to be learned. This is one such instance.

You see, I was brought up "Old School" by a single parent who was not my mom, but my great aunt. She taught me that no one owes you anything, your family is everything, and without God you ain't nothing. Man, do I miss her. At times, being the only guy in a house full of females was a bit challenging. I can't begin to count how many times I was cursed out for leaving the toilet seat in the upright position, or better yet, having to explain the concept of football and how great of a sport it was. I can honestly say, she molded me into the person I am today, and I thank her for that. But sadly, out of all the knowledge and wisdom, and life's lessons she bestowed on me, one thing she never could do was to teach me how to be a man.

I can remember always wanting my dad to be a part of my life. As a kid, I kept an old black and white photo of him on my dresser. I would often find myself staring at it and then glancing in the mirror just to see if I could notice the resemblance. I'd often wonder "is this how I'm gonna look when I grow up?" Sometimes I'd catch myself having a conversation with that photo, explaining how my day went, who I had a crush on, or what I'd like for Christmas. I never knew where it came from, when it was taken or how old my dad was when he posed for it. It was signed "with all my love, Jackie." I knew that he had gotten remarried and started a new family after he divorced my mom. One day, we tried to contact him, but he refused to get on the phone... I always believed he wanted to talk to us, but just didn't want to speak to my mom. At the age of 18, my younger sister and I took a trip to visit him. It was my first time seeing him since I was two. At that time, we were introduced to our half sister and brother who had no clue they were younger siblings. I can still remember the looks on their faces... "surprise". Although my other siblings would stay in touch with him, it would be nearly 20 years before I would see him again. He made a surprise appearance at my wedding.. afterwards he would tell me how proud he was and asked if I could ever forgive him. I did. After that, there would be the occasional phone call around birthdays or holidays, but always brief and to the point. I can remember getting a call whenever the Redskins would play the Cowboys, and talking trash about who would win the game. Man, did he love the Redskins. This past fathers day while sitting in the emergency room with my daughter, I get a call from one of my sisters informing me that dad had passed away. He was seventy. Next week, we'll bury him in Arlington National Cemetery with full honors.

Now, please don't get me wrong, nor do I want you to get the story wrong.. I'm not saying he was a terrible father. I'm just saying that's the way it was. I can remember I would tell myself as a kid, I'd never grow up to be like him. I felt abandoned, betrayed, whatever a kid feels when he wishes his dad was around and he's not, that's what I felt. But it wasn't until recently that I realized, had he not been the type of man that he was, I wouldn't be the type of man that I am. You see oddly enough, he's taught me how to be a man... at least the man I am today. A hard working, providing for my family, love my children, would do anything in the world for them, will always be a part of their lives, never gonna go anywhere type of man. In short, trying to be everything he wasn't is what I'll be to my children. And for that, I want to say "Thanks Dad, Rest in Peace."

I've learned in a short time that being a dad isn't as easy as it portrayed. Growing up watching the Cosby's was just that, "watching TV." It wasn't real. You see, you never saw Bill dealing with things that were not written in the script. Life isn't scripted. We write the script on a daily basis. I decided a long time ago that my script would be different. I promised myself I would be the best father that I could and I would never let my children live a script similar to mine. I knew at some point that cycle had to be broken so I have taken on that responsibility. It's hard, real hard, but I'm determined and focused. My motto: "Sometimes the easy way out, ain't always the easy way out." Think about it.

Now I know a lot of people grow up without fathers in the household, I did... and I'm fine... at least I like to think I am. So please, don't throw me a pity party, or feel like I'm needing sympathy or anything like that. This is about "ME". It's my thank you letter to my father for being himself. He's made me the Blackman Having Trey Babies, a man, a real man, and I'm heading to DC to pay my respect. Funny how life works.

P.S. Keep my family and I in prayer.. and we'll talk when I get back.

It's Official: We Are The Jackson 5

2009-08-05T21:03:00.009-05:00

Wow the months of July and August will definitely go down as one of the most memorable 60 days of my life. Talk about an emotional roller coaster... wife pregnant, daughter sick, loss of a love one, labor, birth of a son, kids starting school... "aaahhhh can I get off this ride, STOP". I told my wife the other day, "man this is hard, I can see why some men walk away from their responsibilities.. that's the easy way out. Not having to deal with all the chaos." Mmmmm... naaa, not me, I'm not a quitter, never had, never will, it's not in my DNA. Tell me I can't and I'll tell ya I can. As hard as it is, I thank God that I'm here, still standing, still a black man with TREY babies... and I love it.

Speaking of babies, let me introduce you to the latest addition..making his grand entrance into the world on July 20th, at a whopping 7lbs and 13 ounces, and a height of 19 inches.. it's Westley Davis Jackson. Yea, that's right! We have officially been deemed the new "Jackson Five" (WE NEED OUR OWN REALITY SHOW, CALL ME). After being down this road twice before, I can honestly say this birth was a piece of cake. Notice how a man is speaking on the behalf of the woman who did all the work.. shame on me. But it was. Westley has been great. He sleeps all day and stays awake all night. I really think that's from his mom watching way too much "True Blood" during her pregnancy. As for the other siblings welcoming him into the household, mom and I are constantly reminding them that he's not a toy, he can't walk nor talk, and him jumping off the couch or being used as a hurdle is never an option. In other words, they love him.

Keep us in your thoughts and prayers and I'll keep everyone updated on BMHAB. Thank you to everyone who's done so much for us, our family is truly blessed to be part of the village.

A letter to the President: Energy Crisis Solved

2009-07-17T16:55:00.007-05:00

Dear Mr. President,

With the world energy crisis being at a forefront in daily discussions, I, being a true American citizen, have devised a plan that could end our dependency on foreign oil, foreign countries, foreign whatever. This highly intelligent, never thought of, talk about "out of the box" idea came to me while sitting in my living room this morning. If I said I was in deep thought, I'd be lying.. the truth is I was totally exhausted. You see I had been yelling at my four and two year old all morning. As I sat there and watched them literally bouncing off the wall, I asked myself "where in the hell do they get all of this energy?"

And that's when it struck me. What if I took a set of jumper cables, attached them to a couple of huge nails that were driven into a bycicle helmet, and rigged up some type of device that would capture or could store that raw, unharnessed, wear me out every single time energy? Can you say "CHAA-GHING." Man I'd be rich, we'd be rich, the whole freaking USA would be rich.

As you can see Mr. President, I still have a few details to work out, like convincing the two year old not to touch metal while wearing the helmet, or staying clear of water that's collected in the yard after a rain, of better yet peeing in your pull-up could cause some serious injuries. But as for the four year old, he'll be a bit easier to convince of the possible scientific breakthrough he'll be contributing to. As a matter of fact.. he'll be more than likely to help build this contraption knowing the possible side effects it could inflict on his sister.

Now I know Mr. President, you will perhaps require a demonstration and would want to know how I plan to tame such wild, carefree, can't hear a word I say, talk-back constantly, never heard of an indoor voice, always on the move energy. Well, I'm still trying to figure that part out.. one thing I do know, Yelling at the top of my lungs seems to increase their energy level so I'll make sure to include that as part of a contingency plan, in case we need a back-up. I could allow you to perhaps witness this phenomenal energy that I have so graciously spoken of. You, being the President, could easily find my house, send a couple of black sedans, and wisk them away.. notice I mentioned two sedans. Them riding together on such a long trip would be ill advised. Also, if there's anything in the White House that isn't nailed down, you might want to secure it or place it on a shelf that's out of their reach. Just looking out for the National Treasures. Again thank you for your time and I will keep you posted.

Sincerely Yours,

Black Man Having a Baby.

Drop, Flop, Make it Hot: The Secret to Inducing

2009-07-14T19:07:00.005-05:00

You won't believe what I've been reading for the last hour or so.. a discussion on how to induce labor. My wife is so ready to sever the relationship she's formed with our expected son... I'm thinking it's the 100 plus degree weather taking its toll. You know how one gets when they get hot. You start removing clothing, etc. whatever you can just to get cool. Well now that she's more than half naked walking around the house, she's in desperate need of getting the ball rolling. Our efforts haven't worked. So, in a move of desperation she has turned to the all mighty, all knowing, infinite wisdom of facebook in search of a remedy. Sorta like asking the magic eight ball a question... you can ask, but you better be ready for the answer.

Let's start with the more reasonable ones she received thus far. Walking! Yea walking sounds great. The whole gravity thing in motion is theoretically sound. But this is TEXAS, one Grey Hound bus stop from hell. She's trying to induce, not implode... "poof".

How about the suggestion of bouncing on one of those exercise balls. Yea, that could work, but I'm seeing a major accident waiting to happen. For one, how do I explain that to the 911 operator...and is that something covered by my homeowners insurance. "911 whats' your emergency"... "ummm you see what happen was."

And my all time favorite suggestion. Consume hot sauce, while taking a hot bath, with hot peppers in the bath water, a hot cloth over her forehead, all while singing "its getting hot in here". Now that sounds like a winner. Can't you just see the visuals.

Those where the reasonable ones. Outrageous is the mere suggestion of consuming CASTOR OIL. Oh my God.. I'm trembling as I write. I'm a child of the 70's, grew up in an old school household where the only time we saw a doctor was on TV. Between castor oil and vicks salve, a health plan in our household was never needed. For the record, anyone who can take castor oil is a bad muther shut your mouth. As a way to lessen the taste (if there is one) it was suggested to mix it with OJ and sip it with a straw. "WHAT." Do you think a pink umbrella would help to?

Moms, are great. They always have answer for everything. What the doctor can't cure, moms can surely make it feel better. Gotta love that infinite wisdom.

Umm, do I hear bath water being drawn in the background?

Playing The Waiting Game

2009-07-11T14:06:00.008-05:00

Thought I’d drop a few lines in between contractions in an effort to keep you guys updated. So far all is quite. We’ve performed the secret ritual that has helped to induce labor. It’s worked in the past and figured why not. I would share it with you guys, but this site is rated-G if you get my drift. Other than that, I’ve had to explain to Jack the “human jumping bean” that the couch is not a trampoline, and dig out the movie “The Incredibles” for the 2,000th time for Reese. So as you can see life is normal in the Jackson household, but that all depends on one’s definition of normal. Todays motto “Hurry up and wait”, which as you can see can be pure torture.

The Art of Breastfeeding.

2005-01-03T21:25:00.000-06:00

Okay I'm giving everyone fair warning before you read any futher. Some readers might find this entry offensive. Although, I am going to try and keep it clean (which I can honestly say I've done a good job thus far), but still one might find it a sensitive subject when you speak about the female breast. For example, those idiots who always find a way to stare at a woman when she's breastfeeding, but somehow manages to yell "hey, cover that up." Well if that's you, then you might want to stop reading at this point. But, if that description doesn't fit you, or it does and you're just so curious as to what I'm gonna say, then by all means continue to read on. You might just learn something.. trust me I did.

Its an annual ritual of sorts, when all of my wife's friends gather to compare their cooking skills in what they deem to be the Great Chili Cook-Off. Me, I'm thinking it just another creative excuse for this group to get together and par-take in libations of the very spirited kind. I guess one would really have to know this bunch in order to really appreciate them. Crafty, whitty, creative, and outright-outspoken are just a few words you could use to describe them. Little did I know that night, that not only would I be the recipient of several great bowls of Chili (washed down of course by a couple of cold beers), but would also receive an unwarranted,unscripted, no holds barred lesson in the art of breastfeeding. A question as to whether the knowlege they were passing on to this unexpected, young virgin eared, soon to be dad, was legitimate never crossed my mind. I mean, between them, they have enough children and experience to perhaps franchise a new NFL team. So that question was never poised. "You've got to get all in there" was one comment I heard, quickly followed by "You need to keep a bag of frozen peas in your refrigerator." What? Peas, I asked. "Yea, it helps with the swelling." And then there is cabbage and its 101 uses. According to this group of wise mothers, cabbage helps with soothing the breast as well. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I quickly had to excuse myself from the room and head into the kitchen where all the guys were huddled partaking in more manly conversations.

From a guys perspective, believe me, we never think of the breast in a nurturing manner. But this night, my eyes were truly opened. As a kid, you have a puppy and you see it breastfeeding and you really think nothing of it. But when it comes to a woman and her child, some people really have a problem with it. What did one do before simalac or the bottle. I praise a woman and her husband who decides to breastfeed. We are going to give it a whirl. Stay tuned to see how it turns out.. who knows I might be calling on you to bring a head of cabbage over.

Stay tuned, you don't want to miss the next installment..."Can I get an Epidural!"

"Baby...We've got 7 weeks."

2004-11-22T15:05:00.000-06:00

Stone, catch your breath. People have babies everyday, you're no different. And besides, what's the big deal, you're only going be responsible for this kid the rest of your life. Stop reading and listening to the news so much. The world isn't that bad, there's still a lot of good left. Everyone and everything is not evil. The economy will pick-up. Be for real, no way will you loose your job this close to Christmas, lay you off...you've got to be kidding me. These are just a few of the thoughts going threw my mind. Its like a big countdown, Seven, Six, Five, etc. , and like it or not it can't be stopped.

It's the weekend and the wife and myself have decided to get a jump start on this "Baby Thing". We decide to take a trip to a baby store and purchase a few things for our new baby. "Wow" I'm thinking, "this should be so much fun." The long awaited days of actually shopping for a child are here. Me, I'm feeling like a kid who's just walked into the world largest candy store, it's all good. As we walk inside, we are greeted by a huge display of stuffed animals. Growing up as a kid I can't really say that had a lot of stuffed animals or even played with them. But, there is one stuffed animal I can remember having.. it was a giant panda bear. Don't ask where it came from or even how it became a part of our household. I just know it existed. I guess the reason I can remember it so well was its size overwhelmed me. I had to have been six or seven years old, and this panda bear and I were about the same height. I can remember I'd often use it as a landing pad as I'd practice my WWF moves, or perfect my "Jack Youngblood" tackling techniques. As always, good things come to an end as did my giant panda bear friend. I guess it was that super-duper duplex-with a -half twist-triple-suplex-bi-lateral-rolex-anti-silex leap off the bed that literally took the life out of Mr. Panda. Can you imagine, animal stuffing all over the place.. a traumatized seven year old standing in the middle of the room crying.. man"I miss Mr. Panda." It's crazy how one can remember things from their childhood. Here I stand, in a huge toy store, starring at a display of stuffed animals and I'm wondering what childhood memories will my child have. "Focus," says my wife, "focus." "We came here to buy things for the baby, so let's head to the infant items." She's right, so off we go in search of items for the new baby. "Um sir, can you tell us where the newborn items are?" After sorting through an array of directions we finally stumble upon the correct isle. I look over at my wife, and she looks over at me and I swear it was if I was staring in a mirror, minus the mustaches of course. Both our mouths were wide open in amazement. Can you say overwhelmed. How in the world can there be so much stuff, gadgets, contraptions, gizmo's, trickets, apparatuses, devices, instruments, mechanisms, gimmicks, thingamabobs, thingamajigs, thingamacallits just for an infant. Gimme a break here, black man having a baby. Where do you start, can I get a list, parenting by the numbers, road map, something? Our child isn't even here yet and already I'm faced with a mere 50 million things I could possibly purchase for a new arrival. And of course my wife, she's no help! She's just as bewildered as I. At this point, I'm starting to feel a bit lightheaded. I'm telling myself I need air. Honey we gotta get out of here. I think I'm about to faint. Both feeling the same we quickly make a mad dash toward the front doors. Upon reaching the parking lot, we began taking over exaggerated deep breaths. Inhale, exhale, inhale,exhale. Realizing that we have now found refuge behind the lock doors of our vehicle, we began to discuss what we both had just experienced. "What just happened back there," I asked. "I don't know," was my wife's reply, "Is it going to be the way everytime we go shopping?" "I hope not" I said, but baby we've got 7 weeks, what are we going do?

After much reflection of that eventful day, me being the sit-down-analyze-it-figure-this-thing-out type of husband that I am, I've come to the conclusion that we both were having an anxiety attack... mmm, I never thought black people got those. So what I've done, is decided to take a bit simpler approach (you guys would be so proud of me). I am now purchasing things one item at a time. It started with my first purchase of diapers. Something I've never done before. A milestone of some sort. Granted I've been told that that milestone will be crossed many times to come, but it has happened and it felt great. Finally, I'm breathing, I'm confident, and I'm really starting to feel like a dad. I'm always asking others, "how will you know, where is the manual?". Their reply is "its something you'll figure out." Well, I'm starting to see exactly what they mean. I've learned that I need to take my baby steps first, so I can later help my son take his first baby steps.

Hang tight, the oven is heating up and what's cooking inside is about to done. Sorry for the delay, but thank you for the support.

"Its a Boy"

2004-09-28T13:47:00.000-05:00

Alright, curse me if you'd like but a brotha has been "Beeeeee-zy". I know its been a while since my last posting but I've been making preparations for the addition to the family. Please try and understand. In case you haven't heard the good news by now.. "It's a Boy", we've already picked out the name, and trust me he'll enjoy it(his name)just like I have for so many years. I'm so excited, slowly but surely it's becoming a reality...a mini-me, a little stone, a Casanova, a jack of all trades, look out world here he comes. Allow me if you will, to share that miraculous day when we were blessed with the news of a son.

It's the day we both have anticipated for so long. Today, we have the ultrasound and find out what we are having. Yippie. As always I'm heading off to work, but thank God its only for half a day. My wife decided to go to work as well and our intentions are to meet at the doctors office. Prior to the appointment she calls me at work and tells me she wishes she had taken the whole day off. She also tells me, she's nervous, excited, scared, antsy, all of the above and then some. And me being the keep'em-calm-leveled-headed-never-let'em-see-you-sweat type of husband that I am, I tell her "Guess what, I'm feeling the same way." I swear I felt like I was going to be the one laying on the examining table getting poked and prodded. I'm thinking man if your like this now, you're going to be a mess when she goes into labor.

Take deep breaths is all I kept telling myself as I drove to the doctors office. Never really given to much thought to the actually sex of the baby, I just pretty much knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I was going to be a daddy. What do I do with a girl? What do I do with a boy? Man, what do I do with a baby? What's harder to raise, college, prom, sports, music lessons, gymnastics, walking, talking, burping... wait a minute Stone, you're getting way ahead of yourself. "Calm down take a deep breath, first things first," I tell myself, "step one.. learn how to change a diaper." My wife has already deemed me as "King Diaper Man", she says this will give me the chance to bond with the baby. I thought bonding meant taking the child to the zoo, or to the park, playing catch, heading to the movies, that's my idea of bonding, not playing in baby-poop.

Of course, I arrive at the doctors office before my wife, so I just kind of hang out downstairs in the lobby of the medical building. I now know that wasn't such a great idea because every on who got off the elevator was looking at me funny. I'm saying to myself am I the only guy who makes it to all of my wife's doctors appointments? Never thought a guy sitting in the lobby of a gynecologist office would warrant so much attention. Perhaps I should just wait outside.. which turned out to be a good decision. It gave me a chance to get some much needed fresh air. Finally, my wife arrives and I quickly run up to her car so I could great her. "Honey" I say, "I just want to let you know it doesn't what the doctor tells us, I'm going to love it (our baby) no matter what.. boy or girl". Here I am being serious, and she starts crying. "Why are you crying" I ask. "I know how much you want a girl...I just hope its a girl", she says. "Listen, boy, girl it doesn't matter.. what matters is we are going to be parents, and we finally get to know what color we can paint the nursery. At, least the crying stopped, but the look I received.. well I better not say. Trust me its wasn't pretty.

Okay ma'am, if you'd just hop right up onto the table we'll get started. "Butterfly's, butterfly, go away, come again some other day", it's a little song that I sing to myself whenever I get nervous. And today I was singing the club remix version. Sweating palms, rapid heartbeat, high blood pressure, light headed, spotty vision, yea my wife was a wreck too. Okay, until today I never knew K-Y jelly had so many uses.. but here's another, its being dispersed all over my wife's belly. A couple of flicks on some switches, on what looked like a black and white TV set, and presto.. there it was a baby. Talking about a heart stopping, jaw dropping moment.. It was a miracle. "Okay here's your baby" the nurse said. "I'll have to take some measurements first , then we'll see if we can determine the sex." Ummm, Stone you can close your mouth now. I could not believe my eyes. It was a small miracle, a true blessing from the man upstairs. "Let's see if we can make out the sex of the baby," said the nurse. A few seconds later the verdict was in.. "It's a Boy"... Alright call me blind, I said, but I'm just not seeing it, how do you tell? "If you look right here, you can see his wee-wee." "Oh, I see it," shouted my wife... Like I said, I'm not seeing it, all I see are little white specks on the screen. Where are his balls, testicles, something. "It's right there," yelled my wife and nurse, "RIGHT THERE." Okay, if you guys say so, but you're not a man without them, was my reply, and until I see em'.. I'm not convinced.

So with all said, the new edition to the family should be making his appearance sometime in February... and at the present posting it won't be a minute to soon.
My wife is starting to be, look, act, and sleep like she's really pregnant...oh that's right she is. I have to constant remind myself of this especially when she ask me to do stuff she would usually do for herself. I've had people tell me horror stories involving pregnant women, but I can honestly say "it aint been that bad, knock on wood."

Wow, this is so unreal.

2004-09-20T23:22:00.000-05:00

Okay everybody, meet the newest member to the Stone Klan. I am at a lost for words so I'll just let the picture do the talking.

Is it a Mini-Me or a Mini-Q?

2004-09-17T13:28:00.000-05:00

Alright guys, my wife and I are going to the Doctor office on Monday Sept. 20th to find out if its a boy or a girl. So a good friend suggested that we get input from the village (in case you don't know the village is those who read this blog, and if you still don't know its YOU) on what we having. So listen closely and pay attention here are the rules.

If you think its a BOY click here: Mini-Me
put BOY in the subject line and send it.

If you think its a GIRL click here: Mini-Q
put GIRL in the subject line and send it.

We will officially announce what our contribution to the worlds population next week. So stick around hang in there, and in the mean time check in this weekend for another update. Its our trip to the hospital.

"Sir you can not drive 90 miles an hour"

2004-09-13T15:35:00.001-05:00

"We have found Weapons of Mass Destruction"

2004-08-05T16:47:00.000-05:00

I know its been a long time coming and I apologize. I've been super-duper busy trying to prepare for the new addition to the family. We have recently moved into a larger domain and now I am tasked with trying to come up with a theme for "baby's" room. Is it really "baby's" room? He/She has no say so in the matter. For all I know we could be scarring him/her for life. Okay Stone, calm down your reading to much into decorating a "baby's" room, after all it can't be that difficult. If anyone reading this has any ideas please forward them to blackman painting a baby's room dot com. With that said and out of the way I'll move on.

Dear Mr President, I can still hear your voice in the back of my head, as if it was only yesterday. "Saddam Hussein has weapons of mass destruction, he has used them on his own people." "We must find these weapons of mass destruction and destroy them." Well, guess what Mr. President. I have found those weapons you have so eloquently spoke about. I could draw you a map, perhaps send you satellite coordinates but I think I'd rather just come right out and tell ya. They are in my "BEDROOM". Yea, that's right my bedroom. I recently discovered this massive storage of weapons one night as I was sleeping. Somewhere around the thirteenth week of my wife being pregnant. Could a brotha have gotten some kind of warning. I know Saddam was ruthless, but I never figured my wife could be so as well. Fast asleep, dreaming, catching up on my get-all-the-sleep-I-can-before-the-baby-get-here rest that I know I'll need somewhere down the line and then BAAAAAM. It hits me. First there was rumbling in the bed. This was followed by an ear piercing low-toned roar. Only to be followed up with a ground-shaking, glass-shattering, earth-moving, violent, mighty rush of wind. "Is I dead?" What about the baby, I can't breath, so I know it's having a hard time. Can I get some type of warning, a horn, siren, a tap on the shoulder. Had I know this prior to getting pregnant I would have invested in some type of gas mask. And, what amazes me is her ability to act as if nothing has happened. Gas, gas, gas. It's something no one ever tells you is associated with being pregnant. Now days I've gotten use to it. It's become an every day occurrence. Sometime I find myself joining in just for the hell of it. I know all this fun can't last forever. I can actually remember a time when I would have gotten cursed out for passing gas in my wife's presence. These are the good days.

O hear ye who are without children and have not yet traveled down this road. Please hear these words from this weary and breathless traveler. "Enjoy the fresh air while you can."

"What's he doing...running sprints?"

2004-07-16T08:44:00.000-05:00

TGIF, and not for the happy hour reasons. Today is the day. We have a doctors appointment and I'm so excited. It's the one where you get to hear the heart beat. Finally, some solid evidence. Proof that there is really a mini me on its way. For those who know me personally, this could be a very scary thought. Before I continue, please take notice that I am using the phrase "we" when I make reference to this pregnancy.  This will become a bit more relevant as you continue to read.

Is it me, or does time purposely come to a stand still when you're ready to go and hear your first born's heart beat. Why am I still at work? Can't this day go by any faster? "Okay Stone, stay busy, stop looking at your watch, take deep breaths, and calm the hell down." That's what I had to keep telling my self over and over again. It's 11:15 am, our appointment isn't until 2:00 pm, and I'm acting like I'm having a baby. Oh shit, I am. So I guess its perfectly okay for me to be in such a frenzy. Of course, me being the "never let them see you sweat" type of husband that I am, I had to pull my self together. Finally, father time has smiled on me, its time to go. I head toward the door trying my hardest not to break out in a full sprint. Work with me man, I am so excited! This is more exciting than the act of creating the child. Sex, for all you slow people. Had you seen me burst out that front door, one would have surely thought I'd been released from Abu Ghraib prison on a four hour pass. My wife picks me up and we head to the doctors office. She sure is driving fast, do you think she's just as excited as I am? "Are you excited," I ask. "About what?" "The upcoming NBA draft." Why did I say that? In return, I get that you don't want to mess with me right now cause I'm running late and I hate being late look. So me being the know when the hell to shut up type of husband that I am, I quietly recline in my seat, stare out the window and say nothing.

We arrive at the doctors office and I'm still in one piece, which I've learned is a good sign when dealing with a pregnant woman. By this time my "hearing the heartbeat buzz" has started to wear off. I think it had something to do with the ride over, accompanied by a crowded doctors office, and me picking up a magazine that had nothing to do with being pregnant and finding much interest in it. "Look at this Honey," trying to break the silence. Nothing. "Ms. Stone," the nurse called. Finally.   My wife looks at me and asked if I wanted to go with her? "She'll have to do a full examination first then we'll do the heartbeat" explained the nurse. Man, that full examination thing didn't sound to exciting, so I told her to just come and get me when its time to do the heartbeat thing. Besides, I could continue to read my magazine, and the distance between us might help the situation. She disappears behind a door, and I continue to read my magazine.

It's been darn near an hour and I've successfully finished reading all the magazines in the doctors lobby. What is taking so long? What in the world does this "full examination" consist of? Has she snuck out the back and left me here? Nothing in the world could possibly take this long? I'm here to hear the baby's heartbeat, why am I still sitting in this lobby? I knew I should have went in there with her. How could I have been so stupid? I'm missing out on all the... "Mr. Stone, you can come in now." Well alright, finally, the moment I've been waiting for. Palms sweating, heart racing, blood pressure rising..."Oh Lord, don't let me pass out before I get there." I enter the room. Where is my wife and who is this woman stretched out on an examining table wearing an oversized paper towel? "Honey," she said in a soft voice, "are you ready?" Noticing that the voice belonged to my wife I said "yes". In rushes the doctor with some strange looking instrument in her hands and what looked to me, like a bottle of KY jelly. I'm thinking, okay where is this going? She spreads it over my wife's stomach and began to rub the "strange instrument" over her belly. All of a sudden I heard, what now I can describe as music to my ears, the strangest sound ever. "What is he doing in there, running sprints?" His/Her heartbeat was so fast. I smiled, she smiled, the doctor smiled, I think the whole world smiled. Wow!

"So everything looks good thus far" exclaimed the doctor "but there is one concern." Okay, I thought, "she's about to hit me with the bad news." If there was ever a possibility of "bad news" then this would be the perfect place for it to occur. I've learned over the years that bad news usually follow good news and the word "but".  The doctor turns and looks at my wife and says...
"You can slow down on the weight gain." Silence. I swear at that moment time stopped. What...is this doctor crazy? Even I know better than to talk about a woman's weight. Okay, its about to be on in here. This doctor is about to get the 'BEAT DOWN'. And they way my wife is looking at her... I know the look, and that is definitely the look of "I about to kick yo a&!%#*. The doctor continues, "I'm only saying this because I don't want you to be mad at yourself at the end of this pregnancy, and if you continue to gain weight at this rate, trust me you will be mad." Oh my God, that was a great recovery. That must be written in some chapter in some medical book at some college to keep doctors from getting there butt kicked when they tell a patient they are getting fat. Men, please buy the book, read it, learn from this gracious example. If you can remember earlier I elaborated on the word "we". Here is the kicker. When the doctor spoke of weight gain she was really talking to the both of us. I mean, we live in the same house, eat the same foods, and watch TV at the same time. Get the picture? Well if you don't, we do. So we have broke out the walking shoes and have taken this campaign to the road. So, if you see us out there walking down the street, just honk and wave, but don't stop and don't ask if we need a ride. Trust me, we might be tempted to jump in.

Getting the Jitters

2004-07-07T17:46:00.000-05:00

Recently, Bill Cosby has made national headlines with his comments about the Black Family. These statements have caused many to agree to disagree. As for myself, a soon to be father, its given me the opportunity to do some soul searching and self examination. I started looking back on my childhood and began to wonder how my mother, a single mom, could raise three children on a housekeeping salary.. how we kids never had what we wanted but somehow had everything we needed.. better yet how the agony of picking our own switch was far worse than the butt whipping that followed. All-in-all as bad as we were, as sneaky as we tried to be, and as tough as we thought we were, I can honestly say we've turned out to be a pretty good bunch of individuals. There was no manual, no books, no internet, no self help groups for blacks at that time, it was all "Big Mama", "Granddaddy", and that ever present "will-tell-your-mama-in-a-minute-or-beat-that-azz-first-than-go-tell-your-mama" neighbor(you guys know what Im talking about). So reminiscing on my childhood got me to thinking "what in the hell am I going to do?" I could read some books, I can join a support group, I can even do research on the internet. I mean, this is the twenty-first century baby, and anything I need I should be able to find it.. the age of "information at the tip of your-fingers". Right! Wrong. Other than a few books, there is nothing out there that can help, advise, stimulate, cultivate, or even help one to just plan ole' relate to the experience of being a "black man having/raising a child in America. I'm not racist.. far from it. But as I write this I can truly understand why "we" (black men) are not the black fathers that I know we all can be (not all, just some). There are no support systems, no websites, nothing. No positive info on what it takes to be a great "african american father"...I mean one would think there isn't a need for such info. Go figure. After the initial shock and excitement of having a child is over, then what? If you ain't got no granny, grandpa, mamma, daddy, whatever trying to help then what? You're stuck. Chris Rock, the comedian, offers his advice for fathers with little girls. He says, "a man who has a baby girl has only one mission...to keep her off the pole." Sad, but true.

I'm getting the jitters. You think about all the stuff that's happening in the world and it makes you wonder. Do I have what it takes to raise this child, who can I turn to in a time of need. What will I teach this child about being black, being responsible, being productive, or just being a human being? Can you imagine the pressure? I take my hat off to those who have successfully pulled this off. It's my turn. I can remember when I joined the arm services, how scared I was not knowing then what to expect. I recall one thing I kept telling myself over and over again..."many men have done this before me and they've made it through, why can't I, what makes them any different than me." Nothing. Guess I'll just have to give it my best shot, no pun intended, but thank God I was an 'expert marksman' out on the rifle range.

"Thanks"

2004-06-26T02:40:00.000-05:00

Due to the overwhelming response I have received from friends and family, I would like to take this time out and say 'Thank You'. It takes a village, so welcome to the tribe. Rest assure you'll have a front row seat to our little ones birth.

Receive updates by commenting and leaving an email address. I promise I'll inform you as things happen. I'm hanging, are you?

"This ain't no scary movie... Black folks usually run"

2004-06-25T09:48:00.000-05:00

Everyone keeps telling me that I should get my sleep while I can because once the baby arrives sleep will not be an option. So, me being the "take all the advice I can use" type of husband, sleeping has not been a problem. I have purposely slipped into a coma as soon as my head hits the pillow. I figure if I can get it all and then some now, once baby is on board I will have plenty in reserve that can be used, or would that be not used. Confused? Well don't be. Simply put, my goal is to get enough sleep so that I can go with out it for at least 2 years. That way, if baby cries...Big Papa is there. Baby wants to play...Big Papa is there. Baby wants to eat...Big Papa is there. Baby takes a dump...Mama is there. Get the picture? So as you can see I've got a plan and I'm sticking to it. In all my years in the military I was taught to formulate a plan, make sure you have proper support, and then go and execute your plan. Failing is not an option, you must eliminate anything that comes between you and your mission. Sounds great right, but it's easier said than done. That ideology never included a pregnant wife.

"Stone, Stone...wake up, I hear footsteps coming up the stairs". What? "I hear footsteps, someone is coming up the stairs, wake up!!!". Okay, let's stop here for a second and do some 'deductive' reasoning. It's zero dark thirty in the morning, I'm in my coma, I'm sure baby is in it's coma (fast asleep), the dog is not barking, you haven't gotten up and ran the hell up out of the room (it's the difference between black people and white people when they hear a noise), and we are both still alive having this conversation. Out of all the SCARY movies I've ever seen this just doesn't happen. "Get up" she says, "Go check it out". Insert curse words here. So as you know, me being the 'not afraid of anything at zero dark thirty in the morning just so I can go back to sleep' type of husband that I am, I get up and head toward the door. Keep in mind, I'm on a mission...the mission has to be completed...nothing is more important than the mission. I advance to the door using my 'swat-team-tatics'...nothing. I then low crawl down the hallway...nothing. I stop drop and roll into the living room and still nothing. As I head back up stairs I realized what it was she keep hearing. Usually I put the dog in its kennel which is kept in the spare bedroom, not tonight. The one night I decide to just close the door, he decides to scratch on the door, thus 'footsteps coming up the stairs'. Honey, why are you still awake, do you need me to tell you a story? "No, no story". Would the footsteps you herd have anything to do with the scary movie I asked you not to watch because it would keep you up all night? No, she replied, I just can't sleep. Well, I can't really say what happened after that. Remember my mission, it's all about the mission.

The next day I tell my wife to contact the doctor, find out why you are having trouble sleeping. She does and she's given the okay to take Tylenol PM or Benadryl. One would think that's okay, but not in this family, okay isn't okay. We're sitting at dinner and I ask, 'so what did the doctor tell you'? She confirms what I already knew, and I respond by saying 'great'. I'm thinking tonight is the night...she sleeps, I sleep, the world sleeps. We eat and afterwards I suggest that she takes the Tylenol PM she's purchased. 'I don't want to develop a habit of taking these things' was her reply. Habit I'm thinking...if Rome wasn't built in a day, but built with hard work and determination then you developing a habit is a long way down the road (get my drift, what the hell is she thinking). Me, being the understanding just want to get a good night of sleep type of husband that I am, I refrain from saying anything. Instead, she begins to cry. Ummmm, what the hell is going on...I'm not speaking and you're just weeping. As the great writer Prince once put it, "Something in the Water does not Compute". Why are you crying? Take the blue pill, go to sleep. Morpheus didn't cry. Give me a D, Deeeeeee. Give me an R, Rrrrrrrrrrrrr. Give me an A with an M and an A...put it all together and let's say DRAMA straight-up DRAMA. Don't be no PUNK, I'm on a mission, help a brotha out, it's all about the mission. So after much reasoning, understanding, and looking at her like she dun (done) lost her mind, she took the blue pill. The next morning, she had nothing but rave reviews...did something just go over your head like a fleet of jets? 'THE NEXT MORNING', meaning in order to get here, there had to have been a night before. Ever seen a rock take a nap? Stop dozing off, pay attention and hang in there, I am.

"When Are You Coming To Bed"...

2004-06-18T11:19:00.000-05:00

I have a real bad habit of staying up till the wee hours of the morning. I think I was a vampire or something close to it in my previous life. It's around 2 a.m. and I'm downstairs on the computer surfing the internet when I hear this voice. You know, the raspy voice one would have after awakening from a deep, deep sleep. "Stone, Stone, when are you coming to bed?" In a minute was my replied, followed by an immediate "is everything okay?". You see, I've recently learned that there is one thing I'm going to have to do throughout this pregnancy, that is to be supportive and understanding. Alright, two things, but who's counting, I'm sure by the end of the nine months it will be over a million and one things. So she says, "You know I can't sleep with out you in the bed." At this point, if I was a smart guy then this would have been my cue to drop everything I was doing, turn off the lights, lock all the doors, and take my butt to bed...but I'm not, at least not that night. "In a minute", I said. Nothing, dead silence. Well that was until it was interrupted by the sound of a slamming door. I started to laugh, silently that is, it's all I could do. What does my presence have to do with ones ability or inability to sleep...mmm, but remember the one thing "support and understand"... I did.

I'm in the bed, and she's WIDE awake. Me being the take charge husband that I am, I decide this would be a perfect opportunity to practice my storytelling abilities. You know with a child on the way, one has to be great at telling stories. What child in their right mind doesn't enjoy a good story prior to falling asleep. Somewhere, tucked deep inside of some medical journal, there's scientific proof that a good story can knock you out... we are talking "comatose baby". It was a stroke of genius, I could so- to-speak, kill two birds with one stone... practice my storytelling and put her to sleep. "Honey", I asked, "would you like for me to tell you a story?". Not waiting for a reply, I started right in with "Once upon a time". Now, I'm not about to tell you the story verbatim but I can give you a quick summary. It starts out with two catapillars, Jack and Paul. They both lived happily in a bush on the grounds of a huge mansion with manicured lawns. One day, by accident, they end up in a trash bag headed for the city dump. Once there, they figured out where they were and attempted to head back home, unfortunately they get squished by the landfills' tractor and never make it... the end. I think she really enjoyed the story. I mean it was original, had great characters, very scenic, and it even has a moral to it. She asked what it was, and as you know me being the imaginative storytelling husband that I am, I told her. The moral of this story I said is "if you keep your butt at home and in the house, then the world can't crush you like a bug." Granted she told me I couldn't tell the children that one until they at least reach the age of fourteen. But one thing I can say, it did put her to sleep. Until next time, sweet dreams.

I'm thinking..."Man modern technology, I tell you what"!

2004-06-15T19:20:00.000-05:00

It's our first official visit to the Doctors office and boy am I excited. First, before I go any further let me share this with you. I've learned its really hard to keep things a secret...I mean you ask someone a simple question and the first thing out of their mouth is "Is she pregnant"? Here's a couple of examples. Um, can I get an oil change here..."is she pregnant"? Do you guys sell Ice Cream here?...is she pregnant? Can I get change of a dollar?...is she pregnant? Trust me Im not complaining, that's far from it. I'm just saying someone sprayed me with the "we're-pregnant-afterglow-afro sheen-smell this a mile away fragrance by P-DADDY" cologne while I wasn't looking and I just cant stop smiling. (Share my joy...that's all). Back to the doctors office. Unfortunately I had to work half the day and when your excited about something you know the clock miraculously moves in slow motion, so I tried to stay busy. Finally it's four p.m. and I head to the door to meet the wife out front. As we head to the doctors office Im asked "have you written down a list of questions you would like to ask the doctor?" I replied, "um yes". What are they was the next question, which I knew was coming, had already anticipated, and had prepared an answer. Well first Id like to know "who this babies daddy is" and "if child support is an option". Granted, that didn't go over to well. Seriously, I hadn't prepared jack. It's my first baby, Im still in shock, preparing questions was furthest thing from my mind.

We walk in the office, sign in, and take our seats. On the way to mine Im scoping out a magazine to help pass the time. Im looking for the common doctors office magazines, the Newsweek, Popular Mechanics, Auto World...survey says "zero". It was more like Baby, Baby World, and Parenting, guess this is something I better get use to. (When in Rome...you know the rest) So I'm reading, passing the time and out of the corner of my eyes I notice there this sixty year old lady sitting in the lobby waiting to see the doctor. Wait a minute, I thought we were at the "Pregnant Doctors Office", what in the hell is she doing here. I'm thinking to myself, now if she's pregnant...the advances of modern technology, I tell you what. I look at my wife, but I can already tell she has read my mind, and she's giving me that "I dare you to open your mouth and ask a stupid question look", so I passed. I did discover some interesting guy things while looking through the baby magazines. Bet you didn't that some women never experience morning sickness, and women shouldn't empty kitty litter. (We have a cat, but its always my job to empty his litter...looks as if I don't have to worry about job security).

Finally, our names are called, before the old lady grant you, and the first thing my wife is asked to do is to "pee in a cup". I'm thinking been there done that. I'm asked to take a seat in one of the examining room and informed the doctor will be with us shortly. I take a seat, start looking around, reading charts on the wall, and shortly afterwards enters my wife. "How did it go", I asked. And I swear before she was able to mutter a single word, the door swings open and a lady announces "Congratulations". Okay, these test results were faster than the first test, which at one point we totally thought we had screwed up, so that's why we were here at the doctors office to confirm what we thought was wrong, and is now being confirmed by a lady whose yelling "congratulations". Man, Im thinking with results that fast, my wife's gotta be really, really, super-duper pregnant. In comes the doctor, she tells us congratulations, and begins to explain what we can expect for the next nine months...information overload, I swear. Who's suppose to remember everything she's saying...Im still trying to get over the fact that I'm about to be "BIG PAPA".
Imagine that.

Oh, by the way, in an effort to offset the fact that I couldn't remember a word the doctor had said in her office...on my way out I snatched the baby magazine. Never quite figured out why the old lady was hanging out at the doctors office, but you hang in there, cause I am.

"Oh, Shit"...That's what she said, and its all GOOD.

2004-06-14T18:14:00.000-05:00

Okay, here we go. In an effort to discredit the belief that "Black Men make great babies, but don't make great fathers" I have decided to chronicle my journey to fatherhood. Yes, that's right if you have guessed by now I'm an African American male and we're pregnant.

I shall never forget this years memorial day weekend. You see about a week prior my wife had mentioned she was late and she was nervous. Me being the average guy I really didn't pay to much attention, besides I'm always late (CPT). We had decided at the beginning of the year that we would start trying to have a baby so she stopped taking the pill, and sex became a bit more frequent, and life was good. So again her being late did not quite register, she had been late before, and there were more pressing issues... the NBA playoffs and getting started on a four day weekend. So being the loving husband I am, I suggested she go to the store and pick-up a pregnancy test. I also emphasized that she not purchase it at the dollar store, like she had done before. I mean how believable are test result that only cost you a dollar?

About an hour later she shows up with this high tech test that takes about another hour to figure out. I'm reading, and reading, and reading until I finally got everything into place. Well, guess what? She can't pee. So we wait around, do some jumping jack, drink more water, etc., finally, its the moment of truth. I run and grab the test she's headed for the rest room and then "baam", the test reads "ERROR". At this point I'm like what the H#%$&*@! I grab the directions, and read read read. We had waited to long before taking the test and it had to reset its self. Meanwhile my memorial day is slowly slipping away. I'm ready to go and eat BBQ, drink some beer, and eat more Cue. So being the take charge husband that I am, I say "Let's take it when we get in tonight, its not going anywhere" and she agrees.

It's now around six in the evening...we return home and its the moment of truth. I'm excited, she's excited, I grab the test she heads to the restroom. Please note, earlier in all of my gathering of infinite knowledge of how a pregnancy test works, I remembered somewhere it stated "result would be available 3 minutes after taking the test. So, I hand over the test and head to the refrigerator for a nice cold one... you know to help calm my nerves... all of a sudden I hear a loud "Oh Shit". Immediately I head for the restroom. I just knew she had dropped it down the toilet or something. No three minutes, no results, the anticipation is killing me, I cant take this. I burst through the door and there she sat, my darling wife holding the test. "It's Pregnant" she said, we're going to have a baby.

WOW, at that moment I became the happiest man in the world, and can remember thinking does everyone feel this excited when they hear those words. I know I can't be the only one who has ever felt this way. God has smiled on us, and I plan on sharing my experiences to fatherhood with you. So, stick around we got 9 months to go.