Murophobia

Dear Chicken Nugget,

For the last five days your mom and I have been terrorized by a mouse in the house.  I first caught a quick glimpse of him running from the couch to the space between the desk and cabinet near where I was sitting.  This, of course, led me to hop on the couch and squeal like a little girl.  Your dad, Nugget, suffers from murophobia - the fear of mice and rats.

I sprung into action and ran across the street to buy half a dozen sticky glue traps.  I laid them out wherever I thought Mr. Mouse might travel.  When we went to bed that night, I spent a good amount of time lying awake and listening to every little sound in the apartment.  I can't stand rodents.

As you get older I have no doubt that any of my former roommates will share with you a gazillion stories about me and mice.  New Yorkers have the unfortunate experience of having to often live with rodent pests.  My roommates have gotten a number of good laughs from my reactions to these disease-infested creatures.

After a few nights of terror and buying fancier traps, we finally caught the little guy last night.  We had seen him scurry under the desk and your mom suggested we lay a glue trap down there.  I put the trap down, walked to the kitchen to put another one down, and by the time I got back, the trap had moved.  As I got closer to inspect it, the mouse squeaked and tried to escape from its gluey trap.  I froze.

Your mom was already in bed with you and called out, "Did we catch him?"

"Yep," I replied from atop the couch.

"Bag him and take him out to the trash," she said.

"I can't.  He's fighting back," I said, voice shaky.

"That's what you're supposed to do when you're fighting for your life."

Thanks.

"Take a another sticky trap, throw it on top, and place the whole thing in a plastic bag," she suggested.

I did just that but the little guy turned his head and tried to gnaw through the trap.  Freaked.  Me.  Out.  A tiny part of me felt bad.  His little beady black eyes asked for forgiveness.  A bigger part of me was scared and disgusted.  Still, with his front paws pulling on a printer cable, holding on for dear life, I didn't have it in me to struggle with the mouse.

Your mom got out of bed, grabbed a broom (to stun him, she declared), and managed to bag the little mouse in less than five seconds.  She's my hero, your mom.  While she was double bagging the mouse, making it safe for me to carry out to the trash, you began to cry.  I picked you up and stood with you on top of the couch while your mom saved us from sure pestilence. 

Then, the saint that she is, she took a picture.

Papi saving Nugget from the bubonic plague

I managed to build up enough courage to take the mouse out to the trash.  And, despite my complete fear and revulsion, I said a little prayer for it.

You and your mom went back to bed and I stayed up at the desk doing work, happy to have finally rid ourselves of the mouse.

About an hour later, I saw something moving from the corner of my eye.  Yes, another mouse.  Letting out a ridiculous bellow, I tip-toe hopped to our bed where I told your mom what I had just seen and lay awake for half the night listening for Mr. Mouse's vengeful family.

I hate mice.  I hope we catch all of them so that you can live in a safe, healthy apartment free of plague.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

published

Dear Chicken Nugget,

You are now four months old and making giant leaps in your awareness of the world.  You recently started watching with interest what your mom and I do with our hands - things like writing, typing, and eating.  It's fun watching you try to figure out what we're doing and we know that soon you're going to want to do the same things.

Yesterday, at lunch, you were sitting on my lap and you reached out for the bowl of pesto pasta I was eating.  You got a good grip and pulled it towards you.  We had to tug pretty hard to get the bowl of pasta away from you.  It'll be fun when you can start having solid foods of your own.  Soon, very soon.

Sometimes when I type on the computer and you are on my lap, you reach out and tap the keys on the keyboard.  I'm sure my writing needs the help anyway.

Actually, I learned early this morning that something I wrote was published on a blog on the Runner's World magazine site!

I wrote an essay detailing how I started a running club at my school.  The last time I wrote anything sports related for any publication, I was writing for the Sports section of my High School newspaper.  It's been a long time. 

So, your father wrote something that tons of strange people will be reading.  Although for this particular piece, you did not help me, I'm sure that as you grow up and your little arms get longer, the banging on the keyboard is going to translate into someone out there getting an errant email.  Maybe it'll even get published.

Looking forward to reading you my writing and to reading yours.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

shameless self-promotion v. 1

Dear Reader,

This is my first of what may be just a handful of letters addressed to you and not my little Nugget.

I wanted to take the time to thank you for reading, for your comments, and for your support.

When I started writing this blog, it was simply a way for me to chronicle the happenings of a father-to-be and then new-father for myself, my wife, our baby, and our families.  It has since extended to friends, acquaintances, and complete strangers.  I appreciate that.

I know a lot of you are reading these posts as somewhat-automatically updated Notes on my Facebook page - which I'm not frequenting too often these days - and, therefore, are probably missing out on neat stuff happening on the actual blog page.  Whenever you get the chance, please visit the original site, http://www.dearchicky.com/

There are some "features" I've added since this blog began that I'd like to point out:
- There is a PayPal link that allows you to donate to our Nugget's college fund.  We are not, in any way, a non-profit so this donation is not tax-deductible.  I just thought it was fun way to raise money for our Nugget's college tuition.  Feel free to click and donate.
- There is a RoadID button that allows you to check out and shop for a product I believe is necessary for almost anyone. 
- There is a link to BabyEtte, a baby-wearing small business that is family-owned, hand-made, and awesome.  Like it says on the link, we love their products!  Check them out and if you buy something, tell them you heard about them from Dear Chicken Nugget.  We get nothing out of it, we just want them to know how much we love telling folks about their stuff.
- And there's a bunch of other cool stuff like an embedded video of "A Social Network Christmas," a map showing where people are reading the blog, (as far away as Qatar, Japan, and Russia), a link that helps us become a Top Baby Blog, and links to other dad and parenting blogs I enjoy every now and then.

Again, thank you for reading and for your support.  Keep coming back and commenting on Dear Chicken Nugget.


Yours,

Christian

New Year's Resolutions 2011

Dear Chicken Nugget,

As we end the second day of the New Year, I thought I'd lay down my resolutions for this year.  I'll let you hold me accountable to these.

Most people find resolutions fun and pointless.  They're a great way to reboot your personal goals but since there's no accountability, most people drop their resolutions within weeks.

To help keep me accountable, I'll offer you this:

For every resolution I do not keep, I will give you $100 cash.  I usually make ten resolutions a year, for a potential $1000 cash every year until you turn 18.  

Deal?  You just smiled at me, so I'll take that as a yes.

So, without further ado, my New Year's Resolutions of 2011:

1) Be a good father.
2) Be a good husband.
3) Run nine NYRR-scored races and volunteer for one NYRR event.  This will help me gain guaranteed entry into the 2012 NYC Marathon.
4) Become a certified USATF Level 1 Running Coach in order to better teach my Running Club kids.
5) Clean up the back room, or "man cave" as your mom calls it, once a month.
6) Finish reading the Bible, with Facebook breaks allowed only in between books.
7) Exercise every day unless illness requires rest - your mom will have to judge "illness" on this one.
8) Get my cholesterol checked at least four times this year.
9)  Donate blood at least four times this year.  Note to self: Don't do the cholesterol check and blood donation on the same day.
10) Dance with you at least once a day.

I hope to be able to complete all ten resolutions this year.  In the long run I hope you'll understand that me completing these ten resolutions is more important than the cash you'll earn from me breaking them.  Still, it's a good way to keep me focused.

Two days down and you still have earned no cash from me - off to a good start.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

oh the way we fly

Dear Chicken Nugget,

Happy New Year!  You are now officially in 2011.

A lot has happened since I last wrote:

- you went to your first party (my staff holiday party)
- we flew to Nebraska for Christmas break
- you celebrated your first Christmas
- you were baptized in Nebraska
- you met a whole lot of family
- we went on our first zoo trip together, in Omaha, NE
- you celebrated your first New Year

I'll have to write about these individually later since I had little time to sit and write during all this fun.

I will say a little something about our flying experience...

I'm not a fan of flying.  At some point in my life I wanted to be a pilot, and even an astronaut, but as I grew older and realized that my nearsightedness was going to prevent me from piloting an airplane or shuttle, I had to settle for being a passenger.  Here's the thing, I have control issues.  If the plane swings from one side to the other, gets bumpy, or drops a few feet in altitude, I... flip... out.

Not in a big way.  But, I will put my hand on your mom's knee and squeeze a little.  I'd like to believe that if I was sitting at the controls, I wouldn't be needing reassurance.  That might create an awkward moment between me and the co-pilot.

However, taking you on your first plane ride was a very different experience.  We had one layover on our way to Nebraska and one on the way back to New York - four planes in all.

I only had to grab your mom's knee once.  Not that the plane rides were perfectly smooth.  It was that all our attention was on you.  Flying with a 3 1/2 month old is hard work.  Every step of the way, from packing luggage, checking in at the counter, boarding, to simple things like sitting, diaper changes, and getting off the plane felt three times harder with you.  And, you were a dream baby... for most of the flights.

On three of the four flights we probably looked like parents who knew what they were doing.  We even got compliments on how great a baby you were.  Then came the fourth and final flight.

We took our seats in row 12 and prepared for takeoff.  The lady sitting next to me looked at you and did one of those "isn't that baby cute" shrugs.  As the plane started to roll your mom tried feeding you to help you deal with pressure changes, a system that worked well for the three other flights.  You refused to eat.  And you started to cry.  The lady next to me did one of those half smiles with a pout, as if to say, "aww, precious."

The crying went on.  We tried changing positions.  We tried singing.  We tried showing you a toy.  We tried everything we could think of.  And you cried.  The tall guy sitting in front of us turned around a few times to see what was going on behind him - his face more annoyed than concerned.  You continued to cry.

The lady next to us stopped looking over with those "cute baby" glances and she put her headphones on.  I finally put you in a sleepy time position, the last thing either of us thought you were, and within a minute you were asleep. 

For all the crying you did, I think your mom and I did pretty well.  Although we were aware that for the first time in our brief and limited flying experience, you were "that crying baby" we ignored all the glances and head-shakings and focused on you.

You, my Nugget, are a lot of work.  A lot.  And I wouldn't change it for anything in the world.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

Merry Christmas

Dear Chicken Nugget,

Father George Stewart, a priest from Saint Brendan's Church in the Bronx, once told us that one of his biggest pet peeves was Christmas cards that didn't mention Christmas in them.  As a Christian pastor he wanted Christians to make sure their cards were about the reason for the season - Christ.

There was no Happy Holidays or Season's Greeting for Fr. Stewart.  There was only Merry Christmas.  And I'm sure you would get extra points from him if your card had a picture of the baby Jesus on it. 

He has a point, what in the world does Season's Greetings mean anyway?  So, when we set out to make our Christmas card, we made sure it said Merry Christmas and arranged it so that the words made a cross on it.  The baby Jesus does not make an appearance on our card but you do.  Your mom and I chose to make our Christmas card double as your birth announcement.  What would Fr. Stewart say?

Merry Christmas!


Eternally Yours,

Tu papa

boys club

Dear Chicken Nugget,

As you grow you slowly become a little more independent. Just slightly.  You still need us for a lot, like getting around, diaper changes, and food.  Your mom does a great job of taking care of you for most of the day and night and you show her the love she deserves.

Sometimes when you catch a glimpse of your mom it's like you suddenly saw your favorite celebrity.  Your smile gets wider than your face and your arms wave electrically towards her in the hopes she'll just shake your hand or look your way.  Luckily, she does more than that and blows you kisses or nuzzles up to your cheek.

You love it.  You love her.

So, occasionally, on the days you'll allow it, I steal you away for what I call "boys club."

In "boys club" we stare into each others eyes, make faces at each other, or you play with your toys while I cuddle up next to you.  I love "boys club" because it allows us to have exclusive father-son bonding time.

Your mom isn't thrilled about being left out but she gets so much time during the day with you, that I think it's fair.  Still, you and I had a meeting the other day on your playmat and decided that your mom can be an honorary member of "boys club."

For now.

I love her and you love her but we need our "boys club" time to do boy things - like blowing bubbles and spitting and laughing when you fart.  I'm sure your mom doesn't mind too much.



Eternally yours,

Tu papa

asthma

Dear Chicken Nugget,

I went out for another run tonight.  The wind did indeed bring friends to try and slow me down, freezing temperature was on hand to show me a good time and snow made an appearance.

As I took deep breaths of the crisp cold air, I remembered that for almost half of my life I couldn't do what I was doing at that moment.

When I was three years old I was diagnosed with asthma.  I had asthma that was triggered by allergies, cold, and exercise.  I had to get steroid shots once a month and would use an inhaler whenever necessary; as I remember it, I used it often.

And then there were the Emergency Room visits.  I remember being taken to the ER on many occasions due to a severe asthma attack.  It always started with some coughing, then some wheezing in my lungs, and slowly I felt as if my lungs thickened to the point of only being able to allow a tiny bit of air in at a time.

I would take a couple of puffs of my inhaler and wait.  I would try to steady my breathing.  My mom would take breaths with me and massage my back.  Sometimes it would go away.  Sometimes I ended up in the ER.

Once, sometime in the fifth grade, I had an asthma attack in the morning.  It just so happened that it was the morning of the City Wide Math Test.  My mom asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital.  I told her I wanted to go to school to take my test.  So, she took me to school and waited in the Main Office for me while I went to take the test.  I don't remember how long those tests took back in the day but it felt like five minutes.  My guess is I rushed through it just to be able to get out of there.

My mom immediately hauled me off to the ER where they determined I was having such a bad attack and lacking so much oxygen that they admitted me to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit.  I was frightened.

The staff was incredibly friendly but I was surrounded by kids of all ages hooked up to machines in different stages of serious illness.  There was a constant hum of machines, puffing of ventilators, and beeps from heart monitors.  I had nightmares almost every night I was there.  Five nights total.

Honestly, I never thought the asthma would go away.  We had a next door neighbor who was in her 50s or 60s who was always being taken to the hospital with asthma attacks.  That always scared me.

At the age of 14, as a freshman in high school, I had a pretty bad asthma attack that landed me in yet another ER overnight.  And then, it went away.

For the last 16 years I have not had a single asthma attack, thank God. I still keep an inhaler around just in case I ever feel the symptoms of an attack.  So far I've only had to use it about once a year and only for very mild symptoms.

When I first started to run six years ago and it got close to winter, I was scared of going out.  My first marathon was in 22 degree weather but I ended up taking two months off after that -- too scared to go back out in the cold.  When I did finally run in the cold I felt my chest tightening.  But, slowly, the more I did it and the better prepared I was (wearing the right gear also helps), it became easier.

Tonight, as I ran in windy, snowy 28 degree weather, I thought about how a younger version of me could never do what I was doing.  I hope that it's gone for good.  And, I hope that your lungs are stronger than mine. 

Judging by the volume of your cries, so far so good.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

when the wind tells you to stop...

Dear Chicken Nugget,

A couple of months ago I wrote about how I changed my diet for you.  And, for the most part, it's true.

Unfortunately the holidays came.  It's hard to eat a low fat plant-based diet when there's a beautiful, juicy turkey inviting you to enjoy it.  Combine holiday eating with a lack of exercise and it turns out my cholesterol is high again.

Having a family history of heart disease, high blood pressure, and diabetes, a high cholesterol worries me.  Since finding out a couple of days ago, I've recommitted to a low fat plant-based diet.

And, just as importantly, I've created a set of fitness goals to accompany the diet.  I've signed up for three small races for early 2011 to help get me back on track.

So, today I went out for a run.  Man, was it hard!

A couple of months ago I started coaching a Young Runners Club at my school.  I'm leading fifteen students in kindergarten through second grade through stretches, relay racing games, and some slow and steady running that amounts to no more than a mile a day.  I'm running about a mile a day! Just one!

This, from a guy who has run two marathons (26.2 miles)!

I decided that today was going to be the day that I ran two miles.  In the morning there was a strong hard rain that immediately made my decision easy.  Can't run.  But then, as if daring me to go out, the rain stopped mid-afternoon.  I looked out the window and not a drop was falling.  I looked for signs of wind, perhaps looking for another excuse, and there were none.

So, I told your mom that I was going for a run.  She, always super supportive of my health, told me to go ahead.  Then, it took me thirty minutes to get out of the house.  Not that there was anything pressing keeping me, I just kept finding something else to do.

When I finally stepped outside, I felt great.  My legs were moving, my breathing was good, and the weather seemed to cooperate.

As I ran towards Astoria Park I thought about how easy it felt.  Then I came upon a downed tree.  It looked like it had been chopped down and there were massive pieces of trunk laying on the side walk.  I slowed to a walk trying to figure out a way around it.  Not a hard obstacle to overcome but it was the beginning of the doubts.

After walking around the tree and starting back up I started feeling the wind kick up again.  Not only was the wind picking up, it was blowing right at me.  I wanted to stop.  The wind was strong.  Just then an older gentleman, probably in his 60s, ran by me. I kept running.

As I approached the one mile mark I thought about walking back home.  But, no.  Couldn't.  That wouldn't be enough.  So, I turned back at the one mile point, still running.

Making my way back home it suddenly started raining again.  There was the doubt again.  Maybe I should hop on a bus.  Then a strong gust of wind blew in my direction.  I swear the wind was telling me to stop.  For a second, I did.  I stopped.

I was about half a mile away from home and I thought, well, a mile and a half is still more than you've done in a while.  I looked at the time and realized that we had guests coming over in about thirty minutes.  I had to run home if I stood any chance at showering before the guests arrived.

I started running again.  The rain gave up but the wind didn't.  The wind was adamant about me stopping.  I almost listened to it.  But, I didn't.  I kept thinking about you, your mom, and my health, and I kept running.  By the time I rounded the corner to our block I was running pretty fast.  And I was tired.  It's hard to run against the wind.  The run was hard.

As if mocking me one last time, a breeze blew the outside door into my ankles as I stepped into the house.  &*^%!!  The wind is now my nemesis.  I'm sure it'll try to get to me again.  And, maybe it'll bring its friends freezing rain and blizzard along.  I've met those two before and I've still run through them. I can do it.

I ran two miles today, Nugget.  Two.  That's all.  I had every excuse in my head to stop.  But, that's all it was: in my head.  There are always days that are going to be too cold, too hot, too windy, too busy, and too tired.  All these excuses are going to be whispering in my ear to not go out for a run or just to stop.

But for every excuse, there's good reason to keep going: my health.

On the last line of my RoadID it says, "I run to add another day."  Really, I run to run to add another day to my life AND to add life to my days. 


Step one: Run!

Step two: Ignore the &*^%!! wind.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

happy three months!

Dear Chicken Nugget,

You are three months old today!

We are so blessed to have you with us and are amazed on a daily basis that we were chosen to be your parents.

You are now making pretty big leaps developmentally:
- you are actively reaching out and grabbing at toys
- you are constantly playing with your hands and beginning to suck your thumb
- you are wanting to be held in a standing position more each day (strong core and head control)
-you are playing for longer periods of time
-you are "talking," making bubbles, and spitting.  Yes, spitting.  It's kind of funny.
- you are starting to roll over and startling yourself in the process
- and you are holding your head pretty darn high during belly time

 We actually think you're pretty brilliant.  And handsome.  I think you're starting to look like your mom more each day.  You're a lucky kid.

Eternally yours,

Tu papa

the blankie your great grandma made you

Dear Chicken Nugget,


As you get older, day by day, we've been noticing that you seem to like some objects more than others.  And, with your new ability to grab things, you are loving stuff that's tiny-hand friendly.

One of those objects you adore is great grandma's blankie.

It's colorful (white, blue, purple, pink, yellow) and it's got holes.  Holes!  You love those holes because it allows you to grab at it and bring it to your face and mouth.


Your great grandma Lorene made it just for you before you were born.  We didn't know if we were having a boy or a girl so she added pink and blue, just in case.


By the way, the bib you're wearing in the photo above is awesome.  Over the last couple of weeks you've become a drool-monster and it's our way of keeping your clothes dry.

You should thank great grandma Lorene for making you this wonderful blankie and all our friends and relatives who have bought you great toys and clothes for you to grab and drool over.




Yours eternally,


Tu papa

Vivaporu: Grandpa was right!

Dear Chicken Nugget,

I am sick right now - just one of those Fall/Winter colds that doesn't seem to go away. 

A few days ago, as I opened my medicine cabinet for some sort of relief I saw an old bottle of Vicks Vapor Rub.

I remembered the greasiness and the smell from my sickly days as a child when my mom would rub Vivaporu (that's what latinos call it) all over my chest and sometimes even wipe some on my nose.  It's powerful stuff and clears up your airways pretty quickly and I remember the smell lingering on my skin and clothes for days.

So, with that memory, I took some Vivaporu out of the little jar and rubbed it all over my chest.  Immediately, I felt better!  Of course, four days later I'm still dealing with this cold so Vivaporu does not necessarily "cure" you but it does make you feel better.  I guarantee it.

It also makes me smell like my grandpa, your great grandpa, Bolivar Santiago.  My grandpa was a firm believer that Vivaporu could cure absolutely anything.  Cough? Vivaporu!  Stuffy nose?  Vivaporu!  Sore muscles?  Vivaporu!  Arthritis?  Vivaporu!  Bad cut or open wound? Vivaporu!  Toe fungus? Belly ache?  Headache? Hemorrhoids?  Oh yes, Vivaporu!

I remember my grandpa having little bottle of Vivaporu on his nightstand, in his chest of drawers, and sometimes, in a plastic bag that he used to carry all his important papers. 

I have to admit, I do feel better rubbing on the Vivaporu, even if it hasn't cured me.  I'll make sure that when you're old enough, you'll get to experience the magic of Vick's Vapor Rub.  And maybe some day, when we both have a cold, we'll both walk around with greasy, mentholy chests and smelling like Great Grandpa.

Eternally yours,

Tu papa