Today's post brought to you by a miracle

"I spilled water on the computer" is not a great text from your wife to get at work.

The imperiled Pew! Pew! Kickstarter

Sarah had been using our laptop, which I have named Freeman, when she tipped her giant water mug and the lid came off. Water spilled onto the keyboard, and she snatched the mug away. Freeman automatically logged her off and powered down as she quickly dried the keyboard, unplugged the power and removed the battery. That's my wife!

If I learned anything in my two years as a computer repair technician at PCs Unlimited, it's that computers don't do well underwater. And being a starving journalist, replacing or repairing a dead laptop could take a big chunk out of our finances. Without going into too many embarrassing budgetary details, our cost-cutting project this week is learning to make ramen from scratch.

What's more, I had launched the Pew! Pew! Kickstarter just that day. I needed Freeman, or at the very least the files on Freeman, to create the magazine I promised my Kickstarter backers. Even if the Kickstarter raked in twice my goal of $500, replacing Freeman would put us right back at square one.

When I got home from work after 11 p.m., Sarah was still up. I told her not to worry, it wasn't her fault, but I may need to get a second job. I'm a pie-in-the-sky kind of guy, meaning I have a very poor sense of what jobs are available and how to get them, so any conversations about finding work slowly spiral out of control until I'm talking about being a carney or signing up as a Mars colonist.

We tried powering Freeman up 4 or 5 hours after the spill, but during bootup he started beeping, which usually means something's gone wrong with the fiddly bits inside. Those fiddly bits are usually not cheap. On the plus side, the keyboard was much cleaner.

I went to sleep worrying about Freeman, worrying about Sarah, worrying about whether my insurance would pay for booster shots before I joined the circus. I prayed that Freeman might be OK somehow.

This morning, I tried booting Freeman up again. This time I still heard the beeping, but I didn't hear the cooling fan. That could be good news or bad news -- fans are cheap to replace, but they're not electronically complicated -- so if water somehow took out the fan, the rest of Freeman's guts couldn't be doing well.

I dug out my static clip and opened Freeman up. You know how when your walkie-talkie breaks as a kid, you get a screwdriver and open it up, even though everything you know about electricity comes from watching cartoon Ben Franklin fly kites? Despite the hundreds of computers I've opened up, I felt a lot like that.

I unplugged the fan and looked at it. Wonder of wonders! Miracle of miracles! A dried clod of dust was lodged in the fan, just big enough to keep the fan from spinning. When the water seeped into the fan, it must have dampened the dust and clumped it all together. I removed the clump and named it Dustin.

Dustin

After that, Freeman booted up fine. I'm grateful for a God who answers my prayers, and I'm grateful that he has a sense of humor. Now I'm writing a blog post with Charlotte on my lap. If I'm rambling, you'll have to forgive me. I'm restraining Charlotte, because she's trying to eat Dustin.

Update: A couple of days later, Sarah made a batch of miso ramen. It was delicious.

Things I've learned about Charlotte

• Charlotte's favorite music is the blues. Specifically blues-rock with heavy beats and loud guitar riffs. How I know this: Once she was fussing, and I played Catfish Blues by Jimi Hendrix and she got very still and quiet and her eyes got big. Later that day, she started fussing again when I listened to the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I switched to T Model Ford and she quieted right down. She also likes Led Zeppelin, including (don't tell Sarah) the Immigrant Song.

• Charlotte is capable of trick poops. This is like a trick shot in the circus, where a shooter can throw a deck of cards up in the air and put a bullet specifically through the card you picked (though that sounds dangerous now I think about it). In Charlotte's case, you can wrap her up in a diaper then swaddle her in a blanket then wrap the blanket in Saran Wrap then hold her way out away from you with Inspector Gadget extendo arms and she can still get poop on your shirt. I may be exaggerating slightly, but she does experience diaper containment failure on a regular basis.
• Charlotte likes eating sugar, much to Sarah's chagrin. Before you call social services on us, we found this out in the NICU. While she was on the cooling cap, sometimes the only way to quiet her down was to give her sucrose drops. If you put it on her lips, she would suck her top lip way down into her mouth. If you put it on a pacifier, she would latch on so tight you could probably lift her up by the pacifier if you tried. Which I did not.
• Charlotte has long fingers and is more dexterous than I thought she would be. Exhibit A:

This photo was taken when she was four or five days old.

Dating advice is for suckers

The Utah Statesman is starting a staff blog about dating. There's only one post so far, and it's mine. It would fit well in this blog, but alas, you'll just have to read it on the Statesman site. We've got some good posts coming, though -- and hopefully one titled, "How #DateTavin ruined my love life."

I think I ought to tell you.

 Steve and I are expecting. Expecting what to do what? To have a baby, my fair friends, to have a baby. I've never had a baby before and let me tell you what, it's a crazy business. A few pregnancy related thoughts:

If you want to have a baby, try and remember that feeling that got you into this mess. After I found out, through the oh-so graceful pee-on-a-stick method, I was all giddy and excited. And then I became more and more pregnant and I honestly thought to myself "I don't want to be pregnant no more." This feeling came as a pretty big surprise to me. Steve can attest that I was all about having babies. I felt like it was the next big thing for me, and now for us. But oh my, pregnancy is a cruel taskmaster sometimes and is nowhere near the experience I've heard regaled by countless mothers after the fact. It sounded much more like a magical pony ride than an emotional knockout with physical duress. 

I can say, however, that when I saw baby Kent on the sonogram I started to feel the excitement and happiness I was hoping for. Sure, the baby looks like an alien tadpole at that stage and sure, you still feel pretty horrible but I my heart started racing and tears started flowing as I saw the baby in real time, wiggling all around.That's when it felt real, not just like having PMS for three months.

Husbands are an essential part to any pregnancy. Not only because their initial investment, but also their continued sponsorship throughout. My sponsor is the best. Steve constantly reminds me of happy things, about the baby being here and that he things I'm beautiful all the time. I don't know if body image is as big of a deal for anyone else, but I have just about lost it more than a couple times as I've watched my body change. I'm fairly controlling with my weight, how I workout and what I eat as I'm positive 75-99% of women are. I never thought I'd be 'that pregnant lady' who didn't enjoy the magical changes coming over my body. But I sure didn't and don't. It's a process, one I hope to conquer but probably not till the veil of deceiving forgetfulness comes over me after birth.

Being married is the best, but it takes work and thought and tears and cookies. Having a family is the best, but it takes time and tears and stretch marks and emotional jujitsu. So get married and have a family, it's the best thing you'll ever do.

Call me Rod Blogojevich

By Steve Kent


This blog will be a record of what happens when two people who are pretty bad at soliciting and following advice try to start a family together. In other words, it's a tragic-humor blog.

Sarah says I have to write every other blog post. I checked the blog's stats as I finished work a little after midnight. In the past couple of hours, it looks like at least 14 people have read Sarah's post. That makes this blog the most popular I've ever owned.

You should read Sarah's post, it's really good. If you haven't noticed, all the big colorful words in her article are hyperlinks. Also, some of the things she wrote don't apply to me. Contrary to her assertion, I am mean and hate some people.

I love Sarah, though. Partly as a result of this, she is pregnant. People tell stories about how wives can get cranky when pregnant; not Sarah. She bakes me cookies.

I'm a little scared. I've never been good at grown-up things, like filing taxes or remembering to vote. Part of me thinks I'll be a great father, and the other part has a lot of questions.

Part of me #1: Man, I'm gonna be great at raising a baby.

Part of me #2: Yeah? What are you going to do with a baby?

Part #1: I dunno. Play videogames? Eat sandwiches?

I don't even know what we'll name the baby. Thinking about it gives me weird feelings, sometimes. Right now, we're thinking of Dela, after the Beautiful Girls' cover of a song by that name. I listened to it four times in a row after my co-workers left the office tonight, and I almost cried. For those of you who don't know me, I'm really tough, so I rarely cry.

Even if we don't name her Dela, I think I'm going to sing that song as a lullaby.

Unless the baby turns out to be a boy. In which case — son, I apologize, if you're reading. I have other great names thought up for you.

BOSS US AROUND SEGMENT: If you've got advice for soon-to-be parents, leave it in the post comments. The most hilarious bit of advice wins a bag of Skittles. The most useful advice wins the successful perpetuation of the human race.

ADDED VALUE: Try saying the post title aloud.

The Introduction of Kent Kingdom.

 Congratulations! You've found your way into our musings that we shall share with you. I've never written on a blog before, and honestly I've avoided writing things that remind me of high school papers/essays so I don't have to be embarrassed. Steve is majoring in smarty-pants writing, however, so I think as his wife I must try to better my skills.

Steve picked the name for this blog. It reminds me of the hermit crab I had as a teenager. I don't remember his name, which is tragic, because I think that he would have wanted me to remember. He was a particularly introverted crab. I would only see him poke his head out of his shell if he was sure I wasn't looking (and by sure, I mean really sure). If he thought he was being watched, or perhaps stalked, he wouldn't come out again for what seemed hours. I would lay on my bed, pretending to be asleep, eyes closed with measured breathing, to lull him into the falsest sense of security. Only then could I behold his majesty. Unfortunately, his majesty didn't last for long. He died pretty quickly after I started playing mind games with him. I didn't know he was dead for a long time, a testament to his extreme shyness. I miss him, he was a good companion for someone like me.

We decided we are an introverted, people-disliking couple. That's not to say we are mean or actually hate anyone. We just happen to prefer each other to anyone else and we don't come across as "the couple to approach cause they seem so nice." That's just not our style. We likely come off rather abrasively, like a medium-grade sand paper, not the rough grit that grinds away obvious faults nor the fine tuning paper that brings out the smooth texture right before finish. Somewhere in between those extremes. We are friends with a more approachable couple and it works well for us. They bring the innocence to our rough personalities, making others more likely to approach us just by association. I'm grateful for opposites in this world, otherwise we'd all have to try too hard to be every personality type and end up not liking anyone.

P.S. I love the Crocodile Hunter. I am in no way trying to shame him, this is to honor him. His name is Steve and I married a Steve. I'm all about people named Steve.