Happy Halloween

Told Ya So

Brett Favre has two broken bones in his ankle, a sex scandel, and might miss his first start since 1970 when he started his Iron Man steak of 291 consecutive starts.

Who could have ever seen this coming?

http://lessonsformykid.blogspot.com/2010/08/dont-anger-football-gods.html

Your Wife Will be a Mother

The woman you marry will be the single most important decision you make in your entire lifetime. I can't imagine any other choice I have made, or had made for me that has had such an impact. I chose well, and lucky for you we are fertile as spring time bunnies.

I am not going to try to put it into words, but your mom holds many important roles in my life. My rock, my best friend, my lover, my wife, and now the mother of my child. She's great at all those other titles, but man are you lucky she is your mom. She loves you beyond comprehension and she is just the greatest mom ever, and you get to call her your own.

You lucky little shit.

Lessons Learned Part 2

Another week and more lessons learned for a new dad. We had our two week check up today and the little porker has put on 11 ounces in the last week. That is crazy! This kid is obviously getting enough milk, and perhaps even an occasional McDonalds run while mom and I are asleep. Let's not waste time getting to more of this hot learning action.

Respect the feeding schedule.- When I have gone to visit family and friends who had recently had children I would call ahead and tell them when I would be there. Then I would try to get there fairly close to that time. Never again.

Now that I am a dad, and I have a wife that is trying to feed a kid on a schedule I am crazy protective of my wife and our child's feeding schedule. You only have a short precious time between feedings, and you can typically plan that time around when visitors are coming.

But then some wiseass shows up 15 minutes early and mom is feeding, or shows up 45 minutes late and the whole feeding schedule is screwed. Never again will I screw with new parents like that. If I do, I will make sure I have a casserole or hot dish to make up for it. There is nothing like easily prepared food to buy back a new parents favor.

I talked to my buddy Fid about this. Him and his wife Niki just had a little girl recently and we discussed the righteous anger we can develop over a 15 minute swing in schedule. 3 weeks ago I would hav never thought of it. Crazy how things change.

There is nothing like the first time your child smiles at you.- It's heartwarming. The other night Cruz looked up at Ash and I and smiled huge. It was adorable and made us feel great. Then he went cross eyed and stared at some random point on the wall while he peed himself. But I am pretty sure we had a moment first.

Be Aware of Your Surroundings

There is a good chance Gabe was pooping in this picture.

There is nothing as calming and sweet as holding your child. There is something so pure and perfect about holding that warm little baby against your chest, smelling that baby skin smell, and just relaxing amazed at the little life that you helped create. It's perfect, and there is nothing better.

Then he farts. Not a little squeaker, but rather the kind of fart that rumbles pictures off the wall and shatters that image of a perfect little person. There is no denying what has happened, and everyone in the room nearly gets whiplash when they hear the sound. I have to admit I am quite impressed.

Twice now you have caught me feeling optimistic. Twice you have proven that the fine folks at Pampers have no counter for the little Shit Cannon, Cruz. OH MY GOD. I changed the diaper, I changed the onesie, I wiped the legs and back clean. I thought we were good. We went back to the couch and rocked you back to sleep. All was good again.

Until the next day when my wife held up the blanket we were cuddling under. Until she moved the pillow I was using to prop up my arm. The blankets (yes, you got me twice) had something regarding giant inkblots (that were not ink) covering a two foot section. Maybe even more.

So beware of your surroundings in life son. You never know when you bad shit's right around the corner.

Umbilical Cord Stank

Last night Stinky McRottensausage lost his umbilical cord. Thank God. It turns out that an umbilical cord has about a two week shelf life when it comes to hanging on, and about 2 days before falling off it smells like roadkill. There was a short time in young Cruz's life when making a little babyhouse outside seemed like a very viable option.

I cut my son's umbilical cord when he came out, and from that day forward it shrunk and blackened day by day. By the way, they need to sharpen those scissors. That was disturbing. The cord started off as the consistency of raw sausage and ended up looking like... well... beef jerky paper. Shrively, disgusting little beef jerkey paper.

As I stood over my child's stomach yesterday making a retching motion and spraying pretend puke over him my wife reminded me that it wasn't his fault that his cord smelled. So I am pretty sure she must have rubbed a dead squirrel on it. It was awful. I threatened to spray him down with cologne to make him more bearable to be around. It was a nasty trap he laid. One second you look at him and see this beautiful little child that has stolen your heart, and then you lean over to pick him up and almost immediately pass out. Awful.

By a small act of our glorious Lord that cord finally fell off last night. My wife was so excited she woke me up at 3 AM to tell me, and I was so happy I didn't even care she had woke me up. Today when I told my cousin he asked if we had thrown it away. That is such a stupid question that I hope Ash didn't, and then he will get that in his Christmas present this year.

So the lesson here is... um.... don't ask stupid questions about umbilical cords and you won't get them for Christmas.

Funny Kid

I have a feeling that Cruz is going to be a funny kid, or at least have one hell of a sense of timing.

Saturday Ashley gave Cruz a bath, and he gave her a shower. We were mid-diaper change during his bath (can't submerge him yet due to the circumcision) so as I walked the dirty diaper to the trash I heard Ashley shriek and spun around in time to see a beautiful pee arc glistening in the light coming through the kitchen window.

Tonight as I gloated to myself about helping Cruz get rid of hiccups the gas moved South. Gone were the unsettled little hiccups and replacing them was a stomach gurgling, colon cleansing power shat. He had this crazy serious look on his face until it was done, and then fell asleep.

This kid makes me laugh already.

Political Ad Season

The only thing I hate more than clowns who vote Democrat and wear Minnesota Vikings apparel is political ads. I hate equally Democrat ads, Republican ads, and ads paid for by political activists groups with fun sounding names like Iowans for the Truth. Sounds great right? I am an Iowan, I want the truth. Too bad. It'd be like finding out that this blog had won the Best Blog of All Time 2010 Award, and then find out the impartial voters were me, me voting on your behalf, and Jade the cat.

The claims these ads make are just big bold bullet points in place to scare the masses. One candidate is pro "Big Oil", one is voting to kill "Main Street in favor of Wall Street", and the other wants to ship jobs overseas and free the rapists. If there is a "Big Oil," there must be a "Small Oil" to compare them to. I don't know much about them, but I am pulling for "Small Oil" even though they are obviously slimy. This whole Main Street vs. Wall Street has been all the rage this year with the stock market collapse. It's a great way to take a hugely complex issue and boil it down to a simple idea they can politicize. Here's the thing, you can't effect one without effecting the other. You can't be "tough on Wall Street" without it directly effecting "Main Street." It sure is handy though when you want to make a point without all those burdensome facts though.

A fun twist here lately is that they have to attribute their claims to a vote or an article. So now at the bottom of the screen you can see little notes reflecting that, never mind that politicians like to slam 400 unrelated things into a single bill. So a bill that they say "slashes veteran's benefits" may have also include "rape funding." They can also take one line out of an entire article and take it out of context to mean what ever they want. For example, you could take from this line "ship jobs overseas and free the rapists," from earlier in the post and infer that I think we should do those very things. You can even put it in quotation marks and make it look legit.

I hate politics, and I hate the fact that the commercials are all negative and attacking. Very few people are advertising what they have done or believe in, but rather that their opponent supports giving cancer aids to school children and encouraging Mexican drug cartels to move into town.

Politics suck, and you can't trust politicians. The even worse news? The laws they pass will effect you no matter if you vote or not. So pick the candidate that seems less awful and pray they won't screw things up too bad.

Oh, and set the DVR so you can skip all the commercials and hope the eventually go back to public speeches.

That Which Does Not Kill Us

As Cruz and I watched the Bears game on Sunday I explained a few of the finer parts of being Bears fans to my son. At one point, he asked me why the Bears offensive line wouldn't block for Jay Cutler. At least I think that is what that look meant. Maybe I am overestimating his cognitive abilities.

So I explained to him, "That which does not kill us can only make us stronger." By virtue of this line of thinking I am expecting Jay Cutler to turn into the Incredible Hulk and kill everyone in the NFC because the way he is getting hit he surely is close to being killed and in turn stronger... and stronger... and concussioneder.....

All in all I think Cruz was teaching me a few lessons. He was awake for the Bears first touchdown, fell asleep while they were in the lead, and only opened his eyes for the punt return for a touchdown. The rest of the game was nappy time for the little dude. I like his style.

Lessons Learned Part One

Just a few short days down and I am already learning so much about being a parent. Sure there's the stuff about selflessness, caring for others, and so on. I will leave them for someone else because I have some important findings I need to report on. I have a feeling that there will be many more lessons along the way, so let's call this our first reoccurring feature.

Breast Milk- Breast milk is for babies what red wine is for adults. Just a couple servings and all you want is to be wrapped up so tight you can't move, and be sang too in hushed tones while trapped in a room with walls just tall enough that you can't escape. Isn't that why you drink red wine?

It's crazy how breast milk can calm a screaming baby beast in seconds, and leave a zombie in it's place. I am thinking that we should get a group of new mothers together and ship them to Washington DC while we have the Middle East peace talks going. Serve a couple of glasses with supper and the Isralis and Pakastanis will be more than happy to agree to get along. It's crazy stuff from what I have seen. Baby Milk Drunk is a sight to behold.

Baby Socks- Baby socks exist for one reason, and that is because mothers think they are cute. They stay on a baby's foot for approximately five seconds per wearing and after one quick trip to the mall we are officially down one sock. One trip out of the house, and one sock down already. That's after I put that sock back on twice and the other sock was hanging half off by the time we got home. My wife says that they are to keep the childs feet warm but that is obviously a lie perpetuated by the baby sock manufacturers. They can't keep feet warm while they are never on the child's feet.

Swamp People on Demand- I did know that I could get HBO shows OnDemand. I have always enjoyed this thoroughly. I found out at 2 AM the other night that I could also get shows from History Channel, Discovery, and select NBC shows as well. So there Cruz and I sat at 2 AM as we drifted in and out of conciousness watching Swamp People. It just felt so right.

Here's a pic of my kid for no reason other than he is so damn cute.

FREEDOM!!

October 12th, 2010. The day the dude finally decided to join our family. Cruz Bennett Jorgensen weighed in at 8.04 ounces and 21.5 inches.

According to a recent poll of me, Cruz was elected the coolest kid of ever.

On the night of October 11th I took Ashley our to Bourbon Street, a nice resturaunt in town to have a little "Last Supper." As soon as we had ordered our appetizer Ashley shot me a weird look and said, "I just had a contraction." We skipped the main course and headed home so she could have a bit more privacy. By the end of the night however, the contractions had stopped. So with a false alarm logged, we went to bed.

At 3:30 AM I woke up to Ashley saying, "Beau, I'm in labor but I want to shower and eat before we go to the hospital. So go back to sleep." That obviously didn't happen. I loaded everything up in the car while she showered. Then she got out of the shower and asked where all of her stuff was. So I unpacked the car. We then argued about when to go to the hospital for the next couple of hours. Ash wanted to stay home for awhile, and I wanted to get there as fast as possible. She like the idea of not being in the hospital all day, and I was deathly afraid of delivering the child on the kitchen floor. "Ash" I said, "they have doctors and drugs there. Let's go!"

We finally got there, walked alot, found the coffee, and even ate a few popsicles. I talked Ash into taking the epidural finally. She was planning on taking it, just once again I wanted to error on the side of early. Then all the labor stuff hit. Here's a synopsis.

This will take awhile. How dialated? Really? Oh hi Dr. Hines! Serious? Should I call my mom? Oh my god. PUSH! I am not looking, ok I will peek. Ohmygod. PUSH. We're parents! These scissors are too dull to be cutting this. Are you ok? I can't believe he's here. HOLY SHIT I'M A DAD.

I'm a dad. I'm a dad and it's awesome. We got home the yesterday after 2 days in the hospital staffed with some of the nicest and most caring women in the world. We can't imagine being taken care of any better. I will get back to the sarcasm and dick jokes soon, but right now I have a little dude squirming on the floor that could use to cuddle.

White Sox Fans

All of my favorite teams are from Chicago. The Cubs, Bears, and I suppose the Bulls and Black Hawks although I really don't follow basketball or hockey. So naturally I have always had a soft spot for the White Sox. My uncle took me to a game at their stadium the year that it opened and it was one of the first MLB games I ever went to. In fact I went to that game probably a decade before I made it to Wrigley.

The only thing is, I hate the White Sox. Their manager is crazy, their GM seems like an asshole, and their fans are all drug dealers, hookers, or Barrack Obama. So I can't tell you how happy the above picture makes me. This is a a tattoo that a White Sox fan recently got on her thigh. Then she sued the tattoo shop and let the Chicago Sun Times write an article about it. This should teach you a few things.

1. This is the type of person that you will associate with should you become a White Sox fan.

2. Don't get tattoos. If you must, please double check the tattoo before you have them start applying the ink. It's rather permanent. Have someone, other than the tattoo parlor workers take a peek. Preferably have me take a look at it. Not only will I check the orientation, I will also tell you that you are an idiot for getting a White Sox tattoo.

3. If this happens to you, don't let anyone look directly at the tattoo. Only let people look at in the mirror. Yes, this will mean that you have to carry a mirror with you at all times, but I am not the idiot with the backwards tattoo now am I?

Inducing Labor

Well here we are on your due date, and you know what’s missing? You. We know where you are, we just don't know how to get you to come out. For the record, I do not support your procrastination. This is our first little “Do as I say, not as I do,” moment.

Since your mother must have a very comfortable uterus we found ourselves looking at her pregnancy book at ways to naturally induce labor. They range from “easy to do” all the way to “oh God no.” We have tried the spicy food, walking, and your mom even did a few jumping jacks. Upon reading that book I got a bit more insight into how awful a woman must feel at the end of a pregnancy. Here are a few of the other labor inducing options.

“Nipple stimulation”- I thought this one sounded nice. Then I read the description. Apparently using this method a woman should “tweak and twist” her nipples for a few hours a day. A FEW HOURS A DAY. In middle school people used to use this method to induce terror and pain. We called it a “titty twister” or “purple nurple” and it hurts like hell. I am not sure if I am supposed to throw your mother in the locker or give her a swirly when she is done or not. So basically, if a woman gives herself a titty twister a few hours a day it MIGHT induce labor. This is a like a part time job of self terror.

“Stripping the membrane” – I am going to save you the details on that one, but isn’t the name terrifying? I don’t care if this is done by a Dr. It scares the holy hell out of me by name alone. I would rather have someone threaten to kill me than threaten to strip my membrane and I don’t think that is even an option.

“ Castor oil”- If a woman takes a shot of castor oil it may cause labor to begin. That doesn’t sound too bad, other than the fact that castor oil will cause vomiting and diarrhea and it tastes awful. So as long as you don’t mind throwing up everywhere and pooping your mind out castor oil could possibly get you going. How does the castor oil industry market itself? I can’t imagine a billboard for a magic elixir that causes this kind of reaction. Actually, I could, and it would feature Mike Rowe as the spokesmen. I might be on to something here.

Being pregnant must be awful in the last few weeks. After all, women will give themselves titty twisters while shooting castor oil just to go into labor…. which in itself if terrifying. This is why women are in charge of bearing children. I am pretty sure C-Section rates would go way up if men had to deliver.

I think maybe when we get home tonight I might try one of my own ideas. I am thinking that if I just rub your mom's belly with bacon grease and pulled pork you will be able to sense that something wonderful is just out of your grasp. This should lure you into coming out to meet us, or meat us depending on your preference. This sounds so much better than all that sciency crap.

So please, before I have to give your mom a swirly and throw her in a locker, please join us.

I Am One Of Them.

When you are young you think everyone who is older than you is old. When you are a child, teenagers are cool because they are old, and everyone older than that is lame. Then when you are a teenager you will think people in college are cool because they are older. When you are in college you will look at people in their late 20's and 30's and think.. How Lame.

I sat in church today and thought back to my childhood about my church memories and how I always thought the message was for the old people. Yesterday I thought about how much the message applied to me, and how the leaders did a great job of communicating with people as young as me. It was then I realized that I am a husband, a businessman, and a very short time from being a father. Wow.... I am old. How Lame.

But how awesome is that? I am officially the age that I matter. I can vote. I provide a good tax base for ignorant politicians to waste. I haven't had to ask my parents for money for years. I have a beautiful wife. I own land. I am going to be a dad.

I am going to be a dad.

I always thought I would be scared of the moment that I realized I was out of touch. As I sat in my office running insurance quotes and listening to Metallica I realized, "This makes no sense. I am lame. How can I listen to 'Kill Em All' and ponder the correct liability limits to show?" I don't care. With age has come the acceptance of who I am. I don't need to prove anything to anyone anymore. My wife loves me for who I am and my son will love me for throwing him in the air alot. Sometimes life is both complex and really simple like that.

Someday this will make sense. I just hope you don't get here too soon. I am really looking forward to being the coolest guy you know because I know pirate jokes and will throw you around.

I love you dude. The end.

Be a Patriot

Son, I urge you to be a Patriot. Not only in the "USA USA USA!" kinda way, but in the NFL Patriot sense. I know this might be confusing since I am a Bears fan and hereby require you to be as well if you want to get a piece of the inheritance (I just giggled at the thought of me leaving an inheritance worth worrying over. ) I swear this makes sense.

I figure that your Uncle Gabe and I are 6' and 6'2 respectively and when we were in shape about 180 pounds or so. Your mom's side uncles are about the same, and maybe a bit smaller. I figure you should be about Gabe and my size, and maybe a bit bigger since your mom and I are taller than both of our parents. So what I am getting at, is that you are going to be too small to play sports professionally. You only really have a few shots.

1. Golf- Not really a sport, and I despise golf. I like the golf cart and beer part, but from what I see on TV that isn't really part of the pro game. That leads me to believe that pro golf would suck. Hard. Unless you could find some off the course entertainment... but that will cost you. Some people just think about woods, holes, and strokes and get distracted. I am not referring to anyone in particular here.... but if I were...

2. Soccer- Please God no. I despise soccer.

3. Baseball- Maybe, if the Good Lord smiles down upon you and Greg Maddux will be your pitching coach you will have a chance. You also have a weak shot of being a gritty shortstop. (BTW- Gritty in baseball terms means good at defense and white. If you are pesky that means you are a slap hitting gritty player.)

4. Basketball- Just kidding. You will be white and born to two very unbasketbally people. You better focus on 3 pointers and being European if you want to be a white dude in the NBA.

5. Football- OK, stick with me here. You are going to be too small, and too slow to play in the NFL . You will only have one shot. One chance. (Cue Eminem, the 8 Mile soundtrack) Will you capture it? Or will you let it slip. Yo... yo..

You will have to go to a small college. Probably a DII school, except they aren't called DII anymore, and I don't care enough to look up the new name. Maybe UNI, but you can't live at home. You will need to excel, yet go undrafted because you don't have the measureables. At this point you will need to be scrappy, and gutty. You will have to become, a Patriot.

The New England Patriots are to the NFL what shortstops are to baseball. Some groups just love the gritty white guy. The Patriots have more white people (per capita) on their team than a Republican electoral caucus compared to most NFL rosters. They have a white receiver, two of them in fact. Wes Welker and Julian Endelman. Wes Welker was undrafted and Julian Endelman was drafted in the seventh round and had to convert from a QB.

Quick Trivia- Name the other white receiver in the NFL... there might be more than one, but I couldn't think of them either.

They also have a white running back now named Danny Woodhead. A WHITE RUNNING BACK. Only in New England. The only other white running backs in the league are Peyton Hillis of the Browns (ironic) and Toby Gerhart of the Vikings. These teams are usually associated with staph infections and sexboats... not that that has any connection at all. I just wanted to point that out. Woodhead was undrafted, and cut from the New York Jets roster because he wasn't big enough. These are the guys you will have to emulate.

You are not going to have DB speed, Lineman size, or the skills to be a linebacker. You might be able to be a tight end or perhaps a QB, but I think you will be too small to be a tight end and the QB usually has a crazy dad making him do passing trees in his diapers, and your mom won't let me make you do that to you.

So in summary, if you are going to go pro, you better be ready to gritty, pesky, and an all around player. You will have to work harder than anyone else, and overcome your fair share of adversity. You are are going to have to do it the Patriot way.

Don't Play with Guns

Being an American citizen means that you have a right to bear arms. Not bare arms, the constitution says nothing about the right to wear tank tops or sleeveless t-shirts. Weird coincidence since those two rarely are seen without the other down south. This is an important right because people have the right to protect themselves and to hunt if they choose. You never know when you are going to see a deer and want to shoot it with an assault rifle or sawed off shotgun.

This post is not about the legality, morality, or ethics of firearms. This is about the fatality, mortality, and probability of both in the hands of a Jorgensen. When I was growing up my dad always had a pistol and a rifle. I don't think he had bullets for the pistol, although I do remember holding it as a kid and thinking about how cool it was. Looking back, I am really hoping he didn't have bullets. Probably should have had that locked up either way.

Dad is a terrible shot. If he was ever trying to shoot me I think I would just stand still and wait for him to run out of bullets. I remember we had a woodchuck trapped in mom's garden one time, and dad went and got his rifle to shoot it. (We lived in town at that time, so I don't know how legal this was. What the hell thought, we are Americans, and Republicans. I am sure it was ok.) When dad got back, the woodchuck was being held in place in a corner, trapped against the fence with a rake. Dad shot from about 2 feet away. He missed. I think he shot four times before the woodchuck died. At that point, the woodchuck could not chuck wood.

Another time when we lived on the farm there was a dog that kept coming onto the property and pissing dad off. He decided to scare it off the property by shooting over it's head. He was a good 100 yards away when he fired that warning shot... directly into the dogs head. It died, dad shoveled, and the dog no longer bothered anyone.

My mom on the other hand is more accurate, on accident. When mom and dad were moving into an old farm house before your Uncle Gabe and I were born they found a gun in the basement. Mom was cleaning up so she moved it. She also pulled the trigger on accident. So as the gun bang echoed off the walls she looked across the room at the china hutch she had shot, and at the now white Mother-in-law who was almost shot in the head.

So let's summarize. Guns are legal. Guns are a fundamental right. Please don't buy a gun because you are genetically predisposed to have no aim and sketchy handling technique.