Scenes from a marriage

Ever have a zinger that is simply too good to pass up? One you know will get you in trouble but you're powerless to resist lest the moment pass and never come up again? I had one of those the other night.

Eldest has been having trouble getting to sleep at night. If we leave him in his room he won't stay there. Sometimes he'll go in and wake the baby up. Sometimes he sleeps in my bed and sometimes he just wanders around his room getting into all kinds of trouble. I've found that if I lay down w/ him for about 10 minutes Mr. Sandman comes sooner rather than later. Well, I lay down w/ him the other night and I was so tired I was out. My wife left me as she figured I was tired and would wake up on my own. I did but about an hour later. I dragged myself up and into our bed and was out for the night. My wife decided to torment me.

Mrs. Duffy: You missed some hot lovin' last night
Duffy's Brain: Dude, you must return fire. You can't let a hanging curve ball just sit there!
Duffy's Penis: NOOooooooooooo! Do that and she'll freeze me out! C'mon I'm dying down here.
Duffy's Brain: Shut up you! I run this outfit. We're doing this! Full Steam Ahead!
Duffy's Penis: What? Overruled? How the hell did that happen? This is a coup! Attica! Attica! Attica!
Duffy: Really? Who was here?
Mrs. Duffy: *laughs* You're funny.

I'm very lucky she took it with the spirit it was intended.

Youtubery

This guy has brass ones.



and this guy is suicidal.



That's like biking through an 8,558 foot long cigarette. Seriously the air in that tunnel is so poor it probably takes an hour off your life each time you drive it let alone sprinting on a bike.

Let Us Install It!

So I went to the Big Box 'puter store. I was buying an external hard drive. I knew what I wanted and basically walked in and directly to the item I wanted and went to the desk to pick it up (they had them in the back and you had to bring an empty box to them). Conversation with sales dork as follows:

Sales Dork: Will that be all for you today sir?
Duffy: Yes, thanks.
Sales Dork: Do you need this professionally installed?
Duffy: ...
Sales Dork: Sir?
Duffy: It's an external drive
Sales Dork: Right and we can dispatch a tech to make sure everything is installed properly so you don't have to worry
Duffy: (thinking: I'll play along) And just how much is that going to cost me?
Sales Dork: We're having a special so we can do it for $29.99
Duffy: So, $30 to "install" an external hard drive. Does anyone say yes to that?
Sales Dork: (somewhat deflated) Sometimes...(looks around to see manager has departed) sorry, we have to do that with almost everything.
Duffy: No problem. Can we get this over with?

I feel for the poor guy. He's required by his manager to insult his customers in an attempt to charge them unnecessary fees.

So....the autism thing

Since April is nearly over and it's autism awareness month, I suppose I should talk a bit about it. I guess the best way to start is to rehash the story of How I Got Here.

My oldest was born in 1999. Healthy, happy and so on. One peculiar thing he did as an infant was to avoid eye contact. Our doctor assured us it was because he was so young and his eyesight was undeveloped and he was probably focusing on something in the background that was more interesting. Besides, babies don't recognize faces for a few months after birth. Only later did we find out that our doctor was an idiot.

He was 16 mos. old when his little brother was born and he was walking and making wishes known by pulling me or my wife by the hand to whatever he wanted etc. He was fascinated with the wheels on toys. If you gave him a truck he'd turn it over and spin the wheels and smile. Only later would I find out this is a major warning sign. This was our first born and what the hell did I know? He didn't come with a manual or anything we were just doing what seemed right with an occasional referral to The Book.

As he got a bit older we noticed that he did not point at things. Rather, he would push my hand toward the thing he wanted. He also didn't respond to his name very often. I would have to get into his line of sight to get his attention. I figured he was just focused on what he was doing. By this point my wife was beside herself and adamant that something was wrong. I wasn't sure but figured it was better to find out one way or the other. We did our homework and went to the top developmental pediatrician in Delaware. Highly recommended and blah blah blah. We trekked up to Wilmington and waited forever in a hot observation room for her. We were all very antsy by the time she arrived. After a cursory observation and interview she said he was fine and we had nothing to worry about. My wife asked about PDD-NOS (Pervasive Developmental Delay- Not Otherwise Specified from DSM-IV) "Don't read any of it. It will only confuse you and make things worse." I was very very relieved. My wife was not satisfied.

We carried on for another six months. No talking yet and he's now two and a half. Now I'm firmly in my wife's camp but very confused. Why would this doctor tell us he's fine if he's not talking. We had his hearing checked and his mandibles (that'd be the jaw bones and muscles etc.) No problems there. Finally we went to Childwatch for an evaluation. There were about 8 staff members each with a different specialty. Speech Therapist, Developmental Pediatrician, Occupational Therapist, etc. In a strange twist, it was Halloween and some of the staff were actually in costume which made this all the more surreal. They evaluated him and after zero discussion they unanimously agreed that not only was he autistic but profoundly so. My wife cried and I felt vindicated? Determined? I'm still not sure what the right word is. I had been through denial for the previous 6 months and was now very mission oriented. Finally we had a name for the problem and a course of action to be taken. In my mind I was thinking "Well, we have work to do, let's get to it." It was quiet why my wife composed herself and I spoke first.

"Fine. We have a name for this. What do we do now?"

They explained that I was very lucky to be in the only state in the nation with a public school exclusively for autistic kids.

Fast forward several years and here we are.

One thing I think people generally hear about is what autism is like broadly.

It affects social interaction and cognitive development and so on. That is true but also overly simplistic. Autism is a spectrum disorder which means that there are people on either end of it. People who are Asperger's may not even be considered by some to be autistic. You may know someone who has Asperger's and not know. They may not even know it. They may just be labeled rude, inconsiderate or just odd. Autistic people range from Temple Grandin on one end to my son on the other. (As an aside I highly recommend her books they are fascinating)

So, what's it like to have an autistic son? In a word, challenging. From here on out I'll describe our situation specifically and am not trying to extrapolate that to include autism generally or whatever.

My son, in addition to being autistic he has pica, OCD, ADHD and a sleep disorder. These are common comorbidities for autistic people. Pica seems to have abated for the most part and we haven't had any incidents in a while. OCD and ADHD are major concerns. For example, he is very routine driven. Any variations from routine are met with very severe temper tantrums and frequently aggression (i.e. hitting and kicking) towards people and objects. Sometimes we have no idea what triggers the tantrums and sometimes we do. We have to do certain things in certain order to keep him on track. Shoes must always be put on left first then right. Velcro straps on shoes must be fastened bottom left first, top left, bottom right then top right. All doors in the house must be completely open or completely closed. A half open door will be closed by the self-appointed Door Closer.

Sensory issues are a big concern too. Eldest is very particular about certain things. He will not eat soft food. The mere sight of pudding will induce gagging and probably vomiting. Even if his brothers are eating it and he sees it, he will throw up. Most of the food he likes is crispy or crunchy. We've been able to get his diet fairly balanced all things considered. He also has a "high sensory diet" meaning he needs a huge amount of physical stimulation to feel grounded. He'll ask for "scratches" with a sign and want us to scratch his back, arms, legs etc. Or he makes a sound for tickle which sounds more like "Di Da" and then he'll giggle and hunch his shoulders to block you. It's probably my favorite thing he does. He also is in constant motion. If he's sitting still he's probably about to fall asleep. We bought him a joggers trampoline and he bounces on it constantly. It's great exercise and helps keep him in shape as the medicine he's on causes a dramatic increase in appetite.

Since he cannot talk communication is very very difficult. His receptive language is very good. Usually much better than people give him credit for. I can give complex instructions like "go get your shoes and socks and sit on the steps" and he can do so. (Will he do so is another matter) He uses sign language for highly preferred activities and wants. He can sign juice, help, walk, scratch (like scratch my back please), tickle etc. When he cannot sign what he wants or we cannot meet that need he will usually become aggressive and hit me, my wife or whomever else is near. This is a major problem because his brothers are on the receiving end of this sometimes and we can't always stop him. Sometimes, eldest will be in one room by himself watching Elmo and he'll run from the room, find his brother, hit him in the head a few times and run back. No provocation or reason (that I can see). Everything was quiet a minute ago and now my younger son is crying. That's a big reason we don't take eldest out in the community much. The tantrums and stares are bad enough but I can deal with those. It's the fear that he's going to hit someone or someone's child that I don't want to risk.

Sleeping is another issue I've talked about from time to time here. Autistic people frequently have trouble sleeping. My son will often sleep from 7:30 until 12:00 or so and then be up for the day. The thing is, when he's up he's up. Remember that he's ADHD so he will be running and jumping and vocalizing at top volume at 1, 2, 3 in the morning. This one is a real strain. I would go so far as to call it debilitating at times. At one point in 2003 I was working on a major project at work, had a newborn and eldest was in the middle of a two week period of not sleeping. I can honestly say that nearly broke me and in all seriousness nearly ended my marriage. We made it through but barely. We've more than recovered since then and deal with it much better now. We have a system and a routine and we basically make the most of it. It is very very difficult not to be selfish when you're that sleep deprived. Lastly, my son is on sleeping medication. As such, he cannot control his bowels when sleeping so he has to wear an overnight diaper. Frequently, he'll take it off when sleeping and then pee everywhere. Just last night I went to check on him and he was drenched. He had a perfectly dry diaper around his knees. I sat him up, took his clothes off and moved him into our bed. Cleaned him up while my wife changed the bed. I put his pajamas on him and back to bed. He really didn't wake up but it could have easily gone the other way and he would have been up for the day. Last week he peed in the bed 5 days in a row. Think about that. 5 blankets, and 5 sheet sets to wash in addition to the regular laundry for 6 people. Now you know why we're doing a zillion loads of laundry per week and why my power/water bills are so high.

Things you need to know about autistic people and parents of autistic people.

1. No, my son is not Rain Man. He cannot count cards, play piano or whatever. I appreciate you trying to put some sort of positive spin on this but you sound like an ass.

2. My 7 year old son may have a meltdown in the grocery store for reasons unknown (even to me). Staring at me like I'm a hapless parent is bad but I'll ignore you. Open your mouth and I'm giving you both barrels for your ignorance and lack of compassion.

3. Don't patronize him. He's not stupid and he understands what you're saying. Talk to him, he may surprise you, he may not. Give him the benefit of the doubt.

4. Caveat to above. Set expectations accordingly and know his limits. Don't set him up for failure. I do not bring him into areas with large crowds. He'd have a full blown meltdown that would probably have any nearby priests attempting an exorcism.

5. Don't pity me. Having a disabled child is not ennobling or heroic. It just is. I didn't choose this, it was chosen for me.

6. Caveat to above. It has made me a better person. I am far more patient and compassionate than I have ever been and perhaps why this was chosen for me.

7. This is normal for us. I've never not had an autistic son so I have no idea what it means to have the family go to a restaurant for dinner. That's something we'll never be able to do.

8. Autistic children are very expensive. They break things all the time. They usually pick very expensive things to break. My son likes to kick holes in drywall. Some kids like the sound of breaking glass. They have particular diets and and those diapers aren't cheap. In 2007 I had nearly $9,000 in out of pocket medical expenses. The bulk of that was for eldest.

9. If you complain about how busy and hectic your life is with your two typical kids I am either going to be bemused or enraged depending on how good or bad my week has been.

10. Don't shy from asking questions. I'd rather have you ask me directly about how, why or whatever than beating around the bush or keeping mum for fear of offending me.

11. One autistic child is as difficult to handle as my three other kids combined.

More if I can think of them.

War on Nature II

So....

After losing the Battle of Pencader Manor, Mother Nature continues the fight. Friday I had to vacate the Manor for the Battle Bridge^* as a play date was imminent. It was a beautiful day so I had the windows open. Zipping along merrily on my way when a wasp Satan's Own Winged Minion entered the cockpit of the Duffmobile. He began his assault and I began defense. I started defense with the standard yelping and swatting. Somehow it didn't occur to me to slow down. Chalk that up to panic. He got me on the palm of my hand. It started to swell and itch almost immediately. Finally I gave one good swat and out the window he went. The upside of not slowing down was that he was very quickly behind me. Ha! You better bring a better air assault than that baby!

Once at the Battle Bridge I logged in and started working. It was cool so I thought I'd sit in the sunroom. I opened the door to the sunroom and was met by volcanic heat that was so voluminous it practically lifted me off the ground. I checked the register and it was showing so high that it wouldn't register. I felt the vent and hot air was blasting out. OK. I switched the system off and...nothing. I look around and see that the pillar candles are listing. They look like a group of drunks trying to hold each other up. There's a bottle of wine in the rack and the cork is halfway pushed out due to the heat. I open the windows and turn on the ceiling fan. If I can't turn it off, maybe I can switch on A/C. Try that and...no change. OK, gotta switch off the breaker. After milling around the basement for 20 minutes looking for it, I give up and call my Father In Law. His cell phone is off. Fine. Back to work and I'll try again later. I check on the room after 20 min. of the windows open the temperature is now down to 99 degrees. The highest the register goes for indoor temps. Finally FIL calls back and directs me to the breaker panel in the garage (!) and I shut off the HVAC for that room.

Saturday:

The Great Lawncare Extravaganza. My parents were in town so it gave me a much needed chance to mow, thatch, weed, feed etc. I started by mowing and my neighbor was kind enough to let me use his riding mower. That would save about 2 hours out of my day. I got it started and went around back. I was going merrily along when I looked behind me and saw that it wasn't cutting. Seems that there is a different lever to engage the blades he forgot to mention. So I had two laps around the track with no blades spinning. My own little go kart ride. Buzzed around and got my lawn all done but had to use the small mower to go over it to pick up the clippings. Also, my garbage company doesn't take grass anymore so I have to compost it. Apparently you need to be a dryad to figure out how. There is nitrogen, newspaper and God knows what else involved. (Anyway I'll update on that one as we go.) So I had to mulch the beds and one bed need to be turned with peat moss. Halfway through my endeavors Mother Nature renewed her personal animus towards me in the form of a very heavy downpour. That soaked everything and started the peat running down the driveway. !@$#!@#$!@#$. Fine. Skies clear, resume as normal. This happened three more times. She finally saw I wasn't going to quit so she did. I even washed the car but in a finally poke in the eye with a sharp stick, she sent a starling to poop on my newly cleaned car. I'll bet you a krugerand it's the same damn bird that is squatting in my grill.


^* In-laws house

The War Against Nature

This is round two. Round one was last year a minor skirmish in which I vanquished my opponents thoroughly. I didn't think they had the mettle to return to test my resolve but they did. Last year, starlings decided that my grill was a great place to make a happy home. There's a small vent/hole in the side of the grill that I suppose is there to prevent excessive gas buildup or something. Either that or the designers really liked birds and figured the grills that go unused would be excellent housing for homeless (nestless?) birds. I first noticed the infiltration had begun when I was having my morning beverage and looking out over the scenic view endless housing development. I was lost in thought and standing quite still in front of the sliding glass door. I saw a starling alight on the deck rail and give me the hairy eyeball. He had a long strand of cypress grass in his beak and gave me that "whadday ya gonna do about it chump?" look that only starlings can give. With that, he made the short hop to the grill and in he went. Annoyed by the brazen ornithoid's challenge I opened the slider and lifted the grill. Sensing my rising ire, he fled (or flew as it were). The grill was filled with twigs and cypress grass. War then, Roman style. I returned to the kitchen and returned with...matches! Open the valve, healthy amount of gas, add lit match and *FOOOMP*. Up in flames. Pour encourage les autres. I cackled like a mad man and cursed their feathered bodies. I was on the deck railing, shirtless in the middle of my war dance (with accompanying war cry) when my wife arrived on scene.

Mrs. Duffy: "Are you....grilling something?"
Duffy: Yes, mine enemies
Mrs. Duffy: Enemies? It's 7:00 AM what are you talking about
Duffy: Those damn birds are back.
Mrs. Duffy: Here we go again.

Off with the gas, close the grill and get to work. Around 10:30 I take a break for a snack. Downstairs, to the kitchen and son of a.... he's back. He gives me the same look and again, into the grill. Repeat as per 7:00 this morning minus shirtless war dance. I pause, thinking for a moment. They like the grill because it's covered. Safe. Free from the prying deadly eyes of the hawks that live in the nearby state park. The very hawks that have killed their brethren in this very yard. Simple solution: leave the top of the grill up.

1:00 PM I'm back for some lunch. No signs of my friends the starlings. They know they're beat. As I turn to re-enter the kitchen I notice something. A small pile of dirt next to the house. Strange. Dirt on the grass. I get closer and notice a hole. Nature has sent ground troops in the form of a groundhog. Great, now I'm starring in a remake of Caddyshack. No problem. No need to resort to high explosives. Off to Home Depot for a trap. Buy and bait said trap. Three days and nothing. I finally capture my furry friend and he's less than pleased about it. Put the groundhog laden trap in the trunk and off to nearby state park to release him. I put the trap down and wonder if he's going to take exception with his capture when I release him. I can't see any way to open this thing w/o being in close proximity. I throw caution to the wind and open the trap. He eyeballs me for a minute and then bolts. Good riddance.

Return to Pencader Manor now triumphant over Air and Land assaults. Any attack by sea would likely go unnoticed as I am a significant distance away from any body of water and any waterborne creature would be hard pressed to make an attack from such a distance.

36 hours later I notice a small furry animal heading back into the tunnel beside the house. No problem, trap baited and placed as before. This must be the smarter brother because he doesn't take the bait. No problem. I'll put a large galvanized contractor's bucket in each hole (there are two. even nature knows you need more than one way in and out). I jam them down and smile smugly to myself knowing that I'll be rodent free in short order.

The next morning I see two galvanized white contractor buckets rolling around my back lawn. He's upped the ante I see.

I bring out the big gun. The nuclear option of backyard human/rodent warfare. The garden hose. I start to feed the hose down the hole as far as it will go. It's so long I actually have to connect two hoses (!) and I can tell when I'm feeding it, it's not just coiling back on itself. When that's done, I turn on the water. Should be filled in about 20 min.

Half an hour later there's no rising water level in the hole. As far as I can see it's not filling at all. The other hole is similarly dry. Hmmm...Oh crap. This hole is against the foundation wall. Is it flooding the basement. Mad dash to the basement and nothing. Just the dull hissing of the open spigot. Fine. I'll give it another 45 minutes. Tops.

One hour later. No change. Nothing. WTF?

One and one half hour later. Endgame. The tunnel complex has collapsed. I shut the water off and begin removing the hose from the mire of muck where the tunnel was. Pulling and pulling the weight of the collapsed earth makes it very hard to pull. I eventually get it out and survey the damage. The earth next to the house and under the deck has sunk by about 2' - 2.5' in a 40 X 30 ft sq area. Were these rodents trained by the Viet Cong? Seriously. Where did he put all that dirt? There was only a small pile of it outside the opening. Some quick math: 40 X 30 X 2 = 240 ft sq of dirt.

The next day I return and find a small memorial has been erected presumably by other groundhogs to commemorate their valiant struggle against the Oppressive Evil Overlord (that'd be me). A small bronze statue of a very brave looking groundhog has been installed with the inscription

Here lies Woody
Hero of the Battle of Pencader Manor
Held out against all odds that his friends the starlings
could build their nest while dumbass was occupied with the ground assault


Aw crap.

Sure enough, they'd rebuilt the nest while I was turning my back yard into a swamp. Turn on gas, light match, *FOOMP*

I think I'll leave the top of the grill up for a while

The Final Salute

As his son's funeral neared, Jeff Cathey's tears rarely stopped. He often found comfort in the men who shared his son's uniform. "Someone asked me what I learned from my son," he said. "He taught me you need more than one friend."

Let us remember

MICHAEL A. MONSOOR USN

Navy medal of honor
by dollarsandsense123

Text of the President's speech:


Good afternoon, and welcome.

The Medal of Honor is America's highest decoration for military valor. Over the years, many who have received the medal have given their lives in the action that earned it. The name of Petty Officer Michael Anthony Monsoor will now be among them.

President George W. Bush leads the applause in honor of Petty Officer Michael A. Monsoor after presenting the Congressional Medal of Honor posthumously to his parents, George and Sally Monsoor, during ceremonies Tuesday, April 8, 2008, at the White House. The 25-year-old Navy SEAL was killed in Iraq in 2006 after he threw himself on a grenade to save his fellow SEALS when they came under attack while on duty in Ramadi. White House photo by Eric Draper In September 2006, Michael laid down his life for his brothers in arms. Today, we remember the life of this faithful Navy SEAL. And on behalf of a grateful nation, we will present Michael Monsoor's family with the Medal of Honor that he earned.

I welcome the Vice President. Secretary of Defense Gates, thank you for coming. Secretary of Veterans Affairs Peake; Secretary Don Winter of the Navy; Admiral Mike Mullen, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, and wife, Deborah; General James Conway, Commandant of the Marine Corps, and Annette; Admiral Gary Roughead, Chief of Naval Operations, and wife, Ellen; Senator John McCain; Congressman Ed Royce; Congresswoman Loretta Sanchez.

Previous Medal of Honor recipients, thank you for joining us.

I appreciate Chaplain Burt; Navy SEALS -- the finest warriors on the face of the Earth; the Monsoor family, and everybody else.

The Medal of Honor is awarded for an act of such courage that no one could rightly be expected to undertake it. Yet those who knew Michael Monsoor were not surprised when he did. This son of Orange County, California, grew up in a family where helping others was a way of life. Mike's father was a Marine; his mother a social worker. Together, they raised their four children to understand the meaning of service and sacrifice.

From a very early age, Mike showed the strength of his own convictions. Apparently going to kindergarten wasn't one of them. Mike had no complaints after the first week of school -- until someone broke the news to him that he had to go back the next week. (Laughter.) Many mornings, Mike refused to put on the nice clothes for school. Instead, he insisted on wearing mismatched outfits. Mike's mother soon discovered there was no stopping the determined young boy from mixing plaids and stripes. And years later, there would be no stopping an even more determined young man from donning a uniform of Navy Blue.

In some ways, Mike was an unlikely candidate for the Navy. He suffered from terrible asthma as a child. On some nights, his coughing fits would land him in the hospital. But Mike would not lie low for long. He strengthened his lungs by racing his siblings in the swimming pool. He worked to wean himself off his inhaler. He built himself into a superb athlete -- excelling from sports like football to snowboarding.

President George W. Bush smiles as he shares a moment with George and Sally Monsoor after presenting them the Congressional Medal of Honor in honor of their son, Petty Officer Michael A. Monsoor. The Navy SEAL was honored posthumously Tuesday, April 8, 2008, for his heroism while serving in Iraq. White House photo by David Bohrer After enlisting in the Navy, he began preparing for the ultimate test of physical endurance: SEAL training. Less than a third of those who begin this training become SEALs. But Mike would not be denied a spot. In September 2004, he earned the right to wear the Navy SEAL trident.

The newly minted frogman became a beloved member of the SEAL team community. His teammates liked to laugh about the way his shiny Corvette would leave everybody in the dust. But deep down, they always knew Mike would never leave anybody behind when it counted. He earned their confidence with his attention to detail and quiet work ethic. One of Mike's officers remembers an instructor once asking after an intense training session, "What's the deal with the Monsoor guy? He just says, 'Roger that,' to everything."

When Mike deployed with his team to Ramadi in the spring of 2006, he brought that attitude with him. Because he served as both a heavy machine gunner and a communications operator, he often had a double load of equipment -- sometimes more than a hundred pounds worth. But under the glare of the hot desert sun, he never lost his cool.

At the time, Ramadi was in the clutches of al Qaeda terrorists and insurgents. Together, the SEALs and the Army 1st Battalion of the 506 Infantry Regiment took the offense against the enemy. The SEALs carried out a broad range of special operations -- including providing sniper cover in tough urban conditions, and conducting raids against terrorists and insurgents. Overall, Mike's platoon came under enemy attack during 75 percent of their missions. And in most of these engagements, Mike was out front defending his brothers.

In May 2006, Mike and another SEAL ran into the line of fire to save a wounded teammate. With bullets flying all around them, Mike returned fire with one hand while helping pull the injured man to safety with the other. In a dream about the incident months later, the wounded SEAL envisioned Mike coming to the rescue with wings on his shoulders.

On Saint Michael's Day -- September 29, 2006 -- Michael Monsoor would make the ultimate sacrifice. Mike and two teammates had taken position on the outcropping of a rooftop when an insurgent grenade bounced off Mike's chest and landed on the roof. Mike had a clear chance to escape, but he realized that the other two SEALs did not. In that terrible moment, he had two options -- to save himself, or to save his friends. For Mike, this was no choice at all. He threw himself onto the grenade, and absorbed the blast with his body. One of the survivors puts it this way: "Mikey looked death in the face that day and said, 'You cannot take my brothers. I will go in their stead.'"

Perhaps the greatest tribute to Mike's life is the way different service members all across the world responded to his death. Army soldiers in Ramadi hosted a memorial service for the valiant man who had fought beside them. Iraqi Army scouts -- whom Mike helped train -- lowered their flag, and sent it to his parents. Nearly every SEAL on the West Coast turned out for Mike's funeral in California. As the SEALs filed past the casket, they removed their golden tridents from their uniforms, pressed them onto the walls of the coffin. The procession went on nearly half an hour. And when it was all over, the simple wooden coffin had become a gold-plated memorial to a hero who will never be forgotten.

For his valor, Michael Monsoor becomes the fourth Medal of Honor recipient in the war on terror. Like the three men who came before him, Mike left us far too early. But time will not diminish his legacy. We see his legacy in the SEALs whose lives he saved. We see his legacy in the city of Ramadi, which has gone from one of the most dangerous places in Iraq to one of the most safest. We see his legacy in the family that stands before us filled with grief, but also with everlasting pride.

Mr. and Mrs. Monsoor: America owes you a debt that can never be repaid. This nation will always cherish the memory of your son. We will not let his life go in vain. And this nation will always honor the sacrifice he made. May God comfort you. May God bless America.

Come on up. And now George and Sally Monsoor will be here -- a Military Aide will read the citation.

The citation is read:

The President of the United States, in the name of the Congress, takes pride in presenting the Medal of Honor, posthumously, to Master At Arms Second Class, Sea, Air and Land, Michael A. Monsoor, United States Navy. For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty while serving as Automatic Weapons Gunner for Naval Special Warfare Task Group Arabian Peninsula, in support of Operation IRAQI FREEDOM on 29 September 2006.

As a member of a combined SEAL and Iraqi Army sniper overwatch element, tasked with providing early warning and stand-off protection from a rooftop in an insurgent-held sector of Ar Ramadi, Iraq, Petty Officer Monsoor distinguished himself by his exceptional bravery in the face of grave danger. In the early morning, insurgents prepared to execute a coordinated attack by reconnoitering the area around the element's position. Element snipers thwarted the enemy's initial attempt by eliminating two insurgents. The enemy continued to assault the element, engaging them with a rocket-propelled grenade and small arms fire. As enemy activity increased, Petty Officer Monsoor took position with his machine gun between two teammates on an outcropping of the roof. While the SEALs vigilantly watched for enemy activity, an insurgent threw a hand grenade from an unseen location, which bounced off Petty Officer Monsoor's chest and landed in front of him. Although only he could have escaped the blast, Petty Officer Monsoor chose instead to protect his teammates. Instantly and without regard for his own safety, he threw himself onto the grenade to absorb the force of the explosion with his body, saving the lives of his two teammates. By his undaunted courage, fighting spirit, and unwavering devotion to duty in the face of certain death, Petty Officer Monsoor gallantly gave his life for his country, thereby reflecting great credit upon himself and upholding the highest traditions of the United States Naval Service.

Quote of the Day

"Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean." -Maya Angelou

Putting an end to polls

*Ring Ring*

I look at the phone and see an 888 number. A familiar number as they have been calling daily for my opinion on various things political.

I made the mistake of answering their questions the first time. It was a lark and I gave some serious and some absurd responses. Stupid me. That put me on the "This Idiot Will Actually Answer Our Questions" list.

*Ring Ring*

Mrs. Duffy: Don't answer that!
Duffy: I'm putting and end to this.
(answers phone)

Duffy: Hello?
Annoying Pollster: Hello sir, I'm doing a survey of voters in Delaware...
Duffy (interrupting): Oh, I can't vote, I'm a convicted felon
AP: Oh....uh...is there anyone else there who's a registered voter?
Duffy: Nope. We're all felons here. (SamnEric blast through the room at a full run and at full volume) And some pre-felons. This is a halfway house for predicate felon single fathers and their and their pre-felon children.

(at this Mrs. Duffy's eyes are as large as dinner plates and she's positively slackjawed)

AP: Oh...uh...OK. Wow. Have a nice night.
Duffy: kthxbye

Mrs. Duffy: I cannot believe you just did that.
Duffy: Why?
Mrs Duffy: They're going to think we're felons!
Duffy: Let's hope so.
Mrs. Duffy: That's not funny
Duffy: Sure it is. Trust me.
Mrs. Duffy: Why not just let it ring?
Duffy: Because then they keep calling and I wouldn't get to torment them.
Mrs. Duffy: I give up.
Duffy: The wise choice. Discretion is the better part of valor

April is Autism Awareness Month

Daily Roundup

When I was in High School I went to some really bacchanalian parties. Rich kids with parents out of town and a credit card at their disposal. I'll let you imagine the rest. I now know that we were a bunch of pikers compared to this crowd.

78 Things to hate about gaming. I think they got about 70 right.

Funniest trial transcript ever.

The only way I'll ever go to the movie theater again is if the open one of these in Delaware.

Why do I love Larry Niven?

Niven said a good way to help hospitals stem financial losses is to spread rumors in Spanish within the Latino community that emergency rooms are killing patients in order to harvest their organs for transplants.

“The problem [of hospitals going broke] is hugely exaggerated by illegal aliens who aren’t going to pay for anything anyway,” Niven said.

“Do you know how politically incorrect you are?” Pournelle asked.

“I know it may not be possible to use this solution, but it does work,” Niven replied.

“I cannot guarantee I’m going to be a great help to Homeland Security,” Niven said earlier.

He's got brass ones I'll give him that.

Some say the way to make health insurance affordable is to make it compulsory. Is that Constituional? Here's a strong argument that it is not. NB: this has never seemed to slow down the Federal Government before but that's another matter...

Some are calling Hillary's current campaign strategy the Tonya Harding Option. That's a one liner that could be an editorial cartoon.

That this is happening in a place called Carthage is entirely too ironic.

Just a thought...

So, you all remember my whining about the dishwasher, right? Well after much wailing and gnashing of teeth, the new one has finally been installed. Yesterday. The bill arrived...a week ago. The salesman had assured me that it would take three days to deliver, a week at the most. Rube that I am, I believed him. It took 9 days. Sorry, nine business days. Weekends apparently don't count. I called and suggested they put the billing people in charge of product delivery and vice versa. He didn't see the humor.

Lastly, The VeryBigDishwasher company and I have come to an agreement on the previous item that gave up the ghost. Part of the agreement was that I not blog about the terms of, or discussion with, said company. The matter was resolved to our mutual satisfaction. I can say that a few key words known well to CSR's were effective. Some of those words may be:

blog
sausage
Digg
automobile
Technorati
dog
EECB
laundry
Consumerist
energy
link
sidewalk
email
Steve Jobs
Delaware

Just one of those things

I work from home quite often (like today) and there are some things you hear at home you just don't hear when you're at the office. Example: I'm sitting at my desk. I face the windows and have my back to the door. I hear the door open and little footsteps enter the room. "Dad? You wanna know why I'm naked?"

Erin Go Bragh

Happy St. Patrick's Day




Wishing I was here



Listening to these guys



Drinking one of these




Things and people to think about today:

Mystery Solved!

Previously on This Is Very Strange, I had received a very desirable gift from person or persons unknown.

After much ado, I've finally found out who sent it. I was correct that is was one of the four people who knew me enough to send it, my brother.

He travels a lot for business so I hadn't spoken to him in ages. Seems he was trolling eBay for another unrelated item and sent it to me on a lark. For that I am eternally grateful. Moreover b/c I finally know who sent the damn thing.

Ups and Downs

Up:

One of my cousins who works for the NYPD in ESU made Captain. Congratulations!

Down:

Got this email from a friend:

"I was thrown a curve ball when my close Prague buddy Mike was diagnosed a month ago with a brain lesion ... he'll either undergo surgery this week and then have a 14-36 month life expectancy or he won't, in which case he'll only have six months."

I knew Mike casually. He helped me out in a bind when I was in Prague as a favor to our mutual friend. Good guy, very laid back (Californian, go figure). The kind of guy who's easy to be around and he is IIRC in his late twenties. He's not a close friend but for some reason that was like a gut punch. I guess anything that brings mortality that close to home is amplified when you have young kids.

Up:

Imminent rate increase. It's meager but any increase is usually a good thing.

Down:

Was supposed to be effective January 1 and I haven't seen jack yet.

Adventures in sleep deprivation part III

I know you've all been waiting with bated breath to hear my latest whine about being tired. Wah. I know. So here's the latest;

Friday came and went very very slowly. I was working on very tedious administrative duties at work (cleaning up user ID's on the security module. Just shoot me). I have to remember to put this off until I find myself unable to sleep again. It has to be an instant cure.

I did, however, get the Unexpected Urgent Support Call from a user. In England. I'm getting ahead of myself. First; some background. I was working from home on Friday as is normal and my wife had to go to a parent/teacher conference for #3 to discuss whether or not he's ready for Kindergarten (long story short, he is). The meeting was about 15 minutes and it was a 10 minute drive each way to the school. For those of you who are native to Delaware that'd be 10 + 10 + 15 = 35 minutes. For those 35 minutes I'd have to watch both kids. It's easy to watch #3 as he largely plays with his toys and leaves me to work aside from the occasional request or question. The baby, however, is another matter. He's 13 months old which means you can't let him run about on his own and expect to get anything done. No big deal because the meeting was smack in the middle of his nap. Wife leaves, #3 is building a Thomas track of truly epic engineering proportions. If this were built to scale it would be a multi-billion dollar project. Replete with engine sheds, unnecessary bridgeworks, curves, splits, merges. I took a picture of it and emailed to Amtrak who immediately replied they'd like to retain him as Senior Designer for Unnecessary Projects.

Roughly 12 minutes after my wife left, The Baby decided Sleep Time was over and Crying Time had most certainly begun. In a display of spectacularly bad timing, my user in Slough is desperately pinging me for help. Not good. In a fit of improvisation, I grab the laptop, run downstairs with baby and laptop in tow. Put baby in backpack baby carrier and put laptop on higher kitchen counter (it's like a bar almost so I can type while standing). This placates Crying Child and now User is asking me to call him. Um, no. You're in England and at the office. You can call me. Phone rings and it's User. He is, of course, looking for what he thinks is a simple fix to a simple report. He is, of course, flat wrong. After much ado and juggling to keep The Baby placated through various forms of bribery (including but not limited to, chew toys, Fruit Wheels and shifting my weight from side to side) I explain to User that this is a complete rewrite and he surrenders and since it's past 5:00 PM in Slough, he throws in the towel for the weekend and kips off to the pub for a pint. Victory! Wife calls and is gently urge her to get home to take care of child before more calls come in.

Anyway, back to the story....so Friday night Eldest went to sleep as always, without complaint. He's usually tired and ready for bed and lets me know by taking me by the hand and leading me up to his bed. (Contrast this with my other "typical" kids who engage in more negotiations for bedtime than your average Israeli/Palestinian Land for Peace deal.) The baby went up next with little complaint for reasons noted above. By 8:30, all are sleeping and I'm fading fast. Eat, digest and watch a bit of Dexter and off to bed by 10:30. I'm asleep in about 9 seconds. Baby is up at 2:30 for a brief bottle and back to sleep by 3:00. I sleep the sleep of the damned until 6:15 when Eldest and Baby double team us for early wake up. After some spirited negotiations, I lose agree to get up in exchange for a nap later. I hold out until 9:30 when wife and I trade. Back to sleep until nearly noon and wake up feeling like a million bucks. At this point, we're full tilt boogie into Birthday Party Mode for #3 (which is occurring off premises). Eldest and Baby are dropped off with relatives and off to the party. Set up, party games, pizza, cake, more games, pack up, pick up siblings, home, playtime, dinner time, bath time, bedtime. Whirlwind day to be sure. Lather rinse repeat my evening routine and everybody slept until 6:45 AM. God is indeed merciful. I think he saw that I had filled out a form to legally change my name to Job and I had also mentioned in my last prayer that if He would not grant relief I would consider quitting Christianity and becoming a follower of Hypnos. Add to that His roles have been diminishing of late so He relented. (Just kidding Big Guy! Please don't smite me for insolence)

I think we're finally over this insomnia thing and I am well and truly grateful. It's amazing that two days of uninterrupted sleep can bring me around so quickly.

Adventures in sleep deprivation continued...

Two Thirty three AM.

He was up again at 2:33 AM. For. The. Day.

I feel like death warmed over. It's like being hungover without getting to enjoy the beer the night before. He was very upset and crying and wouldn't stay in he bed or even his room. I have a headache of truly epic proportions that nothing seems to quell. I'm crankier than Keith Olberman at a GOP convention and my eyes are burning like I've been in a swimming pool for hours. Best of all? A birthday party for tomorrow for my son and, God help me, 14 other 5 year olds. This is supposed to have passed by now as the medication should be out of his system. If this is not a side effect of the medication and simply the new norm, I have major, major problems. Other than slightly increased aggression he seems totally unaffected by the whole thing which is, frankly, unfair. I wish I had half his energy. If I could bottle it and sell it, I certainly wouldn't be blogging to you lot. I'd be sitting on a beach in Bimini being fanned by scantily clad local women while a professional blogger turned my every inebriated utterance into pure bloggy goodness.

I'm getting punchy, bear with me.

Quarantine 2008 has ended

Fair warning: possibly graphic post and not for the squeamish.



So it all started Friday night. Wife and I had a long day (as usual) and had finally finished with dishes, laundry and the rest of the normal daily grind. The baby had been fussy most of the day and had spit up here and there. Mostly we thought it had been switching from formula to milk which can sometimes cause this type of thing. By the time kid #4 rolls around you tend to let these things slide. If this were #1 we'd have called in a medivac at the first sign of vomiting in a 1 year old. He finally calmed down and we got him off to sleep. We watched a bit of The Wire and retired (very) late. About 10 minutes later #2 wakes up crying complaining of a stomach ache. I ask if he has to go to the bathroom and he says no, it's not that. His stomach really hurts. OK, into my bed and I'll get the heating pad for a bit. We get him settled and he calms down. Knowing that he tends towards the dramatic, I start to think whatever it was (gas pain?) is gone and it's back to be with you. (At this point it's after midnight). So not 20 minutes later, he's crying again. I take him back into my room and he unloads. Not good. OK, I take the kid into the bathroom for continued gear reversal and wife gets the unfortunate job of tending to his dinner. (It's only fair, I cooked it the first time).

Finally get him settled down and we put him on the edge of the bed with a bucket and a heating pad on the belly. He's very upset (understandably) and sort of confused as he has not idea what's happening and keeps asking "when will it be done?"

Nineteen minutes later #1 comes out of his bedroom looking deathly pale and lurching like a zombie. This means he's either thrown up in his bed or has, in fact, become one of the living dead now reanimated to sate himself upon my flesh. He flops his upper body on the foot of my bed. I dash into his room and throw on the light. I didn't need the light really. The smell when I opened the door was enough. His younger brother started the trend of throwing up in my room and #1 feels obligated to join in. His eyes barely open he coughs once and my wife's eyes go big as dinner plates "the bathroom!" she shouts. I make it about halfway to the bathroom and he manages to barf on the carpet just before the door. Bravo. More carpet to be cleaned.

Not to be outdone, #2 has executed a perfect combat roll off the edge of my bed and landed squarely on all fours head over the aforementioned bucket and barfs like a frat book during hell week.

At this point, all I can think of is this:



We manage to get everyone cleaned up and #1 gets back to sleep and #2 stays in our bed b/c I didn't want to wake his brother so I just stripped his sheets and blankets and left it at that. (As far as I knew he hadn't thrown up in his bed but wasn't sure and wasn't putting him back to be not knowing).

The night continues with #2 getting sick every 30-60 minutes. Around 3:30, my stomach is starting to hurt and I feel queasy. I assume it's the ghastly smell. I must be in the office on Monday mornings so I drag myself out of bed and head out. I am in serious pain. My stomach is killing me. It's the kind of pain that makes you sweat and little beads form (and stay) on your upper lip and forehead. The best way to describe it is to imagine someone with a tight fist around your entrails and squeezing them very very tight.

I get to the office and my cell phone rings. Not good. My wife informs me that now all the kids are sick. Sick as in, simultaneously throwing up. Oh boy. I realize that I have to do what I have to do and get the hell back home ASAFP. In an hour and a half I'm done with the necessary stuff and I'm heading south fast. I do not feel well. Really bad. I'm burning up and my stomach hurts so much I can't stand up straight. Back in the car and down 95. Just before the Sandbox, I have to pull over. All of southbound 95 gets to watch me puke my guts out on a Monday morning. Morning everyone!

I get home and all seems to have calmed down. Baby is playing quietly with a noise making book. #1 is asleep on the floor (!). This is the kid with a sleeping disorder that requires medication to help him sleep and any kind of noise would ordinarily wake him. That he's sleeping in the middle of the living room does not bode well. The other two are on the couch tucked under a blanket watching something or other. My wife seems me and says "You are as white as a sheet. You didn't make it did you?" I shake my head and she ushers me off to bed (God I love this woman). It's now barely 10:00 AM and I hit the sheets and I'm out like a light. I sleep for I don't know how long. I awake only during fits of agony that would ordinarily cause me to give up state secrets.

Next thing I know, my wife is coming to check on me. It's now 4:30. I muster myself out of bed to help through the "Witching Hour" as we call the time between 3:00 and bed. I'm not entirely useless but close to it. With my minimal parenting skills on the front burner she strips all the beds and gets the steam cleaner (best damn thing I ever bought) and goes to town on the various afflicted areas. Nobody is hungry which makes dinner very simple. I think they had some Cheerios (dry, no milk) and some Saltines. Even in my near delirious state I could manage that order.

Eventually, it's bath and bed time. I cross my fingers and pray that this will be the end of it.

I call my sister the nurse. "How do I know if I have appendicitis?", I ask. "I was thinking the same thing." she responds. Not good.

"Your wife called earlier and I said that was possible."

She gives me a few things to try to see if I'm a candidate. I pass (or fail) the tests. It's probably not that. Mostly because the pain is on the wrong side.

"What if I have that condition where all your organs are backwards?"

She laughs, "I had one of those today on my clinical rounds."

"Really"

"Yeah, her lungs were the right way but everything else was backwards."

I have no response for that and she says, "Well, it still could be your appendix because the pain can be deceptive. It may be on the right side but presenting on the left. You have a fever which is a symptom too. Basically, if your pain is gone very suddenly, go to the emergency room right away. That means your appendix burst and you're on your way to sepsis. If you don't get there fast enough, don't worry, you'll pass out and your wife will call an ambulance."

"You really have to work on your bedside manner."

I turn in around 7:30 and sleep fitfully. Either dead slumber or mortal agony, nothing in between.

My wife turns in around 10:00 and I don't even hear her. The next thing I know I hear wretching. I spring from the bed and look at the clock, 1:06 AM. I run to #1's room, sure it's him again. Throw open the door and he's dead asleep. I cock my head and realize...it's coming from my bathroom. That's right. My wife is now laid low. Lather, rinse and repeat until 7:00 AM when she collapses, exhausted into the bed. I get up with the kids. Fire up the laptop and let them know I'll be out of the day.

Now I get to deal with vomiting and crankiness solo. Fortunately, at some point during the night, my stomach pain has decreased to managable levels. It still hurts but not like having an a hammer pound my stomach.

The rest of the day continues much as the first except I'm awake and now my wife is sleeping it off.

Today, everyone seems to be better. We're all up and about and the appetites are returning but now my house looks like that scene in Johnny Dangerously when Johnny's Mom is taking in laundry from the entire neighborhood to make ends meet (Sorry, no embed, YouTube has for once failed me).