9 out of 10 monkeys believe they are not behind glass

Let me tell you a story…

A few months back, the first Blackberry Pearls started filtering into our company’s ranks. First these little devices, much like the coveted devices before them, spread among the executives, then to the managers, then down to the snooty gods in human form (otherwise known as project managers), and then to a lucky few, who managed to finagle a good word with the boss and who saved the company from most certain disaster more than a few times, among the lower echelons of those who are able to actually get blackberries in our backwater company, we were blessed with said devices.

This guy I work with, Levi… he has been begging for a Pearl for months. Since the first one was crudely delivered by the stinky UPS guy, box battered and slightly tattered, Levi has pined, nay, lusted for a Pearl of his own. Levi is one of the administrators that handles the Blackberry Enterprise Server for our company, and often has to activate the device for the user before delivering it into their greedy hands with a horribly sad look upon his face. Literally, and I mean quite literally, he has asked our boss for a Pearl on almost a daily basis. Three months of asking for a Pearl. And my boss isn’t quite the stereotypical penny pincher, but he comes awfully close. Pennies have been seen cringing in his shadow, and lamenting the tarnish of their soon to be pinched copper surfaces.

After the second or third week, and after many resounding “no’s” and “I don’t think so” and “be patient” and “no effing way”, Levi resorted to more subtle means of attack and persuasion. Much like Ralphie of The Christmas Story, Levi made every attempt to convince everyone that he was indeed deserving of a Pearl.

“And what do you want little boy? You want a football?”

“No! I want an official RIM Blackberry Pearl, high speed network action, two megapixel camera model multimedia phone, with a maps application and ‘this thing’ which allows you to ‘push-to-talk’!”

“Oh no, Kid! You’ll just poke your eye out or something like that… They are dangerously small and a poorly executed stumble could drive the small device into your eye. Sorry.”

But he continued on… asking everyday in a new and clever way…

“You know… I think my productivity could be increased.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, a Pearl would be easy for me to actually use.”

Sarcasm: “You don’t say.”

Then he tried the sad story to anyone that would listen…

“Something is wrong with my Blackberry 7100.”

“What’s that?”

“It keeps deleting email by itself and the call log is corrupted.”

Disdain: “Well you better get it fixed, then.”

Then last week I got a Pearl. I had a Nokia e62 and frankly, it was a piece of shit. P-O-S. I had been “testing” it as a potential Blackberry replacement option for those that wanted something a bit more robust than a blackberry. Something more like a smartphone or something like that (whatever). So I had a 7100 just like Levi, then spent a couple months testing the e62, then after having a host of issues and problems with the stupid thing, I asked my boss if I could have a Pearl (my 7100 was long gone).

He said: “Of course.”

I think he said yes because I had actually put some thought into my approach. The e62 was crap, I had paid my dues, shown my reasoning, and made a very valid argument for replacement. I had the Pearl the following day.

Yeah. The following day. Thanks airshipping.

Another guy that I work with came into my office and saw me playing with a new phone.

“That yours?” he asked.

“Maybe.”

“Oh shit, Levi is going to be pissed.” he said.

“Well he doesn’t need to know about it I guess.”

So I synced it up and made a point to keep it out of the way when I was around him. But the thing rang and flashed and made a ruckus under a stack of papers. He noticed that my “e62″ was exhibiting some strange behaviors.

“Did you get a new phone?” Levi asked.

“Ummmmm…. maybe.” I half-heartedly admit.

“You fucker, you got a Pearl.”

“Ummmmm…. maybe.” No reason to fight the inevitable.

“Oh, that is bullshit!”

So today I come into work and what do I find him doing?

Talking on his “Pearl”.

If you notice, it does indeed say “Pearl” and it seems to have a “Camera” on the back.

Interesting new pity ploy, don’t you think?

He is sooooo proud of his new “Pearl”. Everyone insists that it is a 7100 with some stickers, but he wants to believe.

So I guess we will let him play out his fantasy if he wants, I guess. =)

I ain’t going to stop him.

Ahhhhh, Denver in the summer. Sun, sun, sun and tons of HAIL!

This downpour took all of five minutes. Filled the gutters, covered buildings, and made blood run cold.

Oh sing me the blues, the motherhood blues, my beautiful wife laments.

“Sleep. That is all I want. Just some sleep. I am so tired, I could just cry.” she says.

I groggily look up from my post-nocturnal slumber session, eyes still blurry with the remnants of dreams, and I try to acknowledge her pain. I enjoyed a fitful session of sleep, with the baby’s cries sending jolt after jolt through my system throughout the night, but that doesn’t mean that I was the one that had to deal with the baby. I wasn’t the one that had to soothe the baby, feed the baby, change the baby, and in all respects, just handle our newborn in the myriad of all of her needs. I was the one that was just sleeping, even with the occasional shocks of cries, and that is much more sleep than my wife has seen in days.

For someone that hasn’t slept much in the last 72 hours, my wife is holding up remarkably well. Her eyes are clear, her face is surprisingly bright, and she isn’t moving like she is an extra from the Night of the Living Dead or Thriller. She has a calm about her that fits the situation.

She’s a mom. And even dog tired, she is still a dynamo of energy. Its a dichotomy that I still don’t understand. Since I lack the requisite mommy gene, I would die if I attempted to try the same thing.

I try to give her nights here and there. Staying up with the baby on weekends so she can get some shut eye. But it is little consolidation on a Wednesday morning, a hump day for everyone, and just another seemingly insurmountable day for my wife.

Because she used to love sleep. Like some people are about ice cream or others about Star Wars, my wife is about sleep. Fanatical in enjoying, preserving it, and in all ways experiencing it.

But no longer.

Empathizing with her pain is not the easiest thing to do for me, but I try. I try to help. I know that I am probably not doing enough, but honestly I feel like I am at a loss of what I should be doing versus what I can be doing. It is alarming for me to try to help in a way, but get a look that I am not doing the right thing.

She is Mom. It is an amazing transformation to see a baby come out, and your wife metamorphisize into this new being that is able to see out of the back of her head, hear cries and know what to do, and in all ways take control over caring for a little person that has never been in her life before.

She may hate the lack of sleep, but I know she knows it is all worth it.

Many times over.

I was lying in the dark with my wife last night.

No, weren’t doing anything, you pervert. Just talking.

We were discussing the final hosting gig of Bob Barker on The Price is Right. (Which was very entertaining, for a Price is Right. Adam Sandler stopped by and read an Ode to Bob Barker. Ha.)

I turned my head and looked at my wife. “Can you imagine saying that your first date with your wife was to see Ella Fitzgerald? That is like me telling our kids that our first date was at the last concert of Elvis. It just doesn’t sound right.”

She paused and thought about it. “Well he is old. What year would have it been at his first date?”

“I don’t know. He is 84. His first date was at 17. Just have to do the math. What is 84 – 7?” (Because I do math in multiples of 10, so I run the odd stuff out first).

“80.” she replies.

“80? You sure about that? 84 – 7 is 80?”

She scratched her head. Kid you not.

My word, I love my wife.

I’ll mark it up to brain shrinkage from childbirth (which does happen), and lack of sleep. Lack of sleep has made me foggy enough to forget the silliest of things too.

Newborns will do that to ya.

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