Balian 2.0

Here are a few more shots of Balian and his first week at home...

Yes, he is laying on the dog and she couldn't care less

Balian and Granny Jan

Heather is an awesome mom. What a cute face

My new full time job

Balian Ash Simon

Here are a few shots (including the short little vid) of our new boy, only a few hours old.

Yep, I'm cuttin' the cord.


No. Its just gas.


Ready to go home.


Introductions...."What the hell is this?"


"Ok, I guess he can stay. But only for a while."

More to come soon........

Our Thanksgiving

This year, Heather and I had Thanksgiving by ourselves. The little plate was for TaraBull. Yes, TaraBull. After all, she is a part of the family.

Holy crap, we spoil her. She had all the fixin's...Turkey with cranberry jelly, mashed potatoes and gravy, stuffing, a little bit of roll and of course a little bit of candied sweet potatoes (we are in the south.)

She was done before we could even sit down...lucky dog.

Southern Religion

Thats right...come to North Carolina and get a little religion with a dose of woman exploiting prostutation and physical abuse.

Got to love The South

Uncle Sammy

I would like to give Heather’s brother, Jason, a huge “Thank You.”

When we were in Hawaii for Jon and Darby’s wedding, Mom, Dad and I went to the U.S. Memorial for those who lost their lives in Pacific wars. We wanted to find the name of Grandma’s brother, Wallace Sam Sorensen, who was lost at sea during WWII. But we found out his name was not at the memorial in Hawaii, but at a similar memorial in the Philippines. (Click for a closer view)

In comes Jason…Jason is an engineer (like his father and my father, interestingly) and a production manager for the company he works for. Recently his company decided to open a factory in the Philippines and sent Jason to help open that factory. While there, Jason went to the U.S. Memorial in Manila and got a few photos and, because of the mystery surrounding Sammy’s loss, did some research and found some info that our family had not known. And in doing so, answered some questions that had gone unanswered for more than 65 years.

Sooo, from all of our family, thank you Jason, thank you.

Nice Sunday Drive

I had big plans for the weekend. We haven't done much to enjoy the summer, so I thought a short road trip would be perfect. How about Fort Sumpter, a civil war site about three hours south of us in South Carolina? We could spent the night in Charleston, which is supposed to be a lovely port city full of historic architecture.

Or, we could go a few hours north to the southern-most tip of the Outer Banks, a series of barrier islands off the North Carolina coast. Wild horses run free on the southern islands, and you have to take a two-hour ferry ride to get to the nearest island. We could spend the night on the island of Ocracoke, which has a small village at its heart.

Sounds nice, huh?

Just one small problem: Tara Bull.

It's too hot to leave her in the car while we visit forts, quaint village shops, or restaurants. And, since Mom is in Utah, there's no one we can leave her with. Those of you who have met Tara Bull know she's too psycho to leave with unsuspecting friends or neighbors.

So the end result -- we went on a long Sunday drive on a designated "Scenic Byway." Uh huh. It was a long road that looked just like every other road I've driven on in North Carolina. The view is always the same: a wall of pine trees on both sides of the road. Oh, and Tara got carsick and threw up all over the backseat of my car.

The Scenic Byway was supposed to give us a view of a series of lakes called the "Meteor Lakes" because they were formed by meteor strikes thousands of years ago. The lakes were not to be found, unless we left the scenic byway and drove several more miles off the route to find each of them.

We did stumble upon Jones Lake, where there was a big "No Dogs" sign. We ignored it and let Tara romp around the shoreline, away from the other sightseers and campers.

The long, four-hour, fruitless drive did have one upside: Tara Bull went home completely exhausted.

Beautiful Father's Day Post

I spent at least half an hour on two different occasions trying to find a Father's Day card that was appropriate for my relationship with my Dad. I failed, and ended up getting a stupid generic "best wishes" card instead. In my search, I stumbled across cards for "Dads to Be," which was a nice surprise. But I didn't get one for Scott, due to our superstitious horror of assuming everything will be okay. And because, really, he already is a father.

Anyway, one of my favorite bloggers had a beautiful post yesterday about Father's Day cards. I'm putting up a link to that post here in honor of Scott -- who is and always will be a great dad.

Mom & Dads Trip to the NC

As most of you may know, Mom and Dad decided to take a vacation and come out here to the NC and we were very happy to have them. We had a good time while they were here. Here are a few pictures of some of the things we did. One day, we went to Southport. this is the local Mormon Church. (In case you can't see it, they are having a "butt" sale.)
We then took the ferry over to Fort Fisher.....(Fort Fisher is a Civil War fort that was the site of the largest land/sea battle of the War. The forts purpose was to protect the last sea port not taken by the Union.
Dad is in an underground bunker (at Fort Fisher) meant to protect the soldiers and gun powder (notice the cannon. It is facing the Cape Fear river near the opening to the Ocean)

On another day we went to Fort Anderson on the Cape Fear River (its job was basicly to support Fort Fisher). While we were there, a Christian school group was there to learn more about the times.

Next to Fort Anderson is Old Brunswick Town. The ruins of a small colonial town.

And yet on another day we went to Moores Creek Battlefield, the site of a very violent and bloody battle between colional partiots and english loyalists.

And on ANOTHER day, we went to the Battleship North Carolina. (no idea who the lady is)

Mom is in a bunk deep in the bowels of the ship.

Close to the final day we went to the beach to see the sun RISE over the ocean.

We want to again thank Mom and Dad for coming out to the NC to see us. It really was nice having them here.

But the way....for more pictures of their vacation look on my facebook page.

The End

One of my favorite websites recently featured a poem called The End by Rabindranath Tagore. The poem is written in the voice of a baby who has died, and he comforts his mother that he is not truly gone. He says, “I shall become a delicate draught of air and caress you; and I shall be the ripples in the water when you bathe, and kiss you and kiss you again.”

I really liked this poem because it wasn’t of the horrid “angel in heaven” variety that I’ve most often run across. But I had a really hard time relating to the poem because, in truth, I don’t feel that Julian is near me. For me, Julian is a heavy, heavy absence in the world. He is the black hole at the center of my heart. He is just gone, and pretty thoughts about moonbeams and ripple kisses won’t ever make that better.

But the poem ends with the query, “Where is our baby?...He is in the pupils of my eyes, he is in my body and in my soul.”

Perhaps I can live with that. Julian’s birthday is fast approaching and I’ve been remembering the last days of my pregnancy and the terrible, dark time I spent in the hospital. I am definitely not the same person I was last year. I am older, sadder, damaged. Maybe a little wiser. My body bears the marks of childbirth, and my heart carries the scars of grief.

So yes, Julian is in my body and in my soul. Or more specifically, he can be found in that space of difference between who I was and who I have become.

Spring Fever

Spring has burst into full bloom here in Wilmington. Our azaleas are a riot of pinks, reds, corals, and delicate blushing whites. The wisteria vines have flowered in all the trees, adding a lavender sheen to the woods around our house. Flowering boxwood trees, cherry blossoms, tulips, late-blooming daffodils—all now grace our yard with spring color.

How beautiful, you must be thinking. Yes. But I'm not going to show you a picture of the flowers. The photos here show the thick layer of yellow pollen that has covered every possible surface: cars, walkways, patio furniture, our lungs, etc.

Scott has cleaned off one side of the garbage can. That's not dust. It's pure pollen.

Here you can see the yellowish pollen that has collected on our tile porch.

Everyone I know here is wheezing, sneezing, and coughing from the botanical onslaught. Or, like me, suffering from allergy-induced sinus headaches. I guess that's the price for all that beauty!

Weird Post

Ok. First off, I know this is a really strange post (especially for me), but I have found a product that I really, really like.

I hate cleaning. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. But I REALLY hate cleaning the toilet. So I'm all for anything that makes it easier. I have used alot of those "drop in the upper bowl" or "hang over the rim" products and most don't work worth crap (pun intended). The ones that do work either leave little blue bits in the water after each flush or you have to replace the wire hanger thingee after its been pee'd on by men with bad aim (3 o'clock in the morning, your half asleep, you'd miss to).

All you have to do is push the little plastic handle thingee onto the bowl and that's it. The TV commercials say that each little gel "star" will last about a week and there is enough gel for 6 applications, that a month and a half. except (for us, just me and Heather) each gel "disk" lasts 2 to 3 weeks. That's three months or more for about $3.50. and the best part is it actually works.

I know, I know, I sound like a damn commercial except I'm not getting paid. I won't even get a free box. Oh well. I don't care. I'll still use it.

Yes, its things like this that make me happy. I'm such a loser :)

"A Hazy Shade of Winter"

OK. Time for something a little less depressing (love you Heather)

It's winter here in the NC (as you can very well see). The temperature was in the low 70's so we just couldn't resist going to the beach. Obviously, we weren't the only ones with that idea.


In fact, there were so few people at the beach, we were able to keep Tara Bull off of her leash most of the time. (Yes, she ran like the little demon she is. At least until she got tired and just followed right behind Heather.


Ok. One little depressing thing... it seems that the Little Mermaid's remains were spread all over the beach. (The "real" one. Not that Disney crap.)
This is somthing you don't see every day, a pine cone on the beach.

An Early Spring

April is the cruelest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain.

-- TS Eliot, The Wasteland

This stanza perfectly captures how I felt when, the day we returned from Utah, I found daffodils shooting up out of the still-cold ground. Although I suffered through the winter, longing for warmth and sunshine, I guess I am not ready for spring—for the hopefulness of green buds and the joyfulness of the bright flowers that will fill our yard for months.

Mixing memory and desire...I can't think of anything more painful. Can't I just stay in the dark cave of winter for a little while longer?

(And, for the record, April is indeed the cruelest month.)

Life is Good

Nearly every morning while driving to work, I see a Jeep that has a spare-tire cover with the phrase “Life is Good” on it. At first it seemed virtually meaningless to me. “Good” is such a bland adjective—it doesn’t really tell you much. Dinner was good; the movie was good; the child was good. Life is good.

Because it’s on a Jeep in a beach community, I picture the driver as a youngish man with a surf board stashed in the back seat. The words, written in a whimsical, happy font, have a definite surfer vibe to them: “Dude, life is goooood.” I guess it’s what life looks like viewed through the double lenses of marijuana and adrenaline.

But the more I see this Jeep, the less happy the phrase seems. It has become insistent, even overtly political. The driver purchased the “Life is Good” tire cover and drives around with it in the faces of all the other people on the road—almost like a poster at a political rally. “Abortion is Murder”, “Vote for Orrin Hatch”, “Life is Good”. All the Monday-morning drivers, regardless of their daily miseries and tragedies, are compelled to meditate on the phrase “Life is Good.”

Does he think he will change minds—that he will convert the depressed to his own philosophy of happiness? Is he truly oblivious to the shards of pain these words can cause? Or is he merely gloating: his life is good. Aren’t we pleased for him?

But then, perhaps it is simply meant to celebrate the fact of life: the oxygenated air that envelopes our planet, the microbes, the green plant life, the penguins, the pelicans, the mushrooms, and the mosquitoes. Our carbon-based existence is good.

Life is…what? I once knew a woman who would say, “Oh, life is hard” in response to any bad news. So how would you finish that sentence?

As for me, I would simply say: Life is.

—Heather