Hurricane Karsten

I came home from a meeting several days ago and found the house a bit warm. When I unlocked and the opened the doors to the office it felt like the blast of heat you feel when entering a Costco in the wintertime. "Whoa!" I shouted so that Sara would hear. "What happened in here?" We both realized the answer at the same time - Karsten.
The thermostat was set to 89 degrees. And though the house had not yet been able to reach that temperature, the register in the office had been pumping out hot air for hours into the closed room while the rest of the house with open doors and our open floor plan was much more equilibrated.
This incident didn't really surprise us. Karsten began as a minor blip on the radar out over the Pacific, sucking on tubes of toothpaste when he wanted a refreshing treat. But in recent months he has picked up quite a bit of steam. He became a tropical storm several weeks ago when he plugged in Sara's curling iron and left it setting on the carpet all day long.
But now he as reached full on hurricane status and made landfall at the same time. The thermostat incident was brought about by a combination of Karsten's fascination with buttons and switches and his recent discovery that our tall pub chairs are easy to push around on the wood floor with their felt anti-scuff pads on each leg. Karsten will spend hours of each day pushing the chairs around to all of the different wall switches, turning on ceiling fans, lamps, outdoor lights, and bathroom fans. This led him to figure out that he can carry the step stool from the bathroom for the carpeted areas where the chairs don't slide well. This is why we now keep our bedroom (to keep him out of the curling irons, deodorant, toothpaste, shampoo, etc.) and the office (computer hacking) locked up when not in use.
He's also using the chairs to help himself to anything he wants in the fridge, freezer or pantries.
Uncooked pasta.
Cheese sticks.
Ice cream.
It wouldn't be so bad if he actually ate the stuff he finds. I really don't understand how the boy weighs so much. Nothing seems to make it into he stomach except liquids. He's got vacuum-like suction and can down a sippy cup in mere seconds. The solids, however, are just a source of entertainment for Karsten. Crackers turn into powder when stomped on. The pasta makes a delightful amount of noise when dumped out slowly from atop the counter. Cheese sticks can be kneaded and molded into a variety of shapes and projectiles. And the ice cream - not only does he dirty every spoon he can find but he doesn't even have the decency to put it back in the freezer when he's done.

At least he seems to be past his toilet fixation. No more emergency baths or fishing toys out.

But he is starting to throw things down the stairs. Large things. If Karsten can lift it or at least push it, there is a very strong chance it will at some point take a tumble down to the ground floor.
I even had to buy a new keyboard off eBay for Sara's laptop just to use for spare parts to fix the original keyboard. The problem isn't so much that Karsten pops off the keys (he can even unlatch the lid so "hey Ducheznee - why don't you just close it?" is not a viable solution). The problem is that I can't ever seem to get them all back together (with their hinges and tiny rubber springs) without breaking or losing at least one piece.
Amazingly, Karsten can't climb out of his crib yet and doesn't try to take off his diaper. But I did catch him wearing a princess dress once, and that concerns me.


Roomba needs to invent a babysitting robot. Karsten could wear a bracelet or something that the robot would be able to track and follow him around with a video camera and a microphone. We would be able to monitor that feed from the computer or TV or maybe a portable device we carry with us.
UPDATE - Dec. 1stApparently this list will grow. Sara is presently cooking dinner and Karsten just tried to light a napkin on fire by inching it closer and closer beneath the pot of boiling water.
UPDATE - Dec. 4thKarsten can now climb out of his crib. Brooklyn taught him. She was very proud of herself. Now Karsten sleeps with a lid on the crib.


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You're a Good Sport, Charlie Brown

I had been hoping for the past year that Karsten's hair would not grow too much so that he could be Charlie Brown for Halloween. As you can see, everything worked out very nicely. Karsten even won the costume contest at our local Fred Meyer.

After visiting just a few houses on Halloween night, Karsten was extremely sticky and just too exhausted to actually stay upright in his wagon as I chauffeured him around. Don't tell him, but I skipped past several houses when he wasn't paying attention. Everything you can see in this picture, with exception of the sidewalk, has a thin layer of Karsten's candy-saliva mixture spread all over it. At one house he couldn't even manage to hold his hand out to accept the candy offering because his hand was quite literally stuck to his face.

Here's a courtesy link to the real award-winning prime time special, "You're a Good Sport, Charlie Brown."

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Here Lies Ivy - A Good Cat

Ivy died on the operating table this afternoon, a victim of her only vice - eating things that weren't meant to be eaten.

'Twas the dental floss that did her in.

Dr. Karst-vorkian assisted little Ivy in her efforts. He was the one that somehow fished the tiny 12 yards of woven, mint-flavor floss out of the child-proof-lock-protected bathroom cupboard and unwound the full length into a nice straight line for Ivy's subsequent ingestion.

Ivy had tested these waters many times in the past, but always with much shorter material such as Easter basket grass or balloon ribbons. 12 yards simply proved to be too long.

Without going into too much detail, the floss "see-sawed" back and forth and wore several holes in Ivy's intestinal walls. One hole is operable - they just cut out the bad section and splice the rest back together - but five holes is a lost cause. 

Ivy was a good cat. She didn't like kids much, because they always chased her around. But she never hurt them. She enjoyed adult visitors and liked to coat their pant legs with hundreds of thin, white hairs. Ivy never had any formal education, nor was she employed outside of the home. An unfortunate accident in her youth left her sterile and thus, Ivy is not survived by any feline family - just one brother, two sisters, and her parents, all of whom are human.

We'll miss you, Ivy. Thanks for 10 fun years!

Memoirs of Customer Service - The Doctor

We got a bill on Monday from the hospital where Karsten was born. Karsten is nearly 14 months old.

On two prior occasions we have received afterthought bills from the hospital, although it has been several months since the last occurrence. Each one makes me a little more upset. I mean, the grocery store doesn't send me a bill after the fact stating that my milk actually cost more than they had originally charged.

So, I got on the speaking telegraph and rang the number printed on the statement - the one that said, "For any questions, call...". This is where our story begins.

Call #1 - "Tom" at the phone number listed on the bill tells me that the service is not covered by our insurance company. "What service?" I ask, "Delivering babies?" Tom explains that the service provided was routine, which is part of preventive care, which is not covered. Tom suggests I take up the issue with my insurance company. I say, "My kid is 14 months old. When can I expect to stop receiving bills?" Tom reveals that the charge is in fact not for Karsten's birth, but for Sara's annual girlie doctor visit - from more than a year ago. 

Why am I just now seeing this bill? No - that's beside the point. Why is the hospital billing me for services provided by a different legal entity? Why has Sara's doctor failed, yet again, to submit the proper procedure code to my insurance company? Both good questions. I suggest that the wrong procedure code may have been used. Tom transfers me to our Account Representative, "Tasha".

Call #2 - After explaining everything again to Tasha, she recommends I call the doctor's group practice. She can't change the billing code herself.

Call #3 - I broke ranks here and called my insurance company in order to gather facts and build my case. Low and behold, I was right. The doctor used the improper procedure code. This is not the first time we've had this problem.

Call #4 - Group practice. The receptionist tells me that Sara's doctor is no longer with that practice. She has ventured out on her own. In any case, I'll need to speak with "billing" and she transfers me to option #3.

Call #5 - Billing is gone for the day. It's 3 PM. Why was I transferred there? I back out of the voicemail menu and speak with a nurse at option #4. The nurse confirms that I'll need to speak with the people at option #3. Tomorrow.

Call #6 - Starting over, I explain the situation to billing. She can't find my wife's file. I provide Sara's social security number. Nope. Date of birth - nuh-uh. "Let me transfer you to Judy. She handles these things." I apologize for being crass.

Call #7 - Same as Call #6, but with some additional questions: "Did you two just recently get married?" - thinking perhaps they might have Sara listed under a different surname. Judy then asked for the date of service. "Oh, I think [the doctor] had left the practice by that time. We don't have any records for you after January [of 2008]. You need to call her new practice at..."

Call #8 - New practice reception. "Hi. My wife is a patient of Dr. X. I'm trying to resolve a billing issue." I'm transferred to "billing".

Call #9 - "Hi. Is this the billing department?" I ask. "Yes it is." "Finally! My wife is a patient of Dr. X from her previous office..." I begin. "One moment." I'm transferred into the matrix.

Call #10 - "Hello. You have reached Bonnie in billing. I am unable..." I leave a detailed message.

Call #11 - Bonnie calls me back. We start at the beginning. She cannot locate any information about any patient prior to April [of 2008]. She says she will talk to Dr. X and call me back before the day is out.

Call #12 - Bonnie calls me back again. Dr. X said she can't help me. I'll have to call her old group practice. I've had it.

Call #13 - LAST CALL. I call Tom back using the phone number on the bill. He once again tells me that the service is not covered by my insurance policy. I suggest to Tom that he may be mistaken. I tell him I have confirmed with my insurer that the service is indeed covered. I explain that the improper procedure code was submitted by Dr. X. I tell Tom that I have spoken not only with him, the account rep, and my insurer, but also with numerous representatives from both Dr. X's old and new practices. Nobody knows anything about the charge except for Tom and Tasha. Sara's appointment has apparently disappeared within a blip in the space-time continuum. As such, I tell Tom, regardless of the procedure code, I shouldn't have to pay for services that never occurred in the history of all time. Tom tells me to disregard the bill. He and the account rep will attempt to get the procedure code corrected and resubmitted to my insurance company.

The peasants rejoice.

A Zero No Longer

We didn't get to claim Karsten on our 2007 tax filing. He wasn't born until after the year ended. We recently held a small celebration in his honor to mark the completion of his first year on this planet. And while I'm extremely grateful for the standard Child Credit for 2008, I'm also proud to be Karsten's dad.

• Dude can eat - six squares a day
• Dude sleeps like a hibernating bear
  
• Dude's tough - able to withstand his sisters' constant adoration/punishment
• Dude only says one word - "dada"

Here's Karsten mowing down three of his birthday cupcakes with all the gusto of a kid getting his first real taste of sugar. Twas nary a crumb left behind.

And another of Madison chauffeuring Karsten around in his sweet new ride, a vintage, all metal, pedal-powered Oliver mini farm tractor (and trailer). Thanks Grandma and Grandpa H, and Great-Grandma and Grandpa N!!!

Karsten is likely a year or so away from being able to pedal it himself, but that's just as well. The dude's growing up so fast already - no need to rush driving.

Black Friday - Part One

I browsed through the advertisements from the Thanksgiving day newspaper last night after everyone had gone home from our family gathering. We didn't "need" anything, but I hate to miss out on a good deal for something I can or will eventually use. We are still looking for a couple of Christmas presents for the kids, and I found a few things in the ads to get for them. With Madison and Brookie having spent the night at Grandma's, Karsten and I ventured out to brave the throngs of bargain hunters. 

Naturally, there was not one single store that would meet all of my needs. In fact, of the eight items on my list, no two items were from the same store. 

1. Sears was our first stop. False advertising. The item did not exist at that location.
   
2. Second stop, Walmart. False advertising. The item did not exist at that location. No empty shelf. SKU not on file.
   
3. Third stop, BestBuy. Sold out.
   
4. Fourth stop, Home Depot. Success!
   
5. Fifth stop, OfficeMax. Two in a row! Unfortunately, that was not for a present. Just replacing our worn out shredder.
   
6. Sixth, Toy-R-Us. I was a fool. Even IF they'd had the item in stock, the customer relations of Toys-R-Us is so poor - with their checkout line that stretches around the perimeter of the store, clerks that cannot answer simple questions, trashed product packaging and general clutter, barriers made out of products that prevent shoppers from walking where they want to, and so on, and so on - I knew I was setting myself up for disappointment from the get-go. I won't even mention the parking lot or some of the rabble they tend to attract.
   
7. Next was Coastal Farm to stock up on cat food. In store? No problems. Parking at OCSC? 20 minutes. I ended up parking at the opposite end of the shopping center in front of Rite Aid.
   
8. We also needed to pick up a new pacifier tether for Karsten. He's worn out his third one already. Rite Aid doesn't stock any. Fred Meyer doesn't carry the type that work with pacifiers made on our planet. Kmart was sold out. No tether for Karsten.
9. Last stop, Chevron. No lines. Good prices. Good service. Ahhhhh.
   

With little to show for our effort, Karsten and I made our way home to where our Thanksgiving leftovers needed attention.

Good Boy

Madison has been working to develop Karsten's language skills for a couple of months now. She interprets his various noises into complete sentences to help us understand what he is trying to say. One of the first "words" she claims to have taught him is "dada" because that is one of the sounds he makes as he babbles. Well, she did work with him to tone it down on the repetition, to just say "dada" instead of "dadadadadadadada". 

Madison and Brookie have been trying to convince Sara that Karsten is now capable of talking, but she wasn't buying it. "He's just making sounds," she'd say. Meanwhile, Sara has been desperately trying to get Karsten to say "mama". 

So tonight as Sara was feeding Karsten just before bedtime - Karsten always gets silly with giggles and noises during this time - Sara once again tried to steer his babbling into a "mama". I was sitting nearby on the couch. As usual Karsten wouldn't do it. Sara tried again, "mama". No response. One more try, then Karsten tilted his head all the way back so that he could look at me and said, "dada" and smiled really big.

As of Oct. 28th, 2008 and much to her chagrin, Sara finally accepted that Karsten really has learned and said his first word. The actual date was probably August 28th, but today is the day that will be recorded in official Wilcox family historical records: the scrapbook.