Tickled Baby Syndrome

So our experiment in baby sleep time manipulation is going.

Actually, it seems to be showing some promising signs of progress. We started Monday, and, though it was a thankless and soul bruising experience (for me--Libby has passed on this once in a lifetime opportunity since the beginning, preferring to make me the bad guy again. This is not unusual. I am the go-to bad guy in our family. Probably the reason Gabe "roared" for the thing that I "say" in the video from the other day. But I think I'm OK with that. I won't be the favorite, but I'm betting I'll be the one most likely to be left alone when some nightmare or stomach ache strikes in the middle of the night. Seems a fair trade for having to dish out the discipline), she actually slept through the night except for a couple of feedings.

So we repeated Tuesday with similar results. Wednesday we had a bit of a set back due to scheduling. Button spent a good portion of the day riding in the car, where she sleeps. But she still managed to make it most of the way through the night. And today I was able to mostly keep her awake, so I'm hopeful we'll have similarly pleasant results.

But I'm a little worried. I'm worried that I'm turning my baby into a monster (and I've given it a name that I'm just a tad bit ashamed of, what with it playing off the actual, terrible problem known as "shaken baby syndrome." Not ashamed enough to not use it, mind you).

See, it's only been in the last week or so that she's started responding to things like tickling. And she's still new enough at it that, most of the time, she's not really sure how she should react. So, sometimes she'll kind of smile, others she'll fart, then others she'll just kind of squirm uncomfortably.

When this experiment started on Monday, she was smiling a fair percentage of the times when I tickled her (minus the times when she was obviously sleeping, and not just trying to sleep--those times she just got pissed or frowned a harrowing baby frown of disappointment at me). Today, though, she was barely cracking a grin at all, even when I tickled the bottoms of her feet. Not even on the feet, people! Shit is getting serious!

I'm terribly afraid that I'm permanently ruining the tickle for our child, which would be an awful blow to my repertoire of entertainment possibilities. If I need a good five minutes of distraction for Gabe, I STILL go to the tickle, and he mostly loves it (though, like the fetishist I'm reasonably sure he's going to grow up to be, he learned how to incorporate a "safe word" some time ago--it's just the word "stop," but he pretty much learned it just to get us to stop tickling him when he was tired of it). Or worse, I might be ruining her sense of humor in general. What if she'll never grow to appreciate the cathartic release that a good laugh offers--how it allows one to deal with difficult issues or situations in a non-throwing-things-at-people kind of way. Laughing is one of the things I do best--and making people laugh is something that I like to do more than pretty much anything.

I'm worried that, for the sake of a few decent nights of sleep now, I'm sacrificing the years down the road when my daughter might think I'm amusing (realizing, of course, that she'll probably have to be an adult before that happens, since kids usually think their parents are socially retarded, no matter how cool or funny they actually are--hint: I am both).

What have I done? I've tickled the will to laugh right out of her! Oh the humanity!

Or not. I'll be sure to let everyone know.

Two Possibly Funny Videos

I know! Two posts in one night! It's friggin' unbelievable!

Though, this one is going to be very short. We took a pair of videos of Gabe a little bit ago that we thought were funny. Understand, he skipped his nap today, so he's WAY tired right now, which was prompting him to do some rather funnier than usual things.

This is one of Gabe's games. What you can't see is my non-videoing hand covering up my junk to shield a bit of damage, since he was plowing right into my crotch. Mostly, though, we took this so we could document how he says the word "accident," because we think it's adorable (which is why we were trying to get him to say it). He says it rather a lot, too, since he's always running into things or running his cars into things or running anything into things--and each time it's an "agnes" (though this time he called it an "angus" too, which would have made my Dad--a one time cattle breeder--very displeased because he wasn't much of a fan of the angus).

Because it's my way, I'm uploading these without having seen them before-hand. This video, though, seemed VERY funny to us--possibly America's Funniest Videos funny. But I say that, having not yet seen it. Specifically, the funny part comes at the end. We began the video trying to get him to sing the "happy birthday" song that he learned on my birthday last week. It goes "Happy . . . to Daddy," and it's pretty cute. But he wouldn't do it, so Libby started asking him what noises things make. This is the first minute of the video. Then she asks what "Daddy says," and Gabe responds tellingly (with the same noise he makes for a dinosaur, incidentally). Then, when asked what "Momma says," he responds in what I think is an awfully hilarious way.

If You Want to Feel Like a Heel

Kicking puppies into traffic and feeding kittens to condors not producing the kind of satisfying rush you used to feel? Have I got a deal for you! Torment a two month old so that she stays awake through the day!

Over the course of the last week, Button has taken her dislike for sleeping at night to a whole new level. Every day this past week, she's shifted, ever so slightly, into a schedule that keeps her asleep almost the entire day--from 6:00 a.m. until 6:00 p.m.--and keeps her up from 6:00 p.m. until around 4:00 a.m. (where she'll start to doze, but not really sleep until about 6:00). This, of course, is a completely unreasonable and unworkable schedule. Well, unless Libby quits her job and we start keeping Gabe up until about 3:00 a.m. That's not too likely to happen, though.

So, this morning, we decided that we MUST keep her awake for most of the days through the rest of this week and try to force her schedule into something slightly more reasonable (we're willing to compromise--I'm perfectly willing to stay up until, say, midnight, but, for some reason, she has been largely unresponsive to my diplomatic overtures). Talk about an unsavory job.

We allowed her a morning nap, from about 8:00 until 10:00, and another one from about 1:00 until 3:00. Then we've also allowed her to doze for little fifteen to thirty minute bursts whenever she's gotten too cranky. Otherwise, it's been my job to try and keep her at least passingly conscious.

"How do you keep a two month old awake?" you might ask. It's not like they have a broad range of interests that you can present them with as a form of distraction. I can't say, "Hey, if you stay awake for another two hours, I'll loan you the car and you can drive into town to get some hookers and blow." Not that I'd likely suggest that to a child of mine--or anyone, really--in the first place, but it seems like that would be a better than average deterrent to sleep. In fact, there is almost NOTHING that you can do to keep a two month old awake unless she WANTS to be awake.

I've spent the best part of my day gently poking and prodding her, tickling and teasing her, and picking her up and moving her around in just about every awkward position I could get her into without causing either of us harm. And almost none of it works. Physical contact of any sort will result in a slight wiggling, followed by snores. Picking her up and trying to sit her down or stand her up results in her limply tipping in one direction or the other, still sound asleep. Feeding wakes her up just enough for her to drink. However, feeding is the number one way to make a baby fall asleep, so you can guess where feeding inevitably leads.

In short, I've felt like an absolute ass clown all day today because I've been gently, but persistently, tormenting our little baby girl to get her to stay awake. It is entirely possible that it will scar me for life.

Speaking of which, how come everyone always talks about what happens to the CHILDREN to scar them for life? What about us parents who have to do things that leave permanent marks? How about a little sympathy for us?

For almost fifteen minutes before logging on to make this post, I tickled and jostled button to try and get her to wake up. This was the result.

Old Dads

Turning 35 today has prompted me to reflect a bit on the prospects of growing old. That isn't to suggest that I needed a landmark day like this to dwell on getting old. It is, in fact, something that I think about quite often. Hardly a day goes by that I don't think something along the line of "Christ, I can't believe I've nearly DOUBLED the number of years it took me to get to the point where I graduated from high school" or "I've known my wife for almost HALF my life now!" Or any of a number of other age-based observations involving basic maths. Then, of course, there is the math that goes the other direction. "I'm halfway to 70! Holy shit!" or "In the same number of years that it's been since I graduated from college, I'll be almost 50! And college seems like it was just a few years back!"

No, those thoughts I have most days--especially late at night when I'm not sleeping in my bed. Possibly this is a contributing factor to why I have troubles getting to sleep.

No, today I reflecteded on the notion of being an "old dad." Growing up, we all knew an old dad or two. They were the ones who either had a "surprise" child ten years after their last kid or who'd been siring babes on a bi-annual basis for the last twenty years or so. Almost never was it a first time dad who'd just been waiting until his thirties to start having kids. At least not where I grew up. Where I grew up, people started popping out the rugrats before they were 25 or people started to look at them strange.

These old dads of my youth were a curiosity. Sitting in the bleachers at a softball game or showing up for a kid's school play, they always looked out of sorts. They weren't the oldest people in the crowd, to be sure, since grandparents were always there, but they never fit in with the younger parents either. They were, in effect, suffering from a generation gap with all of the other parents there, and their discomfort was usually obvious, even to me when I was growing up. Not because I was especially astute, but because it would have been difficult NOT to notice them, sitting by themselves or with only the company of their spouse, looking entirely out of place--like a . . . dude who's about 15 years older than his contemporaries. I tried to come up with some witty or colorful simile there, but my brain just isn't firing very creatively these days. One of the disadvantages of being an old dad, I suppose. I rather lack the mental fortitude to sleep only a pinch of hours then dazzle with my mental finesse. C'est la vie.

Anyway, it has dawned on me more than once that I will be one of these old dads. Maybe not AS old, but still old. While some dads, still in their 20s, will be running around playing football or whatever with their kids, I will be wheezing and vigorously trying to massage the knots out of my back or neck should I be so bold as to attempt any sports activities. While the young fathers at the school events cluster to discuss their new, hip gadgets or make plans to hit the bars whenever the kids go to sleep, I will be wheezing and vigorously trying to massage the knots out of my back and neck still off to the side.

On top of this, I have friends who, at about my same age in their mid to late 30s, have kids who are heading off to college--or who have already headed that way. Now, still almost young enough to enjoy themselves, they will have something that resembles their freedom returned to them. Then I consider when I might have my freedom returned, and the math inevitably lands me in my early 50s--just after I've joined AARP, well before we can actually retire, and WAY after I'm young enough to enjoy a fast-paced lifestyle. I won't care that I can once again stay up until midnight with impunity since I'll be eating the early bird special at Hometown Buffet, watching a bit of the 6:00 news, then retiring for the evening with my copy of "Bridges of Madison County" and a glass of warm prune juice.

At least, these are my worst case scenario musings.

Then I consider the fact that parents have been waiting longer and longer to have kids all over the country--so odds are strong that at least a FEW of my peers at the kids' events will be near my age. And many of them might actually have similar stories--they too waited until they could actually support kids comfortably, and had several years to enjoy the company of their spouses to boot, before diving into the whirlpool of child rearing.

At the very least, maybe we can thoughtfully exchange tubes of Icy Hot while we cast sideways glances at the young "fools" who have to plan their bar nights around the schedules of their children.

Trudging Along

There really hasn't been much going on here the last week. At least not much worth sharing. Last weekend, I said to Libby, rather sadly, "I'm rather sad that I haven't been able to do anything to post to the blog lately." To which she replied, "Uh huh," in a distracted way and went about her business.

I AM disappointed that I haven't been able to stage stupid little stuffed animal theater spots for the last six weeks, but I've just been too out of it from the weird sleep schedule and the keeping Gabe from melting down. To put it simply, I don't have the means to be creative right now. It's a bit frustrating, really.

Anyway, Button is now a little over six weeks old. She's plumping up quite nicely--looking much more like a little baby and much less like Kim Jong-il. Really, all she needed was a ridiculous set of sunglasses and her costume would have been set for baby dictator Halloween. Now, not so much.

Her sleep schedule, however, is a complete mess. When she decides to sleep is almost completely random. She is proving, to my mind, at least, that humans don't NATURALLY fall into schedules. One day she'll sleep through the morning and stay up most of the afternoon and evening. The next day, she'll sleep all afternoon and evening. Then the next she won't sleep much at all. The only seeming constant in her schedule is that she refuses to sleep from about 8:00 p.m. until around 2:00 a.m. Or sleep much, anyway. She'll nod off, but as soon as we try to settle down as if she might sleep for the night, she wakes right back up again and demands our attention.

If anyone has any suggestions for how to shift a baby's sleep schedule from daylight to nighttime, I'd love to hear them. Since Gabe ALWAYS wakes up around 5:00 in the morning, and that's about the time she's starting to settle down for her longest bout of sleep, neither Libby nor I are getting all that much sleep these days.

Otherwise, it's looking very much like Button is Daddy's girl. This is great news, since Gabe has always favored Libby, both in personality type and in favoritism. He's a go-go-go type of boy, rather like Libby. He goes to bed early, gets up early, and is always on the move. His moods are subject to change at the slightest whim, he loves to be outside and has to be constantly entertained--again, quite like Libby. Well, she doesn't have to be contantly entertained, but she does tend to feel cooped up and unhappy whenever she's not being terribly productive.

Button, on the other hand, is pretty laid back--like me. She wants her food when she wants it, of course, but once that's out of the way and her diaper is fresh, she will usually just relax and watch the world go by. I can relate to that. Really, except for the apparent "sleep disorder" (I put that in quotes because it is how my body's natural sleep pattern--which puts me to bed around 1:00 and gets me up around 9:00--has always been referred to. I tend to disagree, preferring to think that the rest of the world has a sleep disorder, and I'm perfectly normal), she's a dream child.

Button and Daddy. On the same page.

And the sleep disorder we could easily deal with if our schedules (and Gabe) allowed us to sleep when she does. So, we're hoping we can coax her into at least a workable sleep schedule, just so we can keep our sanity until Gabe is old enough to understand the concept of "For the love of god, don't wake Mommy and Daddy until the clock says 6:30 or later."

On that subject, I'm actually conducting a little language experiment with Gabe. Every night, when I tuck him in, I say, "Do you remember what we do the first time we wake up in the morning?" He always nods as if he does, but I know he's just trying to get me to leave him alone. Then I say, "The first time we wake up in the morning, we go back to sleep. Right?" Then he nods again and says, "Right." "So be sure to go back to sleep when you wake up in the morning. If it's not light in your room yet, it's WAY to early to be awake." "Right," he repeats.

Then, of course, he starts crying for Momma and Dadda as soon as he wakes up at 5:00. So, EVENTUALLY, he will understand what I'm saying, and we'll have a pretty good idea of his linguistic development at that point. What development, specifically, I have no idea, but I'm eagerly awaiting it. And I'm sure I'll let everyone know when it's come to pass--somewhere about age eight, I'm guessing.

More. Juice.

Over the past few weeks, Gabe has been making some attempts at putting a few words together, which is a fantastic linguistic step and one we've been waiting on for quite some time. He's not doing it with enough regularity for it to be common, yet, and, frankly, he's not very good at it.

The words seem to come from different places in his brain. Or something. It actually reminds me of how video games will sometimes drop a name into a sentence in an attempt to make that sentence relevant to the situation without requiring the voice actor to record the same sentence over and over again for each possible situation. Specifically, it reminded me of the Madden football games (from about five or six years ago, when I played two of them--so they've likely improved things somewhat since then).

In these games, the commentators--at the time, usually Pat Summerall--would make some supposedly astute observation about a play. Then, a name (or a jersey number if the player was custom made or wasn't playing yet when the game was made) would be inserted wherever it was necessary, to give it a personal touch. " made a great play there!" Or something to that effect.

The problem was, the name never quite fit. There was an unnatural pause between the name and the rest of the sentence, and the tones were different, since the names hadn't actually been spoken as part of a sentence, but as stand alone words. Thus, "RANDY BOTTOMS made a great play there" always sounded entirely unnatural (Randy Bottoms wasn't an actual player, but that was usually the name that I chose as the coach or owner for any teams I created in the Franchise mode, but he SHOULD have been an actual player because that name is awesome. It would be even better for Center, though, since it would suggest an entirely unfootbally relationship going on between the center and the quarterback before each snap).

The point is, the name never sounded like it belonged with the rest of the sentence, and, often, that's exactly how Gabe's word groupings sound.

This morning, as we ate breakfast, it was VERY pronounced. He was saying "More. Juice." to encourage me to pour a little bit more into the cup he was drinking from (because I only give him a few sips at a time out of an open cup. He can't be trusted with more because, once he's had a drink, the rest of it will invariably go on tray, down the front of his shirt, or into his food bowl or plate). Each word sounded like it was part of two entirely different sentences, with inflections and tones to match whatever their original communication use the words had been gleaned from.

Of course, once I got the video camera to try and document it, he wouldn't repeat it quite the same way. MAYBE you can see what I mean from this video, though.

So . . . Tired . . .

I apologize for my total lack of posting anything interesting for the last few weeks. The combination of 100+ temperatures and lack of sleep have all but completely sapped any creativity from my brain. For the time being, let's just assume that the name of this website should change to "One Dad, Not Enough Sleep" and, accordingly, assume that my updates are going to be rather infrequent.

Neither of our kids has reached any new, memorable milestones lately. Button still sleeps without any schedule, rhyme, or reason. One day she'll sleep from 5:00 in the morning until about 6:00 in the evening then be up the entire night, the next day she'll sleep through almost the entire night (which is fantastic, of course, except that it gives us all sorts of false hope that she's going to start sleeping on a normal schedule, which she then dashes against the Rocks of Unpredictable Baby Habits).

And Gabe is . . . Gabe. High energy--which is great, except when we're working with such low energy reserves, and he has a zero tolerance policy for people who don't play with him at the energy level he wants to play at.

Anyway, here is a video that pretty accurately sums up how things are going most of the time. Please note that this took place some time around 6:00 a.m., and that the bathroom door (which Gabe is slamming) is DIRECTLY below our bedroom, where I've been asleep for something like three hours. I'm not sure if that's enough of an excuse for my total lack of decorum at the end, but hopefully most of you will be able to forgive me.

Help Wanted: Part Time Nanny

So, with Molly here for this last week (which was a fantastic surprise and a TON of help--thanks, Molly, since I know you'll read this eventually), I've come to appreciate the value of having a live-in nanny. To be honest, I'm not sure how people do without them. I know that I don't want to do without on anymore, so here is the official help wanted request that I plan to post--possibly on Craigslist, since I'm not against the prospects of hiring a stalker or a serial killer if that person proves to be a reliable nanny option.

Wanted, nighttime nanny. Position is somewhat flexible in that you can live your own life elsewhere during the day then spend the entire night watching over our children so we can sleep, OR you can live in our "spacious" closet under our stairs during the day, and take care of the kids overnight. You can pretend you are Harry Potter, if you like. Though, honestly, I think Harry's closet had more room than this one does. Applicant must be female and fall solidly into the attractive category (brunettes are preferred, sorry blondes). Applicant is welcome to walk around the house naked. We are very open minded about that type of thing. Unfortunately, we cannot offer to pay anything at this time, but you CAN help yourself to any food that we have in our fridge. So, if you're a hottie who's looking for some free room and board, sort of, in exchange for feeding our baby at night so that we can sleep, let us know!

What do you think? Is it a winner?

Seriously, though, how ridiculous is it that it takes THREE people to raise a 10 pound baby in such a way that everyone involved gets enough sleep to not be crazy? Frankly, I'm amazed that we've survived this long as a species. Our young are useless for SO long. Baby animals can run and feed themselves in just a day or so, for gods' sake, how have we fallen so far? Think about it.

Busy

Sorry there haven't been any updates the last few days. What with the constant explosions (Newton allows pretty much every firework that the state of Kansas allows, which is just about anything that isn't a bottle rocket), to the point where we feel like we're living in the DMZ, the days just seem to fly by thanks to the constant highs and lows of our adrenaline rushes.

Aunt Molly is here, though, which is wonderful! She surprised Libby with a trip down here last Friday, and she's here to help us split up our shifts and allow us to finally get a little sleep, which we've been doing in six to seven hour blocks! It's fantastic.

But, anyway, gotta go. Even though the fourth was two days ago, there's still shit exploding outside. I think I'm going to grab a super soaker and just start spraying down everyone's fireworks. That should put an end to it.

One Foreboding and Another Probably Annoying Milestone for Gabe

Yesterday, withing thirty minutes of one another, Gabe achieved two dubious achievements, neither of which I'm particularly excited about.

We were upstairs playing. I was feeding Button. Invariably, as soon as I start feeding her, Gabe gets it into his head that he needs me to do something for him. Usually he wants me to do something trivial and unnecessary--like find get him his blankie, which is probably laying on the floor about three steps away from where he is--but occasionally he comes up with something that he'd actually need my help with. Yesterday, he came up with the latter. He wanted the light turned on in our bedroom.

Now, obviously, he didn't NEED the light turned on in there because we've established, pretty clearly, that our bedroom and the extra bedroom aren't play rooms. Of course, this makes him want to play in both rooms all the more.

So, he started pointed at the light and repeating "Lght! Lght!" (he's sort of moving away from his "Gluh, glhy" that he used to call the light, but only sort of). I said, "I'm feeding the baby, so I can't help you right now." But he was insistent. After a few more persistent requests, I said, "Get one of your stools and turn it on yourself." He gave me a quizzical look, so I clarified, "Use your green stool back here. You know how to turn on the light."

So he did. He didn't use the green stool, instead choosing an old desk bench that we have upstairs, but he picked the thing up, carried it into the bedroom, set it down, got up on it, realized he couldn't reach the light from where the stool was, got down, moved it, got on it again, and turned on the light. He was VERY pleased with himself. So he got down again, then proceeded to spend the next five minutes getting down and up from the stool and turning the light on and off.

This has obvious implications. Though he's been using chairs to get up to the table and the light switch in the dining room, he's always had to ask me to move the chairs for him to facilitate whatever he wants to do. Now he knows that, with the help of something to stand on, he can reach things he's probably not supposed to. This should play out in various annoying forms as we have to, once again, re-baby proof portions of our house to keep him from destroying things we hold dear. Good times.

The second achievement came a little while later when we went downstairs. After the baby had settled down, I put her on the bed and Gabe wanted to go back downstairs (he didn't really WANT to go downstairs, I don't think, but he likes to make me do things just for the exercise of doing it--I knew he'd want to come back upstairs in another fifteen minutes once he remembered that the downstairs, with its 5,000 toys to entertain him and all of his coloring supplies, was boring).

For the last few weeks, whenever we go downstairs, I've been walking Gabe down to get him used to the activity. Nothing would make me happier than being able to leave the gate opened so he could get up to his room whenever his heart desired (though that's probably at least another six months away). I take his right hand, tell him to hold the rail with his left hand, then I lead him slowly down the stairs. It's usually a pretty slow process as, every step or two, he wants to sit down and start sliding down the stairs. Butt sliding down stairs is, of course, a time honored tradition among children, but our stairs aren't carpeted, and I know how Gabe likes to take things to extremes, so I always tell him to stop and remind him that we NEVER play on the stairs. I also remind him of the time he started dinking around on the bottom stair about six months earlier and fell and bonked his head. I doubt he actually remembers it happening, but he always ACTS like he remembers it and doesn't want it to happen again.

Anyway, yesterday, he stopped at the top of the stairs and peered down into the dining room. He inched his way right to the edge of the top stair and curled his little toes over the side. He looked at me, then he looked back down to the dining room.

"Jump!" he said.

I shuttered quietly while I envisioned the next twenty years of daredeviling.

Obviously I spent the next few minutes explaining how that was simply a TERRIBLE idea, but, knowing Gabe the way I do, I expect it's just a matter of time. I'm just glad that we have pretty good medical insurance.

Five Haikus about Sleep

The human memory is an amazing thing. I'm certain we went through the same thing with Gabe, but, for some reason, my brain has blocked all memories of the absolute sleep deprivation parts of getting him through his first year (and, really, it was a full year before we could get anything like a full night of sleep with him--and even now, he still wakes up at 5:00 in the morning, which is, in my opinion, unreasonable. Nobody but newspaper delivery people and prostitutes should be up at 5:00 in the morning (and the prostitutes should just be packing it in for the night about then).

Over the past few weeks, though, I've grown to reappreciate my bond with sleep. At the best of times, my relationship with sleep is tense and a little forced. My body clock is set for sleeping between 1:00 in the morning and about 9:00. Obviously, because the world is set up to function between 7:00 a.m. and 9:00 p.m., my body has never really gotten along with the world at large.

Anyway, whatever. I am sleep's bitch, that's what it boils down to. And, now that I'm not getting regular amounts of it (Libby and I each got about 12 hours of sleep in a 72 hour period), I'm noticing it even more. So, I decided to sum up the last few weeks of sleep deprivation in haiku form. Why haiku, you ask? Because the haiku is the perfect poem for one reason and one reason only: it's short. So, here goes.

Note: understand that these haikus are directed at sleep, and not my children. They can't help sleeping the way they do, so I hold only the necessity for sleep responsible at this point.

Sleep, where have you gone?
I'm lost without your embrace.
Stop fucking with me!

It's 5 o'clock now,
We are all awake again,
Stop fucking with me!

Four hours of sleep
Isn't enough for a day
Stop fucking with me!

My stomach burns,
My brain aches, my eyes are blurred,
Stop fucking with me!

Stop fucking with me!
Fucking stop fucking with me!
Stop fucking with me!

As a series, I think it's rather beautiful. The language might be a bit risque, but that's the thing with poetry. It's visceral. And by that I mean, I can say whatever the hell I want to and blame it on the reader if it isn't well received. The beauty of poetry.

Feel free to embroider some samplers with these haikus on them. They are bound to impress your dinner guests and it has to be better than seeing another "God Bless This Home" sampler.