Giving the people what they want.

Practically every week someone visits our site hoping to learn how to tie a Lindeman Knot.

I feel like we've been letting these people down.

Therefore I am posting the following information for your knot-tying pleasure.

"The Lindeman knot is an excellent line to terminal knot and is best suited to light and medium diameter lines. It is easy to tie with some practice and retains a very good level of line strength too. The Lindeman Knot is one of Andy's favourites. It strength to size ratio is excellent and its easy to tie. It has little wear and suits straight, turned-up or down hook eye's and is also excellent for attaching swivels etc. The Lindeman knot works well on light, medium and some heavier lines. The limiting factor is often the doubling within the eyelet. Stiffer, heavier lines can be difficult to tie. The Lindeman knot is highly recommended and one we strongly encourage you to learn."

No, I don't know who Andy is, but take his word for it, the Lindeman Knot kicks ass.

For a full, animated lesson in Lindeman Knot tying, please visit http://www.marinews.com/Lindeman-Knot-331.php

Traumatic Tuesday

I can't remember the last time I cried in public, but Tuesday I was all-out crying like a crazy lady in front of Park's doctor and nurse. (I'd say "crying like a baby" here, but that so down-plays the trauma of Tuesday's events.)

Not only did we subject Park to five big ol' shots right in his tiny little thighs, but the little guy had part of his tongue clipped after we noticed several weeks ago that he couldn't stick it out. And what parent doesn't want their kid to be able to stick out their tongue at them? I know we're going to deserve it one of these days.

But before we even left the house for the appointment, Craig was carrying Park and lost his footing as he came down our hardwood steps. From the basement, all I heard was a thud and didn't think much of it ... until I came upstairs to hear Park wailing as if he'd just fallen down the stairs himself. Luckily, he hadn't. But Craig wasn't so lucky. The heroic dad he is, Craig sacrificed his body and shielded Park from the fall. Ouch.

Fast forward 20 minutes later where Park is being held down, clipped, poked and proded. The one bit of comic relief after it was all done was when the nurse commented that Park got so mad he snorted and "blew boogers" at her. I couldn't have been prouder. In fact, I was so proud and relieved it was all over that I completely overlooked the car seat handle when putting Park in his car seat to get the heck out of there and bonked his head on the thing. How much more abuse could this kid possibly take?

The munchkin got his first Band-aids after the shots, too: Hot Wheels and Spider Man.



After a good, long nap and several doses of Tylenol later, it was as if nothing had ever happened (for Park, anyway).



Can't wait to go back in two months for more!

Father's Day Firsts

Bath time has become a special ritual for the boys to do together, so it was only appropriate that Craig's first Father's Day start off with a little tub time.



In addition to enjoying the time together, I think Craig secretly likes getting Park cleaned up so that he can control the kid's mohawk. We measured it last week and it comes in at an impressive 1 1/2 inches long. (Not bad for an eight-week-old.) Here's the outcome of bath time yesterday. You'll notice he's sporting an original onesie made by our friend Frances -- this is just one of twenty-some homemade onesies that he'll have the pleasure of wearing over the next year. Thanks, Frances!



Another first for this Father's Day: the official generation photo. See the resemblance? If only the onesie was red.



Despite the heat and our warm-blooded child, we ended the day with a trip to the park (another first). Unfortunately, the photographer didn't have a clue how to use the fancy camera so this is the only photo out of dozens that turned out.



And finally, Park was in a super mellow mood last night and was kicking back in the swing we got handed down from his cousin Hagen. We shot some video for prosperity, but as soon as we shut off the camera we got lots of smiles and babbling. Here's a little of what we caught as soon as we turned the camera back on.



Here's to a great new dad with many more "firsts" and exciting adventures ahead!

Y?

Last week as I continued to rehab my strained achilles I mixed up my workouts a couple of times and rode my bike over to the neighborhood YMCA. It had been quite a while since I had last stepped foot in one, mainly because, while I actually enjoy working out, I absolutely hate gyms.

I think it's the people.


First of all, working out is kind of a personal thing for me, and at the gym there's all of these, well … people. Sweaty geriatrics hopping on a machine while I'm in between sets, chatty Vietnamese women perched on eliptical machines inches from my own and lead-footed treadmill runners forcing me to crank Young MC up to uncomfortable levels. But let me clarify, these people aren't just any people, these are Y people. Walk into a YMCA anywhere in the country and I guarantee you'll see things you've never seen before in your life—muscle-bound guys working out in sleeveless Ts, shorts and steal-toed work boots, a random guy in Spandex shorts doing nothing but squats, retired women in velour track suits sitting on recumbent bikes reading romance novels, a guy working out in latex surgical gloves to avoid getting whatever gave the guy on the rowing machine that third eye. These are the people you don't see anywhere else outside of the River Festival.

I should be immune to just about anything the Y can throw at me, after all, between pick-up basketball games and an endless stream of odd jobs (chalking T-ball diamonds an five in the morning with a leotard-wearing contortionist, breaking up after-hours coed volleyball fights, repairing a pool with nothing but a snorkel and a caulk gun), I practically lived there. In fact, the smell of the old East Y locker room and its adjoining showers is still so firmly entrenched in olfactory system that just hearing the word spicket makes me want to throw up.

Apparently after all of these years I'm learning that the C in YMCA not only doesn't stand for cussing, it doesn't stand for Craig either.

We're still here

Where has the week gone? While nothing hugely exciting has happened, we have hit some milestones -- all baby-related, sorry -- that is making life a little sweeter around here.

The first is that we survived our first road trip with a five-week-old. Last weekend we went up to KC to see family and introduce Park to his great grandma Howard. As you can tell here, they hit it off pretty well.



The second milestone is that Craig has established a nighttime routine that Park seems to enjoy. We had tried several different things, but the last two nights have included a bath followed by a warm bottle and the combination seems to put the little guy in a coma for several hours -- four last night, to be exact. Our evenings are now full of possibilities. TV! Movies! Just sitting in a quiet house ... or going to bed super early! Now we just need to train Park to sleep longer than two hours at a time for the rest of the night. Baby steps...

And finally, Park no longer screams bloody murder when we wash his hair. Well, not every time, at least.

Stay tuned next week where hopefully something more exciting will happen.

Carrie

Pedal pusher.

For the past couple of weeks a sore achilles has sidelined my running a bit so I've migrated over to the bike. In the past, I haven't really been able to get into biking, however this time it's been different, I'm really enjoying the change in pace and having a lot of fun. Adding to the new workout routine is the fact that I'm doing it all before work so that I can help take care of things around the house in the evening. I thought that transition was going to be harder than it really has been, I'm sure it's made a little easier by the fact that I'm not really sleeping anyway.

Generally my bike workout consists of rides of an hour to an hour and 15 minutes during the week—during which I pretty much go all out and hit some hills (yes there actually are some in Kansas, you just have to look for them). Then on the weekend I go for a longer ride—no less than 20 miles and close to two hours. I've been supplementing all of this by strapping Park in the baby bjorn and taking the dogs for a three-mile walk after dinner, all in the hope that it will wear all of us out. It hasn't worked. At least not for one of us.

Probably the funniest thing that's happened during my biking adventures (besides a couple of swallowed bugs and another embedded in my eye) happen right when I started riding. I went out one evening and had gone about nine miles when a truckful of high school "dudes" drove by and yelled "Hey Lance!" I didn't have a clue what they were yelling about, until I looked down and realized that I had mistakingly gone out in all yellow and black, the Live Strong colors of Lance Armstrong. At that point, I felt like a huge dork. Here I was struggling up 2% grades decked out like I was competing in the Tour de France on my mountain bike.

Needless to say, ever since I've spent a lot more time thinking about my wardrobe before I head out for my workout.