To top it all off…
On top of all the latest fun, this is me:
***
On a completely unrelated topic, if I'm ever caught out in the jungle with horrifying razor-toothed jaguars hunting me like prey, I'm going to dip a finger down the ol' poop chute and then wipe it on my neck.
There's something magical about home-made anus cream in that its smell permeates EVERYWHERE and it's impossible to get off. No killer jaguars are getting ME... no sir.
***
On another completely unrelated topic, it's highly entertaining/surreal to be changing a nappy and see, in precise detail, some of the features my son has inherited directly from me.
***
PS - I lied, those two notes above? Yeah, totally related to the topic at smelly, smelly hand.
Posted by JuddHole
This blog was the one that changed everything in my life, so it stands to reason that it continue to do so. I hope it starts with my underwear.Well *I* think he’s a big effing deal.
I'm not sure what happened, but somewhere along the line I think I "faded out" of people's conscious thoughts. Out of sight, out of mind, and when you move 10,000 miles away from "home", you are definitely out of sight.
I kept an online presence though, a website that I could keep up with that would keep folks up with me. It started out as www.juddexley.com where I put pictures and videos of my adorable children, but that site has evolved into something that's a bit more Authory since I'm being an author now.
This site, this Judd Hole, was originally my place of refuge, where I could use no "real" names and talk about things as freely as I liked. I could tell stories about work without fear of being "dooced" and I could talk about my life and relationships without worrying about anybody getting the wrong idea. So much of what we tell people these days has to be so fucking sugar-coated and finessed and cut-to-fit that we end up losing the goddam message.
Well this was my place to deliver that message.
Then, I grew up a little. I realised that I can't just have one place where I say "Jade is so cute!" and another where I say "that fucko at my kid's school needs his ass kicked".
Sadly, that "growing up" meant that the posts about asskickings had to go.
But did it?
Well, I wanted a place to talk about writing, and books, and publishing, and e-books, and reviews and all things Writery. Well, my name is my "brand" so it had to be the other place. This, by default, had to be where I could put the videos and the "oh isn't he cute" stuff. My MOM is always cool here, but my dad? Hmmm... my stepmom? My Gramma Genie? My Aunt Becky and my cousin Sarah?
Uffda, now it's getting complicated. Who's reading?!? And even more importantly, what are they thinking when they're reading it!??!
Oh dear. Oh my. Where to from here? Self-censorship for fear of offense?
Um, yeah. Not really my style.
I'm sorry, genuinely sorry, Gramma Genie, that I use language that I'm sure you don't approve of. I really do apologise if some of the things that I say will offend your sensibilities. I trust that you know though, that you raised a good man with a good heart and nothing but the best of intentions. Regardless of the shape they take when exiting my mouth (fingers?), my words are only meant to make the world a better place, as my heart longs for nothing more. You taught me how to be happy in my heart when I was very small, and I've taken that with me.
Mom, Dad, Becky, Sarah and even my misbegotten brother David... you're all welcome to read and interpret and judge me accordingly, though I dearly hope you'll raise questions and approach me if you think anything untoward.
See, the thing is, I'm pretty pissed off right now.
Actually, not pissed off, I'm just fucking hurt.
I don't know what you know about my children, but the fact is that the older two aren't biologically mine. They're mine in their hearts, but I wasn't here when they were babies, and that sucks. I got a chance to make one of my own, from scratch, and I find her pretty damn awesome. As far as we were concerned, she was my only shot at that, so I was pretty pleased.
Then we went for another, against some odds and without any solid reasoning beyond we "just felt it was right". There was some minor and very subtle opposition from just about every member of wife's family (except for Nic!) and my family was ambivalent as always (except for Granbo!).
It now seems like only a month or two ago that we announced we were pregnant, and then that he was a boy! It was all so exciting that I've lost track of a lot of the details, but I know that the folks that had anything to say about the excitement are/were the same ones that are saying anything now.
And now that he's born and here and awesome and chewing on my shirt right now looking for a boob, not very many people are saying much.
So we didn't do the whole come-see-the-fluidretainy-tired-and-blergh lady in hospital. We asked that everybody stay the eff away for a few days while me positively mooned over our new baby boy. I sent out texts, emails and updated Facebook. I felt like I put enough word out there, and some folks have been positively amazing.
But then the feelings start to trickle in.
Like how I feel about the fact that my wife called her mum out about how she acted like an absolute twat at Christmas (which was at our house) and how her mum then ceased all contact with us and her grandchildren. The kids used to go stay there at least once a month or so, and it's been 5 months since they've seen any of them. We've only just found out recently that Jo's mum is claiming WE'RE the ones that have kept the children from her. Yadda yadda, bullshit ensues... and cleanup is about as fun as you think it would be.
Not that we're counting the "congrats" or anything, but Jo's family has been remarkably slow and unexpected in this. Slow in that her next-youngest brother could barely be bothered staying in the hospital room and ended up acting like a 10-year old and her youngest brother only made mention of the new baby in some convoluted Facebook message with no mention of "congratulations". Unexpected in that her sister and brother-in-law (the dry and sardonic doctor) have been WONDERFUL. Seriously, vunderbar, and we've loved it. Nic, sis-in-law, as always, has been awesome.
But yeah, less than excited greetings and thus far, NOBODY has brought a gift of any kind for him. I'm not going to be silly about this, and yes I recognise that his cousins brought a lovely attitude and home-made cards (which meant huge things to us), but isn't it customary to visit somebody in the hospital with a teddy bear or a flower or a balloon?
We didn't get one fucking balloon.
That said, my mother, whom I have called "Mombo" and the kids "Granbo" for as long as I can remember, cleverly shipped a package from the US weeks in advance, so that it got here about 2 days after young Andrew was born. Well... Hell Fucking Yeah. Way to go Granbo! A hand-written (caligraphy) card and a hand-knitted baby blanket. What a fkn legend my mom is.
Know what else we got? A hand-made quilt, complete with a poem about stars and stripes and the southern cross and it was FUCKING LOVELY. This was before he was even born. A few days later, we got another little patterned blankie and some bibs and a hand-made card with little stick figure drawings of all of the Exley family.
Guess who all this was from... that's right. Sandra, from Grey Company.
Yes, the sweet little gal from my medieval nerd re-enactment troupe. She's basically outshone every single member of me and Jo's families, with the exception of my mother.
WOW.
My father apparently didn't receive the emails where I announced his name (which was late, mind you, because it took a day or so) and his only email talked more about he and my stepmom's upcoming camping plans than about my new baby boy. My brother emailed me and left a comment here, mentioning something about how we need to catch up via email because "it's cheap" but made NO MENTION of my new baby boy. His wife is on my Facebook and said NOTHING about the baby until she chimed in on my "No Way I'm Circumcising My Boy" thread with, quite simply, "please get it done". Nothing else. No congrats. NOTHING.
I've been to my medieval swordfighting nerd outings and to a couple of webnerd industry meetings, and at each I was roundly given handshakes and "congratulations". Chrissakes, the gal at the school canteen where I used to volunteer gave me a hug and asked me all about how we came up with his name.
I guess I'm left wondering what the fuck happened. I think he's a big fucking deal, and I've all but quit work for the next few months just to enjoy him and learn him and help wife bring him into this wonderful world.
I guess I just wonder what he means to everybody else. Because I have the feeling that this kid is going to be bigger than anything else I've done (with the possible exception of his more-in-your-face older sister) and I wonder if I've made such a forgettable mark in people's lives that they'd treat this as if it's my favourite footy team winning the Grand Final.
Not looking for anything by writing this, other than catharsis that is, but I'm just genuinely perplexed by the majority of reactions to something that I have found veritably life-changingly profoundly fucking HUGE.
His name is Andrew James Exley. He's small and curly and farts and looks like his mother in the eyes and me around the mouth and we both think he's the most beautiful thing we've ever done together.
I think he's worth a bit of a fuss.
Posted by JuddHole
This blog was the one that changed everything in my life, so it stands to reason that it continue to do so. I hope it starts with my underwear.Babies Won’t Keep
Why haven't I posted the entire story of my child's birth yet?
Why did I have to set a reminder in my Outlook Calendar to do the dishes?
Why is the only basic email communication I've had between my mother and the 73-year old retired Welshman I play online chess with?
Why is my beard scratchy with new growth and my crotch jungley with unwashing?
Because babies won't keep.
I have Wifeage to thank for this house remaining in working condition while I am not, as he's still getting up for a feed a lot at night and that's Dad Duty (in exchange for doing little else mind you... I didn't even grow him in my belly, so I'm getting off light).
Wonderful, beautiful, amazingly capable and rocking this shit out of everything Wifeage sent me this poem, and I challenge you to read the entire thing, out loud, without getting allergies in your eyes.
It's paraphrased a bit by Wifeage, but that only makes it awesomer:
Song for a Fifth Child
(Fourth works just as well ;)
Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing and butter the bread,
Sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.
Oh, I’ve grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).
The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren’t his eyes the most wonderful hue?
(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
For children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.
***
See? I can't even copy and paste it here without getting a bit misty.
Just about everybody I know sometimes needs a really bulletrpoof argument against housekeeping, and here's mine:
When they're 19 and out on their own and talking agnstily with their other young and angsty friends, do you want them chiming in the parent-bashing with, "Yeah, my parents never had any fun with me either. They thought going to the shops and riding the choo-choo thing was fun for me!"
Or do you want them to say, "My parents weren't slobs, but they weren't big on cleaning. They made me do housework whenever I was in trouble, which was fairly common/hardly at all, but Saturday Mornings ALWAYS meant cartoons, pancakes and loud music in the kitchen while they danced with us and sometimes made out with each other... ewwwwwww."
Now, if you'll excuse me, Ben 10: Alien Force is on.
Posted by JuddHole
This blog was the one that changed everything in my life, so it stands to reason that it continue to do so. I hope it starts with my underwear.Bouncing Babies Gets You in Trouble
Not to throw the wifeage under the bus, she's been through a lot lately what with having a major abdominal surgery to pull a baby out, suddenly turning Jersey Milk Cow and having so many hormones running through her blood I wonder sometimes if she'll actually shapeshift like Martin Short in "Innerspace".
BUT... the reason I haven't updated with the entire baby saga is her fault.
She's a perfectionist, you see, and if there are pictures that are going up of our wonderful little bundle of joy then she wants them to have gone through her ardent ninja-like set of photo editing skills. So, I have a post, it's waiting on pictures, and no I won't put it up yet (I like my testicles where they are).
In the mean time, I can tell you this: Andrew James Exley came into this outside world at 4:33 PM on April 20th and has napped ever since. He was HUGE at 55cm (97th percentile) and almost 8 pounds. Hefty boy.
He's perfect and gorgeous and even though naming him was a bloody SAGA we're so, So, SO happy with everything about him. Oh alright, here's a pic or two:
He spends a lot of time doing this, which is fine by us because it means we don't get interrupted while we're absolutely MOONING over him. I mean, godDAMN this kid is gorgeous!
I suppose I'm actually okay with her being a perfectionist. It may slow up my blog posts, but look at the people she makes.
Posted by JuddHole
This blog was the one that changed everything in my life, so it stands to reason that it continue to do so. I hope it starts with my underwear.There’s a $1000 check in my metre box
Usually, the merits of being a small businessmanguyperson far outweigh any of the detractions, but then there's days where you wonder how the other "little guys" do it.
When I announced that I wasn't going to do SEO any more, AND that I was going to go on Baby Leave for 18 weeks, it was as if the floodgates opened. Clients that I hadn't heard from since before Xmas were all-of-a-sudden needing to get me their stuff, and sign up for new stuff, and pay me.
And. Pay. Me.
SWEEEEEET.
That part has been pure gold, but the shit parts are the insistence, the hurry that people have put into things now.
"We've only got a week! HURRY! Pay him and then he'll finish our project the night before his baby pops out!"
Um, no.
I'm not actually going to do that, nor am I going to actually work on Baby Leave, that's kind of the whole point.
So, I'm happily turning projects down or turning them over to Dub-T, my mate in Waroona who's going to take on the mantle of New SEO Guy of Awesome.
I've found that I like saying "No" a whole lot, particularly when they look like trouble anyway.
"We want to rank for 'training courses' before July, and the only way to update our system is to email Ravi and ask very nicely for stuff. Wait a week or so for a reply, sometimes the goats really wander off and he gets delayed."
"Can't help you, but I'll send your details on to... [insert overpriced fucko SEO guy in Perth's name here]. HE'LL take care of you, real nice."
But then one of my wacky colleagues, an odd little duck that I met a while ago, brings me another client (she's good for a half-dozen a year on average) that she wants to "get in under the Judd wire."
I tell her no. I emailed these people ages ago to discuss the project. I sent them documents and asked for their feedback and heard nothing. They want to rank for a retardedly difficult term and had no budget... no, No, NO.
Then, while me and the entire family waited an hour and a half for the Gasser Babydoc (anaesthetist), I get a call that I decline, then a voicemail, then a text (which was almost a verbatim copy of the voicemail, except for the typos, heh):
I told them your the best and they really want you to do their project and they put there money where there mouth is and there a cheque in your metre box for $1055
Well shee-it.
Turns out I can be bought.
Or rather, that smicko new pram and carseat can. Muh-hur-hur.