And Zane makes six...

No, the timing wasn't great. And no, we're not trying to set a new one-year record for points on that scale that tallies them for stress-inducing events. But when a boy falls in love, sometimes you have to throw rationality out the window and follow his heart.

On Saturday afternoon, as I was doing the final cleanup at the apartment, Kelly ran with the kids to Petco to pick up a new litter box for Belly. While there, they stopped to look at the pets being offered for adoption through the local Humane Society shelter. As you may recall, we'd promised Zach a dog once we got a house not only because he'd always wanted one, but also to ease his disappointment over not getting the little brother he'd been wishing for. Between Zienna's birth, buying the house, and moving, I'd figured we might make good on our promise toward the end of this year at the earliest. But when Zach spotted a litter of Black Lab/Australian Shepherd pups at Petco, he was smitten.

Kelly was, too. And so, knowing the pups would be headed back to the shelter soon, she quickly herded the kids into the car and zipped up the street to the apartment, where she thought I'd be. Problem was, I'd left a short while earlier with a truckload of stuff to take to the house. Finding the apartment empty, Kelly flew across town, where she managed to catch me just as I was preparing to leave again. She hurriedly explained what was going on, and once I saw Zach's face, I skipped the rational part of the conversation ("No way! We haven't even unpacked yet, and we have a new baby, new carpets, no landscaping, etc.!") and, caught up in the excitement of the moment, told them to head over to the shelter as fast as they could.

When we first arrived, it appeared the entire litter of nine might have already been adopted. But unwilling to give up, we finally found seven adopted, two had not--including the one that had melted Zach's heart. Seeing other families heading for the cage and already having overheard another in the lobby adopting a pup from the litter, we literally ran to the front desk to check if the apple of Zach's eye was still available. And he was.

What else could I do at that point but say OK? Which is exactly what I did, based purely on heart, without a hint of intellect. Fact was, I'd gotten all warm and fuzzy when I'd seen him, too, as he'd squirted from between his siblings to greet us and immediately began dispensing affectionate licks. And I'd never considered myself a "dog person."

And so, a pile of paperwork, a background check, and a credit card transaction later, we were told Zane would be available for pickup in two days' time after being fixed. This wasn't exactly what Zach wanted to hear, but he did pretty well heading home without his new-found love, even if the only thing he'd be able to do for the next 48 hours was to repeatedly and enthusiastically express his feelings for his new buddy ("I know I just met him, but I already love him.")

By yesterday afternoon, Zach could no longer contain himself. He positively agonized over the length of the half-hour drive, and upon our arrival at the shelter, he sprinted across the parking lot and through the doors without bothering to wait for us. He nearly jumped over the counter upon seeing Zane, and scooped him into his arms with such a hug that the clerk had to remind Zach he'd just had surgery. And then, an hour later, Zach sunk into a deep funk when we insisted he not skip soccer practice--although we tried to soften the blow by allowing him to accompany me to Petco afterwards so he could help pick out Zane's crate and sleeping pad.

There were a few, um, soiled moments on the brand new great room carpet during the evening and overnight, but by this morning, not only Zach but the whole family was attached to our newest Z. Which only seems fitting. Because when you get right down to it, any new addition to this family worthy of a name starting with the letter "Z" is bound to be a fixture from day one!

Ch-ch-ch-changes

As if moving into our first home wasn't momentous enough, the older two Z kids managed to pack some other "firsts" into this week as well. Tuesday was Zoë's first day of soccer without the comfort of Mom coaching (She had no problems, as you'll see!). And Wednesday was Zach's first day of fourth grade and Zoë's first day of kindergarten. With Zach already practicing with his new soccer team, it's definitely made for a busy week!

As we headed off to school yesterday, there were more than a few digestive butterflies shared among us--by the kids because of the changes, and by me and Kelly because...well, there's no way in the world we could believe our baby boy and girl were starting fourth grade and kindergarten, respectively. But it was true.

Pictures of the week's events have been posted in a special gallery here. We've begun moving, so I didn't take the time to add links to the gallery page, but I'll try to get around to it ASAP. Meanwhile, enjoy the photos of our, um, babies.

Flutter, flutter. Sniff, sniff.

Ask (for baby pictures), and ye shall receive—at least when Dad has time!

Last week, a little bird told me that Aunt Mary (wife of my brother Steve, who maintains his own blog, Hamiltonium, was going through withdrawals since I'd decided to stop posting periodic updates in Zienna's gallery. Before getting that tip, I'd figured heck, once she'd reached the ripe, old age of two months, Zienna was old news, and her photos could wait to be posted monthly along with Zach's and Zoë's. Guess I was wrong.

Never mind that Mary and Steve have their own brood of cuties in the form of on-the-verge-of-turning-three twins, Aidan and Cole, and a still-in-diapers rugrat, "Mr. Grant." Who am I to disappoint the adoring family masses? Besides, I doubt that the grandparents and other aunts and uncles will argue with Mary about checking in on Zienna mid-month, eh?

So, by popular demand—in the calm before the storm that awaits me, Kelly, and the Z Kids later this week, comprised of moving, school starting, and soccer hitting full stride—I have posted a new addition to Zienna's gallery. Even if, in a week of packing and flying down to LA for a concert, it took me forever to complete the thing. Sorry, Mary.

Zienna's begun to smile endlessly, flirt, raise her head while on her tummy, and basically charm all who encounter her. See for yourself here. And once you have, just don't hold it against me if unpacking and shuttling kids back and forth all over town delays the next updates, too, OK? I'll do my best!

Just call it our "home" page

This afternoon, just one day after we got the keys to the house, Kelly got a call from one of the owners of the company that built it asking if they could borrow a key back and photograph the interior. Apparently, the project manager and others had raved about it as it came together, and this isn't the first time they've used it to show, to paraphrase her words, the potential of the house's design.

Kelly and I find this highly amusing, as we have zero design experience or confidence, and we bumbled our way through the process, mocking ourselves at each stop, convinced it would all look horrible when assembled.

But hey, if the builder thinks the house is worthy of being photographed, then who are we to not share the pictures we shot last night of the finished product? So, if you care to take a look, I've posted them in the gallery, also viewable by direct link here.

We hope you enjoy the pictures. Although, if by chance you come to the conclusion that the builder is having fun at our expense ("Oh my gosh, can you believe what a train wreck these people created?"), just be kind and let us live in our fantasy world. Please?

(By the way, remember that if you plan to view all of the pictures, the easiest way to do so is to click the first one to enlarge it, then use the right arrow key to scroll through the rest.)

It's official: (It's our) home, sweet home!

What a day it’s been. After signing title paperwork on Monday and assuming we'd hear something about the mortgage by today at the latest, we finally did this morning—but it wasn't what we'd hoped to hear. Unfortunately, one of the documents showed an incorrect interest rate, meaning we’d have to resign and resubmit it. Plus, the appraiser had either forgotten or not been reminded to go out and take final photos of the house, which he had to do before we could close. Learning all of this just before noon, we figured we'd have at least one more day to wait—another agonizing day. And with tomorrow being Friday, we were afraid that the loan probably wouldn't fund until next week...and Monday was the last day of our rate lock. Missing it meant paying points. So the day began with the clock ticking, and very loudly.

Upon receiving this news, my brilliantly intelligent wife took the bull by the horns and rushed the corrected version of the offending document home for me to sign, then rushed it over to our loan officer just before noon so she could fax it to the mortgage company before lunchtime. Returning home, the pressure got the best of Kelly, but by then, I was over my frustration and figuring heck, if nothing else, a few days' delay would save us some money. In a fashion typical of this entire process, one of us was the yin to the other's yang. We'd just traded places once again. This time, it was my turn to be the optimist.

Once Kelly finished feeding Zienna and headed back, we hunkered down to wait once again. So we waited. And waited. And waited. I had asked Kelly to call our realtor, John, to ask that he let us know immediately if he heard anything. When I found out she had misunderstood me and not called, I decided not to call either. Better just to be patient, I figured. But there was no denying that I was feeling restless, so I packed up the kids to get out of the house.

Almost automatically, I drove up to the house for the umpteen millionth time under the guise of checking whether the fence was finished. I got there and found that it was, and I was about to take pictures for Kelly when I spotted our project manager emerging from the house next door doing a final walkthrough with our hopefully-soon-to-be neighbors. Feeling self-conscious for sitting in front of the house yet again, I drove off, pictureless. I felt silly and petty, and I decided to go do something productive to keep my mind off things.

As I headed off to do so, my phone rang. It was Kelly. I answered, not knowing what to expect. When I did, she cut right to the chase: Running the document over had worked, and the loan had funded. Great, I said, but what did that mean in terms of what came next? She said she wasn’t sure. So in spite of this good news, we were still back to square one (or at very best, two), wondering when everything would be processed. Double ugh.

As the kids and I took care of some things that actually needed my attention, I began to feel a bit better. Being productive was helping. And it must have brought good karma, too, because just as we were headed home, my phone rang. It was Kelly again. Hearing the animation in her voice, I started jumping to conclusions, and they were correct: The deal was done. Signed, sealed and delivered. Head to the house, she told me, because she was meeting John there to get the keys. I couldn’t believe it, even as I rushed to meet her. The wait was finally over.

Ever since Zach could talk, we’d been telling him that we wanted to buy a house. Every time an overly-extravagant purchase request came up, we told him (and later Zoë) that it would have to wait, because we wanted to buy a house. And every time the kids complained about some aspect of rental life, we told them it would all get better if we could just buy a house. Finally, after years of waiting, we were delivering on our promise. And frankly, we were doing so in pretty grand fashion. We were buying that house. And we were buying one that we’d all be happy in for years to come, our own piece of clay to mold any way we wished to.

I did my best to express these sentiments to Zach on the way to the house, and I think he understood the gist of it. Later, I’d try to do the same to Zoë, who for the moment was still back at preschool. And as for Zienna, even if she could have understood, there was no need to explain to her, as this would be, mercifully, only her second home, a far cry from Zach’s tenth.

Seeing Kelly and John in front of the house as we approached, I could hardly contain myself. I still couldn’t believe what was happening, but I did my best to do so. Once inside the house, I walked through it in a fog, inspecting it as if it were my first time being there, which was particularly odd since I’d just gone over the place with a fine-toothed comb on Friday during our walkthrough. But this time, it was different. It was ours. Not a place that the bank might let us live in, but ours. And knowing that felt so good, I couldn’t believe it.

Knowing we had to pick up Zoë, we had to rush a bit, but after all, I could only open and close doors and run my hands over the tile so many times. We thanked John, of whom we’ve become very fond, and parted ways, then quickly headed home so we could pick up Zoë and head out for a celebratory dinner. Without much discussion, we agreed on Chevy’s for the event, where we dined in high spirits, still not entirely conscious of the day’s events. And then we headed back to the house with Zoë, the entire home-owning family, to take a tour and soak up the feeling one more time while it was still fresh. And what a fine feeling it was.

Heading back to the dreaded apartment, knowing we’d not be moving for another week, was bittersweet. But at least this time, we knew the end was in sight. The prize was ours. The Chinese water torture would end soon. And that house, the one we’d been dreaming about for months, was ours. Suddenly, the apartment and the awful neighborhood became more bearable. All of it, from the cramped quarters to the smashed booze bottles on the sidewalk. And we all breathed a sigh of relief—even the kids, who asked to turn in early.

It was a grand night for the Hamilton clan. The first of many, I suspect. Our shared goal attained, each of us realized in our own capacity that the risks and challenges of the past eight months had paid off and that from here on out, the rose-colored glass we’d been hoping for was about to take over our world.

Things that go barf in the night

Seventeen years ago, while living in Southern California, Kelly and I were jarred from sleep one night by a horrendous crash we were convinced was breaking glass. Creeping nervously through the dark, fearful of intruders, I was relieved to find that what we’d heard was a fluorescent light panel falling from our kitchen ceiling and shattering into a million pieces on the floor. Still, that was a pretty scary sound.

A few years later, still in Southern California, Kelly and I woke to the sound of our apartment creaking and squealing like a worn-out rocking chair as the Northridge earthquake ripped through the area. Even without the shaking, that was definitely a scary sound.

And then last year, while living in Foster City, I was just nodding off to sleep one night when our carbon monoxide detector pierced the darkness with its shrill cry. Because we'd had a series of what we believed were false alarms on another detector earlier in the week, hearing the new one go off was cause for concern. And it was another scary sound.

Yet, none of those sounds holds a prayer in the "scary" department to the one I heard last night. Exhausted and short on sleep after a very early morning departure by Kelly, and having been alone for the day while she’d met with her firm's other partners in Sacramento, I was enjoying some deep and overdue sleep when, at roughly 2:30, I heard Zoë, a foot or so from my face, whispering to me.

"Daddy, I just threw up all over my bed."

Now that was a scary sound.

You see, in our family, Zach is the "stomach" kid and Zoë is the "cold" one. Zach tends to come down with vomit-inducing bugs at least once or twice a year, and because he's been that way since a very young age, he's well versed in the "get to the bathroom and over the toilet" routine, even when struck during the night. Meanwhile, Zach seems immune to colds, and when he catches one, it passes quickly.

Zoë, on the other hand, brings home every cold that passes through town (or school or store or who knows where else), no doubt in part because she still sucks her thumb. Oddly, she’s rarely had stomach ailments, and vomiting is so foreign to her that when she became carsick a few months ago after a big breakfast followed by a mountain drive, it actually scared her when she threw up. In spite of being nearly five, she didn't understand what was happening.

So, needless to say, when Zoë woke up last night with a hankering to hurl, she had no idea what to do. And so she did...well, nothing. She just sat up and barfed all over herself and everything around her. And realizing this was probably the case, I leapt out of bed the instant I heard her, fearing the worst—but it was so much worse than that, as I was about to find out.

As Zoë and I approached her room in the dark, trying not to wake the rest of the family, I began to feel, well—there's no way of putting this delicately—dampness under my feet. And chunks. Accompanied by a horrible stench. And we weren't even to her bedroom yet. When we arrived there and turned on the light, it was not a pretty sight. In fact, it was downright scary, straight out of The Exorcist.

I'll skip most of the gory details and just say that Zoë had eaten quite a bit Saturday night, and every last bit of what she’d consumed was making its presence known. On her comforter, on her sheets, on her throw rug, on her toy box...on everything, basically. And it was about that time that I realized "it" was all over Zoë, too. And that she'd been dripping it as she'd walked around the house. And tracking it all over the carpet with her feet. Ick.

After getting Zoë into the bathroom to isolate the mess, I was relieved to see Kelly emerge from our room, because much as I wanted her to sleep, this was definitely a two-person job. So, while she took to cleaning up Zoë and pulling her hair back into a ponytail, I stripped the bed, wiped down everything else in her room, and spot-cleaned the carpet. Then I took the big Costco-sized carton of disinfecting wipes and, concerned for Zienna's health, attacked every surface with which I thought Zoë might have had contact, going over them twice to be sure. And then, as Kelly got Zoë dressed and ready to return to, um, sleeping bag (We are, after all, living out of boxes, and linens are in short supply!), I mopped the bathroom floor in a hurry so we could all get back to sleep.

Or so I thought. Because just as I finished mopping, Zoë called out to me, announcing she was about to throw up again. Poor kid, I thought, but no problem, really, because to head off any more messes, I'd placed at Zoë's side a ridiculously large plastic bowl. And it might well have helped, except that Zoë again proved she was a rookie at ralphing by sitting up, placing the bowl in her lap—with her ponytail dangling straight into it—and doing the deed. Of course the mess went into her hair, onto her nightgown, and onto the sleeping bag. Back to square one.

The rest of the early-morning hours passed slowly, as Zoë called out to me for assurance or to change a movie like clockwork each time I nodded off. And there was one other episode of vomiting shortly before dawn the nature of which was, believe it or not in light of what's been shared already, too graphic to tell here. But when Kelly and I finally gave up and crawled out of bed, it had been a very long night, and our bleary eyes were proof of that.

As for Zoë, after last getting sick around 6:30, it wasn't two hours later and she was asking for French toast. And shortly after that, she was dancing, singing, and asking to come out of her room. Now it's mid-day, and she's asking for lunch and to play a game. Go figure.

And me? I'm running on autopilot and looking forward to tonight so I can finally get some sleep. At least I hope I can. I’m still having flashbacks of the latest scary sound to wake me and reflecting on the saying, "People who say they sleep like a baby usually don't have one." Amen to that, brother.

Can't find anything to watch? Try ZTV!

If your house is like ours, you aren't finding much worth watching on TV right now. "America's Got Talent" is disappointing, and aside from the usual reruns and hopeless summer pilots and specials, what else is there? Don't despair. ZTV is here to help.

Following up on the redesign and expansion of the Hamiltonzone Photo Gallery, I'm trying in whatever spare time I can find to give the same treatment to the long-ignored video gallery. To kick it off, I've got a video shot yesterday of Zienna "talking" available for viewing here.

This first file is pretty large, because...well, I thought it was too cute to cut. Future additions will be smaller and/or of a larger variety of sizes to accommodate everyone's bandwidth, etc.

Shortly, I hope to being posting weekly installments of the "once-a-week" (or so) videos we've shot of each kid during their first couple years of life. As a family, we viewed the first hour or so of Zach's last weekend, and it was so much fun, it dawned on me that family and friends might want to view them, too. So it's our goal to share them.

One favor to ask, as noted on the video gallery page: Please DOWNLOAD any videos you wish to view. If you're a PC user, that means right click/save as/etc. Email me if you need help. Please refrain from simply clicking on the links, as doing so will in most cases cause the videos to stream in your browser, consuming bandwidth Kelly and I pay for. Downloading the files so you can view them repeatedly at your leisure offline saves us tons of bandwidth. Thanks for your cooperation.

Enjoy the videos, and as always, if you have any suggestions, complaints, or special requests, please let me know!

Straight out of Ripley's, July photos are up!

Perhaps it was the knowledge that if I didn't get July's photos up soon, they'd not be posted for some time, since we'll be moving shortly. But whatever the reason, they're already up and available for your viewing pleasure, believe it or not, either in the Hamiltonzone Gallery or directly here.

August promises to be an exciting month, with the start of the school year on the 22nd, a visit to Aunt Cindy and Uncle Phil's house at Lake Almanor, a weekend with Aunt Shannon and her family, and of course, our move. But July was no slouch itself, highlighted by a welcome visit from Terry, Rhonda and their girls, as well as a quick visit to Shasta by the girls, during which Zoë further shed her fear of water by riding on a personal watercraft with Uncle Greg (which in itself is worthy of Ripley's).



And of course, there are plenty of pictures of that other Z Kid--the youngest one, who until recently had her own gallery. Frequently with her brother or sister. Or just about anyone else who was in range of her and the camera. As you'll see.

Oddly and sadly, I failed to take so much as a single picture on Fourth of July, which we spent with the Leaches, Ken, Lili and Sherilyn. I suppose I was too relaxed and having too much fun, as I didn't realize my oversight until last night. Unfortunately, there's not much I can do about that now.

Enjoy!