Mama for comfort, dada for giggles.

Oh my goodness. It's been way, way, way too long since I last posted.

So much has changed. NOTHING is the same.

NO/NO took an early June East Coast/Midwest music tour. We went out for 14 days, played at least 10 shows, drove thousands of miles, wore out the timing belt on a 1998 Honda Odyssey mini-van, and played before packed and sparse crowds. My ears are shot, but my eyes are wide to the memories and sights seen.

Jamie and I moved into a second-story dutch oven with a skylight. The hellish window is angled at just the right degree that the glass bends the sun's rays so that they alight themselves across our carpets and our couch, turning both into smoldering cauldrons of simmering lava. We don't like the apartment.

I've started a new job. I'm now working as an analyst for a nonprofit "strategy" firm called S***** (secrets!). I spend a majority of my day learning how to navigate Excel and delving into the financial minutiae of social service organizations, looking to extract themes and trends that can help them answer big questions like: "Why do we exist as an organization?" "Have we lost our mission and vision?" "Why are we losing money on our grimy, in-ground swimming pool that is over-chlorinated?"  The job gives me a destination in the morning and some great co-workers, but I feel a bit disingenuous. Passionate, powerful, successful nonprofit leaders should not come running to me for financial advice. I'm still trying to figure out where I lost my last debit card. I honestly don't know, but I can assure you that it was at the '"classier" bar down the street with the brass bar foot rests that run under the counter.

We've had our Czech friend Bara Jakubcova come and go. She stayed with us for nearly two months, indulging in the best that America has to offer: big guns, big trucks, strong dudes, and red meat. While she was in the presence of me and Jamie, however, Bara had much "lighter" fare. We took her to museums, baked bread, drank wine (cheap), poured glasses of "imported" beer, all the while gliding our way through streets and alleys of Milwaukee on our steel-framed bicycles. Yes, we did that. Needless to say, she got to the see best and worst of our country (you be the judge).

Jamie taught, had summer break, vacationed in New York, got pregnant, and returned back to school.

Yes, that's right.

You thought I was just going to "sneak" it in there on that list and not draw any attention to the detail. But I'll draw attention here:

We're pregnant again!!

And, no, she didn't get pregnant in New York. She got pregnant in Milwaukee :).

Anyway, it was totally unexpected. Ada is going to be a big sister. We're both really excited and a bit nervous all at once. Jamie is going to try to have a VBAC (for those of you who don't know what a VBAC is, look it up). Her due date is late December. There will be updates.

On a serious and sad note, our beloved city of Milwaukee has had a tough few weeks. After the shooting death of a 23-year old, armed African-American man by police, the neighborhood in Sherman Park went up in flames and riots. The tumult became national news and before I could even comprehend what had happened, many friends and loved ones were calling and asking me about the situation. I penned an honest response to them through facebook. I leave it here:

To all of my friends from around the country and the globe who are following the news about Milwaukee and asking me about the situation in the city, I offer my thoughts: I simply do not understand what is happening. As a privileged white male, I am unable to comprehend what it is like to live in a community that suffers from an employment rate that is nearly 50%. I don't know what it's like to live in a community that has some of the highest incarceration rates in the country. I do not know what it is like to live in a community that has been marginalized through decades of economic indifference, cultural racism, and educational neglect. I do not know what it is like to have my history and my stories ignored or denied. I do not know what it is like to be judged by the color of my skin, by the sound of my name, by the look of my pants, by the style of my hair, by the pattern of my speech. I do not know what it is like to live in a community where merely surviving is a success. Until I know what it is like, I refuse to place my judgement upon those who are rioting, upon those who have committed acts of violence against buildings and a justice system that has failed them. At this time, I am trying to listen and search where I am needed, as a witness of solidarity, as a peace advocate, and as someone who wants to use my talents to unite the community. I ask that you join me in this journey of reflection. And please, please do not make this into a political story about police violence, for while it is a part, something much deeper is going on here in MKE and you all should respect that.

I remember that the last time I wrote on this blog (ahem...5 months ago....), I was enraptured with the observation that Ada was becoming more self-aware. What I meant by self-aware was that she was sprouting the seedling of personal ambition. As happens with people, this innocent “ambition” about which I began to wax poetic, has now morphed itself into nightmarish selfishness. When Ada doesn’t get to spend an extra ten minutes picking the petals off our neighbors purple cone flowers, she screams, goes limp, and lumps her head against the ground. If Ada isn’t allowed to throw her newly-purchased-plush-crab bath toy down the toilet, she screams, goes limp, and lumps her against the rug. If Ada isn’t allowed to get one last ride down the plastic slide at Gordon Park, she screams, goes limp, and lumps her head against the recycled rubber matting. You get the drift….

On June 15^th, I relinquished my role as Ada’s primary care giver to Jamie. Since then, she has attached herself to Jamie. Ada threw me aside quicker than she shoves her half-eaten spoon of mashed potatoes onto the kitchen floor. In inverse relation to the ease with which Ada has dropped “dad,” I have struggled mightily to come to grips with the reality that I am no longer the “Apple (or bottle if you will) in Ada’s eye.”  When she wants comfort, food, held, read to, cuddled, she reaches for Jamie. When she wants to play or laugh, she comes for me, lying on her back waiting for me to blow bubbles on her belly. This is what it’s come to, Ada? I am now your clown? Your court jester to be cast aside when you are not amused!?

The closest Ada and I have been in the past two months was actually this week when I stayed home to care for her while she recovered from a “mysterious” illness. It was a great day. We read, walked, played with flowers, and took naps under trees. Then evening hit and I had a very visceral answer to the question that had vexed both Jamie and I: Gastroenteritis

After 36 hours, 20 pedialite popsicles, and 100 prayers to the Lord, I can confirm that Ada had stomach flu. She felled me with one kiss too many.