Thursday, March 28, 2013

2nd Game of the Season

They're not the Yankees of last year--a team that almost won every game. Of course, if they are like the MLB Yankees, then perhaps this team will surprise everyone later in the season.

My son, who wears No. 12 this season, performed pretty well. He had two hits and one run. While playing second base, he got one runner out. While playing third base, he was a 1/2 inch too short of catching a liner.

His team lost, 14 to 2.


Game 1: AB: 2 H:2 R:0 RBI: 2
Game 2: AB: 3 H:2 R:1 RBI: 0

This photo was taken on March 23, 2013 using an HTC PH44100.

Saturday, March 23, 2013

1st Game of the Season

And it has begun. Baseball Season. Little League Baseball, to be precise.

Our son's first game was last Tuesday against a good hitting team, the Pirates. Although the Yankees did lose, the team's defense kept the Pirates from pulling too far ahead.

The final score was 7 to 6, Pirates.

2 Hits, 2 RBIs

Playing Catcher

In the dugout

All photos taken on March 19, 2013 with a HTC PH44100.

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Scary Kitty the Cat Part 2


What was supposed to have been temporary, has turned out to be more of a permanent thing.

A few weeks ago, while fixing the fence, I found a scared little cat hidding behind boxes in the back corner of the garage. My plan was to capture her, get her out of our garage, and release her in the frontyard. My wife and son countered and suggested she stay at the very least through the night until we find her owners.

That evening, we bought the cat, litter and food. A week later, we bought her toys, more litter, and food. Her name was then changed from Scary to Kitty.

Since she moved in, we've adapted with our new resident, whose nocturnal and active at night. While all of us are asleep, including the dog, she runs up and down the stairs, eats her food, poops, and plays with the afghan blankets. My son and I have even been awaken by a sandpaper-like tongue running across our hair, which is a sign of affection.

So, yes, the cat is now ours, or until someone claims her.


Thursday, March 14, 2013

Are babies man-made?

My wife and I try to be honest with our son about the things around us. Of course, there are some things we leave up to his imagination.

Like many families, we eat our dinner at the dinner table. For us, this is family time where we share our day events and talk about politics, religion, philosophy, physics, math, space, and many other things.

This particular evening our son decided to quiz us about something he learned at school.

"Mommy, Daddy, are babies man-made?" he asked as he struggled to eat his soap.

"Yeah, Mommy and Daddy made you. So, yes, you were man-made," I replied.

My wife seemed to get the question, but allowed our son to respond to my answer.

"No. They are natural, not man-made," he responded.

I paused for a minute, looked for a reaction from my wife, and attempted to explain my position, "Oh, okay. I thought me--a man--made you by..."

"Play, 'Wheels on the Bus,'" my wife finally spoked as she adverted my son's attention and stopped me from finishing my sentence.

via KiaMotorsAmerica

Tuesday, March 12, 2013


My dog, Chato, has been my companion since 1998.

He was a gift my parents got me from a trip they made to Guadalajara, Mexico. Yes, he has his papers.

I remember them walking into the house with a cute champagne colored puppy. He couldn't be more than three months old. His nose was off-color, which I didn't care for. Plus, he yelped continuosly at night, until I'd let him sleep on the bed by my side.

He was a handful, and I was just getting started with my life. I had a love interest. I was moving to Austin. I wanted freedom. But I had a dog.

To be honest, I wasn't excited about having a dog. Not this dog. Maybe a bigger dog. Then again, why? I didn't want the responsibility. I didn't want to come home after work and take a dog for a walk. I wanted to live life.

Once I did call my parents to tell them that I couldn't take care of Chato. I asked them if they wanted him, hoping they'd agree and I wouldn't have that guilty feeling. Pitiful, I know.

But Chato was a handful. He was a juvenile dog who hadn't been fixed. So, naturally, he went crazy when he smelled pheromones. And it wasn't only girl dogs, but the girls I would bring over to the apartment. The girls that came over were always greeted by a maltese humping their leg.

I hated it.

Then I met my wife, and it all changed. Althought, he was still a horny juvenile dog, she liked him, and Chato liked her too. At one point, he decided to pee on my leg when I was kissing my wife--girlfriend at the time.

When my wife was pregnant, Chato would lay next to my wife's belly as if protecting her. I would tease that the dog probably thought she was pregnant with his baby.

After our son was born, Chato and I got closer with each other. We became symbiotic. When I was sad, he was sad. When I was sick, he would get sick. When he humped a pillow, I wanted to... never mind.

Five years ago, I started to notice my dog slowing down. Since visiting his vet in the past five years, he has been diagnosed with inflamation on the right side of his heart, spinal cord arthritis, cataracts, and kidney failure. Yet, despite this, he still has moments where he acts like a juvenile.

Deep down inside I know the day inevitable, where I will need to make that call and say good-bye. I hate seeing him in pain. Life shouldn't be this way for anyone. But again, I'm being selfish--I don't want that chapter of my life to end. Doing so would mean that I will have to let go of my young adult life and accept the dreadful middle age.


Saturday, March 9, 2013

Scary the Cat - Part 1

A few days ago, I was fixing a part of my fence that had blown down after a windstorm. For two days, I was hammering, sawing, and drilling in the garage. And from the very back of the garage, behind boxes and boxes and more boxes, I heard a sound. A meow.

After moving boxes and searching for the faint meow, I found a small cat.

She was scared. Every little movement I made startled her. I finally caught her in a crate and was able to calm her down a bit.

My initial plan was to close the garage and release her in the front yard, but my wife and son talked me out of this. Rather, they suggested that she stay inside until we determine what to do.

It didn't take long to persuade me. We prepared the downstairs bathroom as a good transition room. We got her cat food and litter. She cautiously explored the small bathroom, and soon got comfortable.

That evening, I posted on the neighborhood message board of the found cat. I also put up signs at our neighborhood mailboxes, hoping someone contacts me about their missing cat.

Meanwhile, the cat has since made her way from the bathroom to our son's bedroom. Although its understood that this is temporary, our son does play and take care of her.

Her name is still up in the air. At first, I referred her to Scary, because it sounded much better than Scaredy. Then I was considering naming her Harley Quinn, but my son disagreed. So for now, we call her Scary.

It's only temporary.