Aloha!

Well, Zac got his orders. Looks like we're bound for Hawai'i. We probably won't be heading out that way until July, when his orders in El Sal are officially over. So either we'll have to try and squeeze in some time during softball season to see each other, or just wait the four months and see each other when he's done. Either way, I'm glad to know that I'll be seeing him sometime soon and he isn't being shipped off to someplace dangerous.

I don't have any of the details regarding the move. I'm sure I'll be sharing those as they come. I can't imagine that things will go 100% smoothly, thereby providing fodder for the blog.

Speaking of blog fodder, I am wrapping up a weekend with the flu. I'm pissed. I was suppose to go to a hockey game with Heather tonight, but instead I'm sitting here. Miserable. The girl knows me well. A hockey game is EXACTLY what I needed to get me out of my sad funk, and she busted her cute little butt to get the tickets. I was really, really looking forward to the game. Some dinner, some beer, some hockey? What's a girl not to love?

Heather and I have a long history of going to hockey games together, back to when we were freshmen in high school, and it would have been fun to sit around and shoot the shit while cheering on the Wild. I haven't had the chance to hang out with her since the wedding, which really isn't like hanging out. It's more like a "Hi! I'm so glad you're here! Gotta keep greeting people . . ."

Anyhow, I was so stoked. I was bragging to people at work about going to the game . . . .

And then I got hit by the flu truck, which then backed over me a couple more times, just for good measure.

I suck.

No, actually, I don't suck. The co-worker of mine that came into work last Thursday hacking and wheezing and coughing and complaining about being ill sucks. This is all her fault. She called in sick on Friday, no doubt laid up with what kicked my butt these last few days. She should have stayed home on Thursday. But NO! Instead she contaminated us all by coming in and I HAD TO MISS A WILD GAME WITH HEATHER BECAUSE SHE'S AN INCONSIDERATE GERM FACTORY!!!

The game just ended and the Wild lost. No doubt because my sorry butt wasn't there to support them. I owe HB big time for bailing on her.

I think I figured it out

I've come to the conclusion that the main reason I haven't blogged much in the last six weeks is that my sense of humor is gone, perhaps on vacation. Apparently my sense of humor left a Post-It note on the door when it left (right before the wedding) but the glue wasn't tacky enough and the "Adios" note fell down leaving me clueless as to my humor's absence. Once I realized that it was gone the other day, I also realized that I have no idea where it went, or when it's coming back. That's mildly irritating.

Because of my missing sense of humor, I'm having a hard time finding the simple humor, sarcasm, wit, and giggle-worthiness that I usually find in any given day. I want to write something, but everything that comes to mind is dour and gray. I don't like reading gloomy blogs, so I don't want to be responsible for creating them. But the end result is that I'm having a tough time enjoying and conveying via blog the absurdity and ridiculousness that surrounds me every day.

So I'm actively looking for my sense of humor. I've left a few voicemails with my integrity and work ethic. Haven't heard back yet. Not promising signs for either one. I've considered going with an external force. I may have to call on the Royal Canadian Mounted Police because, let's face it, I love the Mounties. (And it sounds much, much cooler than the Hennepin County Sheriff's Office.) So join me in singing "O, Canada" and hoping for a quick return from my sense of humor.

It had better come back with a tan and a helluva story.

I haven't fallen off the planet

I just haven't had the chance to sit down and write something. I'm finally getting to looking at photos of the wedding. Hopefully I'll have more as we go along. Speaking of photos, if you attended my wedding and took any photos, I'd love to have a copy. Shoot me an e-mail and let me know.

In the meantime, I present Mr. and Mrs. Kotschwar:

A quick note

Grandpa's obituary ran in the StarTribune today. Feel free to check it out if you'd like a quick bio of him.

Hopefully I'll find some time to write about the wedding soon. Heidi's blogged about it, but I haven't. And I'm the bride! Shame on me. I should be adding some photos at some point here as well . . .

As one life begins . . .

. . . another one ends.

Grandpa passed away yesterday morning. He was 89.

I've got a lot in my head right now that I can't really organize and put into words yet.

This has been the busiest, most chaotic, happiest, saddest, anxiety-ridden, joyful, celebratory, and STRESSFUL four weeks of my life. Hazel's health issues, Lincoln's birth, Grandpa's heart attack, the wedding, Sarah's health issues, Grandpa's death -- it's all a lot to take in at once.

I loved my Grandpa. A lot. I'm going to miss him. This morning the world seems a little out of balance without him.

Drum roll please . . .

I present to you, Lincoln Patrick. 7lb 9oz.

Megan, Paul and Lincoln are doing just fine on their first night as a family.

Me? I'm over the moon and exhausted. And I did none of the heavy lifting today. I'm off to sleep and dream happy dreams about being an Aunt.

p.s. He doesn't look like a Barold. Good thing they named him Lincoln.

p.p.s. Go call your Mom. And your Dad. And siblings, if you have them. Family is a blessed thing.

Happy 2008!

I hope everyone had a happy and healthy holiday season. And I do, truly, mean healthy. It's not something to be taken for granted. I found myself wishing for health for the tiniest member of our family as the clock struck midnight this year. Baby Hazel has her angioplasty procedure next week. Just keep her in your thoughts. She's facing an uphill battle. Luckily she's got a lot of people that want to help her fight.

Megan is still pregnant. I understand that her due date is January 6th, but she's ready to be un-pregnant. Like, yesterday. Or the day (week) before that. Apparently this child will be stubborn. If it was a helpful, polite child, it would have decided to come early. That would make Megan, Paul and all of us happy. But no. The child apparently feels that it has a lease on Megan's womb for nine months and it's not about to vacate early. I can see the Baby in there, arms crossed in defiance, muttering, "Incubation for a human is nine months people. This isn't news. I'll emerge when I'm supposed to. Cope."

On the Baby Assad name front: The family was throwing around names the other night -- rare, random, obscure, sometimes ridiculous names -- and my Dad called out "Barry". Megan wrinkled her nose and asked if Barry was short for something. She said, "Harry can be short for Harold. Is Barry short for something . . . like Barold?" All of us laughed until we were practically crying.

What a glorious idea! I shall call this child Barold!!! I don't even care if it's a boy or a girl. My nephew/niece needs to be called Barold. So Dad and I have come to call the unborn baby, Barold. And this is what the child shall continue to be called until he or she decides to join us and get a proper name.

You don't like it Barold??? You don't like that name???

Then get out here, let us determine your sex, and we'll give you a different name!!! Until then, I don't want to hear it!

(At this point I'm hoping that picking a fight with the unborn will make him/her want to show up early.)


(Bring it, Barold.)