Hilary and Micah's Excellent Adventure

Jamie hangs out with his cousin Eli

2011-12-21T17:28:00.000-05:00

The first of many times!

Questions one asks at 1:30 am

2011-11-27T01:12:00.001-05:00

What's the correct maneuver for getting a shit-smeared onesie over an infant's head without getting poop all over your baby?

First things first

2011-11-15T16:35:00.001-05:00

After months and months and then days and days of anticipation, we finally have an idea of when this baby will be making his official debut.

Tonight Hilary is going to the hospital where they will perform some procedure of some kind that is NOT an induction* to try to help spur things along, and then if nothing has happened by tomorrow morning then she will be induced. The moment, give or take a few hours, is finally here.

* The doctor described it to us in much greater detail, but that's pretty much all I took away from it.

Am I freaking out? I've actually become strangely calm about everything since we passed the due date on Friday, for reasons I can't quite understand. Last week it was all I could think about, but now I'm just kind of in a state of suspended animation.

One thing that keeps rattling around in my brain, as we prepare to welcome our first child to the world, is my, shall we say, less than stellar record the first time I do anything. There is always some sort of mini-crisis attached to any new venture I undertake, or at least that's the way it feels. As in:

- First day as a camp counselor. After 17 years as a staff brat and camper, and my first assignment is at the pool. I am playing around with some of the kids, and I pick one up to throw him (as kids generally seem to enjoy). As I am throwing him, I realize I am heaving him right on top of several other nine-year olds. Mistake #1. Mistake #2? Yelling "SHIT!" as he was descending on top of them. I immediately sank underwater to question my self worth for about 45 seconds.

- First day of college. My first class was at 9 am, so I naturally set my alarm clock for 9:15**. I remember specifically setting it for 9:15 the night before, and never having it dawn on me the inherent problem with my timeline. I realized my mistake in the shower (once again yelling "SHIT!"), rushed to make the last five minutes of my first class, then left immediately to make sure I was at my 10:00 on time. Except I wrote down the wrong section of the class, so I went to the wrong building, and I missed that one too.

** I might do that purposely much later in my college career, but at that time I planned to attend all my classes. Can you imagine such a thing? Just typing that sentence makes me laugh now.

- First day of home ownership. Hilary and I bought a house in April, and within 30 minutes of the movers setting down our last few boxes of stuff, we began a load of laundry in our second-floor laundry space. Unfortunately there was a leak in the hose running from the back of the washing machine to the drainage pipe, and soon water was seeping through a crack in the wall to create several nice water stains on our living room ceiling, which we came dangerously close to having to drill holes in to alleviate the problem. In the first 30 minutes! I'm shouting "SHIT!" right now just thinking about it. Also we screwed up our alarm system and the cops came the next morning.

There are plenty more examples where that came from***, but I don't want to bore you ~~anymore~~.

*** Of course this includes my virginity, but that's a story for another day or blog.

Sufficed to say, I plan to do some mighty careful stepping when I first get my hands on our son. And maybe I should let the doctor cut the umbilical cord.

You know when is a bad time to get an email virus?

2011-11-13T23:22:00.001-05:00

When everyone you know is awaiting an email from you telling them of the birth of your first child.

For anyone affected, I hope at least the link sent you to a good porn site.

Damn you Yahoo!

We're going to ooooooovertime

2011-11-13T11:46:00.000-05:00

Hilary on her due date. You can see the impatience behind the eyes.

Today is November 13, 2011. I am sad to report that our baby is still, as of this writing, resting comfortably in Hilary's belly.

As Hilary likes to say, this baby is already taking after me, waiting until the last minute to get anything done.

People say that having a baby can be very stressful. Well you know what? NOT having a baby when you are expecting one to show up can be pretty damn stressful as well.

We are two days past the due date, and Hilary is partially convinced that our son is going to stay in the womb until it's time to start writing essays for college applications. I think she bought him an SAT prep book at Barnes and Noble today.

This is bad. For me, I mean. Let me explain.

Like my father, I only bet when I know I'm right*. I will often make wagers for large sums (cash or otherwise) when I am so convinced I will win that I care not the consequences of losing.

*This has gotten me in trouble before. Bekah Page, you know what I'm talking about. You asked for it, you got it. Toyota.

Hilary has been worrying for months that our child would decide to hang around past his due date.

Hilary, love of my life that she is, has a tendency to worry about things that never come to fruition. Even though I knew the statistics saying that many first-time preggos deliver after their due date, I still felt like this was another example of her assuming something to be that was not to be.

I had to get in while the getting was good, so I bet Hilary that the kid would come early or on time.

In the immortal words of Rick Perry: "I'm a moron who should never be President."**

**Or maybe it's "Oops."

As you can see, here we are on the 13th, and we are still sans infant, so thanks to his tardiness I'm out a new band for her wedding ring***.

***Junior, as soon as you can walk we're getting you a part-time job to help pay it off.

It's ok though. Our little bundle of joy will be here soon enough, and then all will be right with the world.

Also, I'm going double or nothing on #2.

It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel ...

2011-11-04T09:27:00.000-04:00

Hilary at 39 weeks

Today is November 4. Hilary's due date is the 11th, which, if my math is correct, means we only have four days until this baby arrives.

We are in the home stretch. Hilary could go into labor at any moment, and it wouldn't be the least bit troubling -- at least not to the medical personnel.

People ask me how I am feeling, and I feel like I should be honest. So here is what is going through my mind, for the record.

I am excited. My sister lives five minutes away from me, and her daughter is nearly a year old. Every time I go over to visit her she gives me this big gap-toothy grin, and I melt. And my niece does it too! But I only see her once a week or so, so the thought of getting that kind of reaction on a daily basis brings a smile to my face.

I am intrigued. I've heard it said that having a child is the most selfish thing a person can do. It's our own little experiment, conducted in our private little home laboratory. Our child is a lump of clay, and we get to try to shape him into what we think the modern person is supposed to be like. We are God, creating a little man in our own image. At least until McDonalds and Disney take over in a few years.

I am intent. My parents have given me and my siblings everything we could want over the course of our lives. Love, affection, support. I always said to myself that the way to pay them back is to do the same for my children.

I am arrogant. Anyone who knows me knows I am not shy about voicing my opinions, and that I have pretty strong convictions in a lot of areas. I believe we will be able to teach our child exactly what is the correct behavior in every situation.

I am humbled. I am smart enough to realize that I don't know shit, and I'll probably learn over and over and over and over and over that I have no idea what I'm talking about, and our child will forge his own way no matter what we do.

I am mourning. My life, as I know it, is basically over. Yesterday I played Baseball Stars on my old-school Nintendo for four hours in the afternoon, mostly because I knew that four free hours to do as I please will be damn hard to come by pretty soon. Pretty fucking soon.

I am nostalgic. I feel the way I did during the final few weeks of my senior year of college. Even as I enjoyed myself and lived it up the best I could, I felt a giant countdown clock following me around at all times reminding me the party was coming to a close. Responsibility lurked around the corner.

I am optimistic. When I was a camp counselor in college, I routinely slept 3-4 hours a night for 10 straight weeks. I know what it means to function with little to no rest. Surely caring for an infant will be a similar experience, right? RIGHT?

I am unprepared. Yes, the baby's room is in order and the car seats are installed, but those are just materials. Emotionally, I cannot fathom what is about to happen. Even having watched my siblings and close friends do this from a short distance, I feel as unaware of what is coming as the child resting snugly in Hilary's belly.

Finally, I am accepting. No matter how anxious or nervous I get, I can do nothing to alter reality. This is happening. Can we do this? Can we handle it? It doesn't matter. We are doing, we will handle. I know this to be true, even as my brain tries to convince me otherwise.

I keep telling myself things will get back to normal eventually. I just have no idea what that normal will look like.

Building a future Cardinals fan

2011-10-28T01:26:00.001-04:00

For the record, I would have been happy with whichever sex our child might be. But nights like tonight ... I can't wait to share them with our son.

Breaking news: Hilary will deliver baby in hospital after taking it easy

2011-10-18T14:28:00.000-04:00

There is a great Chris Rock line from one of his stand-up specials (I believe Bigger and Blacker) where he says (and I'm paraphrasing): "You can drive a car with your feet if you want to -- that don't make it a good fucking idea!"

I am reminded of this line today because it seems like some women out there have gotten this notion in their head that having a baby isn't enough of an achievement. It isn't difficult enough, apparently, to push a newborn through your lady parts* -- you have to add a little spice into the gumbo.

*They went over all this in birthing class, but it left my brain almost immediately thereafter.

In case you missed it, last weekend a woman ran the Chicago Marathon while 39 weeks pregnant, then gave birth to a daughter several hours later.

This morning I read about an artist who plans on installing the birth of her first child as an art exhibit** at a gallery in Brooklyn.

**What hipsters are going to see this exhibit?

I am not here to judge these two ladies' choices. I imagine both care about the health of their baby*** a great deal. It's just hard to imagine doing anything that might make a complicated and taxing process even more so. Our idea of spicing up Hilary's labor is not packing a bag for the hospital until two weeks before the due date (and even that sounds unlikely).

***Running a marathon would seem the more obvious way to inflict physical harm on an infant, but I'm thinking being born in an art gallery would do more long-term psychological damage.

As humans, we seem predisposed to testing the limits of our capabilities, and in many ways it is that spirit that has transformed us as a species. Where we were once cave dwellers, now we are free to stare at TV and computer screens every waking hour. We've come so far.

I'm all for pushing ourselves to do the impossible, but I think Rock may be right on this one -- this don't seem like a good fucking idea at all.

Junk in the trunk

2011-10-10T10:46:00.000-04:00

What are you talking about Dad, there's plenty of room for luggage in there!

There are many things I never thought I would do in preparation for having a child. Taking a breastfeeding class is probably one*. Repainting a room that was already a boy color (blue) -- that's definitely one.

* We have taken two classes in preparation for childbirth/rearing, and both involved ample images of women's naked breasts. It seems to me the hospitals providing the classes expect us to be adults about it, and outwardly I try to be ... but there is definitely a part of my brain that is still directing my eyes towards them like a sniper taking aim. I may be having a child, but it's clear to me I still haven't grown up.

Cleaning out my car? I didn't think I'd do that for anyone, let alone an infant. After all, who's he going to complain to? But I'm trying to start fresh here, so I set about to clean out my Camry for the first time since I moved to Atlanta in 2004. Oh who am I kidding -- this is the first true cleaning for this car since I got the damn thing in the summer of 2002**.

**What is wrong with me, you ask? It's not just that I'm messy, or even that I'm lazy, though I'm certainly both. It's more that I am ... unaware. If I took two seconds to look at the state of my car I might have done something about it at some point, but it honestly just never crossed my mind. If someone said to me, "What are you doing to do about the mess in your car?", I'd probably stare blankly at them like they'd just asked me what's the best method for growing cherry tomatoes.

I suppose I have cleaned bits and pieces of the interior of the car over the years for the sake of my passengers, but the one area that has been almost completely untouched, save a bunch of sporting goods, is my trunk. Junk, there be in my trunk.

And what ~~useless crap~~ completely necessary items did I find while cleaning it out this weekend?

Take a look:

Someone's going to have to teach our son to be a man, and that someone may be me

2011-10-04T13:38:00.000-04:00

Once I found out we were having a son, most of my time spent imagining the future focused on all of the sporting events we would go to one day.

It was only recently it dawned on me that, in addition to teaching my son to swing, kick, shoot, and pass, I'm also going to have to teach him to be a man.

Only one problem with that -- I'm not sure I know how.

Oh sure, I can teach him some of the tricks of the trade: how to play cards, how to get unlimited extra men on Super Mario Brothers, how to treat a lady*.

*And I promise I will do it in a way that is less embarrassing than the instructions my father gave me, which mostly involved ordering for my female friends at Wendy's on the way to Mississippi State basketball games.

But when it comes to the real manly stuff, I am currently feeling a bit out of my depth.

I was reminded of this fact the other night, when Hilary discovered a snake in our garage. This snake wasn't anything for Samuel L. Jackson to shout about; it was perhaps a little over a foot long and maybe a few centimeters thick. It was basically an overgrown worm.

Still, it was a snake, and as the man of the house, it was my responsibility to resolve the situation.

So I did what I always do when faced with a difficult task, be it car, home, or serpent related -- I called my dad**.

** I could have asked my mom, but I have a feeling I already knew her recommendation. One time we were driving out to camp, and she swerved -- violently -- to avoid hitting a squirrel that had just run out onto the road. Several minutes later, a snake appeared on the road. My mom proceeded to run right over it, then backed up and ran over it again.

My dad is my safety net. And it occurred to me as I was preparing myself for man-on-snake combat, that someday my son may want to do the same thing, and I'm going to want to be able to give him helpful suggestions.

Based on my experience so far, this will consist of two simple words of advice: "Google it."***

***Which is entirely similar to my three-word medical advice: "Drink some water."

Googling has probably saved me well over $1000 dollars this year in repairs to my car and washing machine. But is it manly? I want to be my own Google, capable of providing answers without consult of the Internet. I'm just not sure how I'm going to make that happen, short of signing up for shop class at a local high school.

There is one thing I did learn from the snake-removal process though that I hope to pass along, but before I get to that let me give the play-by-play of how it went down.

My dad's solution to getting rid of the snake was to grab a big broom, then vigorously sweep the snake into the street. That seemed reasonable enough. But not knowing if the snake was poisonous (what am I, an ophiologist?), I wanted to protect myself first. I grabbed my hiking boots, then thought to get my work gloves, but realized they were in the garage. Past the snake.

Shit.

No problem though -- like MacGuyver (or at least MacGruber), I adapt. If I can't get my work gloves, I'll use the next best thing, or at least the next closest thing to me in the kitchen -- oven mitts!

Getting a good mental picture of my look? No? Ok, how about an actual picture:

Snake removal attire (broom sold separately)

Honestly, look at this poor bastard. That's your dad, kids!

Here's the thing though. It got the job done. The score read Micah 1, Snake 0, and I never let the fact that I looked like a complete imbecile slow me down, nor keep me from posting the above photo despite certain-to-follow ridicule. And that's the lesson I hope to impart to our son. If you are comfortable in your own skin, everything else can be dealt with.

Maybe I can't teach him how to build a deck, or rebuild a transmission, or grill the perfect burger (ok, that one I probably need to work on). But if nothing else, hopefully I can teach him to have self-confidence.

Google can take care of the rest.

For Your Consideration -- Thanks

2011-09-19T16:52:00.000-04:00

If there is one trait our son (and any future children we may have) seems certain to get from his parents, it's a nasty contrarian streak. Hilary is hard to convince to do anything -- she likes to come to decisions on her own. As for me, I am always questioning why things are done a certain way, and wondering whether a better option might be available.

This is relevant to today's blog post, because I have a been stewing on something for a couple years, and I think it's finally time to spill the beans.

It is time to stop writing thank-you notes.

Have I lost you already? Bear with me. By no means am I saying I want to stop thanking people for giving me (or anyone in my family) gifts. They are certainly not necessary, but certainly ARE appreciated.

No, what I want to do is revolutionize the WAY in which we thank people for their thoughtfulness.

Let's get real here. While there are exceptions to this rule, most thank-you notes are a waste of everyone's time. In the case of weddings/bar mitzvahs/babies, there are typically so many to write that they all become boiler plate:

Dear Gift giver,

Thanks so much for the egg-slicer/fountain pen/woobie. It will really come in handy when we want to make tuna salad/stab a bad guy/figure out what the hell a woobie is. Hope all is well with you!

Love,
Gift receiver

It's poor form, but at the same time, so many do it this way that most people barely glance at the thank-you notes they receive, simply because their expectations are so low.

This may not matter too much when you are thanking people for wedding gifts, but from what we are told once our baby comes we will be short on time for everything we need to get done.

Which is why, at the risk of dealing yet another blow to our already-beleaguered postal service, I unveil my plan to the world:

Skype-you notes

Did I just blow your mind?

Here is how it works: instead of going through the motions of writing a half-hearted note that people will discard and forget immediately, we will set up a time to Skype with the people we want to thank. In this way, we can thank them for their gift in person, and, as a total value-add, they will actually get to SEE THE BABY, otherwise known as the whole reason they got us something in the first place.

That's win-win right there, people. You get the same gratitude for your kindness as before, only now you get a smiling (or, more likely, vomiting) baby instead of three or four completely forgettable sentences.

I realize ~~the elderly~~ not everyone is armed with the latest in technology*, so for those who don't have video Skype as an option, we will still pursue the old fashioned method**.

*Though there is probably a public library very close to your home. I'm just saying.

** Also we will do this if Hilary does not see eye-to-eye with me on this topic. But she should, because I am right.

It's the 21st century. It's time to stand up to the Stationary Industrial Complex. Technology has already allowed us to get rid of landlines, books, and having to face awkward stares at adult video stores. It can do the same for saying thanks.

Thanks.

There's still plenty of time, until there isn't

2011-09-12T13:31:00.001-04:00

Hilary is 31 weeks pregnant now. On Saturday we went to Babies R' Us to look at car seats and changing tables, and didn't make a final decision on either. I concluded the trip with my mantra from this pregnancy:

"Don't worry Hilary, we still have plenty of time to make a decision."

This is still true, but on Saturday we both remarked that we are getting darn close to the point where we can't say that anymore.

~~PANIC!~~

It's cool though.

Macy B. is right - don't waste a minute

2011-08-31T21:03:00.002-04:00

My father had many words to live by as I was growing up, but the one expression he was probably most famous* for was one he said every year to the kids at summer camp: "Don't waste a minute."

This was great advice, especially for kids trying to pack a year's worth of sexual experience into four short weeks at camp (not anyone I know, of course), and it has been words Hilary and I have tried to live by this summer as we head towards the birth of our first child.

* One of my favorite stories ever is the time I was at dinner in Philadelphia with my cousins Frank and Mary, their daughter Francie, and her college roommates. Frank asked two people at the table what it was like growing up with a famous father, looking at me and one of Francie's friends. I started blathering about whether or not my dad is actually famous (he's not), and who might consider him famous (a selection of Southern Jews and Delta employees), and the one time he was featured in the New York Times (it did have a front-page blurb, to be fair), yada yada yada. I must have talked for ten minutes, easy. Then I turned to her roommate to ask who her father was, to which she simply replied: "Dean Smith". Not much of a sports fan, my cousin.

The end of summer 2K11 coincides with the approximate date that Hilary can no longer travel long distances, so over the past month or so we have tried to take advantage as much as we could of our ability to travel free and unfettered.

Two weeks ago we went to Boston to visit my sister, who is due the day before Hilary, and her family. It was a lot of fun, and a glimpse into our relatively-near future as they have a two-and-a-half-year-old son who is a nonstop ball of energy from sunrise to sundown. I don't know how they keep up with him on a daily basis, but I guess I will ~~freak out~~ find out soon enough.

This past weekend we went to Austin (not to be confused with Boston), a city very near and dear to my heart but a place I really haven't gotten to spend quality time in with Hilary. We've been once together, but that was for a friend's wedding when most of our time was spoken for. Her other visit was to see her sister who lived there at the time, and they ate at Cheesecake Factory, and that's all you really need to know about it.

This was my chance to show her the Austin I knew, which is to say, OH MY GOD WE HAVE TO EAT AT LIKE FIFTEEN DIFFERENT PLACES IN 48 HOURS!

Fortunately with Hilary being very pregnant and it being a billion degrees outside (I'm only exaggerating slightly - it was 110 degrees on Saturday), eating was just about the only thing we could do. For those who know these sorts of things, we ate at El Arroyo, Kerbey Lane, Texadelphia, Guero's, South Congress Cafe, and last but not least, the Salt Lick. Kids, if you read this someday, daddy promises to take you to all of them.

Both trips were great, but the whole time I couldn't help but feel like a death row inmate eating his last meal. Is that a bit morbid? Let me put it more like this:

My last semester of college, I had the time of my life. At the same time I was completely aware that college was a special time I would miss greatly once it was over. Life wasn't going to end, it was just going to be different**. I feel much the same way now, and more and more so as our son's birth draws nearer. I am sure once we are on the other side of this thing I'll look back on this point of view and laugh, but for now it's still something I just cannot fathom. Responsibility. How can we be old enough to be ready to care for another life?

** Example - my first job in Boston it was raining one day, and I got soaked walking to work because I didn't own an umbrella. Someone asked me why I didn't have one, and I answered that when I was in college, if it rained, I just didn't go to class.

This coming weekend we are going to Jackson to celebrate my grandfather's 95th birthday, and once we come back from that we are done traveling until this baby is out.

The countdown is on, whether we are ready or not. We better make the last couple months count.

The build-up continues

2011-08-07T15:51:00.000-04:00

Hilary at 26 weeks*

We passed 26 weeks on Friday. While there is still a good amount of time before Hilary is due, we are trying to get out in front of a few things we want to accomplish before the baby comes. And by we I mean Hilary wants them done, and I have no choice but to acquiesce because she is pregnant.

One of those things is re-painting the baby's room. On the one hand, the room is a perfectly-acceptable light blue color, typical for a baby boy (says I). On the other hand, it has sailboats as a border around the top of the room, and, well, see the previous paragraph.

So, with help from Uncle Will, we set out yesterday to repaint the room in a light yellowish-green, and despite my sister's disparaging remarks about our painting talents, I think we did a pretty decent job.

It's not totally finished yet (it's further along than the above pictures), but so far I'd say it almost looks like it wasn't done by a couple of complete idiots. Suck it, Hannah.

* This photo reminds me of those "Spot the five differences" games from Highlights Magazine and game consoles at the local pub (though their respective content is, ummm, slightly different). Here's what one of those might look like. Can you spot the five differences?

Watch what you say?

2011-08-04T15:56:00.000-04:00

In addition to thinking about how our lives are going to change in the immediate aftermath of having a baby, I have also started contemplating what it's going to be like when our child (and future children) becomes an actual person and we have to try to shape his future behavior.

I have been thinking about what we want to teach our child - which things are important, and which really aren't.

For example: I find cursing to be perfectly acceptable. I curse slightly less than the cast of Deadwood, and I have absolutely no problem with profanity being used in any social setting. Yet seemingly, once our son reaches an age where he can parrot back the words we use, I'm going to have to start watching my language, right?

I'm not stupid; I understand why, from a social standpoint, it isn't wise to allow your six-year old to drop F-bombs with impunity. But I don't like having to pretend something is bad when I myself believe otherwise. To me, cursing is not like alcohol or drugs - there is no danger of physical harm when used improperly or in excess.

This came up the other night in a discussion at a friend's house, when I was announcing my intention that from now on, the popular new children's book Go The F@#$ To Sleep would be my baby gift of choice*.

*I'm totally serious. Any of my friends and family expecting a baby in the future, you can also expect this tome in the mail shortly. No thank you note required.

My friend maintained that she would never read that book to her child, no matter his age, whereas I would not only read it, I would relish reading it. It's amusing! He'll never know the difference, so what does it matter? I could read him Penthouse Forum letters as an infant, and as long as it helps lull him to sleep I'd consider it fair game.

Then again, maybe I'm looking at this the wrong way. Maybe curse words are wonderful precisely because they are illicit:

If our son never learns these words are any different, maybe he will be denied a helpful tool in his communicative box. Plus, I'd hate to deprive him of a watershed moment of his childhood - the first time you remember hearing your parents swear**.

We were in Long Beach, MS, for a friend's bar mitzvah. The hotel we were staying at was also hosting a high school math competition, which meant tons of high school students looking for mischief. At around 3:00 in the morning the phone rang, which my mom answered wearily. To the best of my recollection, this was the conversation:

Mom: "Hello?"
Caller: "Do you have any potato chips?"
Mom: "What?"
Caller: "Do you have any potato chips**?"
Mom: FUCK you. (Slams phone)

This was roughly my reaction.

And by the way, potato chips? I guess that's what passes for a prank call at a high school math convention.

I love that memory. I cherish the fuck out of that memory. Who am I to deprive my son that kind of momentous occasion***?

*** If I had to wager, I'd say his first memory of foul language will come either from watching sports with his papa or (more likely) driving in traffic with his mama.

Regardless of the relative merit of individual terms, what I most want to instill in our son is that while words are important, it's the meaning behind them that matters much, much more.

And as long as he knows that, I'm content to allow him to exercise his first amendment rights.

Look Ma, we built a crib!

2011-07-25T23:37:00.000-04:00

The raw materials (so to speak)

Micah examines the instructions.

Something looks amiss here...

The middle page of the instruction guide is missing. Internet to the rescue?

Problem solved. Ta da!

In other 11-11-11 news...

2011-07-10T10:55:00.000-04:00

If you are unavailable for the birth of our son, you could always amuse yourself with the latest bit of cinematic magic from Adam Sandler:

I feel pretty confident that both events will include some trauma in the groin area.

It's a ...

2011-06-30T21:38:00.000-04:00

20 Weeks

2011-06-29T23:36:00.014-04:00

Hilary at 20 weeks

After we hit the 12-week mark and began to share the news with friends and family, there was really nothing much to look forward to until our 20-week appointment, when we would have the ultrasound that would tell us the sex of our future child.

That appointment is tomorrow. All the anticipation and appointments so far have been like watching a movie version of our life from the sidelines. We are now about to find out the sex of our child, and then it starts to get real.

My internal monologue has been pretty interesting over the past few weeks. I have these little conversations with myself every few days, that seem not very far off from a scene in Good Will Hunting:

"You are having a baby."*

"Yeah, I know."

"I know, but seriously. This baby is happening."

"Yeah, I know."

"NO. SERIOUSLY. IN FIVE MONTHS YOU ARE GOING TO BE A POTENTIAL TARGET FOR HUMAN FECES ON A DAILY BASIS."

*When you talk to yourself in your brain, do you address yourself as "You" or "I"? Or do you even say your name? I think I normally say you, unless, like in real life, I am trying to make an important point. "Micah, you have GOT to get your car's AC fixed, it's 100 #@^& degrees outside."

As I have stated before, I am certain we are having a girl. We will be happy with whatever we get, of course, and it's not like one will really be any different or better than the other. Each sex comes with its own problems.

As I see it, you really want a daughter, up until she's about 11-12 years old. Then never again.

For a boy, you really don't want one until they reach 11-12. Then they're pretty much cool after that.**

**Here's a short breakdown:

Boy Issues, pre-age 12:

Learning to own and operate a penis

Propensity for damage to objects, animate (self, others)

Propensity for damage to objects, inanimate (THAT BASEBALL CARD YOU JUST RIPPED WAS WORTH $1,000, JUNIOR)

Boy Issues, post-age 12:

Wrap it up tight

Girl issues, pre-age 12:
Stop being so cute all the time or grandpa will have a heart attack!

Girl issues, post-age 12:

Dealing with Friends

Dealing with Enemies

Dealing with Frenemies

Dealing with Enemiends

Body issues caused by every magazine/TV show/movie on the planet

Keeping various body parts off the Internet

Tomorrow, the last piece of the puzzle comes into play, and then we will really start imagining what life is going to be like once he/she is born.

This is really happening.

Frequently asked questions about our pregnancy

2011-05-06T17:32:00.000-04:00

Today Hilary is 13 weeks, and we have started spreading the news (relatively) far and wide.

After many phone and Skype conversations, I've come up with a brief FAQ to help those who have heard the news but we haven't had a chance to talk to yet:

1. When is the baby due?

A few years back, there was a period of six or eight months where for some reason, I found myself looking at the clock exactly when it read 11:11 all the time. No fooling, I'd say it happened at least five times a week. And I wasn't looking for it on purpose either, I would just happen to glance at my computer, or my watch, or the clock on my car's dashboard, and there it would be, 11:11. It started happening so often that I briefly entertained the notion that I was the subject of a Truman Show-esque movie or TV program before realizing how crazy that would be.

Why do I bring this up? Because Hilary's due date is November 11, 2011. That's right, 11-11-11.

I'm still pretty sure there's nothing fishy going on. Mostly sure, anyway.

2. Are we going to find out the sex or wait to be surprised?

We are going to find out. Isn't it a surprise whether you find out the sex at 20 weeks or when the baby shoots down the pipe? Hilary is a planner -- there is no way she can wait until November to find out the sex of the child. As for me, I already know it's a girl.

I have had this conversation many times with many people, but I will rehash it briefly here. I don't believe in God, but I do believe that there is some sort of order to the universe, and part of that order decrees that the more you like sports, the more likely it is you will have daughters. I like sports more than anyone else I know, therefore, come November I expect to be unwrapped a lot of pink baby gifts.

3. Are you aware that girls can like sports too?

Yes, I am aware. I am also aware that even if I have a boy, it doesn't mean he will share the same love of athletics as his papa. And the truth is, OF COURSE I don't care if it's a girl or a boy -- at the end of the day, all I want is a healthy baby, and whether they like sports or not is immaterial, just as long as they hate cable news networks.

I would love a son to share my obsession with, but that's just not the way the world works for the sports fan. We could have ten children*, and they will all be daughters.

* We won't

4. How is Hilary feeling? Is she having any cravings?

So far, she's doing pretty good. She's been pretty fatigued, but she's not a night owl to begin with, so that's not too much of a change. She goes to bed at 9:30 now instead of 9:45.

As for cravings, we're still waiting to see if anything stands out food wise. So far all she really craves is for me to TURN OFF THE TELEVISION SO SHE CAN GO TO SLEEP.

Any more questions? Let us know.

A moment to remember

2011-04-06T22:19:00.005-04:00

Today was the day we finally broke the seal on our big news. After going to the doctor this afternoon for our first ultrasound*, we went over to Hannah and Will's for dinner, with the plan of telling them our big news and then proceeding to tell our families from there.

*I think that's what we had done, but maybe it was a sonogram? Whatever it was, it was the first appointment when we saw the baby.

Now. We all know I like the Big Reveal. I'd been thinking on how we'd play this out, and as of yesterday I had decided on a course of action. Plan A would be tough to pull off, but would be really fun if we could do it. Last time I had a Plan A, I ended up having to go to Plan B.

Plan A this time wasn't particularly elaborate, but it did have a lot of moving parts. The idea was to Skype with Leah and Lev (and, with luck, Eric) in Boston while having Hannah and Will (and Jessel) sitting with us together in Atlanta.

When we first got on with Leah, it was like a version of the improv game "Sit Stand Lean"; at first we had Leah and Lev, but Will and Hannah were in the other room. Then Will and Hannah came in, but Leah and Lev ran off to greet Eric walking in. Then all four adults were there, but Lev suddenly ran to his room and shut the door because, well, he's two, and that's what two-year olds do sometimes.

I began to feel like the moment was going to pass, but then Lev came back in, and finally, everyone was in place. I squeezed Hilary's thigh to let her know it was on, and then I began:

"Lev, guess what?"

(No response)

"Hey Lev, guess what?"

(silence)

At this point, Lev and I apparently swapped places, because our conversation continued in this manner for about 30 seconds:

"Lev! Lev! Guess what Lev! Lev! LEV! LEEEEEEEV! GUESS WHAT LEV! LEV LEV LEV!"

Finally everyone was like, "Micah, just spit it out!"

So I said: "Hey Lev, is Jessel your baby cousin? Do you want another one?"

Beat.

Then.

PANDEMONIUM!

Hannah freaked out (nearly squishing Jessel in the process), Leah freaked out, we all freaked out. Pretty sweet right? If that were the end of the story, I think we'd feel pretty happy and have a pretty nice little moment for the memory bank.

Then Leah said, "How about room for one more!"

OMG. Leah is pregnant too???

MIND EXPLOSION.

That's right. Hilary is having a baby in November, and Leah is having a baby in November, and my parents are really going to have a dilemma on their hands* about how to spend their time.

*not really, I'm the favorite

It really is hard to put into words how incredible the moment was - I only wish we had been recording the Skype video for posterity** so we could show just what a complete mindfuck it truly was.

**Big brother, are you listening? If you have the tape, I'd love to have it.

So we are thrilled as can be, obviously. In fact, there is only one true downside. Instead of having to keep one secret now, we have to keep two.

Keeping a secret is really hard

2011-04-04T21:55:00.002-04:00

We are two days away from being able to tell the first people that we are pregnant.

I don't really know any rhyme or reason for the timing on pregnancy secrecy, but it seems like the general standard (at least amongst the Jews) is you tell family after a couple months, once you've had your first doctor's appointment, and then you really go public* after three months. Supposedly if anything is really going to go wrong, it will go wrong in the first 12 weeks, so in that sense I understand it, but it still seems somewhat arbitrary.

*and of course by public, I mean post on Facebook

God help the person who tells people they are pregnant before that 12th week. I have seen this happen on occasion, and you'd think they'd just copped to running a meth lab or putting a Sarah Palin for President sign in their yard. It almost seems like people think you can literally affect the health of the baby by revealing the fact that there is one.

We've known Hilary is pregnant for nearly a month now, and we've done our best to keep a tight lid on that information. It is harder than it seems. For some reason, every conversation I find myself in seems to somehow relate to pregnancy.

Like this conversation last week:

Hannah (my sister): We took Jessel to day care for the first time today.

Me: ~~Oh yeah, we looked at that place last week.~~ Oh, I hope it wasn't too hard.

Or:

Me: Hey Hannah, what are yall doing for dinner next Wednesday?

Hannah: Nothing much.

Me: Cool, we haven't seen yall in awhile, ~~maybe we can come over after our doctor's appointment~~ maybe we can come over for dinner.

Or even this:

Will: Man, Anne Hathaway gets really naked in that movie Love and Other Drugs.

Me: Hilary's having a baby.

All I know is, I am ready to unburden myself of this happy news, so I can stop having to run every sentence through an internal censor before I say anything to anyone.

What to expect when you're expecting

2011-03-10T19:28:00.003-05:00

So far, everything with this pregnancy (aside from the anticlimactic way I found out) has gone as expected. That is to say, Hilary and I found out she was pregnant last week, and our copies of "What to Expect When You're Expecting" and "What to Eat When You're Expecting" arrived via Amazon yesterday.

These are mostly for Hilary at this point, but I'm sure I'll end up taking a glance at them (or at least the former) from time to time as the big day gets closer.

This morning I did skim through the chapter titles, and I saw a section for the dads, and noticed a chapter with the subheading "How to Deal With Her Mood Swings"

I haven't opened it yet, but my guess is it will look something like this:

~~GOOD LUCK~~ RUN!

Don't act like you have any real suggestions on how to do this, WTEWYE.

The next adventure begins

2011-03-06T14:53:00.000-05:00

It's been awhile since I've posted on this blog, mostly because since we got married, we've pretty much settled into normal life as a couple. We've taken some trips, had some good times, but life has been mostly the same.

That is all about to change. After college, the years start to run together with no real delineation demarcating the passage of time. I have a feeling, however, that 2011 is going to stand out.

First and foremost, we are buying a house. That in and of itself is enough for us to have a strong year, and in most cases, that would be our big news. But of course, when it rains it pours, and now we have news much more substantial than that.

Yes, Hilary is with child. She's knocked up. I slipped one past the goalie. My boys can swim. Another cliche.

This is not unexpected news, but it is still nevertheless surprising.

If I am honest, I will admit that I have not been fully on board with the notion of having kids*. I am a selfish person, and I like having my time be just that - my time. So even though I signed off on the decision to have them, I still wasn't sure how I'd react to hearing the official news for the first time.

*Sorry future kids. Daddy does love you though.

I am happy to say that my initial thought was one of happiness and excitement. In fact, the terror and anxiety I thought I would have weren't (and aren't) present at all, at least not yet. I'm sure I'll freak out somewhere down the line, but I felt at peace with the news as soon as Hilary gave it to me.

Speaking of which: As you may know, I love making a production out of big news. Maybe I was suckered into it by movies and TV growing up, but I have always been under the impression that big news would be a momentous occasion in my life.

I pictured us sitting on the bed, anxiously awaiting the results of a pregnancy test, or of us eating dinner one night by candlelight and her confessing the big news. But alas, we live in a world of technology, and in this day and age, with so many ways of communicating with each other, this kind of romantic delusion was probably never going to happen.

So how did I find out? Where was I and what was I doing when I found out this most momentous of news?

I was sitting at work on a Saturday afternoon, alone in my office, talking to Hilary on instant messenger, when I accidentally asked the wrong question, and just like that, the cat was out of the bag.

The conversation went something like this:

Me: So, still no news? (Referring to her period)

Her: Still nothing...

Me: Did you miscount again? (She had miscalculated when she was supposed to get it twice already this week)

Her: Maybe...

Me: Well, I guess we should get you a pregnancy test. Maybe we can get one tonight.

Her: I got one this morning... (Kids, remember this: Ellipses always mean something is up)

Me: Oh ok. (Thinks for a minute, wheels start turning) Did you already take one?

Her: Maybe...

Me: And?

Her: :-)

Me: Oh.

And...scene. End of story. Pretty riveting stuff no? Shakespeare in his prime couldn't have come up with a climax of this magnitude.

Technology is a wonderful thing in this day and age, but it does have its flaws.

(UPDATE) Thanks to g-chat archives, here is the actual transcript from the conversation, complete with emoticons:

micahbhart: still nothing?

hilary: nope

but

we'll see

micahbhart: you miscounted again? :-)

hilary: no

haha

4:20 PM micahbhart: how long are you supposed to wait before you begin to wonder

hilary: not long

I can take a test right now and it should tell me.....

4:21 PM micahbhart: ha

i'd give it a few days

4:22 PM hilary: :)

micahbhart: but its up to you

hilary: yeah

4:23 PM :)

micahbhart: did you already do it?

hilary: maybe?

micahbhart: ha ha

hilary: i wanted to tell you tonight!

4:24 PM micahbhart: tell me what?

:-)

hilary: nothing

the test I took today says positive!

Pictures Galore

2008-10-27T23:30:00.004-04:00

I realize I haven't written anything about the wedding weekend or the honeymoon yet. If I were to breakdown the reasoning for this, it'd probably be something like 45% work, 45% laziness, and 10% an inability to do either of them justice.

However, we just got our weddings pictures back (or at least, online), so I figured the least I could do would be to post all the pictures we have from the wedding and the 'moon.

The pictures from the wedding aren't available for linking to a slideshow, so instead I will just link to the online album. They are really great, and our photographer (plug! Charlie Gunter Photography!) did a great job on them.

The honeymoon pictures were taken by a decidedly less professional photographer (namely me), but we think they came out pretty well also. Check them out and enjoy below!

I Don't Know How To Put This Delicately, So I'll Just Say It

2008-09-09T23:57:00.006-04:00

It's exactly midnight on Tuesday (Wednesday morning). Tonight is the last night Hilary and I (livers-in-sin that we are) will sleep in our bed together as an unmarried couple. Tomorrow we leave for Virginia Beach, and from there the wedding festivities begin to kick into high gear.

For those who are new to this blog, you may not know a couple key facts about me:

1)I once wrote a column saying you should never get married during football season.

2) I am getting married smack-dab in the middle of football season.

Oops!

When we chose our weekend, I tried to do it early enough so we wouldn't catch many of the big-time college football match ups. Turns out, that didn't work out so well. This weekend features not only a gigantic showdown between #1 USC and #3 Ohio State, but also tradition-rich Michigan-Notre Dame (though to be fair, both teams suck), as well as a nice SEC match-up between Georgia and South Carolina. Oh, and my alma-mater, Texas, is supposed to play Arkansas, a formerly huge rival from back in their days in the Southwest Conference.

I say supposed to, because according to a report in the Austin American-Statesman, Hurricane Ike may force the game to be postponed. Really?

I am having a tough time with this one. I know many people who were affected by Hurricane Katrina, and it is hard for me to make light of any situation involving the kind of damage and destruction made possible by the devastating power of these natural disasters. At the same time though...F#$K YEAH!

Do you mean to tell me that the only game I care about missing during my wedding weekend has a chance of being postponed to a later date? One which I will most likely have full access to a television???

God, thank you for this wonderful wedding present. Your thank-you note is in the mail.

I Hope We Have This Much Fun, At Least, You Know, Up Until The Tasering

2008-08-20T23:24:00.004-04:00

Hilary and I have been to many, many fun weddings. We hope ours will be quite the shindig as well.

But maybe we shouldn't have this much fun.

"A former Chicago couple's wedding night was spent in separate jail cells after both bride and groom got shocked by a police Taser and arrested at their raucous reception...
...the story didn't end after the reception. Two nights later, the bride and groom were again arrested in Michigan -- and again shocked by a stun gun -- after struggling with police investigating a noise complaint, Sepic said. The groom was charged with pushing his new wife down during that incident, but the charge was later dropped as part of a plea bargain, Sepic said." (Photo by Kacper Skowron/For the Sun-Times)

I don't know. Get tased once, shame on you. Get tased twice in three days? I'm starting to think you might want to consider a different deterrant. Almost seems like they were starting to enjoy it.

Nevertheless, to put your fears to bed, we promise there will be no tasering at our wedding.*

Newlyweds tasered, arrested at reception (via Boing Boing)

*Unless you give a toast consisting of a poem that doesn't rhyme. Then we can't be held responsible.

One Month To Go...

2008-08-13T23:26:00.004-04:00

Today is August 13. It's 11:26 pm. At this time, one month from now, Hilary and I will be married. It doesn't seem real, mostly because it feels like we've been engaged since Nam.

Most of the big details are taken care of, now it's all about the small stuff. Seating arrangements, decorations, gift bags - these are the decisions that stand to ~~ruin~~ rule our lives the next 4 weeks.

Today our invitation responses were due back; we are still shy about 20% of our guest list (hey - send those suckers in!), but we have a pretty good idea of who is coming and who is not.

One thing I have learned from this process is that, with 100% certainty, I am the worst wedding guest ever. I was always late with response cards, I never booked my room until the last minute, and most of my wedding gifts were purchased several months after the fact (which, though apparently well within the rules of etiquette, is still pretty lame of me).

For everyone who's wedding I've been to over the past few years, please accept my deepest apologies. Feel free to buy us our wedding presents next August if it will make up for it at all.

Since I know what it's like to forget to send in response cards, I am posting a link to our email address on the right-hand side of the blog for anyone who needs to respond.

We are hitting the home stretch, and I know it will be here before we know it. And thank God.

Bachelor/Bachelorette Parties Recap

2008-07-28T10:15:00.002-04:00

Hilary and I each had our respective flings this past weekend, and as you can probably imagine, they were slightly different in tone and content.

Without divulging too many of the nitty-gritty details, I thought I'd give a little recap of each in traditional bachelor-party form: the haiku*. See if you can guess which is for which! (Ok, so some are fairly obvious)

Drinking and gambling.

I hope I drank enough to
offset my losses.

Lots of girlie stuff.
Not sure about pillow fights,
But I don't doubt it.

Here is a statement:
Golf in hundred degree temps
Is a hangover cure.

Hil got cute presents.
But I do not think that ring
Belongs where you think.

How many oyster
po-boys can Micah consume
in just one weekend?

Hilary really,
Really, really enjoy-ed
The scavenger hunt.

I speak for Hilary on this one - we both had amazing times over the weekend, and were happy to get to spend time with so many of our good friends. Thanks to all who made it out!

* May not actually be true

Next Up To The Plate...

2008-07-01T11:26:00.003-04:00

This past weekend, our friends Miriam and Seth got married. It was a lot of fun, with the added bonus that they had the decency to get hitched here in Atlanta. Of all the weddings we've been to over the past few years, this is only the second that's been here in the ATL. It was very nice.

Now that it's over though, we are officially on the clock. That's right - we don't have a single other wedding on our schedule until Sept. 13 rolls around. It's a little scary.

It's not scary in the "I'm afraid of commitment and getting cold feet" kind of way (quite the contrary - Hilary and I are both ready to be married yesterday), but because for so long we've been attending everyone else's nuptials it's weird to think that it's finally our turn.

There's no turning back now - we are picking up our invitations this week and will be sending them out shortly.

It feels like we've been engaged forever, but I have a feeling the next 10 weeks are going to fly by.

Just me personally, here is my schedule for July: Celebrating the 4th in VA Beach with Hilary's family, then back to Jackson for an engagement party the next weekend, Chicago the next week for NHL meetings, and finally my bachelor party in New Orleans to close out the month. With that much traveling, I'm starting to feel like my father's son.

We are in pretty good shape, planning wise. All of the big ticket items are taken care of - we have a photographer, a videographer, a florist, a harpist, co-officiants, a wedding party, and a DJ.

Now, it's all about the details...

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

2008-05-28T15:05:00.000-04:00

We are now 3 1/2 months and counting from the wedding, which means people are starting to make plans for travel to and from the Norfolk area (at least people who are more responsible than me - I generally wait until the last minute to do everything).

With that in mind, I thought now might be a good time to answer some questions we've been getting a lot lately.

For example...

Q: What is the best airport to fly into for the wedding?

A: There are two main airports to consider, Norfolk (ORF) and Newport News (PHF). Norfolk is where the wedding is, and the airport is fairly close to where the festivities will take place. Unfortunately (at least this is the case from Atlanta, but maybe - hopefully? - it's different elsewhere), it's also typically pretty expensive. Newport News is usually much cheaper - we often fly there roundtrip from Atlanta for 150 dollars - but requires about a 25-30 minute drive once you get there. So you can save money to fly there, but you'll then possibly need a rental car.

Q: Which airlines fly to which places?

A: I'll break this down by location:

Norfolk: Delta, Northwest, United, American, Southwest
Newport News: Delta, Airtran, United

Q: Do I need to rent a car?

A: Well, we hope not. We have chosen our wedding location to host every single event - the Friday night dinner, the ceremony and reception on Saturday night, and a Sunday brunch. Once you are at the hotel, you will have no need of a car. According to this taxicab site, it is roughly a $20-25 cab ride from Norfolk airport, so I think that is probably the way to go (and we will look into shuttle options as well). From Newport News, it may make more sense to go the rental car route, but we'll keep investigating on that front.

Any further questions? Feel free to email us at hilaryandmicah@gmail.com and we'll get back to you pronto!

We Interrupt This Wedding Blog For An Important Football Announcement

2008-05-22T22:33:00.005-04:00

For everyone who is upset with me for, you know, that whole "Never get married on a football weekend - unless you are me" thing, I do have one bit of good news, at least for those guests who support the athletic departments from the Universities of Texas and Arkansas.

Part of the Texas TV schedule was announced today, and the Texas-Arkansas game that coincides with our wedding weekend has been set for a 3:30 ET kickoff.

Our nuptials are scheduled to begin around 8:15, so even allowing for several overtimes (unlikely to happen - Arkansas lost their top offensive weapons in Darren McFadden and Felix Jones and didn't have a passing game to begin with, plus they'll have an entirely new system with Bobby Petrino replacing Houston Nutt at the top), the game should still be over no later than 7:30. Plenty of time to get down to the cocktail hour and grab a bite, no sweat!

Now if only they don't have regional coverage that weekend...

What Are The Vows Again? In Sickness? Yeah, We've Got That Covered

2008-03-27T22:03:00.007-04:00

Though Hilary and I have been together for almost three years, only a year or so of that has been in the same city. As a result, we are still going through lots of new experiences together. We each have relatively strong immune systems, and thus far have managed to avoid being sick.

At least until last weekend. Hilary went out to dinner with a couple of her girlfriends, and her tummy starting hurting when she got home. She went to bed early, but couldn't sleep. Things weren't going well, and...well, watch this video if you want to get a sense for what the rest of Saturday night was like for her:

Yeah, she had a rough go of it, the poor baby. I felt so bad for her, but it seemed like there was nothing to do but wait it out. We figured it was food poisoning given her symptoms, and I put in a call to our doctor friend Rich to get his medical opinion (he agreed).

We hoped it would pass after a few hours, but ended up staying up most of the night as she began to experience intense abdominal pains that literally knocked her off her feet.

By Sunday morning they had gotten worse, to the point that I half expected this to happen. We decided it was time to visit the ER, just to make sure nothing more severe was going on.

Emory University hospital is just down the road from where we live, so we headed there hoping our early arrival would mean a quick in-and-out.

When we arrived in the ER, there were only three other people there waiting as well, which we took for a good sign. Yet one hour later, there we sat. Hilary's pain was still severe, so I went to the counter to find out what the hold up was. I anticipated we might have to wait, but I couldn't understand why no one in front of us was going in as well.

The woman at the counter apologized for the wait, and explained that the delay was caused by a large number of emergencies that had just come in.

Oooooh, so that's what it was. My bad, I guess I misunderstood the purpose of my visit to the GODDAMN EMERGENCY ROOM.

I began to make plans to take Hilary outside and run her over with our car so that she might qualify for the hospital's stringent emergency care standards, but finally a nurse came out to get her. They put her on an IV and took some blood and urine, but everything checked out ok and we went home three hours later after she started to feel a little better. The doctor agreed that it was most likely food poisoning, so we assumed the episode was over.

And so it was - until Tuesday. Not wanting Hilary to feel bad for making me take care of her, my excretory system took it upon itself to get in on the act. The next two days for me went something like this:

Good times! Fortunately, Hilary was very sweet and supportive, fixing me scrambled eggs and a piece of toast and letting me watch a little TV in bed before I went to sleep (it may seem like a small gesture, but that is a huge concession from her). I don't know if my sickness was related to hers, but the two happened so close together its hard to believe it was a coincidence.

It wasn't a real fun few day period for either of us, but it did give each of us a chance to polish up on our caretaking skills.

So, future kids, I think you're gonna be in good hands. Mommy will make you some food or caress your head if you start feeling ill, and daddy will take you to the ER if it gets worse.

He just may have to run you over with the family car first.

The Wedding Trailer

2008-03-11T21:12:00.008-04:00

One thing Hilary and I have tried to do so far in planning this wedding is try to do things the way we want, even if it flies in the face of CWW (Conventional Wedding Wisdom). For those that know my father, you know he instilled in me a healthy skepticism of tradition; just because something is done a certain way doesn't mean it must be so.

It doesn't mean we are reinventing the wheel here - we're not parachuting into the ceremony or Superman-ing a ho during our first dance - we just want (like most couples) to make our event our own.

One thing we wanted to do was an email Save the Date (Note - we realize we are not the first to do this. Our friends Joey and Jenn did one as well, which we want to make sure to mention. To the best of our knowledge, they are the first to ever think to do this and should be credited as such. And we bring this up only because we want to, not because they reminded us repeatedly that they did it first).

The best part about doing an email was it allowed us to do something new - a movie trailer. Our friend Matt did a couple of these for his wedding back in November, and we thought they were hilarious. His company, Blue Blanket Productions, specializes in doing just this kind of thing (shameless plug - he also does trailers for bar mitzvahs, birthday parties, whatever you need!), and we thought it'd be a fun thing to add into the mix.

Hilary and I are thrilled with the way the trailer turned out, which is great, because our creative insights for the project didn't exactly mesh going in. If our feelings about it were a relationship health book, it's be entitled "Men Are From Mars Where They Understand Comedy, And Women Are From Venus Where Nothing Is Funny, With The Possible Exception Of The 1980's Film Girls Just Want To Have Fun".

Eventually we compromised ~~my artistic vision~~, and to Hilary's credit, the final product is a happy medium of both of our styles. We hope you agree!

-- The Wedding Trailer
-- Blue Blanket Productions

All Of A Sudden, Wedding Planning Doesn't Seem That Hard

2008-02-26T08:53:00.008-05:00

I am afraid of flying. Actually, that's not quite correct. I have no problem with flying, it's the fear of crashing that makes my pulse quicken when I get on an airplane. (People always respond to this by assuring me that car crashes are much more prevalent and should be a bigger concern than planes, which helps exactly 0.00% - there may be thousands more car crashes than plane crashes, but at least I have a good chance of surviving a car crash). It doesn't keep me from traveling by air, but my imagination tends to run wild at the slightest hint of turbulence.

Hilary is the same way, if not worse. She too will never pass on a plane flight because of her fears, but has a habit of nearly breaking my fingers with her death grip during takeoffs and landings.

We have flown together many times over the last three years, without incident, until this past Friday as we made our way back to Virginia Beach to do some serious wedding planning.

Though every flight from Atlanta to Newport News had been canceled during the day, our evening flight got out reasonably on time (reasonably on time being within 90 minutes of scheduled departure). The flight was mostly uneventful until it was time to make our descent.

The fog was thick, and getting thicker (and Leon's getting laaaaarger), and we couldn't see anything as we heard the landing gear go down. At this point we were tense, but we assumed everything was fine in the cockpit. Right as we were about to touch down though (or so it seemed), the plane suddenly pitched straight up in the air and we began to climb very quickly at a steep angle. Needless to say, I was contemplating needing a new pair of undershorts while Hilary's eyes were about to pop out of her skull, cartoon-style (see right).

Now, this maneuver may be well within the skill set of your average pilot, but we had never seen anything like it and were terrified. The plane continued to ascend till we leveled off above the clouds, and everyone on the plane just kinda looked around at each other, trying to get a handle on what just happened (Were we ok? Had we just narrowly averted disaster?). Finally, after about 10-15 minutes, the captain came on the intercom to explain that they couldn't see the runway so they had to bring the plane back up (oh good, for a moment I thought it might be something serious). He said this very calmly and rationally, which either meant that A) everything was fine and we had nothing to worry about, or B) he'd spent the last 13 minutes in a state of catatonic shock and had only recently been able to regain the ability to speak to finally tell us WHAT THE HELL WAS GOING ON!

The pilot made it out to be a routine matter and said we were going to go back around for another pass at it (yippee!). And so we did, and as we prepared to touch down again...the same thing happened. Again, not so fun.

This time, the pilot only waited 7-8 minutes to announce that this little exercise wasn't really working out as planned (ya think?), and as a result they were diverting us to Richmond. Fine. They could have re-routed us to Fallujah, and as long as we got to plant two feet on the ground, we'd have been quite content.

We finally landed in Richmond (hurray for Richmond!), and were bused over to Newport News, arriving only 3 hours after originally scheduled.

We ended up getting a lot done over the next two days. We hired a florist, a videographer, picked out invitations and a wedding band for Hilary, and did a tasting for the meal at the reception (my advice? Go for the chicken, it was scrumptious.). All in all a good weekend, a get-sh*t-done weekend, near-death experience (?) aside. We even got back on a plane to fly to Atlanta Sunday night, and I'm happy to report all was back to normal. And by normal of course I mean our flight was delayed by two hours.

But hey, at least we stuck the landing on the first try.

We Have A Venue!

2008-02-04T20:00:00.001-05:00

First off, let me apologize for the gap in time between posts. I wrote a bunch of them, but the dog ate them. Then I dropped off a few at my local post office, and they got lost in the mail. I will try to be more diligent in the future; after all, this is more for our future daughters (you know, cause I guarantee we won't have a son) to read and I want them to have a detailed account of how Mom and I got together.

I think I covered the lead-up to the engagement in such greater detail because, frankly, it was much more interesting than planning a wedding will ever be.

This is mostly because getting engaged is fun, whereas planning a wedding is not. If getting engaged is like licking a delicious soft ice cream cone from Dairy Queen, then wedding planning is like finding out that cone in your hands is actually lard. The thing is, there is a great prize at the bottom of your cone of lard, and if you can just finish eating it, you'll be very happy with the result - even if you can't say you quite enjoyed the lard-licking.

It's not all bad, and future kids, your mom and I are getting along just fine. But there is a reason the first piece of advice everyone gives you when you first pop the question rhymes with "the Pope".

Anyhoo, the reason for this post in the first place is to give the good news. Finally, after much searching and several plot twists, we have found the place that we and our guests will be able to call home for the weekend of September 12-14, 2008.

Ladies and Gentlemen, we present to you The Sheraton Waterside in Norfolk, VA - Norfolk's only waterfront hotel!

We are pretty happy about being there. There is a lot to do in the area, and most importantly to us, it provides us with the opportunity to have all our weddings events in one location. Certainly none of our guests are required to stay there, but for those that choose to do so, they won't need to leave the premises for any reason other than to enjoy the surrounding neighborhood.

We should have a hotel-specific website up soon, so people can make their weekend accommodations straight from here.

More to come soon, I promise!

An Open Letter To Those I May Have Wronged

2007-09-21T15:49:00.001-04:00

To Whom It May Concern,

Hi! Micah Hart here. You may remember me from such discussions as, "You are having your wedding during football season? What is wrong with you!" and "It'll be a cold day in hell before I ever get married on a weekend when Texas is playing!"

Guess what? All those times I was giving you grief about making me miss important sporting events for your wedding...I was totally kidding. Honest! I never meant anything by it.

That reminds me - on a completely, entirely unrelated in all ways shapes and forms note, Hilary and I have set a tentative date for our wedding.

When is it you ask? Oh, you don't care for those trivial details. Just know that it will be a lovely ceremony held in front of our family and friends. We've even secured the services of a rabbi, who we are very excited abo-

I'm sorry? You really want to know the date? Jeez, awfully nosy, aren't you? Fine. But consider this first. What exactly constitutes a "date"? Aren't days, hours, minutes, etc, all devices that exist only in the human construct and not in nature? Isn't it true that the actual "date" of something is, as Kant said, just an arbitrary notation of the overall passing of time, a way for us to separate moments and experiences into separate file cabinets in our minds?

Oh, you don't care. Sorry for trying to enlighten you a little. So, that date you were asking about. You are totally going to laugh when you hear this...it's September 13th, 2008.

Say...is that during football season? OMG. How did we miss that? Whooo boy, is my face red. Talk about an overlooked detail! Ah well, it's already in place, it'd be silly to move it now, right?

Pardon? You say I wrote a column stating no one should ever, ever, EVER get married during football season? Yeah right. It'd be pretty dumb of me to write that and then set a wedding date during that exact portion of the calendar (the weekend of the Texas-Arkansas game, to be exact). I mean, come on, what am I, an idiot? I defy you to find any proof of that.

Oh? It's right here? Man, you are a savvy Internet-surfer, I'll give you that.

Well you know what? Big deal. So what if I wrote a column stating you should never get married during college football season and then completely reneged on it?

It's not like I wished unkind things upon the people who did it.

I'm sorry? You have a quote from the column in question?

"Three years running, a cousin of mine has gotten married during the holiest day of the year: the Texas-OU football game.

I hope their first child has webbed feet."

Hmmm. Well, obviously I meant no harm by...ok, you got me. That was in pretty bad form. But in my defense, I thought there was no WAY this would ever come back to bite me in the rear.

I guess we can chalk this one up to what my grandfather has always said about his relationship with my grandmother: "I have my say; she gets her way."

Or in this case, "I whine and complain about all the grief everyone will give me if I get married on a football weekend so please let's do it at another time please please please; she gets her way."

I suppose it does me no good to explain that Hilary's father's business requires him to work every weekend from April to September, and his "I want to be there for my daughter's wedding" trumps my "I wrote a column detailing the evils of football season weddings and people are going to laugh at me" card.

And I imagine I only earn a few points back to my side if I say hey, at least it's not during March Madness! Right? Anyone?

(silence)

Oh well. At least my first child's webbed feet will make him/her an excellent swimmer.

Sincerely,
Micah Hart

And Now You Know, The Rest Of The Story

2007-08-31T21:41:00.000-04:00

Coming at you live, 32,000 feet above the Southeast as Hilary and I make our way to Virginia Beach for the weekend. I thought this would be as good a time as any to fill in the blanks from last night and explain exactly how everything went down.

As I've mentioned already, the rain washed away any hopes I had of proposing in the park, so I had to regroup and move to plan B, which consisted mostly of surprising her with the proposal right as she walked in the door.

When relating this bit of information to people this morning, many asked the question: How did you know when she would get home?

Well, I didn't. So yes, to answer your next question, I did really sit in front of the door for quite a while. I'd say I was in a crouch, sit, or kneel position for a good 40 minutes before Hilary arrived. I felt like David Putty of Seinfeld fame, staring blankly at the front door.

Periodically I would peer through the peephole to see if I could catch a glimpse of her, and lo and behold, the last time I did it, I spied her moving towards the door.

Crap! I'm not in position!

As fast as was humanly possible for a slow white boy like myself, I knelt back down and grabbed the roses from the vase (I had stowed them there next to the door for easy access) right as she clicked open the lock, and as soon as I saw the door swing open I aimed the ring and fired.

Here is a rough transcript of what happened next:

Me: I love you baby (yes, I call her baby. Sue me). You are the best thing that's ever happened to me and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?

Hilary: Really? (Blank, Putty-like stare)

Me: Yeah.

Hilary: Really? (The lightbulb slowly begins to turn)

Me: Yeah.

Hilary: REALLY? (Bingo!)

Me: Y- (I didn't get this word out, as Hilary executed an impressive chest-high tackle. A textbook move, right at shoulderpad level).

So that was that - she quickly realized she hadn't actually accepted, so she said yes, and (warning: mush) hugged and kissed for a few minutes to celebrate.

A quick digression: Hilary is sitting next to me as I write this, and out of the corner of my eye I can see her continuosly, almost on a loop, picking her hand up and staring at the ring. She cannot stop. It is really cute - she is reading a gigantic copy of Brides magazine (If I had to guess, I'd say it contains about 1700 pages - I'm surprised it didn't make the plane's payload exceed the weight limit) and every few pages she stops, examines her hand, and then continues. Priceless.

Ok, back to the story. Many people have asked me today if I was nervous to propose, and honestly, I never really was nervous about the asking part. There was one thing I was incredibly nervous about, and that was the ring.

As part of my keep-Hilary-in-the-dark-as-much-as-possible plan, I didn't want to ever talk to her about rings, because then she would know to expect that something might be in the works. Early in our relationship, at some point, I had asked her for her ring size, just so I could get it out of the way in case we decided to get married one day. Yes that is quite prophetic of me, thanks, you're too kind.

The problem was, I couldn't remember what size she told me. Gun to my head, I swear she told me it was 4, but 5 also sounded right as well. Hilary only owns one ring, and she never takes it off, so there was really no way for me to find out without having to spill the beans to someone.

So, I decided to roll the dice, have them size it for a 4 1/2, and take my chances.

If there was anything that could potentially ruin what was supposed to be one of th best nights of our lives, this was it.

In the ensuing chaos of Hilary's pass-rush, I looked to give her the ring, but it was no longer in the box. She had knocked it loose, much like a boxer might knock out his opponent's mouthpiece.
We found the ring on the floor, and I handed it to her to put on, and in that moment,I was truly terrified. Everything moved in slow motion as she slowly slipped it down her finger, where it paused briefly at the knuckle...and then blissfull continued on its way down her finger, completely unaware of my anxiety (obviously - it's a ring, not a dog, it can't smell fear). It fit! Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles! I breathed a HUGE sigh of relief.

Everything was gravy after that. We had a glass of wine and ate some strawberries as I was finally able to tell her the story of buying the ring, reading her email chain with Jaygima, planning the faux picnic, etc. It was great.

After that, we continued on to the surprise party at Hannah and Will's, which turned out to be really nice. At the risk of sounding mushy once again, I can't overstate enough how lucky we are with the group of friends we have in Atlanta. We are like one big family, and having almost all of them there (sorry Anjali) to share in the moment was truly special.

We shared a champagne toast with everyone and made the rounds, and then we headed off to dinner at Two Urban Licks. It was delicious as always (Note to self - send the owner of Two Urban Licks a link to this blog, they will probably love it. Oh, and maybe give us some free stuff).

It was a great night. Hilary was thrilled, I was thrilled because she was thrilled, she was thrilled that I was thrilled that she was thrilled...you get the picture.

This morning we began the phone call process bright and early, and as of this writing, I think we've actually managed to reach a reaonably impressive portion of the friends and family we need to call.

So now we are on our way to Virginia Beach, where I assume we will begin the process of actually putting this little (doubt it!) shindig together.

We've only been engaged for about 20 hours now, but already I feel like I know several things:

- I know I was right to wait and propose when I did
- I know I got extremely lucky with getting her ring size right
- I know my family will love having Hilary on board, as everyone was quick to tell me today (Sample convo: "Congrats - what the hell took you so long?")
- I know that Two Urban Licks is one of the finest restaurants in Atlanta, with a terrific menu that suits even the pickiest tastebuds. With affordable prices and a helpful and friendly waitstaff, why not try them for your next celebration or business meeting!
- I know I am an incredibly lucky guy
- I know that there won't be much more cheesy crap after that last sentence, I only have so much of it in me.
- And finally, I know this - I really, really, REALLY don't want to get married during football season.

I Asked, And She Said...Really?

2007-08-31T09:15:00.000-04:00

I will tell the whole story a little later on, but for now we are crazy busy working the phones to tell family and friends. For now, I will leave you with this slideshow of the evening:

We are really excited, and I promise to give a much longer, fuller report sometime this weekend when I have the time.

God 1, Micah 0

2007-08-30T18:06:00.001-04:00

It's 6:06 pm. It's pouring. I think I even saw a few hailstones.

Well, you know what they say about the best laid plans of mice and men: "They get rained on forcing you to abandon your kick-ass idea for a way to propose to your girlfriend." I may be paraphrasing a little.

So, I roll with the punches. Plan B it is. In roughly 90 minutes, Hilary is going to walk through the front door, and there on the other side of the door to Apt. 1015 will be me, on bended knee, with the ring in one hand and a bouquet of roses in the other.

BAM!

She won't know what hit her. It's not how I drew it up in the playbook, but it will still accomplish the most important thing to me, the surprise. The evite will still have served it's purpose, which was to throw her off the trail.

So, T-minus 75 minutes and counting. I feel good. I don't feel nervous, at least not yet. This is a good thing that is about to happen. It feels very surreal. I started working towards this over two months ago, and it's strange to know that the moment is finally here. I hope it is everything Hilary wants it to be.

It's funny how life works out sometimes. I used to joke with my friends soon after I met Hilary that I was going to marry her someday, but I didn't really mean it. I never expected us to end up in a situation where it was even a possibility, but I guess good things come to those who wait.

Speaking of which, Hilary just IM'd me to say she is leaving work, so now another waiting game begins.

Wish me luck!

Today Is The First Day Of The Rest Of Our Lives

2007-08-30T01:26:00.000-04:00

Normally that kind of saying is cheesy and silly, but today it feels like it rings true. After tonight, our lives will be different, both in the short term (the onset of planning a wedding, which sounds like loads of fun from listening to all my friends) and the long (getting hitched, having babies, NOT getting a dog, etc.).

It rained all day yesterday, and the forecast is for a 50% chance of rain all day (see right). This puts a serious crimp in my style, but hey, you gotta roll with the punches.

I am going to wait until this afternoon to make a final decision on if I can proceed with plan A or if I have to bag it for the back-up. Hopefully God will stop being such a large-scale doucherocket and let things unfold as I intend (note to future kids: I have no idea if the word "douche" will still be in vogue when you are adults, but in 2007 combining it with any noun is pretty much guaranteed to be hilarious, at least to your father and Uncle Will).

No matter which way it goes down tonight, I am certain it will be a special moment for both of us, and in that I feel reassured. I am excited to finally have this secret off my chest and get on with the next chapter in our lives.

You know how in movies and TV shows whenever someone has to pee (stay with me here), all they see are rivers and waterfalls and drains? That's how I feel right now. Everywhere I look, there is something wedding-related.

Two nights ago Hilary and I watched an episode of Coupling (the good British one, not the crap American version) where the entire storyline revolved around a group of friends antagonizing a guy for having not yet proposed to his long-time girlfriend. Last night I came home from my soccer game and turned on the TV to see that Hilary had been watching a show called "Wedding Central". Clearly, the world is ready for this to happen.

I spoke with Hilary's parents last night, and though I was very nervous going in, they were great about everything and very excited. Plus, I didn't get the Macy treatment, so that was nice. It will be fun to spend the weekend with them and celebrate, at least until we start yelling at each other about which font should be used on the Save-The-Date (Helvetica, dammit!). Kidding!

Weather aside, I anticipate things going well tonight regardless. Or, at least better than this:

9 more hours and counting!

Another 48 Hours

2007-08-29T01:00:00.001-04:00

After months of planning and preparation, D-Day is nearly upon us. I have spent the last several days going over and over the details of my plan. Everything appears to be (mostly) in order. I don't think I've worked this hard at something since I took AP U.S. History in high school (I definitely wasn't this diligent in college).

By nature I am not a paranoid person, but I have been slowly losing my mind over the last week or so worrying about ruining the surprise. I feel like I'm in an episode of 24 - I trust no one. I look over my shoulder at work. I speak in hushed tones around the apartment, even if I know Hilary is all the way across town. I am half convinced she is waking up early every morning to turn the apartment upside down in an attempt to find her personal afikomen (too bad Hil, the ring is at my sister's!).

Still, as far as I can tell, she is in the dark. If I can keep it that way for roughly 36 more hours, I will be a happy man.

There is one dark cloud on this otherwise sunny horizon - and unfortunately, I mean that literally.

All along, the biggest obstacle in the path to my preferred method of proposal has been the threat of inclement weather. I have been monitoring the situation all week, and the prognosis seems to be getting worse by the day. Right now it lists a 40% chance of thunderstorms for 7 p.m. Thursday night. An optimist might say that means there is a 60% chance it won't rain, but I guarantee you that optimist is not planning an engagement that day.

I am willing to risk the rain, but if it's looking bad and Hilary is on her way home, I am going to have to make a decision but quick whether or not to abort the mission and opt for Plan B.

This will be a great test of my friends' theory that "everything works out for Micah". I would say a rainout would do serious damage to their argument's validity.

In this case, I'm happy for them to be right.

Or, to put it another way, I'd like to see their argument hold water by holding on the water.

10 Days Away - Time To Start Crossing The I's and Dotting The...Lowercase j's

2007-08-20T13:36:00.001-04:00

It's hard to believe, but the moment is getting very near at hand. Today is Monday, and with my target date of next Thursday, it's time to start firming up all parts of the plan so as to ensure it will run as closely to my vision as possible.

Let's take a look at some of the things I still have to do before the big day.

- Talk to the parents. When is the appropriate time to do this? Obviously I need to discuss my plans with them before I propose, but I'm not exactly sure what to say. I'm hoping the conversation goes something like this:

Me: Hello Mr. Lesser, I love your daughter and I'd like your permission to marry her. I know I'm but a humble, bald, internet sportswriter, but I promise to make an honest woman of her.

Mr. Lesser: You had me at bald.

That would be short and sweet. But what if he goes deeper, like some people I know? When my brother-in-law Will asked my father for my sister Hannah's hand, he got grilled like a rib-eye: how would he provide for her? What were his long-term plans? How did his 401k look? What is the air/speed velocity of an in-laden swallow? And so on...

I like to think Hilary's parents are happy about our relationship, so I anticipate relatively smooth sailing, but you never know.

- Pick a restaurant. I'm torn here. Two Urban Licks is a favorite of ours. It's delicious, has great ambience, and we ate there the first weekend we started dating. Clearly, we have history there. Unfortunately it's very trendy, and on a Thursday night likely to be very loud. It's romantic, but we won't have much privacy or ability to talk without having to shout at each other across the table. ("I LOVE YOU BABY!")

On the other hand, there is Imperial Fez. It's a delicious Moroccan joint with dim lighting that will allow for a very soft, romantic setting, but I've never taken her there so it doesn't have any particular meaning for us as a couple.

Which way to go? I've made reservations at both places, so I have some time to decide. (Of course, asking this hypothetical question here is the ultimate in futility, since no one is reading this and there is no hope for advice in the comments section).

- Call her boss. Part of my plan is for us to spend Friday morning together before we head to Virginia Beach. To make that happen, I need to square her absence from work with her employers. We are family friends with her company's CEO, so I feel like it shouldn't be too big of a deal - the hardest part is deciding when to pull the trigger. I'm trying to balance giving her company enough advance warning of her absence while also trying to mitigate the chances that someone there might blow the surprise. I'm thinking next Wednesday. Two days notice is enough for the half-day before Labor Day, right?

UPDATE: My sister says I need to give more notice, so I guess I'll call them on Monday.

- Check the weather. The one thing that could foil my plans. I checked the 10-day forecast, and it lists isolated thunderstorms for next Mon-Weds. I guess that's cool, just as long as they are isolated way the hell away from Piedmont Park. It's looking ok for Thursday, but obviously things can change between now and then so I'll keep my eye on it. I don't really have much of a back-up plan right now; if it rains, I suppose we could just go skating in the Berman Center (sorry, a little Jacobs humor for the camp nerds out there).

My main back-up plan is to just surprise her with the ring right when she walks in the door, which won't have quite the same cachet as the park, but what can you do? Mother nature can be a cruel mistress.

It will be a bummer if it does in fact rain, but at least it will prove that I, as a Jew, cannot in fact control the weather.

Setting The Plan In Motion

2007-08-16T13:00:00.000-04:00

After much careful thought and consideration, I decided to go with the plan I hatched so cleverly at 2:00 am the other night. I talked it over with some of the inner circle, and everyone agreed that it would be a good surprise - provided I can pull off all of the details.

There seems a bit of skepticism on that point, but I trust my instincts. True, I may be relying heavily on Hilary's gullability, but what can I say - it's gotten me this far, I can't buck the system now.

Below is the evite for the invitation to the picnic dinner at the park. It's fairly simple and plain, but that's sort of the idea - nothing that will arouse suspicion.
I agonized over several details, many of which I will feel silly about later on as I look back at all the planning that went into the occasion. Here are a few of the issues I've been pondering:

1) What time to make the picnic start? Hilary gets off work at 6:30. With traffic, she typically arrives home around 7-ish. In trying to plan out when to do this, I needed to come up with a time that was late enough that we'd have plenty of time to get there early, but not so late that it would start too close to sundown. I went back and forth between 7:45 and 8:00 several times, eventually settling on 8:00 pm because I figure it's more important we have time to get there early than run too close to sunset (it is a fake picnic, after all).

2) What to tell the guests to bring? Hilary is a planner. I rarely am, except in this case. In fact, I may be planning more for this than anything else I plan on, umm, planning for, in the next several years - including the wedding (Hilary, that's all you babe). With most of our pot luck dinners, the guests are rarely required to bring anything, but in this case I need an excuse for us to be toting wine and appetizers and Hil not get suspicious.

If I tell everyone to bring wine and an appetizer, there is a fairly good chance Hilary will plan ahead and pick up those items in the days leading up to the picnic. In fact, it's two weeks away right now, and I'm not entirely certain she won't pick them up on her way home from work today just to get it out of the way. Still, I am hoping I can lead her into thinking we will just pick up the necessary items at Trader Joe's on the way to the park.

If I only say to bring an appetizer, I could have Ben "call" me the day of to ask if we could get some wine, but for some reason that makes me think it could begin to look suspicious. I could also do the opposite of that and just tell everyone to bring wine, but it seems too likely that we could end up with a bottle of wine at the apartment that we can just bring with us.

Therefore, I stuck with everyone bring an app and wine, and if for some reason Hilary picks these up ahead of time, then I can have Ben place the "We need more" call so we can arrive at the park ahead of the (phantom) pack.

3) What to tell the guests and when? As of now, my plan is to alert all of the guests on the day of the event to what is really going down. My dad worries that I might risk someone tipping Hilary off, or that I won't be able to reach everyone in time, but I am not concerned. I know most of these people's emails, IM screennames, and cell phones. One way or another I should be able to re-route them to Hannah and Will's. I did consider just sending out an evite update and just not include Hilary on it so as to save the surprise, but then I bring into play a number of scenario's like people calling to carpool and other issues like that. Easier to just spoil the surprise for a few people but maintain the surprise for the one person who matters most.

So, the evite is now posted, the wheels are in motion, and all that's left to do now is sit back and watch the con unfold...

UPDATE - The first potential road block has been removed. Hilary just made reservations at a restaurant for us that night at some restaurant in midtown (it's restaurant week then, where several nice restaurants offer fixed-price menus for $25 a person). Fortunately, the evite had gone out a few minutes earlier, and I had no trouble convincing her we should change the reservation to another night. So far so good!

Genius at work?

2007-08-04T02:42:00.000-04:00

Hi, it's me. It's about 2:42 am on Saturday, August 4 (or late Friday night, however you want to look at it), and I can't sleep.

This is not a trait that Hilary possesses. She and I differ greatly in our sleeping habits. She typically goes to sleep around 11:00 pm every night, and can be sawing logs within a few moments of head hitting pillow. I on the other hand am my father's child, and a restless mind keeps me up most nights well past 1:00. On the other hand, I can nap with the best of them, and can easily nod off on all forms of transportation (even rollerblades), whereas Hilary can't sleep anywhere but in a bed. She is way too nervous to sleep on planes, trains, or (in) automobiles for fear of what might happen whilst she is out. It's one of the many differences we have, but, like Paula Abdul and MC Skat Cat will tell you, opposites attract (yeah, try not to get that song stuck in your head now).

I suppose that is all a digression from why I am writing tonight in the early morning hours, which is to say this: I think I just came up with a geniusly devious (or deviously genius?) way to propose, and since I just thought of it, I can't stop thinking about it, so I am writing it down now for perpetuity and so I don't forget the plan tomorrow.

If I haven't mentioned this before, I am creative to a fault. Everything has to be unique and/or funny with me. I can't just send out an evite for an event saying "Come to the party"; I have to make it funny or witty somehow*, and could spend hours slaving over every word to make sure it is up to par, neglecting personal appearance or hygiene until the work is done.

With my engagement, there is no way I can settle for just spraying around a few rose petals and writing her a poem or something cheesy like that - I have to do something different. I must do something that will make people say, "Wow, that's pretty cool", or at least nod approvingly before turning the conversation to something more socially relevant like Obama's health care initiatives.

In planning said engagement, there are a few things I will want to take advantage of. To wit:

- I love planning surprises
- Hilary is extremely gullible
- I love taking advantage of that fact

Though the end game is drawing nearer, I haven't spent too much time planning up until tonight. I always do my best work at deadline, and I knew that once it started getting closer the ol' right brain would go to work.

Tonight, as I lay down to sleep, right brain finally decided it was time to get serious. And here is what I came up with (subject to change). Hold on to your scrotums, here comes genius.

I am going to create an evite for a dinner party at Piedmont Park. This evite will not be sent out by me though; most likely, I will get Ben and Amanda (soon to be) Dorfman to do this, as they live near the park and already know of my plans to propose in the near future. Also it will help lead Hilary to believe that nothing is afoot.

The Dorfmans will invite the traditional Sunday night dinner crowd, who will all believe the event is real. The arrangements will call for dinner at the park starting around 8:00 pm, with dessert to follow after dark back at their apartment. People will respond yea or nay to the event without actually knowing they are decoys, adding legitimacy.

On the day of the event, I will actually break the news of the engagement to the invited guests ahead of time, letting them all know it was just a clever ruse, and though they will not actually get to dine at the park, they will instead be re-routed to dinner at Hannah and Will's. I will gently ask everyone not to pass this information on to Hilary, and will gently remind them that if they do I will (gently) beat them to death with their own thumbs.

That evening, Hilary and I will head out to the park with a blanket to sit on and an appetizer (as stipulated in the evite), but I will tell Hilary we need to leave a little early to get a bottle of wine. We will arrive at the park "earlier" than anyone else, but her suspicions should not be aroused due to the wine-getting errand.

Once we are at the park and have laid out our blanket and appetizer (first thought: brie and crackers, she loves that), I will pour us two glasses of wine and make a toast, and at that point, will pop the question. Hilary, not seeing this coming, will suffer a mind explosion.

After the initial excitement, we will finish our drink, I will let her know there was no actual dinner, and we will head home to change for a nice romantic dinner.

On our way back, I will say, let's stop into Hannah and Will's real quick to say hello because they really want to congratulate us. When we walk in, all of our friends will be there to surprise her and say congrats, leading to mind explosion #2.

We will only stay for a few minutes though, just long enough to see everyone, and then we will actually go to dinner at a really nice restaurant (unless they open a Whataburger in Atlanta in the next three weeks) and spend of the rest of the evening alone.

It's entirely possible I may come up with a different plan than this before the target day, but sitting here tonight I think this could be the winner. Piedmont Park is beautiful, it's large enough that we can be in public but still share a fairly private moment, and it also has some significance in our relationship as we went ate a picnic lunch there during her first visit to Atlanta.

The only real obstacles I can think of are the threat of inclement weather and potential leaks, but it's worth the gamble to me if I can pull this off.

We'll know if I did in just a few short weeks...

* Funny or witty in my eyes, at least. I'm only out to amuse myself, sorry.

When To Pop?

2007-07-29T12:33:00.000-04:00

You know those situations that occur, and you say, "Well, this is no fun, but someday we will look back on it and laugh"?

I have a feeling Hilary is going through one of those times right now. To say that she is ready to be engaged is to say that the Cookie Monster would prefer some Chips Ahoy in the very near future.

I am trying to put myself in her shoes. It's easier to be me right now - I know how the story ends. I know when we are getting engaged.

She, on the other hand, is completely in the dark. And, I admit, I'm not helping things. I am in a bit of a precarious position - I want to reinforce my feelings to her so she will feel safe and secure in our relationship, but at the same time, I don't want her to be thinking that our engagement is just around the corner.

Is that wrong of me? I don't know (actually, probably). But I want it to be a surprise to her, and the longer I can hold her off thinking that engagement is imminent, the easier it will be to pull off.

Which brings me to this post.

I've been trying to avoid any direct talks about our future because the engagement is so close at hand. I suppose I know that is nearly impossible, especially since we are moving in together in the next few weeks.

Friday we had a long talk about the state of things in our relationship, and I had to figure out a way to keep her in the dark without making her feel insecure. This was, as you can imagine, not so easy.

My plan all along has been to set up the actual proposal around Labor Day weekend. We are going to Virginia Beach that weekend to be with her family, and I know how much her family means to her. It's the perfect setting to me.

Here is the problem though - Labor Day is still over a month away. That doesn't seem like a long time to me, but it appears that Hilary's mental calendar advances in dog years these days. A month until engagement to her might as well be six more months.

In speaking to my father about this on Friday, he continued to urge me to just get it over with. I see his point - it's going to be a special moment no matter how or when I do it. At the same time, I still believe that though it will be special no matter what, it can still be "more special". My analogy to him was if you win $40 million in the lottery, you will be excited, but you will be even more excited if you win $100 million, and if you had a choice between the two, you'd choose the latter, right? (Note - using analogies runs in my family; we are unable to communicate without them. It's either a blessing or a curse - lately I've been leaning towards curse).

Her family is important to her, and therefore it's important to me that they be a part of the engagement in some form or fashion. It's something I really don't want to bend on.

So, I want to wait. I know I could do it at any time between now and then, and I know it would certainly be a load off of Hilary's mind (see previous post regarding the cruise), but I am stubborn.

Hopefully, the angst Hilary is feeling now will turn to laughter someday when we look back on this.

Or, she will kill me.

For those of you who had the cruise...you lose

2007-07-24T15:10:00.000-04:00

When Hilary and I booked a cruise vacation back in March (or maybe it was April), I wasn't ready to consider engagement. That's not a reflection on her; it was still just only a few months into our living in the same city and she was still commuting back and forth to DC, which gave our relationship still a slight long-distance feel.

However, as the weeks went by and our relationship continued to grow, I began to consider the notion of proposing while on the ship. Certainly, there were plenty of good reasons to do it:

- it's a vacation, and would give us the opportunity to be engaged without all the madness that creates for at least a few days

- we would be in several places with aesthetic beauty (the ship's casino!) that might provide a terrific backdrop for the moment

- it would more than satisfy Hilary's desire to be engaged before I moved in and we began living in sin (note to future children: daddy has no problem with it, just so long as you are doing it for the right reasons - you know, like affording better cable)

In the end, I chose not to do it. I'd love to give you a lot of good reasons, but it really boiled down to two main ones - one good, and one you probably won't like as much.

First the good one. In many of the proposals I've seen and heard about amongst the people I know, there is often two parts of the proposal surprise: the popping of the question, followed by a surprise appearance from one or both sets of parents.

If I proposed on the cruise, I couldn't really pull that off (at least not without great cost). I debated the idea of having her family and mine meet us at the airport upon our return, but we wouldn't get back until Saturday night and it seemed somewhat of a waste to only have everyone together for a couple hours all told. Not being able to add in the family component was a big negative.

The second (and more selfish reason) was, it was too cliched for my tastes. It would be so obvious for me to propose on the cruise; I knew this intuitively as well as because roughly everyone I knew asked me if I planned on doing so. I may make fun of my friend Joey Lazarus for never doing what people suggest to him, but the fact that so many people were certain I was going to pop while we were in the Caribbean made me all the more resistant to the notion.

Is that unfair to Hilary? Maybe. It's entirely possible she will be upset with me when she eventually reads this post and makes me sleep on the couch for a night. But my feeling is, the proposal is going to be a special moment for both the ask-ee and the ask-er. I want to find a way to do it that will satisfy both her desire to be asked (growing daily from what I can tell, but more on that in a minute) and my desire to do it in a way that will be (ideally) unique and surprising.

So the cruise was off. When we returned from our vacation, a friend asked me if I thought she was disappointed that it didn't happen. My response was I wasn't sure. We don't really talk much, currently, about when specifically we will get engaged, mostly because I want it to be a surprise. So it was hard for me to know what her level of anxiety was...until today.

Let me start off by saying that I may get in more trouble for posting this than it's worth, but from where I am sitting today, I think it's too funny not to mention given the nature of this blog. I.e., Hilary may get mad about it in the short term, but the further away we get from it, the funnier it will be (to her that is - its funny to me right now).

Hilary is supposed to be having dinner Thursday night with her friend Jaygima, a co-worker from her days at HMS Host who like her moved to Atlanta to be with her significant other (to whom she is now married).

This morning, she forwarded me an email from Jay with something funny she had written. Normally, I'd just glance at an email like that before hitting the ol' delete button.

For some reason though, Hilary forwarded me the entire email chain, and I inexplicably started reading it. This is not normal behavior for me, and I do feel slightly bad about it, but my eyes somehow saw the word "ring" in part of the thread and subsequently my curiosity got the best of me.

What did I learn? Apparently, Hilary is quite ready to get this show on the road:

"It’s just really frustrating the whole engagement thing. I know you know though. I just wish it would happen already!..."

And from another portion:

"We just got back from our cruise on Saturday that was really fun. No ring, but I overheard a conversation before the cruise that keyed me into knowing it wasn’t going to happen. I’m glad I knew for sure beforehand or I would have been anxious during the cruise and upset towards the end..."

Wow. I guess she is ready, eh? I can't for the life of me figure out which conversation she overheard, as I am pretty good about keeping any engagement planning talks from taking place anywhere near her. It's possible someone asked me if I was going to propose within her earshot and she heard my answer, that's the best I can figure.

So, this leaves me with a bit of a dilemma. At present, my plan is still to put the plan into action around Labor Day weekend, when we will be in Virginia Beach and I can incorporate her family easily into the blessed occasion. I like this idea a lot. Most of my brainstorming on how I will eventually pop the question revolves around the notion of being with her family in her hometown. However, Labor Day is still 5 weeks away. Based on the tone of the email I just read, it's entirely possible that Hilary will run several hundred volts of electricity directly through my testicles if I don't ask her to marry me soon.

I have a choice to make - do I re-evaluate and change course to help Hilary maintain her sanity? Or do I stick to the plan and risk the safety of my future children. This is a toughie...

The Things You Do For Love

2007-06-14T13:24:00.000-04:00

My Dad, Suzy B and me

Welcome to the blog! No one of course is reading this yet as I haven't made it for public consumption yet, but someday people may read this (Micah and Hilary Jr.?) and I felt like this was as good a place as any to document the lead up to our nuptuals.

For the first post, I thought I would write a diary of sorts of my day spent selecting Hilary's engagement ring (a live blog of sorts, except written after the fact, so while it's not technically live, it will be in that style and will feature many of the thoughts going through my head at the actual times they were happening).

Let me give the set-up first. We have a family friend who works as a private jeweler (whatever that means) in NYC, and who was wonderfully willing to be my tour guide through the engagement ring purchasing process. However, the concept of this person sending diamonds back and forth for me to look at seemed like a horrible idea and a huge hassle. As it turned out, my dad (who once worked in the jewelry business - is there any job he didn't have at some point?) was going to be in New York City on business, so I decided to fly up to the Big Apple for the day to whittle the process down to a few hours.

Fortunately, by brother-in-law Will is working at Delta for the summer, so he allowed me to use one of his coveted "buddy passes", which made the price of a roundtrip ticket to NY less than $100 (for those thinking I'm Mr. Moneybags to be flying to NY just to look at a ring, this explains how I was able to make that happen). Now all I had to do was figure out a way to slip it past Hilary that I would be out of town for the day and not have her get suspicious.

A quick sidebar: There is a famous story from when Will got engaged to my sister Hannah, where he flew back to Corpus Christi ("The Body") to get the ring he was planning to propose with. He did it on a Wednesday when we would usually be playing soccer, so as to explain his late arrival at home to his nosy bride-to-become. All went as planned - except that while he was in Texas he made the fatal mistake of getting his hair cut, and when Hannah asked him when he got it done, he responded, "When I was home." Will is an idiot.

I was determined not to suffer the same fate as my new bro, but I too am cursed to be in a relationship with Nosy McNoserpants, so I had to be prepared to throw her off the scent.

Now that we've set the scene, let's get to the action.

6:15 am - I set my alarm to get up at this time, as I was planning on getting on a 7:45 am flight to LaGuardia. I told Hilary I was playing racquetball before work with my co-worker to explain my early rise; typically she is long-gone by the time I get up for work around 8:00 (8:20 after four snoozes). She bought it. So far so good.

6:50 am - I arrive at Hartsfield-International Airport, park my car in the economy parking lot, and head towards my gate. One of the great things about flying by myself is that I am quite content to get to the airport as late as is humanly possible without missing the flight, while Hilary likes to get there a little earlier, like say a calendar month in advance. I chuckled about this fact to myself as I arrived at my gate for the 7:45 flight at 7:33.

This actually worked out well, because with Will's buddy pass I have to wait until the end to board anyway since my priority lies somewhere between Tuberculosis Guy and terrorist. On this particular flight, I was literally the last person onto the plane in the only seat left unoccupied.

10:00 am - Landed at LaGuardia - so far so good. I managed to sleep a bit on the way up despite sitting next to one of the worst possible seatmates - the talker. I realize I am quite the gabber myself, but when I get on a plane, I just want to listen to my iPod and go to sleep. So dude, please, leave me the @#$@ alone. I called my Dad to check in, and headed to catch a bus to Grand Central Station.

10:30 am - Well, I wouldn't say this counts as things going awry (foreshadowing), but traffic was a murph, so it took about an hour to get from the airport to the city. Still, this gave me time to continue acting out the ruse that would lead Hilary to believe it was nothing but a normal work day for me.

With her new job, Hilary no longer uses any instant messaging programs, which made my job a little easier. Still, we email back and forth during the day, so keeping that afloat would be the biggest challenge. Both of my sisters were on board to help out though, so I called Hannah and had her check my email to see if Hilary had written anything. She had, so I dictated an email back to her.

Let me tell you something I learned from dictation. Mushiness is a private, private thing. It's all well and good to write "I love you!" to your girlfriend, but telling your sister to write out "Next paragraph - I love you, exclamation point" sounds really, really lame. Doing it on a crowded bus doesn't help much either.

11:30 am - Ok, that took a little too long, but my appointment at the jeweler wasn't scheduled until 12:30. My Dad was there to meet me at the bus station and we headed to grab a quick bite before going to check out the bling (question for future kids - do people still use that word in the future? it annoys the crap out of me now, so for your sake hopefully it has faded).

Telling mom about my purchase

11:45 am - We were supposed to eat at this midtown restaurant called "Dishes", but despite being given directions to pretty much the exact street corner it allegedly resided on, we couldn't find it. I did however find a kosher deli with a shawarma skewer running, and my contract with God stipulates that I eat shawarma whenever the opportunity presents itself.

12:15 pm - Ok, maybe that wasn't the best idea. My stomach is not going to enjoy the flight home later this afternoon.

12:30 pm - Right on time, we get to the jeweler's office to check out the merchandise. Her assistant shows us a couple things to begin with, all of which look exactly the same to me.

Frankly, the whole diamond business cracks me up. I mean, how long does the average person get to spend looking at someone else's ring? Four, five seconds? And usually the finger where the ring resides is in motion for most of it, no? The only way most people can tell the difference from one diamond to another (aside from size, obviously) is if they have one of those diamond microscopes, and how many people walk around with those? 10% tops?

Still, I want a diamond that is going to make Hilary happy, so I am trying my best to understand what she is saying.

I actually learned a decent amount (I mean for a guy) about diamonds in the last couple weeks. During Hilary's last trip to DC before she started her new job, Hannah and I went to Solomon Brothers in Atlanta to get my first taste of the ring-selecting process. Following that, my friend Kim, who works in the diamond industry, spent a couple hours showing me more options and explaining more about the Four C's (cut, color, clarity, and calligraphy).

12:35 pm - Our family friend shows up, and I like her immediately as she begins to give my dad grief. A woman after my own heart. When she and I spoke on the phone to set this up a week ago, she mentioned she already had the perfect stone in mind for me, and though she shows me a couple other potential rocks, "the one" is brought out and I gotta say, it looks great. I have a problem expressing myself in this way (as many who know me can attest), so all I can manage to say is, "Yeah, I think it looks ok." But as my dad tells her, that means Micah like-ah.

Examining the rock

2:20 pm - I examine the diamond in many different ways and compared to several others, and it still looks the part. My dad tries in vain to get me to consider a heart-shaped diamond, but I'm afraid he is now 0-3 with his progeny on that count. We agree to talk again in a couple weeks, but I feel comfortable walking out of the office with the notion that we have picked the winner. All that's left to do is grab a taxi, get back out to LaGuardia, catch the 4:00 flight and BAM! - I'm home with Hilary none the wiser. Hannah and Leah have continued to send out my dictated emails, so everything is going well. Still, I am a Hart - nothing ever goes completely according to plan...

Suzy shows me how to look pompous while examining a diamond

3:00 pm - I arrive at the airport in plenty of time to catch my flight. Security is a breeze, as all I brought with me was a book (Sam Walker's "Fantasyland", a book about the popularity of rotisserie baseball) and my iPod. As I get to my gate though, I realize all is not as it should be. There are tons of people camped out in the terminal, and I soon find out why. Weather has wreacked havoc on the Eastern seaboard, and flights have been cancelled up and down the coastline. The 1:00 flight to Atlanta was one of them. Oh, crap.

3:30 pm - First the bad news - the 4:00 flight is delayed until 5:00 now, which would get me back to Atlanta at 7:30. Hilary usually gets home around 7:00, so that could be a problem. I was prepared for this though, so I had Leah (she was working the afternoon email shift) email her and tell her I had a work function that might keep me on the job until perhaps 8 or 8:30. Poor trusting Hilary.

Now for the worse news. Because of the previous Atlanta cancellation, everyone got bumped to a later flight. Currently, I am 78th(!) on the standby list for the next flight to Atlanta. 78th? Really? They need to count that high? After like the first 15-20 names, they should just puta little picture of someone giving you the middle finger. Not good.

4:20 pm - Sensing that things could get ugly (no matter the flight, my priority status would remain at the bottom of the barrel, making it next to impossible for me to get a standby seat on a plane so long as the weather was bad), I got in line at the Delta counter to see if perhaps I could persuade someone to help me out. I flashed my best smile and proceeded to explain to the agent my situation as a poor lovestruck fiance-to-be who just wanted to get home to his soon-to-be bride without her figuring out what he was up to. She seemed sympathetic, but when you are 78th on the standby list, I don't even know if I'd have had any luck as a woman in labor.

4:30 pm - I called my dad to explain the situation, and Macy gets on the case. In the meantime, I begin to think about what kind of excuse I am going to be able to come up with to explain to Hilary why not only might I not be home by 8:00, but it's entirely possible I may not come home at all. This was not part of my original plan, to say the least. I started to think contingencies, but I wasn't panicking...yet.

5:00 pm - Ok, definitely starting to get worried. It is beginning to look increasingly likely that I won't get out of NYC tonight - at least from LaGuardia. I call Will to see what the availability was looking like at JFK and Newark, and begin to ponder how irritated I'd get if I had to fly to say, Birmingham, and then rent a car to get back (about 8 on a scale of 10).

5:10 pm - LaGuardia is basically a ghost. Will, despite being a Delta employee, apparently isn't able to conjure a flight out of thin air (give him time, he's only been there a few weeks). Since it appears that even under the best circumstances I'm not going to be able to make it home by the 8:30 time I originally quoted Hilary, it's time to put Plan B into action. Which direction to go? Last minute poker game? Late movie she wouldn't want to see? The biggest issue was finding a reason for my cell phone not to work in case she needed to call me. She had already phoned once in the morning when I was on my flight, but I could excuse that because I don't get reception at the gym where I'd allegedly been playing racquetball.

No, there is only one answer - TNT. I had worked for a month straight during April and May at TNT for the NBA playoffs, where I had spent every night from roughly 6 pm to 2 am logging sound for their pre- and post-game shows. During this month I had always come home late, and since I didn't get reception at TNT either (annoying at the time, but a small bonus at present), it would provide a good cover. I try to find as quiet a place as possible in the terminal so as not to let the PA system give away my location ("Listen Jane, don't start with that Red Zone sh*t again.") and call Hilary at her office, where I know she'll be hesitant to talk long. I tell her the good news - my boss from Turner had called and wanted to know if I could fill in on the baseball shift tonight!

The ploy works, and she goes for it. One crisis solved; I now at least have some leeway on time to get home without needing any more excuses.

5:15 pm - Macy is having some luck on his end. Let it never be said that my dad isn't there for his children. On his way to NYC on Sunday, he got bumped from his flight out of Atlanta, for which he got a $400 voucher (basically so many pennies to him with as much as he flies). He gives me the voucher towards a one-way ticket out of JFK on a flight scheduled to leave at 6:50. The only seats left are in first class, so even with the voucher I still have to cough up some dough (but significantly less than I would have). Now all I have to do is make it over to JFK in time to be on board when it leaves. Not exactly my preferred choice, but at this point I can't take any chance on any standby seat from any airport anywhere. I head towards the taxi depot.

5:50 pm - A $34 cab ride over to JFK later, and I've now spent more on transportation to and from airports by automobile than I did by plane. But, I won't complain - anything that gets me back to Atlanta with Hilary none the wiser is worth it. To be honest, I don't know what my max would have been to spend on a ticket home, but it might have been upwards of $500 just to keep the day a secret.

6:15 pm - I get through security, and - surprise! - my 6:50 flight is now scheduled to leave at 7:30. I'll take it, just as long as it leaves today.

7:30 pm - Trivia question: what has two thumbs and has a 6:50 flight now looking like it won't be leaving until 8:45? This guy.

8:45 pm - The flight we are on finally landed from LAX around 8:30, so we actually get to board our plane with the notion that we might land in Atlanta before the midnight hour. Although I am exhausted, I can't help but be a little excited to fly first class. I've only done it twice before, and once was an early morning flight where I slept for most of the time. It's a shame I have to drive home from the airport, or else it'd be time to get my Hasselhoff on. Still, this flight has those little monitors in the back of the seat in front of you which allows you to watch movies, TV, or play games.

9:00 pm - Apropos of nothing, I'd just like to note that tonight is Game 4 of the NBA Finals between the San Antonio Spurs and the Cleveland Cavaliers, and I'm not entirely sure I wouldn't be more frustrated with life watching that game than sitting through my current predicament.

9:15 pm - The plane is fully loaded (and I'm working on it, having ordered a glass of wine and a screwdriver in succession), and we taxi away from our gate. Good to go? Clearly, you haven't been reading this. The pilot comes on to explain that because of the weather, the runways are backed up and we are currently something like 427th in line to take off. At least I can watch a movie. I choose Shooter starring Marky Mark, which seems like a better option than Norbit or Bridge To Terabithia.

11:00 pm - Shooter is almost over as the plane finally takes off. I've seen worse, but I've seen better. For the record, my 6:50 flight pushed back nearly two hours late, then waited on the tarmac for another two hours to boot before taking to the skies.

1:00 am - We land in Atlanta. Praise God. I would love to write something witty here, but let's be honest. There isn't much witty to say when you've spent the past 10 hours at the airport or on a plane.

1:35 am - Home at last - almost. There are no parking places available anywhere near Hilary's apartment, so after circling twice around her portion of the complex, I decide to take a calculated risk. Since I am leaving for work the next morning at 8:30, I park in the handicap spot adjacent to her building under the assumption (fair in my thinking) that no handicapped people will be needing it in the next six hours. Maybe not the best solution, but I am willing to roll the dice at this point. I just want to go to bed - screw the handicapped.

1:45 am - I check my email to make sure nothing imploded at work and crawl into Hilary's bed dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep. For just a moment, I stare over at her sleeping figure. It may have been one of the longest days of my life, but looking at her lying next to me, I know it was worth it. Now if I can just keep it a secret!