5 Years

Baby Marilee's parents celebrated five full years of misery marital bliss on May 15th. So to mark the big day, I surprised Marie and baby with a trip to that hotbed of excitement and romance: Salt Lake City.

So although it's not nearly as fun as cleaning the bathtub, here are some photos of our trip:

At the Utah Welcome Center near Green River, where Baby and Daddy plan the route. The route Daddy points to would lead us through Price then onto Interstate 80 North to Salt Lake. The route Marilee points to would have led us to a jungle in Guatemala.

The Gateway Center, a charming outdoor shopping district in downtown Salt Lake. Looking back on it, and considering that we were only steps away from the Church of the Latter Day Saint's most holy shrine, pretending to serve a margarita to a 4 month-old child may not have been the most appropriate gesture.

Like I said, we were at an outdoor mall. And sometimes it's nice to escape the the same old routine and experience something completely brand new. Here's Marie at a women's shoe store.

"Shopping for shoes sure beats staying home and cleaning the toilet." (A belief shared by exactly 50% of the adults in our house.)







Since we've had some scheduling problems arranging Marilee's baptism at Immaculate Heart of Mary in Grand Junction, we decided, "What the heck," and killed two birds with one stone. You can now call her: "Sister Marilee."



After the photo was taken, we ate lunch at a cafeteria in Brigham Young's actual, original home. Marie had catfish. Not sure why that is noteworthy, but I remembered it for some reason.








Where the Mormon Tabernacle Choir performs. We could make some lame joke about a "large organ" but we're not going to. We will say that we were privileged to witness an awesome performance/practice and that despite our worries, Marilee did NOT test out the building's acoustics, other than a minor burp afterwards.









Running low on funds during the trip, Steve and Marilee resort to taking part-time jobs as meteorologists at KSL Channel 2. Here the station's new "Dynamic Weekend Weather Duo" let all the viewers alongside the Wasatch range know that a high pressure system is coming in from the Northwest, bringing with it a 60% chance of precipitation by late Sunday.




Baby is shown here at the screening for "Under the Sea," a 3-D Imax film composed entirely of underwater footage. I'm not totally sure, but I think that placing a 4 month old baby in front a giant screen where great white sharks realistically appear to snap inches away from your face makes us the worst parents ever.




Quiz time. This is:






A) The world's largest elevator.


or


B) What happens when an evil witch makes good on her promise to put a spell on Marie and shrink her down to a height of 18 inches.



Another photo from the Clark Planetarium....

...where Marie leaves the bathroom. (Warning to budding photographers: you may think it's hilarious to catch your wife leaving the restroom, but trust me when I say that pointing the camera at the Ladies room gets you many, many dirty looks from passing females.)

After Salt Lake, we headed East towards home.



This is at the Olympic museum at nearby Park City, Utah. Here Daddy takes part in the traditional, "Molesting of the buffalo."

Still at Park City. During the 2002 Winter Olympics, 40% of the events where held here. In this photo, Marie touches what officials say is the last remaining clump of original snow from the February 2002 Olympic games. (Okay, not really, but YOU try coming up with a caption for this picture.)

To make sure visitors to the Olympic museum are able to experience a true, authentic skiing experience, staff members crank the air conditioner down to -14 degrees and charge visitors $18 for a hamburger.




The official 2002 Olympic bobsled run. The gold medal time was 2 minutes, 14.3 seconds. My money said that Marilee - riding in her stroller - could destroy that record, but apparently some wimp in our party thought it would be "way too dangerous."






At the Red Banjo Pizza in Park City. Baby is excited because the vacation is over we're on our way to Vernal!

Growing Baby

Yes, it's been awhile, but things have been busy here at the Beaurgard home, where we're constantly being consumed with the trivialities of day-t0-day life. Things such as washing dishes, cooking of dinner, spreading the cremated ashes of a beloved family pet across the front yard, etc.

The Ghost of Elvis haunts the living room late at night, where, if you listen closely, you can hear the very eerie sounds of a paws being licked.

Marilee continues to grow healthy and happy (as far as we know.) Last Monday she slept from 9 pm to 6 pm straight, but alas, it was only an anomaly, and she's returned to tormenting gently waking daddy up to ask for 2 AM feedings.



But at least there is decent TV on at 2 AM. There are two different poker shows to watch, both of which beat the uber-annoying Baby Genius shows she watches a few laters later in the morning when we plop her down in front of the TV to catch our breath.



The Baby Genius videos play these chirpy kid's songs that penetrate your mind and refuse to let go to the point where you're cluelessly standing in isle number 12 at City Market. failing in your efforts to remember what you were supposed to get because all you can hear in the brain is this musical gem, sung by Frankie, the singing pink elephant:

"One, two, I love you.

Three, four, let's count some more.

Five, six, get your kicks.

Seven, Eight, counting is great!

Nine, ten, numbers are our friends.

Let's Count them all again."

And trust me: after listening to this song several times every single morning for 104 days straight, you will NOT think of numbers as "our friends." You will hate numbers and hope they all die a painful, violent death.

Baby Genius Episode #347, the one where Frankie goes over to introduce herself to her new neighbor, Jason...

Speaking of serial killers, Grandma and Grandpa Beauregard have settled into a weekly routine of babysitting Marilee every Wednesday, so that daddy has some uninterrupted time during the day to watch soap operas work.

Nothing else too exciting to report, so I'll log off now and promise to provide updates on a more regular basis.

What happens when we run out of formula AND beer.

Elvis Beauregard: 1997 - 2009

The first thing that struck me about him was the silence.

All the other dogs at the humane society were barking feverishly. Some out of fear, some out attention. Some begging for me to take them home. But the six- month-old combination black lab/whatever jumped over his mom’s fence that night was quietly laying at the back of the cage, minding his own business. "Perfect!" I said to myself, "A laid back, mellow dog."

Little had I known.

It was a late summer night, 1997. I sat in the living room of my little rental house, watching TV as I petted my brand new dog, wondering out loud what to name him. A news caster reported about how all the Elvis Presley nuts were in Memphis that night, camping outside Graceland in honor of the 20th anniversary of the death of the King of Rock and Roll. My brother spoke up: "How about Elvis?"

Perfect.

When it comes right down to it, a dog has one job. Yes, some dogs are trained to be bird dogs. Some guard their owners. Some entertain. But a dog’s main job is to love their master unconditionally. And Elvis knew how to do his job.

I’d come home from a rough day at work - when my clients had been mad, the sales were slow and the bills high. Elvis was there to love me, and didn’t seem to mind when I had to buy generic dog food.

Eventually I hit the love lotto. I distinctly remember the first time Marie came over to my house. Elvis and I greeted her at the door. Marie was hesitant and stepped back: "Is he friendly?" I tried not to laugh. Right from the start, he approved of Marie. He always was a good judge of character.

Marie eventually became witness to all of his insane quirks. Like how would attempt to have sex with your leg - or anything else for that matter. I once saw him trying to have sex with my pile of dirty laundry. I wasn’t sure if I should scold him or try to book him on David Letterman’s Stupid Pet Tricks segment.

He had a extremely gentle demeanor towards anyone not wearing a uniform. A drunk guy banging on our door at 2 in the morning? No bark. But God help the guy showing up in a Domino’s shirt to deliver our pizza.

It’s a bad cliche, but he was particularity suspicious about the intentions of our mailman. Before he became an indoor-only mutt, I’d leave him in our fenced backyard. When he escaped and threatened the mail carrier, I apologized profusely, and spent the day re-enforcing the fence. After the second escape, the Post Office gave me official warning that one more incident would result in the stoppage of home mail delivery. Not a problem, I said, as I spent a weekend adding layers of lumber, rock, wood and nails to block any potential escape route.

I now use a P.O. Box.

Now matter what I did, (including locking him in a metallic-bar kennel), he’d somehow figure out how to escape. One time my brother called me on his cell: "I think I just saw Elvis running across traffic on 7th Street."

"Nah," I replied, looking out at the back window. "I just put in the back yard. He’s right...right....Where did you see him again?"

Fortunately, on most of his escapes, he’d run to Betty Fulton’s house down the street and camp out on her front porch. She had the good treats. Once, our neighbor Scott, found Elvis wandering the streets. He tied him up to my gas meter in the backyard. When I got home, Elvis had chewed a huge section of the exterior wall next to the meter- so much so that an entire 20 foot section of our siding had to be replaced.

Another time I had taken Elvis with me to the mall. It was too hot to leave him in the car, so I tied him up to a bike rack in a shady area outside of Target. I wasn’t too concerned, seeing as how he had never chewed through his leash. Yet when I finished my shopping, Elvis was gone from the bike rack. A long and thorough search of the parking lot, as well as a call to mall security, yielded no results. Distraught on the drive home, I pondered my options: call the radio stations? Post fliers? I can’t leave Elvis out there lost, and all alone.

The message on the answering machine at home brought sweet relief: "Hi Steve, this is Nancy from down the street. I saw Elvis tied up on a bike rack at Mesa Mall. He must have gotten out again. So I unleashed him and brought him to my house."

Nancy assumed that Elvis had escaped from my backyard and somehow managed to run 4 miles to mall, whereupon he got himself tangled up in a bike rack. And if you think this scenario is out of the realm of possibilities, then you don’t know Elvis.

Another quirk was his food selection. He seemed skeptical of the nightly dinner placed in his food bowl. Yet, he would quickly try to scarf down anything that we accidently dropped on the kitchen floor, like a piece of cheese, or a pretzel, or steak knife. On frequent occasion, he would not eat the Purina I purchased for him, and instead, go outside and devour the cat poop that the neighborhood strays would deposit. Not only would he chew up the trash on a daily basis, but the many bite marks on the wood frame of our front door, as well as the chewed out section of our front window, and seats in our car, are testaments to how, exactly, he feels about thunder.

All these quirks made for good newspaper column fodder. I once even had Elvis write my column for me. A few months later, when the newspaper editor asked what columns I wanted submitted for consideration to the annual Colorado Press Association awards, I chose that one. He didn’t win, but that’s okay. I’m pretty sure Elvis is the only dog to have ever been nominated for a writing award.

Eventually of course, he began to mellow. Dogs, like their masters, get old and worn down. I saw all the signs coming. I just didn’t want to acknowledge them.

When we brought Marilee home, Elvis wasn’t jealous. Whether it was old age, sibling love, or just a simple acceptance of the situation, he seemed to know what was happening, and where our priorities were shifting. Not too long ago, it was just he and I in our little lonely bachelor pad. Now the women were moving in and taking over. He seemed to be okay with it.

Our three mile runs had turned into two mile runs and a walk. Then just two miles. Then a half-mile followed by arthritis pills. Watching him slip face-first on the front-yard grass didn’t seem as funny anymore, so we made an appointment with the vet. When the first batch of medicine became only a temporary fix, we went back again.

The good docs at All Pets Center gave him some pain killers, and steroids, but it was just a stop gap. Reality was setting in and I reluctantly took stock of his life. I don't imagine that the odds are very good for a shy, mixed-breed mutt abandoned at an over-croweded Clifton animal shelter. But somehow he managed to live an active, happy, 11 years, 8 months in a warm, loving home. All in all, I’d say he had a good run.

So today, it was time to take him for our last trip to the vet. We first stopped at McDonalds, where I figured two double cheeseburgers would be a fine farewell meal. I ordered an additional one for me, and another one. Maybe I’d bring it down to work for Marie.

Elvis devoured all four.

So we get to the vet and I wait. People in the lobby craddle cats, or slightly injured dogs, and they turn their heads towards me, hearing my sobs, which I couldn’t contain even if I tried. A few minutes later we’re called. Elvis is calm, and looks me in the eyes. No fear. No stress. Just love. The anesthetic works fast.

Tears stream down my face as I stroke Elvis, my dog, one last time. I keep thinking back on something Marie said to comfort me before we left.

"You gave him a good life."

I hope so.

Because that would make us even.

Baby vs. Food

Something even more rare than a bigfoot or UFO sighting: Marilee without some sort of nipple in her mouth.

Marie and I love watching the Travel Channel. One of their weekly features is a show called "Man vs. Food." The premise is as follows: the host travels the country visiting several restaurants, taking on food eating challenges. One episode had him taking on an 7 egg breakfast burrito (he lost).

I bring this up because we've already discovered that Marilee seems well suited for a future career in the field of competitive eating.

Takeru Kobayashi, 7 time winner of the annual Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Championship. Enjoy your reign while you can Takeru, you've got an up-and-comer named Marilee hot on your heels.

Her transition from 4 ounce bottle to 8 ounce has been quick and seamless. A couple nights ago, at 3:30 am, she knocked back a 8 ouncer in record time. This was followed by a late morning feast of ANOTHER entire 8 ounce bottle a few hours later at 10 a.m.

I hear you saying, "Who gives a rat's ass?" But I want to put this in perspective: Within a period of 6 1/2 hours, Marilee consumed 1/14th of her body weight. In other words, it would equal me eating 7 pounds of food for lunch, then another 7 pounds at dinner, a feat which is obviously unrealistic. (Unless I happen to be on a cruise.)

Marilee could eat this whole thing in about 10 minutes. (I'm talking about the bottle. The baby would take a few minutes longer.)

On the bright side, baby sure is smiling a lot more. Especially when Mamma gets all up in her grill with a big grin. She also smiles when Daddy sings to her. (The only human being to ever do so.) So far, her favorite songs seem to be the ABC song, "Back in Baby's Arms," and Bob Marley's "One Love." Granted, these are the only three songs I sing to her, but still.

She's also developed a favorite new toy: the TV remote control. I put it in front of her face and use a high-pitched voice to act like the remote is actually talking to her. Not sure if this is going to cause her future psychological damage. What I DO know is that in the eyes of a 2 month old, I have mad ventriloquism skills.

A couple of parting shots from today:

"Somebody help me. I'm being held hostage in a shoe store in Grand Junction by two complete psychos. Call for help. Call for help now!"

"Stupid parents. What kind of shoe store owner doesn't carry size 1/2? Geessh."

2 Months

"Just because I'm only 60 days old doesn't mean I can't cop a mean attitude."

Well, we made it past the 8 week mark. Marilee's acne is clearing up and some hair is starting to grow back, so we've decided that she's attractive enough now to take out in public.

For example, on St. Patrick's Day we all went to the Rockslide, where Marie at this:

And Mommy and Daddy drank this:




We just wish someone would have told us that green food coloring can be transmitted through breastmilk:

At least our baby now has Al Gore's blessing.

Marie also took baby to the pediatrician or podiatrist or whatever (I always get those two confused), for her 2 month check-up. Other than suffering from an extraordinary case of obesity, baby is perfectly healthy. She weighed in at 14 pounds.

Other than being overweight, it appears that Marilee is a normal happy baby. The bedtime routine now is to put her in the crib at 9 pm. She'll proceed to sleep to about 1 a.m., whereupon she'll scream as if being tortured lovingly make cute noises signaling us to feed her.

So since I have the first shift, I'll get up and feed her while watching World Series of Poker re-runs on ESPN Classic. If the feeding goes on past 3 a.m., I'm forced to watch the re-runs of Bull Riding Championships from the 90's, seeing as how it's hard to feed and burp a baby while operating a television remote. I'm not particularly into watching the rodeo, but I'm REALLY not into having 4 ounces of regurgitated formula spit up into my face.

What happens to me when I pull the bottle out of Marilee's mouth to reach for the remote.

We continue to bring her down to the store during work, where she's usually pretty good so long as there is either a boob or bottle nearby. Changing her is more of a hassle, because for some reason that is not entirely clear, the landlord at our shoe store did not construct a large, durable, stainless steel baby-changing table in the back office.

Daddy shows Marilee how we help Mommy out at work.

Also down at the store, Princess Livia casually browses through this month's VOGUE.

Moving on. In honor of the Jay Cutler controversy brewing, (note to Broncos: KEEP HIM. Chris Simms has thrown 2 passes in two years.) Sorry, we're getting off track. In honor of all the recent Broncos news, I thought I'd drop in some photos of Marilee's first Broncos game, although since the game occurred during the 7 month of pregnancy, her view from Marie's uterus was just slightly worse than that of the people in the end zone's upper deck. Momma and Dadda are shown here from this past November, when Daddy won 2 tickets from KKCO. For what it's worth, the Broncos got their asses handed to them narrowly lost to the Raiders.

It takes a special woman to sit in the cold for three hours while 7 months pregnant, watching a sport she doesn't even like. Fortunately Invesco Field at Mile High has lots of food stands. Not that I'm implying anything.

Club Level Seats to a Broncos/Raiders game, just about the most precious thing in the whole world. My daughter, of course, is more valuable, but it's a close call.

"Today's official attendance: 75,321 - not including people currently inside Marie's uterus."

Random shots:

Here Marie shows baby how a lady properly passes out drunk.

"See you all next time!"

7 Hours

We've set a new record: Marilee slept for 7 straight hours the other night. Unfortunately, I was awake for all 7 hours, but it's a start. She visited Mr. Sandman from 9 a.m. to about 4 a.m, after which she visited Mr. Boob.

"Yes I may have a acne, a double chin and receding hairline, but don't hate me cause I'm beautiful."

As you can see, Marilee continues to get really fat put on healthy weight. At the latest weigh-in last week, she hit the 13 pound mark. Then we changed her diaper and the scale read 8 pounds. (Rimshot)



In other bodily fluid emission related news: we're still dealing with massive spit-ups after every feeding. And sometimes during feedings. And before feedings too. Basically, what I'm saying is that the spit-ups are non-stop and to the point where we no longer care about cleaning spilt breastmilk off of the furniture. (Especially since we're getting new couches from Pat and Allison via Mom and Dad tomorrow.)


An action shot of one of Marilee's spit-ups:

Okay, to be honest, Marilee's spit-ups are in NO WAY like Old Faithful. Old Faithful only erupts once every 15 minutes.

I've forgotten to mention that we've started giving Marilee baths. We weren't sure if she was going to like it or not, so Daddy showed her how it's done:

"May I offer you a Skittle?"

Now a drumroll please......Marilee's very first bath and her first chance to experience the relaxation of warm, soothing water:

We only bathe her in freezing cold water. Sure, it may cause her to scream alot, but you should see how much we save on our energy bill.

This is totally unrelated to Marilee, but since I've already downloaded the photo, we'll now play a game we like to call: Before and After.

Before:

After:

"How was I supposed to know consuming an endangered species was a federal offense?"

Meanwhile, we ask the rhetorical question: is there anything more natural, nay, more beautiful, than the site of a loving mother nursing her young child?

A good mom knows how to multi-task.

(Disclaimer: One of the people photographed in the photo above demanded kindly asked that I let everyone know she was posing, and not actually drinking out of the whiskey bottle.)

This gratuitous shot of Marilee is visual proof that we are using the baby chair that Grandma and Grandpa Beauregard bought for her. (We removed her from the chair immediately after. the photo was taken.)






"Help! I have some strange 200 pound man falling on me!"

And here's one taken today, March 7th, just in case there are any people at the Casa Grande R.V. park near Phoenix, Arizona who happen to be logging in after a cutthroat game of cards.

"Hi Grandma and Grandpa Beauregard. Hope you're enjoying your retirement and having your fun on a palm tree-lined golf course under 80 degree Arizona skies. Me? I'm having just as much fun. It snowed in Grand Junction today, and it's cold and dreary outside. So I'm just going to spend the day here bored, hungry and tired, laying on the floor of a drafty shore store in my own excrement. See you soon!"