Archive for April, 2009

Running to catch up…

April 21, 2009

 

Nugget,

Sometimes being the youngest is tough. I was the youngest in my family too, so I understand what you’re going through. It never occurred to me to have this conversation with you until I watched you playing on the beach with your big brother and his friends. It was then that I decided I should carve out some time to explain that you won’t always be running to catch up.

All of the big kids had toy light sabers- but no one thought to give one to you. They formed teams- but never invited you to join. They laughed and joked- but you weren’t privy to the punch lines. And as I watched you running to keep up, trying so hard to be included I couldn’t help but feel sorry for you- I‘ve always been a sucker for the underdog. That’s why I called you over to sit in my lap. I wanted you to know just how valuable you were- even if the big kids couldn’t yet recognized it. I was certain you would want to remain with me- that the sting of being excluded had left you sad and in need of comfort. That’s why I was so surprised when you wanted to be released- “Let me go Dad, I’m playing with Mack”. I spread my arms and you were gone- determined to be accepted, running to catch up.

This is just one of your many strengths. All that I could focus on was how unfair it was for the older boys to dismiss you. I was upset with your brother for not making a place for you at their table; for not protecting you; for not fulfilling his obligations as the eldest son. But you showed me another side of the situation. Instead of surrendering to self pity you doggedly kept going, smile on your face, running to catch up.

You won’t always lag behind. One day soon you’ll be tall and strong. Your legs will carry you faster and your shoulders will willingly carry the burden of more weight. You all ready have the heart of a giant, give your body time to catch up- you won’t be a peanut forever. Remember even the mighty oak was once a sapling my son

And when you’re grown you’ll forge your own path in life and it will be a path that others will admire and wish to travel with you. When it’s your turn to lead take the time to occasionally glance over your shoulder at all the people who are lagging behind. Slow your stride and allow them to walk beside you. Let them know they are valued even if they aren’t as strong, as fast, as wise. Maybe you‘ll even confide in them that once you too were running to catch up. And this is how you will treat others, of this I am certain. I see the strength of your character and the shadow of the great man you will one day become every time I look into your eyes.

I love you nugget

Dad.

 

 

 

 

If you know me at all you know that I have a strong affection (probably slightly unhealthy) for Carlo Rossi Wine. I’m very sincere- I absolutely love coming home and pouring a glass of Carlo’s classic Burgundy to take the edge of my day. I’ve even been known to splurge occasionally and purchase a jug of Carl’s “Reserve Merlot“- but only on those days deserving of special recognition. The reserve vintages are not something I indulge in routinely as once your taste buds grow accustomed to something so perfectly balanced it’s almost impossible to accept anything less- besides I don’t want people to think that I’m a “wine snob”.

I preach the virtues off Carlo’s products but I am in no way officially affiliated with this pioneering Wine Czar- I am nothing more than a loyal consumer. I’m just a hard working guy who discovered the joy which resides within the screw-topped, 5-gallon jug- easily located in your grocer’s tasty beverage aisle. Truth be told it was Connie who introduced me to this palate pleasing delight early on in our marriage. Way back then we didn’t have two nickels to rub together- but luckily you could get ten gallons of Carlo for the one nickel that you did have. Seventeen years later we could probably afford to move up to something more fitting of our socio-economic status (possibly something that comes with a cork for instance)- but I’m a loyal creature of habit and I’m not about to abandon the guy responsible for so much joy over the years. Connie on the other hand has lost her way and moved on to other less prolific alcoholic beverages. Not sure what happened to her? One day she announced that the jug of Carl on our kitchen counter had gone bad (how one could tell that a jug of Carlo had gone bad is beyond me). She exclaimed that it tasted like vinegar and proceeded to pour it down the drain; the same thing occurred with the next jug and the one after that. Come to find out it wasn’t the Carlo that went bad, it was Connie’s taste buds. They had revolted and would no longer willingly accept the staple wine that had graced our home for so many years. I however remained faithful to Earnest and Julio and all the fine products that they lovingly produce in their vineyards- besides you can grow accustomed to the taste of just about anything (to include vinegar)- I‘m living proof.

Now that you have the background and I’ve openly proclaimed my admiration- it is with great excitement that I announce that Carl himself has been surfing my Blog. Well maybe not Carlo himself, but definitely his vineyard henchmen. I know this because one day as I checked my stat counter I saw several hits from none other than E&J Vineyards (aka Earnest and Julio). Holy Shit! I felt as if I just met Elvis in the Tupperware aisle at Target. I was honored, but perplexed- why would Carlo be interested in me?

My initial thoughts were that E&J liked what I had to say about their products so much that they were looking to bring me into the fold. Could you imagine? Shane Groah National Carlo Rossi Spokesman Extraordinaire. Or maybe they would ask me to represent E&J at international wine tasting events. I obviously have a sophisticated palette and in-depth experience/ knowledge of fine wines- I‘m a shoe-in. Then there is always the possibility of endorsement deals. I envision a Carlo Rossi summer clothing line; a cook book; a Carlo “Musk Body Spray” perhaps? The possibilities are endless- who knows maybe with a little luck Carl and I could venture into reality television. After all you really don’t need any real depth of subject matter to capture an audience in the reality TV genre. As you can see I’ve got a lot of brilliant ideas to improve sales and increase Carlo consumption in untouched consumer markets. I could be a force multiplier Carl. Roll the dice, take a chance, have your people call my people and we’ll do lunch. This close to retirement it’s encouraging to think that my next career could involve something I’m so passionate about. A guy can dream right?

But then I thought what if I’m wrong? What if the “Carl” is displeased with me and his henchman are stalking me to ensure I don’t say anything damaging about their leader. Maybe they’re more like CIA than smiling, barefooted, grape-smashing wine makers. Panicked, I searched my Blog to ensure I didn’t say anything really negative and luckily all came back in Carlo’s favor. I have no desire to bite the hand that feeds me. Someone as mighty as Carlo Rossi could easily crush me like one of the many grapes that thrive across his landscape or worse yet he could turn off the eternal spring of delicious cheap wine that helps me relax after a tough day of making decisions that impact the very fabric of our nation (jest). A “Carlo-Embargo” if you will. How friggin cruel would that be?

I know that these to possibilities seem pretty extreme- but situations involving the “Shane” rarely develop in the relative safety of the “middle ground”. I’m either going to be the next Carlo Rossi Super Hero or his henchman are waiting outside my door ready to work me over for being a smart ass. Hmmm, smart ass… sounds like a potential plot line for that reality show I was talking about…

Sarcasm- a form of irony that is bitter or cutting, being intended to taunt its target. (Wikipedia, 2009)

 

Insight…

April 12, 2009

 

 

I love talking to my youngest after he’s climbed in bed for the night.  For some reason his best nuggets of insight and wisdom seem to spill out just before he closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep.  I have no logical explanation for why this is- so like many things associated with parenting I don’t question I just accept.  Here are just a few examples of how deep a 6-year old boy can be:

The Global War on Terror-

Cayden does not like Osama Bin Laden.  Some may find it strange that a 6-year old little boy knows who Osama Bin Laden is, but remember both Mack and Cayden have been exposed to my Marine-ness their entire lives so it should be of no surprise that they hold a post 9/11 grudge.  A couple of nights ago Cayden asked me if “the bad guy with a mustache” was stronger than me.  When I asked him which bad guy he was referring to he told me “Malabin McKnobin” (Osama Bin Laden).   I replied of course not- I’m much stronger than Bin Laden, if I wasn’t he wouldn’t be hiding in a cave hoping not to run into me.  Since Cayden and I often engage in ground fighting after dinner, which he routinely gets the better of me, he deduced that he too must be stronger than Bin Laden.  He’s planning to punch him in the lips on the off chance that they run into each other.  “Tell you what buddy, why don’t you worry about coloring inside the lines and let daddy’s co-workers worry about the “bad man with a mustache”.

Hobo in a cage-

Cayden mentioned he would like to add another item to his ever increasing list of “must haves”.  Cayden requested (1) Hobo in a cage.  Normally I will not support request from my children that in any way violate basic human rights- such as the right to pursue happiness, which a homeless person cannot do if locked in a cage and gifted to a 6-year old little boy.  Thankfully Cayden was not requesting a human Hobo, he was asking for a Hobo Monkey (?).  To date I’ve had no luck locating said  species on the Internet- if in fact this is a factual creature I would appreciate some leads from anyone out there who knows of a good Hobo Monkey breeder.

Blow me a Hug-

Cayden knows sign language for I love you.  He also knows how to blow someone a kiss.  The question I got the other night was is it possible to blow someone a hug?  Before I had a chance to offer my input Cayden came up with a solution.  He wrapped his arms around his body so that each hand rested on the opposite shoulder and then he slowly unfolded them in the direction of the person receiving his airborne hug.  “That’s how you blow someone a hug Dad.”  My stance is that he should patent that shit before it becomes a Facebook phenomenon and someone other than my son gets all the credit.

Cayden on aging-

I recently turned 39 and the boys did a hell of a job helping me celebrate though they couldn’t understand why I wasn’t more excited.  I guess when your still adding half years to your age to demonstrate how mature you are the concept that someone is not thrilled to be one year closer to 40 is hard to fathom.  Regardless, I got special hugs and was paid a great deal of attention that day.  On a side note, Cayden had promised me a new sports car for my birthday but failed to produce- I guess the economy has impacted 6-year old sports car purchasing as much as every other consumer market so I didn’t hold a grudge.  By the end of the day my birthday fun meter was pegged and I was looking forward to lubricating my 39-year old joints with a hearty glass of Carl.  As I was about to leave the boys room to go charge my glass Cayden called me over to his bed.  He gave me one last hug and as he did he told me this:

Cayden- “Dad you’re really old, but don’t worry I’ll tell all my friends you’re ten- I love you Dad, happy birthday.”

Get past the first part where he told me I was really old- everybody looks old when you’re six.  The take away from this short conversation is much more significant- Cayden understood that I wasn’t that excited to enter my last year as a thirty something.  In his own small way he was letting me know not to worry about getting old- as far as he was concerned I was just a kid- and maybe always will be.

I’ll leave you with this.  The kids have been in Ohio for the past 4 days leaving Connie and I to our own devices- and this is what I discovered.  When you’re neck deep in kids and the all of the endless parental requirements that go with you catch yourself yearning to return to those years when life was so much simpler (i.e. no kids).  But the truth is I find myself missing every bit of what being a parent entails the minute the guys walk out the door.  I miss my guys, I can’t wait to see them- I guess that’s how you know you were meant to be a Dad.

My Corps…

April 7, 2009
 

I’ve been a Marine for 21-years so obviously I have found some rewarding facets of my job that have kept me coming back year after year. As I near retirement I find myself trying to revisit those reasons more frequently- not that I‘m second guessing myself, I guess I‘m just reminiscing. Here are a few of the things that make being a Marine so great and a few things I‘ll miss as I evolve into a civilian once more.

Being a Marine is never having to say you’re sorry- superior fire power and the backing of 202k of you closest friends guarantees you’re correct in almost every situation.

Camouflage matches everything and never goes out of style.

You get paid (not well mind you) to stay in shape.

You get to travel to all those exotic locations you’ll never find in a travel brochure or Carnival Cruise Line port of call list. “Next stop Iraq- make sure you remember your body armor and have a lovely visit.”

All those Marine clichés that only sound cool when you’re one of the Nation’s finest.

“Pain is weakness leaving the body“- (quit your whining it’s gonna get worse)

“Shoot, move, communicate“- (the only things you really ever need to remember on deployment)

“The only easy day was yesterday“- (Today is going to suck)

“Semper fidelis“- (Always faithful- God, Country, Corps)

“Good to go?”- (Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?)

“Strong“- (I like what you just did- do it again)

“Copy my last? Roger. Out here“. (saying good bye to my mother on the phone)

“OOH RAH!” (The Marine equivalent of the word dude- with just as many interpretations and uses.)

Everything you need to survive can be carried on your body and moved from place to place with nothing more than the boots on your feet and the determination in your heart.

Young Marines- they can make things explode that are normally completely benign and they can break those things which claim to be unbreakable.

Standing around at a party and listening to everyone talking about how shitty their work week was and wondering how shitty it could have possibly been without anyone trying to shoot them? Come on guys how bad could it be?

Getting air lifted out of the field after 2-weeks of busting your ass hiking around in the woods.

Your weapon passing the armorer’s inspection on the first attempt to get it locked up for the weekend.

Hot coffee in the field.

Coming home from deployment and bringing everyone back that you left with.

Scorpion fights in the desert- always put your money on the green ones they are extremely surly little beast.

Formation runs when a former drill instructor is calling cadence.

Being dirty for so long that you no longer smell bad (takes about three weeks, I know this as fact).

Listening to your troops crack jokes when they’re sitting in a bunker waiting for Scuds to hit- they’re never as funny as when they’re scared.

Getting an excruciating ass chewing from my Battalion Commander that ends with “How’s Connie and the boys?” He still had love for me even when I screwed the pooch.

Telling people I just met that I’m a Marine- every other occupation I can think of pales in comparison- of course that’s my own personal opinion.

Drinking beer with a bunch of Jarheads and telling deployment stories that at one time were pretty close to factual.

Being told to do the impossible with minimal support or resources and knowing that you can do it- simply because you’re a Marine.

You don’t punch a clock. Why would you- you’re there until the job’s done.

Hand grenades, not just because they’re fun either- but for the eerie feeling of knowing that if you screwed up the results would be extremely unsavory. (If you’ve ever thrown a hand grenade you know thee feeling I’m talking about)

Post deployment purchases- Mustangs, crotch rockets and Tattoos. I’m not allowed to purchase any of the above- but I can live vicariously through my young Marines as they roll through the gate in a car they can’t afford slathered in Neosporin.

Wearing my uniform in public and having a little boy ask me for my autograph and the thanks I receive from his grand father who served in Normandy.

Marines.

 

I am the Law…

April 5, 2009
 

I think I figured out what I want to do with my life after I retire from the Marine Corps. I haven’t completely thought this out so I may be lacking all the details required to make it happen and this may seem slightly directionless but I think the idea has merit so bear with me.

I’ve decided that I want to be a judge.

Now granted I don’t have a law degree nor do I possess a solid understanding of our judicial process, but then again neither do most of our elected officials- besides I think that if I specialize none of that will matter anyway. I’ve decided to sit in judgment of all those celebrities that have gone astray of the law.

For these cases I don’t really need a law degree or years of experience. Most celebrity cases are cut and dry- I’m prepared to provide some examples. As I rode the metro into work the other day I read the free newspaper that they so graciously distribute to prevent people from making eye contact with each other. In this brief 20-page periodical I found several legal cases that I could wrap up quite easily in the matter of minutes. The way I look at it if I received a salary equal to a ¼ of the estimated cost of a long drawn out legal battle I could save the public hundreds of thousands of dollars- and still afford to send the manimals to college.

Here are the types of cases I would adjudicate- keep in mind this is one day’s worth of offenders taken from a reputable newspaper.

Matt Dillon is arrested for driving 106 miles per hour. He didn’t do this on the Daytona speed way- nope he reached speeds in excess of 100 mph on the same roads that school buses travel when delivering your kids to their classrooms each day. He was charged with speeding (obviously) and reckless operation of a motor vehicle (just as obvious). My man Matt, pleaded guilty, no shit- you‘re busted take it on the chin like a man. But get this, he pleaded guilty on the condition that they drop the reckless operation of a motor vehicle charge. HOLY SHIT! Are you kidding me? The only thing that could have made this more reckless is if he had been beer bonging Mohito’s as he drove through a school zone. This idiot was driving over 100 MPH what about that doesn’t scream reckless? His punishment for endangering all us common folk- $800.00 in fines- how poor Matty will pay the bills this month is a mystery.

My first motion as the new Supreme Judge of Stupid Celebrity Antics would be to fire everyone that was in court room that day, granted Matt probably wasn’t there- people of his level of importance routinely send a proxy to answer for their mistakes. My next motion would be to uphold the speeding and reckless operation charges-but then add a vagrant stupidity and arrogance charge. My additional charge carries a minimum 10 year prison term- and it isn’t in some cushy country club of a prison either. Mr. Dillon this is Bubba he’ll be your new cell mate- Bubba meet Mr. Dillon, he’s an actor…

Next up, Andre 3000, of the Grammy award winning music group Outkast.

 I would give him ten additional years for the outfit alone

Mr. 3000 was driving 109 MPH in a 65 MPH zone. When stopped by police he told them he was speeding because he “missed his turn“. I’m stunned they didn’t immediately release him when he articulated this exceptionally logical explanation for breaking the sound barrier, after all everyone knows how quickly turn lanes disappear when you pass them up. Good god, that lane was probably long gone by the time he finally got done pleading with the authorities- he should sue them for making him miss it. BTW quick thinking Mr. 3000, I would have come up with something much more lame like… oh, I don‘t know how about- my hair was on fire and I was trying to put it out with g-force winds. Maybe I am good at this?

Sentencing. You obviously like the number 3,000- so here are a few things that begin with your favorite number: 3,000 hours of community service, after you serve 3,000 days in jail and donate 3,000 dollars to every charity I can think of. That should just about do it.

Dante Stallworth of the Cleveland Browns was recently charged with vehicular manslaughter complicated by a DUI charge. I can’t think of a single funny thing to say about this. All the newspaper wanted to discuss was how the Cleveland Browns didn’t rally around him in his time of need. Seriously? I think the Brown’s statement was the classiest thing I have heard from a professional sports team regarding charges of this nature. They simply said “we’re sorry that Mr. Stallworth put himself in such a horrible position” period.

Part of me wants to say “let the family of the victim beat him senseless with a tack hammer”- but that would be cruel and unusual and make me sound excessively violent. Instead I would opt to send him through the conventional judicial system- I don’t think even they could screw this one up- maybe I’m being naïve.

But I could handle this one. Katie Holmes spent over 40k on a makeover. A complete head transplant doesn‘t cost that much- what the hell did she have done? Unable to get my arms around how someone could spend more on a makeover than I did on our mini-van I attempted to gain some perspective. So yesterday morning I set out to make myself extra special handsome- I didn’t pull any punches I went all out.

I woke up at 0430, and went straight to the bathroom where I treated my tired pores to a refreshing exfoliation with a fresh bar of “Irish Spring-Aloe” ($.73). I then lathered up with shaving gel ($2.23) vice Barbasol foam- a good comparison would be drinking Crystal in lieu of Carlo Rossi (sorry Carlo you know I got love for you). I then shaved with a Gillette sensor- a completely reckless purchase. A 4-pack of replacement blades alone cost $13- I told you I spared no expense. Once my face was smooth and kissable I slathered on a heaping gob of Aqua Velva shaving lotion ($1.98). I flattened out that weird cowlick located on the top of my head with a dab of styling gel ($.11, approximately). I combed my hair but I all ready owned the comb. When I bought the comb back in the 90’s it was like $.75, but with all the other stuff I was lavishly treating myself too I figured I’d keep that out of the tally. I brushed my teeth, flossed and rinsed with Listerine (the good stuff, not a cheap knock off like Plax)- all said and done about $.80 worth of dental hygiene goods Off to work I went for the finishing touches. I arrived at the 5-sided circus tent and went straight to the barber. My 80-year old Korean barber obviously noticed that I was in top form- she smiled at me and said something intelligible. This is pretty normal but her tone told me she thought I was looking exceptionally “Hawt” that day. I asked her for the works, spare no expense; make me look like a screen idol. Six minutes later and my wallet $7.00 lighter I emerged from her chair looking more dapper than George Clooney on his best day. I was done- no way could I look any better than I did at that very moment. Lets tally up the damage.

$.73 + $2.23 + $13.00 + $1.98 + $.11 + $.80 + $7.00 = $25.85

Since I have my calculator out let me do a little more math- $40,000 – $25.85 = $39,974.15.

I have to wonder did Katie Holmes look $39k better than me after her “make-over”- I find it highly unlikely. This means that she needlessly wasted about 3-semesters worth of college tuition, a dozen house payments, or enough money to feed several impoverished African countries. I could have really put that money to work- but instead all of that cash was wasted to make sure that Ms. Holmes’s highlights matched her eyebrows perfectly. With the state of our national economy I take this type of frivolous spending very seriously, though I don’t believe she deserves a prison term. Instead I’ll simply sentence her to relinquish her wardrobe and grooming budget to help soften the National deficit. See I’m a kind and generous man.

I could really use some help from the public at large to lobby for my position- I think it’s appropriately placed within the Supreme Court. So write your elected officials and ask for them to support me- I don’t want a gap in pay checks. You saw how much money it took to get me looking good- to many more days like that and I’ll be broke.

I just put the boys to bed.  I don’t bother going down stairs right after covering them up- it would be a complete waste of time- plus I would have to climb the stairs a half dozen times to answer questions and entertain request.

Tonight was no different.

1.3 minutes after saying good night my oldest wondered into my bed room to execute the nightly stalling technique.  This was his method for prolonging the bed time process:

Mack- (troubled expression)  “Dad, I can’t calm myself down- I’ll probably never fall sleep again as long as I live.  Do you have any advice?”

Dad- (instantly frustrated) “I do have some advice- Go to sleep”

Mack- (head cocked intense look on his face as if he is being introduced to a foreign concept for the first time) “How Dad”

Dad- “Close your mouth, shut your eyes, and don’t move until 9am-  do you have all of that?”

Mack- (processing- I know this because his lips are moving as if he is reciting my instructions to himself) “Got it Dad!”

Off he went.

They’re still screwing around in there I think I’ve been duped. 

Yep, I’m certain that I’ve been duped, my youngest just shot past me with a full mouth of water a can of Lysol and a toilet brush- gotta run, he’s either putting out a fire or scrubbing his brothers teeth. 

Oh how I love our nightly routine.

Thanks for the input…

April 2, 2009

I would love to have had a daughter. I know this because we have tons of friends with little girls and I get to interact with them enough that I’m convinced having a little girl would have been awesome. They’re so much different than the quasi-man creatures that currently reside in our home. My perceptions may be skewed- but it appears that little girls prefer to be clean, love to snuggle and will most always chose Dad over Mom when pressed. How cool is that? “Daddy’s little girl” as opposed to “Momma’s boy”- I always wondered how those clichés originated?

So it’s established, I would love to have had a daughter, but that doesn’t mean I appreciate the pressure that I’ve been receiving from various people in my environment to have one now. I say various people in my environment because I can’t really call these people friends or even remote acquaintances. For the most part I‘ve never met these helpful people- they are in fact complete strangers. But when Connie opens the gates and allows the men folk to go foraging free of female supervision these complete strangers feel compelled to question the gender ratio of my family. For example, standing in line at the grocery store with the “man-beasts” and an elderly woman ask, “What cute little boys, do they have a sister at home?“. I reply “nope just the two boys“. She then pops off with, “Are you going to try for a little girl?“ What I would like to say is, “Absolutely, as soon as I get home me and the wife are gonna bang one out- and we’re not stopping until we‘re successful, even if it takes allllllll nightttt longgggggg!“ If she passes out due to the vulgarity of my innuendo serves her right- mind your business lady and quit having dirty thoughts about my wife and I making babies!

But sadly I only say this under my breath and out of earshot. In real life I simply smile and nod my gourd like a giant bobble-head. But even as I nod my head I wonder what makes people believe they have the right to suggest that I should run home and create another living being- that’s a bit personal isn‘t it? The same people wouldn’t tell me if I had a giant booger hanging off my face, but feel completely at ease with suggesting I commit to an investment with substantial financial, physical and mental ramifications. Having kids isn’t like buying a “Pet Rock“- having and raising children is some serious shit.

 

Unsolicited advice aside- it begs the question does a couple have the ability to “try” for a specific gender? I‘ve been led to believe that a couple can, so maybe we should examine this bit of folklore in a little more detail. The strangers providing the advice apparently believe that it’s possible, but yet they haven’t elected a spokesman to provide me with the details. So is it okay to seek clarification from the sandwich technician at Subway when she tells me how much more joyful my life could be with some additional gender variation in my family- or is it considered tacky to inquire into the specifics while waiting for your double stack turkey on wheat? How exactly does one “try” for a little girl anyway? Should I hang a pair of pink booties on the bed post, recite some ancient incantations, listen to “Back Street Boys before bed, polish a lawn gnome- am I getting warm? Maybe it’s more complex than just polishing a lawn gnome- maybe success is achieved through perfect timing. Should we try to conceive at the end of the month, pay days, during the Super Bowl half time show or possibly the 2nd Monday of the summer solstice- who friggin knows the answer? I’ve also heard rumor that it’s all about the position during conception- who is located where and doing what to whom. Personally, I think a guy started these rumors because none of the suggested positions or sexual acrobatics sound like something a woman would come up with.

To round out my ignorance, I don’t ever remember seeing anything in “What to Expect…” or any of the numerous other pieces of literature authored by child birthing/raising “experts” providing instructions. All the stuff I read generally said pick a boy name, pick a girl name and hope that whatever you end up with is healthy- good luck. Bottom line, I don’t think you can “Try” for a girl or a boy, you just “Try” to have a baby and if you‘re fortunate enough to blessed with one be thankful.

If I took the time to explain to these helpful folks that no formula exist for having a child of a specific gender it’s possible that they would agree with my logic- but they would probably tell me to try anyway. I’m prepared for that argument as well. I have a whole list of reasons why a third child isn’t in our future. One, I firmly believe that if we kept trying in hopes of one day having a baby girl we’d stack up little boys like cord wood. Second, once you’re out of the whole diaper phase you develop a really strong desire to never return. I don’t want to wipe another person’s butt, regardless of how small or cute, for as long as I live. Hell, I was so fed up after four straight years of diaper duty it took me six months to talk myself into wiping my own ass – I’m not going back. Sleep is another good reason- from my recollection infants sleep all day so they can stay up all night. You can acclimate to their nocturnal habits if you have too- the operative terms being “have too”. I’m all ready claiming two chimps on my taxes, another child is not a “have too” commodity at this point. I can go on and on about all the reasons why I’m not down with the idea and if I read them over and over again I might even be able to convince myself that in fact I truly don’t want to father a third child- but on the off chance it did happen I kind of like the name Allison.