The Challenge...

This blog post is going to be a little bit out of the ordinary.  I am not going to write a whole lot about what is going on in my life right now.  I am here to issue a challenge to The Baby.

While Dan and I are united in the fact that we will both defend DC comics to the death against those sissies from Marvel, we share different views regarding who is the best Justice Leaguer.  Dan has always been a huge supporter of The Man of Steel while I have always backed The Dark Knight.  There is plenty of internet buzz right now concerning Batman and Superman with the summer 2015 movie on the distant horizon, so I thought that I would throw a little bit of fuel on the fire.

Here is the challenge: At some point before Halloween The Baby and I will duke it out as Batman and Superman and then we will post the video and pictures on this blog.  Our sister has volunteered to do all of the media coverage.

Does the Man of Steel dare test his fate against The Dark Knight?

School, school, school

While The Golden child has been receiving the glory and attention that comes from a beautiful addition to our ever-growing family.  I love my dear family, annnnd the girls keep coming.  I now have five BEAUTIFUL nieces.  For any of you who may have nephews from the age 0 to 5 years old...watch out for two reasons, 1) They are indeed beautiful. 2) I have a history of being VERY defensive of the women in my life.  That being said, I actually have some things to say about my life.

 I have started my Junior year at Utah State University, and I love it.  This school has so much to offer its students, I can hardly keep up with all the opportunities at my door.

For my whole life I have been one of those kids who has trouble sleeping before the first day of school from being so excited.  Although sleeping habits have changed now, I still enjoy school....except I can't seem to escape this conversation.  "Oh are you John Mosman's little brother?"  GAH!  I mean I expected it in Junior High, and High School, sure.  Hometown, siblings, same teachers, blah blah blah I get it.  But here?  Come on, 600 miles away from my beloved Moscow, Idaho and (I kid you not) TODAY a friend from John's mission stops me "Are you Dan?  John Mosman's little brother?"  Come on people.  But, in all honesty I invariably smile, and with pride answer, "Yes".  Welcome to another school year.

The Joys of Birth!

A lot of interesting things happen when you are having a new child.  I am not referring to the new family dynamics or the inevitable rivalry that arises between siblings (see this blog).  I am actually referring to the scene inside the delivery room.  My wife and I just had our second child (another little girl) and the delivery room this time around was a circus.

Our first child was born under relatively calm circumstances.  My wife was surrounded by an excellent supporting cast of nurses and our wonderful doctor while I lay on the nearby couch completely passed out (I do not do well in hospitals).  Boom!  Out came Brielle in all of her red-haired, blue-eyed, first child glory.  Some smelling salts and an orange juice later I was holding that precious little peanut and loving every minute.  Our second daughter, Mercedes Jane Mosman, came into this world under the watchful eye and pomp and circumstance of an entire room of people.  Imagine if the #1 college football team in the country had their starting quarterback go down the week before the national championship and had to start a wet-behind-the-ears freshman at quarterback for the BCS title.  Imagine if that quarterback was forcibly pushed out of the tunnel for player introductions.  The crowd is cheering, the eyes of the nation are on this poor guy, and then he looks down to find himself completely naked.  That is what I imagine it was like for little Sadie.

My wife was induced, so it's not like we weren't prepared for the actual birth of the child.  We had plenty of time to prepare and I can tell you that we were ready, but because of the previous fainting episode (I am told that I can thank my great-grandpa for that) my wife decided that she wanted to have more people in the room for delivery.  By the time my wife was ready to start pushing we had a whole mess of nurses, our excellent doctor, my mother-in-law, my mother, my wife's grandmother, and a random male intern who apparently wandered in to see what the fuss was about.  I took up my reserved spot on the couch, layed down, and tried not to let my curiosity get the best of me (one quick glance of blood or even thinking about blood and I would have been akl;hgophhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhbn... sorry, I passed out on the keyboard).

It has been said many times that opposites attract.  I am not sure that that is true in every case, but I can say with confidence that the differences between Aimee and I were very apparent in the mannerisms of our mothers for the duration of the birth.  I want to keep this post relatively short, and since pictures say 1,000 words I am choosing to illustrate the differences between my mom and Aimee's mom during the birth with the following pictures:

My mom:

                            

   

Aimee's mom:

                                

While my mom thankfully looks nothing like Gregg Popovich and she is a wonderful and pleasant woman, this picture perfectly portrays her mannerisms during the delivery.  While Aimee's mom cheered, laughed, bounced around the room like a pin ball, and set a new world record for "Longest 10-Count In Human History" my mom stood right behind the doctor with her arms folded and just observed the proceedings.  You know the look on your face when you are sitting at your computer reading through the 10-page terms of agreement for your newly updated version of itunes?  That was my mom.

Contractions start to pick up a little bit and it's time to start pushing.  Aimee's mom is up by Aimee's head, so the nurse instructs her to count to ten while Aimee pushes.  The nurse tells Aimee to push and my mother-in-law starts to count.  I think that most of us have counted to ten "Mississippi-ly", but this was my first experience with someone counting to ten "Every-State-East-of-the-Mississippi-ly" because, by the time I'd reached the number 10 counting in my head, I heard my mother-in-law say, "...Two!"  After the second interval of pushing for "ten seconds" Aimee had spent roughly 20 minutes pushing and I think the nurse noticed that she was getting a little tired and turned to my mother-in-law and kindly said, "We need to speed up the counting." :)

The next contributor to the maddness was our amazing doctor.  Aimee and I LOVE this guy.  To be perfectly honest, one of the reasons that we decided to be induced on the due date was because this doctor had informed us the he would be going out of town for the weekend and we did not want to have the baby without him on the receiving end.  He really is that good.  So, we made sure that everything would be fine and we decided to be induced.  One of the things that really impresses us about this particular doctor is his calming presence.  He walks into the room and everything is going to be fine.  Another thing that we love about him is the fact that he has a story for every situation.  Aimee had been pushing for a little while now and our new daughter was beginning to, uh, make her way out.  She, Aimee, had pushed until the baby's head had cleared and that apparently was the end of that session of pushing because our doctor announced that the baby's head was here and then he folded his arms, sat back in his chair, and started to tell a story.  The guy looked like he was at a family BBQ or something.  Leaning back in his chair, smile on his face, humorous anecdote escaping his lips while my wife lays back on the elevated hospital bed with my brand new daughter's head just hangin' out!  Awesome.

We were very fortunate and happy to have so many people come and support us in this beautiful life event.

                     

 

Late Night Poetry

Lately I just have not been able to sleep.  I don't know why!  It is driving me nuts.  So, in an effort to outlet some creativity I wrote this poem last night:

One night as I lie awake in my bed, 

I could not get the worry out of my head!

I tossed and turned and flipped and flopped, 

but that little old worry just never stopped

filling up the space in my head.

I sat and I stewed and I lost all my sleep,

Just sitting wide awake I started to weep.

I bit off my nails and scratched my head

and worried that I'd never get back to bed

with all the worry filling the space in my head.

And then in that moment when I felt so tattered

I thought of all the people that really mattered

And all of their love, Oh what a blessing!

When you sit and you wonder and  think and ponder

And realize you had all the right worries about all the wrong things.

The Legend of Sleep Hollow

Most people have a favorite myth or legend that they have heard in their lifetime.  I grew up with a mother that LOVED Halloween, so my attention was drawn to The Legend of Sleepy Hollow at a very young age.  I am still waiting for an acceptable big screen version to surface since the Disney animated version (narrated by "The Moon Crooner" himself, Bing Crosby) stopped being scary about a year ago (ha!) and Tim Burton's attempt was just... well.  Anyway, I'm talking to you, Warner Brothers.  2017's "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" starring Christian Bale, Michael Caine, Hugh Jackman, and Jessica Chastain as Katrina Van Tassel would dazzle audiences nation wide.  This needs to happen.  Regardless of whether or not Warner Brothers wants to do that movie, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow was always a favorite.  I think that imaginations of the tale reached an all-time low on a dark knight in Lewiston, ID when I was in late elementary school (maybe early Jr. High...)

I remember that my whole family had gone down to Lewiston from Moscow, but I do not remember specifically what brought us down there.  It may have been that we were just visiting our, uh, cousins, The Stellmons (I'll attempt to explain our close relationship with the Stellmons in a future post).  I may not remember exactly why we were down there, but I do remember some pretty vivid details of what happened.  I think the memory sticks out so boldly in my mind because it was the first time that I can recall being included in the activities of the older group of cousins.  They were heading out to play some night games and somehow my cousin, Carver, and I were invited to come along.  I remember being ecstatic and I am sure that Carver was as well.  The games progressed as you would expect night games to go.  We played various forms of tag and a few variations of some hide-and-seek games.  As always with the Stellmons there were plenty of moments of humor, but Carver and I took center stage as we headed back to the cars to return home.

Now, Carver was born with a condition (I cannot at this time remember what it is called) that hinders his ability to bend his knees and elbows.  Despite this, Carver Stellmon is one of the best little league third basemen I have ever seen.  Carver and I were always close and so, in situations that perhaps required a little more speed, Carver would jump on my back and off I would go (I don't give Carver nearly enough credit for my later successes in track and field).  Generally when I would run around with Carver on my back he would treat me like a human.  I honestly can't tell you what made him change his mind on this occasion, but he did.  Carver jumped up on my back and off we went across the field toward the cars.  We apparently wanted to be the first ones there despite the fact that neither of us could drive.  As I galloped out in front of the group Carver suddenly yelled, "The headless horseman rides again!" and then he spurred me in the legs with his heels as he would a horse.  

Now, (sigh) horses and humans are built differently.  While spurring a horse might compel the horse to run faster, spurring a human just interferes with the normal running motion of his or her legs.  All it took was one swift kick and I started to stumble. Stumbling while carrying another human being on your back is a lot different than stumbling all by yourself. As I sit and recall the event I am forced to conclude that Carver must have been leaning back as best he could all while pulling on my throat to try to stabilize me. The reason for coming to this conclusion is that I remember being parallel to the ground in a state of "perpetual falling" for approximately two hours. I flailed, balanced, lurched forward, flailed, balanced, brushed the cold grass with my hand and then crashed face-first into the ground. I am pretty sure that we found Carver some fifty feet away unconscious and danglingn from a tree. The headless horseman rides again indeed.

So My Brother is an Axe Murderer

If I were a company my PR people would have this statement in a file on their desktop, ready to send out almost daily.  And that is; I do not remember the events mentioned about me as they were portrayed, however, I do not deny that they happened as The Golden Child said.  I don't remember giving him the full moon, but it does sound like something I would do.  Because, come on...mooning people is hilarious.  But, why would John deserve such an act?  Let me give you one story of note:

Our childhood was full of playing outside and soaking in the sun of countless afternoons either at the park, or in one of our three yards (Front, Side, and Back).  I loved those times, running around, happy and carefree.

Before I continue, I need to point out how big golfing is in my family.  My father and all of his brothers can hold their own in a golf game, and we all enjoy playing a round or two on occasion.

Back to the carefree days of endless summer as a child, I don't quite remember how old I was (for reasons that will soon be apparent) but I was under the age of 6.  Playing in the front yard, I was very content playing on my own, my imagination was endless and when one or both of my brothers joined in, it usually just turned into a wrestling match.  Now I have to be honest, I don't remember how it came to this, but my first recollection was John approaching me, nine iron in hand, wanting to play a game.  The next thing I remember is being backed down the side yard, fence to my right, fence leading to the back yard behind me, the house to my left, and right in front of me was something like this

Do you remember the scene where Chip the teacup fires up Maurice's wood chopping invention and charges down the hill to chop the cellar door to splinters?  My role in this scene was turning into that of the cellar door.  John would make a vertical swing with the nine iron at me, I would dexterously make a backwards dodge bringing me closer and closer to the fence.  He would pull the head of the club from the ground, advance and swing again.  The whole time I was pleading him to stop, after five or six swings he replied "Dan it's just a game!" and that next swing.....game over.  He connected with the very top of my head bringing me to my knees.  My vision wend blurry with tears, and I pressed my hands to my head, when I pulled my hands off to inspect they were red with blood, it dripped from my hair down my face, streaked down my arms form where my hands had been pressed on the wound.  To his credit, John ran in to the basement and retrieved for me a generous supply of...paper towels, four paper towels, to be exact.  And in brownie point preserving fashion implored me not to tell Mom.  Ensuring me we could clean everything up.....riiiight.  That would become the first of many scars to adorn my head, all with wonderful memories.

Maurice's machine. N.d. Photograph. Disney WikiWeb. 25 Aug 2013. <http://disney.wikia.com/wiki/Maurice's_Machine?file=images4.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20111203000802/disney/images/d/d9/Beauty-disneyscreencaps.com-8144.jpg>.

The Christmas Song That Was Forever Changed

One of the great things about sharing a blog with your brother is that there are a lifetime of stories to tell where both of us were involved.  Some stories change based on the point of view of the individual.  The following story really only has one point of view... and it was mortifying.

It had to have been the winter of 2003 because I was in my Junior year of high school.  A few days prior to the infamous event school had let out for the Christmas Holiday and I found myself at the computer one morning working on homework.  If you are shocked that I was working on homework during Christmas break please read the first two posts on this blog.  It's what I do.  I'm the Golden Child.  Anyway, I was anxiously engaged and making good progress toward finishing this project that was due at some point in the middle of January (I made a habit of turning in assignments early because, well... you know).  I had just finished a large portion of the project and I began to read over it again to see if it all made sense (of course, it did).

Now, as I remember it, I was sitting in the kitchen/dining room area where our computer was and I happened to be by myself; however, it is possible that our mother was in the living room knitting bandages for burn victims which would then be sent out in humanitarian kits.  Yeah, I know, she's great.  Regardless of who was in the vicinity, I would be the only victim.  My eyes were fixed to the screen as I heard a soft ruffling noise from down the hall.  Some nocturnal beast was stumbling from his bed and making his way toward the kitchen.  Knowing what I know now I would have given anything to have my eyes remain fixed to the screen. Alas...

As The Baby slowly lumbered down the hallway the prelude to the current song on our classic Christmas carols CD ended, but a new type of lewd was about to begin.  Never have more beautiful lyrics been followed by such an atrocity as Bing Crosby crooned "Said the night wind to the little lamb..."  and I glanced up to see my little brother turn on his heel, drop his shorts, bend over, and sing along, "...do you see what I see?!"  The grace of his heel turn and simultaneous pants drop was matched only by the effortless way in which he moved his bare bottom in quick counter-clockwise circles as he sang.  Like some kind of x-rated metronome he somehow kept perfect time. 

It was all over faster than it had begun.  "A star! A star! Dancing in the night!..." (ironic follow up lyrics) echoed in my head as my vision swam in front of me.  Four beats later he was gone.  Pants were once again on hips, the classic Christmas song (now forever changed) continued to play, he lumbered back down the hallway to bed, and life moved on for everyone... well, almost everyone (shudder).