& some resuscitation, with introductions

Here's a picture of a cute kid so you don't lynch me for being gone so long. Pitchforks down, people.

Here’s a picture of a cute kid so you don’t lynch me for being gone so long. Pitchforks down, people.

You know what Twain said—reports of my death, blah, blah, blah. Well, I’ve been staying alive over on the Facebook and the Tweeter and even the Instagrams*, so find me there if you’ve been getting splinters in your ass pining away for me** over here.

*I have no idea how to link to this, but my username is andedav, if you want to find me.
**See what I did there? I learned puns while I was away! Still miss me?

All right, so three months away probably deserves a little explanation. Well, first off, I’ve been getting sick more since August than I probably have in the previous decade, mostly because daycare has turned Squatch into a petri dish. Illness doesn’t put me in the best mood for writing.

Second, I picked up an extra lit class this semester, so that’s just another giant stack of papers to grade with less time to do that in. Yeah, I’m using that as an excuse. Sue me.

Third, since my teaching gig is a year-to-year thing with no really good idea what I’ll be doing the following fall, I spent a bunch of time this past fall doing applications to figure out what I’ll be doing next fall. Like a bunch of time. Then I spent just as much time over the couple months after Christmas fretting about those applications to the point where I was probably pre-aneurysm at any given point. Then last month I got accepted to a PhD program for the fall, and I got a GTA* to help pay for it. Hooray! Only now I’ve been spending the month since fretting about getting everything ready to do the school thing again. With a kid this time! Seriously, people, my brain’s been exploding about this stuff.

*Not that I’m super excited to go back to the peasant caste of teaching assistants again, but it means my tuition is covered. Luckily, it was a short fall from temporary instructor.

So my blog kind of deflated over the last few months. Sorry about that, guys. I’d promise to do better in the future, but you and I both know better than to believe me on that. The best I can do is promise to try. You can Yoda me all you want on that—try is the best I got right now.


Anyway, here’s what brought me back: Squatch’s future mother-in-law invited me to pitch in a piece over at Tipsy Lit for their Higher Ed Week. It’s an awesome site that I like to go over and read between panic attacks. If I’m not mistaken, it’s mostly ladies writing over there, and I’m one of the first dudes to make an appearance. Shattering the glass ceiling*, left and right.

*Actually, the glass ceiling is for women, I believe. So would it be the glass floor? In either case, it’s Y-chromosomes doing our part for gender equality.

Tipsy Lit being a bigger deal than my little, underused corner of the internet, I figured some readers might make their way over here. So welcome, Tipsy Litters! As a means of getting you familiarized with what goes on here, allow me to show you some of my faves:

I’ll leave it at that. There’s some more good stuff on here. It’s like boogers on the underside of the couch—just dig around and you’ll find ’em.

& we caught one

Taking sick day like any normal kid: Kickin back and watchin some 'toons.

Taking sick day like any normal kid: Kickin back and watchin some ‘toons.

It’s official. Squatch’s first sickness is in the books.

I suppose it was only a matter of time before it happened, really. Kids get sick. You parents know that. Oh boy, do you know that. So I guess we should consider ourselves lucky that it took him seven months to finally come down with something.

Last Friday, we went to visit our nearby friends and Felix got to see his good buddy Jack. We hadn’t gotten to hang out with them much recently because pretty much everyone in their house had come down with one nasty thing or another pretty solid for about two or three weeks prior to that. A little after we got over there Friday, Jack started to come down with some sniffles. It didn’t seem like too big a problem, and we were happy to be hanging out with our friends again. He didn’t have the plague or anything.

At one point, Jack picked up Squatch’s Sophie to give it to him, but his mom stepped in. She put it aside and said, “You’ll probably want to wash that before you give it to him.” I took the note down in my head and put it in the pocket of Squatch’s diaper bag so I wouldn’t forget.

Fast forward to yesterday, when Karli texts me to let me know that Squatch had his official first cold. And of course it hit me. I forgot to clean that damn giraffe. I just took it out of the diaper bag on Saturday and gave it to him to play with. Didn’t even think twice about it. I’m the guy in the epidemic movie who says, “Aw, come on guys. It’s just a cute little monkey.”

It's not long before the cold catches up to you, is it buddy?

It’s not long before the cold catches up to you, is it buddy?

It’s mostly just a runny nose. To you and me, that’s just a bad day at the office. But when it’s his first, to Squatch it’s like someone’s trying to kill him from the inside of his head. The drippy snot leads to coughing and trouble swallowing. He can’t breathe well, which means he has trouble eating, sleeping, and—oddly enough—pooping very well. Amazing how something so minor to us can wreck his whole damn life, isn’t it?

Turns out it wrecks ours, too. Both Sunday night and last night were pretty awful nights for him, which means they were pretty awful nights for us. He was up every hour or so because he’d get so stopped up that it’d cause him to wake up, which means he’d scream, which means we’d have to go get him and soothe him back to sleep. Brings back those oh-so-fond memories of his first couple months—the ones where he ate about twenty times a night until Karli and I both were curled up in corners sobbing quietly to ourselves.

I do keep finding myself feeling so bad for him. At one point soon after I got home from work yesterday, he got into a coughing fit so bad that he started to turn blue. It didn’t last long but it freaked me the hell out. His little eyes were watering and he looked terrified.

If I could trade places with him, I—well, I wouldn’t. Being sick sucks. Chances are he’ll pass on plenty of crap once he starts school and makes lots of germ-festering little friends. He’s going to get sick a lot, which means I’m going to get sick a lot. He can go ahead and take this one.

Typhoid Sophie gets sanitized. Too little, too late.

Typhoid Sophie gets sanitized. Too little, too late.

One thing’s for damn sure. I washed that effing giraffe. Got some boiling water and some dish soap, and I made sure that every trace of virus or bacteria or DNA was scalded to hell. Scorched earth, baby.

Fun fact: When you submerge a Sophie the Giraffe toy in water, it comes out sounding almost exactly like a stopped-up baby. It’s uncanny. Until all the water works its way out, the giraffe will be wheezing her way through the day right along with Squatch. That also means it’s probably a good idea for me to warn you not to stick your Sophie the Giraffe in water. Just wipe it clean. Otherwise you’ll probably be scolded by your significant other and your kid’s sleep-deprived eyes will glare at you with betrayal and confusion. Just trust me on this one.


I went and changed things up this morning, revamped the look of the blog. You dig? Let me know if there are any problems with it.

Also, if you haven’t yet, you should like the Official & Squatch Makes 3 Facebook Page. If I get 30 followers, I get access to the Insights thing. Insights, guys! I have no idea what that is, but it sounds exciting. I just need one more to get to that magic spot.

And yes, you read that right. Only 29 people like my Facebook page. I’m just not that cool. Or maybe I’m too cool. Yeah, we’ll go with that one.