Announcing Rebecca

Ladies and gentlemen, do you have trouble with guests who have overstayed their welcome? Do you have company that just refuses to leave? Well, grab a pencil and jot this down. I have three little magic words that will clear your house faster than “I just tooted.” Ready? “My water broke.” (I learned yesterday, however, that this also works on guests that you are not trying to get rid of as well.)

If you’ve heard the birth story of our fourth child, Roxanna, this story is going to sound faintly familiar to you. The thought may even cross your mind that we must have wanted to do it this way on purpose. But then you might want to check your Crazy Pills prescription, because nobody would want to do it this way again on purpose. We even made a most concerted effort with our fifth child, Tanner, to make sure that it in fact didn’t happen that way again. Plus why would anybody consciously decide to pay for the loving care of a midwife, and then not invite them to come over for the love and care? And then why would you do that twice?! That’s like experiencing a very unique movie, and realizing it was certainly a once-in-an-odd-lifetime experience, and then finding out there is an unnecessary sequel. (Weekend at Bernie’s II, I’m looking in your direction.)

Well, it all started with a single contraction on Friday night. I was on my way to a "Weird Al" Yankovic concert with some of my other home-nerds, so you can imagine my relief when Katie said she was sure it was nothing and gave me the green light to rock on with Al and his accordion. (Speaking of once-in-a-lifetime odd experiences, I had seen Mr. Yankovic in concert in 1987 and had assumed that would be the only time. So I should have seen this as a sign. But I was too busy wondering how My Man Weird is able to do so many costume changes in one concert. The man is truly an artist, obviously dedicated to his craft.)

True to her word, Katie had no other contractions. Until Saturday morning. Yes, beginning around 6:30 a.m. Katie started having extremely mild and completely irregular contractions. This continued through the early afternoon, when some ol’ college friends of ours who were in town for the weekend brought lunch over.

Katie was feeling so great, she was able to be social and casual and showed no signs of ever being uncomfortable. She would still have the occasional contraction, but these were the most gentle and docile contractions ever recorded, according to Katie. The contractions weren’t getting any harder, they weren’t getting any closer, they didn’t seem to be progressing at all! I could have had these contractions, and I have a very low tolerance for pain. (I also have a low tolerance for large crowds of Weird Al fans, it turns out. But this isn’t about me. Or the fans.)

Around 2:30 p.m. Katie slipped into the downstairs bathroom just to tinkle. The rest of us were on the couches, chatting. Katie called for me and said, “Can you come in here for a second?”

I tried to open the door, but it was locked. “Can you unlock the door?" I asked.

“Nope,” she answered.

“Well, we’re going to get going,” said our college friends, leaping from the couch to gather their kids from upstairs, and, in the process, easily breaking the Olympic qualifying time for the track and field hurdles.

I picked the lock and opened the door to see my cute, sweet wife on the potty. “My water broke,” she said. “I need pads and dry clothes.”

I retrieved the goods from upstairs, but I was actually quite casual about it because while Katie seemed energized that things were finally moving, she didn’t seem overly anxious or concerned about the immediate moment we were in.

I walked back into the bathroom with her stuff and she said, “Why don’t we call the Midwife. I think we’re going to have this baby tonight.” Now, our standard go-to Midwife that we have used for our last four children is Margie. Margie is wonderful. Margie knows her stuff. Margie makes you feel comfortably at ease. Margie was on a cruise in the Bahamas. We had three back-up midwives to select from.

“Sounds good,” I said. “I’ll call one of the back up midwives. Did you want to say goodbye to the Muirs? They’re leaving now.”

“Uhm…no. If I get up, I just know I’ll have a contraction.”

I left the bathroom, said goodbye to the Muirs, and was walking over to the phone to call a midwife when I heard Katie yell for me again. This was a different yell. This was a familiar yell. This was a “For the love of heaven, get in here and catch this baby” yell.

I opened the bathroom door, this time to find Katie pushing out a baby. Katie’s head was down, her eyes closed, her arms stretched around her front with her hands holding the bottom of her stomach. She seemed remarkably peaceful. Focused. I have never known anybody to be able to understand their body like Katie. The room seemed entirely still and silent

She looked up at me and said, “Tell me it’s a head.” This was a legitimate concern, because if it was a bum, a leg, or anything but a head, we were up an afterbirth creek, without a paddle.

I dropped down on my knees and saw the head out, just above the eyes. “It’s a head,” I said. “Are you ready?”

Katie started pushing again and the head came out. She pushed some more. “Is it further out?” she asked.

“No. Still just the head.”

She pushed some more.

“I can see a shoulder, here it comes.”

And she slipped right into my arms. She was covered in vernix, and now I was too. I held her so close because I thought she was going to slip-slide right out of my hands. She wasn’t crying at all. I couldn’t believe I was holding her. We had waited so long for her.

It was 2:36 p.m., and all of our kids were peering from behind the bathroom door at this point, wanting to see what was going on. They came in to see her, and everybody oohed and aahed, except Tanner, the 2-year old, who had a very concerned look on his face. After he saw that Katie was okay, he seemed fine with the situation. And has fallen in love with the baby.

We called our friend and neighbor, Jonelle, who has been to a number of births. We knew she wouldn’t freak out at being up to her ankles in…stuff. With the baby in Katie’s arms, the placenta in a bucket, and Chux pads on the couch, Jonelle to came over and helped me help Katie make the move from the bathroom to the living room.

Katie sat down on the couch and started nursing the baby right away. We cut the chord and called the backup midwife, but she was with another woman who was laboring. We called the second backup, and she was in Boulder City with another woman who was laboring. (Which, honestly, how long does it take? If they are like Katie, we should have had a midwife arriving in about 15 minutes.) But she sent her apprentice over. She showed up about two hours after the birth. We sat there for two hours like it was the most normal, Saturday afternoon thing to do.

When the Apprentice arrived she weighed the baby. According to the scale, she was 16 pounds. According to the Apprentice, the scale must be broken. So we had Abbie stand on a normal scale, and then handed her the baby, and then figured the difference, which is about 10 lbs and … something ounces.

We’ve named her Rebecca. (We call her Becca). She is lovely. I adore the smell of her newborn head and sweet breath. I love her dark eyes and quiet nature. As always, I am absolutely and in every respect overcome with wonder at Katie. She is powerful, soft, and warm. She is beautiful, secure, and poised. I wonder if we should have named the baby after her incredible mother. Or we could have named her “Weird Al”berta Craig.

P.S. I am leaving the Comments on, if you would like to wish Katie congratulations!

George Clooney, Where Art Thou?

Well, we have a new winner for “My Most Favorite Website in the Whole World Ever.” The website has magic powers, I tell you. My self-esteem shot up 1,000 awesomeness degrees in one … short … sitting. Why? How could a single website do this? Because, my suspicious friend, this website told me that I am a dead ringer for none other than People Magazine’s “Sexiest Man Alive” for 1997 and 2007 and star of the critically acclaimed Ocean’s 11 & 13 films (I didn’t care so much for 12) … George Clooney!

Well, you can imagine the hubbub this has caused around the Craig Household. Usually when one of our kids does something adorable then Katie quips to me “You’ve got cute kids.” And then I retort, “Because you’re their mom.” But now, when Katie tells me I’ve got cute kids, I respond, “Are you kidding?! Of course I do! Just look at them – attractive, witty, charismatic – like a throwback to old Hollywood! At once both quirky and charming! Why, they could get a table at any restaurant in the valley!” Then Katie kind of looks at me warily and shrugs. I think secretly she wishes I’d never found this website; but she doesn’t admit it, because she knows that later, she’ll be snuggling up with a George Clooney impersonator to watch Seinfeld reruns.

I know it sounds like a glamorous life, being a George Clooney stand-in. But there is actually a lot to consider. For example, while Ken Craig may be prone to leaving used dental floss on the bathroom counter, George Clooney would never dream of such pedestrian behavior. I’ve also had to say goodbye to eating ice cream out of the container and wearing brown shoes with black slacks – like I’m some sort of animal! And finally, I have stopped singing along with the B-52s in my car. (But if you see the real George doing this, please let me know. I really miss belting out “jump in my Chrysler, it’s as big as a whale and it’s about to set SAIL!” And if he’s doing it, then it’s fair game for me. What’s good for the George is good for the gander, as they say in showbiz.) (And if you do see George doing it, please make sure it’s the real George, and not me, his unsanctioned look-a-like. I imagine this is going to be a common occurrence.) 

I should probably come clean at this point and confess that according to this website, I am actually only a 71% match for George Clooney. (The bright side is that leaves 29% wiggle room for some questionable “un-George-like behavior.” Like, I will probably continue to read books in the bathroom. Would George do that? I don’t know; but, my 29% guarantees that I will.)

In addition to being 71% Mr. Clooney, I am also 75% Matthew Perry, 72% Julio Iglesias, and 70% Christopher Reeve. I’m no mathematician, but if I’ve got my numbers correct, I am apparently a 288% witty, Spanish, leading man who can fly and confidently wear red and blue tights in public.

I am also a 74% twin of … Mira Sorvino. You are probably thinking the same thing I did when I saw this; that is, would George Clooney even date Mira Sorvino? Are they the same caliber celebrity? I say probably not; but that is the complexity and dichotomy of being a celebrity melting pot like myself.

If you have any questions, I’ll be at the local Hollywood Video signing DVDs of Ocean’s 11 and 13. (Let's pretend I was never involved in 12.)

A Leap of Faith

This month marks the 20-year anniversary of a little incident I like to call “The Time I Jumped Out of a Tree and Nobody Caught Me and I Almost Completely Shattered My Back and Kind Of I’m Still a Little Mad at Those People Who Didn't Catch Me.” Sure, I’ve had 20 years to come up with a better title, but I’m not very good with titles, so that’s what you get.

It was summer, 1988, my friends. George Michael was still straight (maybe), Guns n’ Roses were welcoming me to the jungle, and Def Leppard was requesting that I pour some sugar on them. (Which, under no circumstances, was I about to do. It’s unsanitary and it creates a horrible mess.) Growing up in southern California, the summer was rife with trips to the beach, water skiing, pool parties, and theme parks. But perhaps nothing was as highly anticipated each summer as what is commonly known in the LDS world as Youth Conference.

Ah, Youth Conference. An annual event for Mormon adolescence, ages 14 to 18, that spans three to four days, promotes new friendships and affords youth the delights of engaging speakers, well-organized games, obligatory dances, and if all goes well – opportunities for smoochin’. But not this year. No, this was the year of a “new” Youth Conference. A “fresh” Youth Conference. A Youth Conference “outside the box.”  A Youth Conference “nobody wanted to attend.” Brothers and Sisters, I give you… “The Wilderness Youth Conference.”

For this special Youth Conference, we were to spend Friday, Saturday, and Sunday camping in the mountains above Santa Barbara. There was no electricity and no showers. On top of that, the rules were that there was to be no make-up for the ladies, no toiletries for either gender, and no Walkmans or music of any kind. (See kids, a Walkman is the predecessor to the iPod. It weighed 8 to 10 pounds, included headphones the size of fighter-pilot helmets, and played what the Smithsonian calls “cassette tapes.” Cell phones, iPods, laptops, and any paraphernalia of that nature had not yet been invented, but you can bet your Drakkar Noir cologne that they wouldn’t have been allowed either.)

The final blow was when the leaders told us we would be placed in assigned “family groups,” and not able to handpick our friends to be in our groups, or to even have down time to hang around them. They then told us there would be no traditional Saturday night dance. If they expected a mutiny on this issue, they were sorely mistaken. Nobody was excited to slow dance with anybody who had been marinating in their own B.O. for 48 hours, or kiss someone whose teeth felt like they were wearing a sweater.

We met at the Stake Center on Friday morning, broke into our groups, and headed to the campsite. There was much weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth. Friday was mostly spent eating dinner, setting up camp, finding a nice, soft spot of dirt to sleep on, and hoping to slip off into the dark after everyone was asleep so you could find a member of the opposite sex, and borrow their contraband toothbrush.

Saturday was Event Day. Each “family group” went to different event tents to participate in obstacle courses, parlor games, and object lessons – with each activity designed to teach some principle of the gospel or attribute or character trait, etc. You know – “do unto others as you would have done unto you,” or “a penny saved is a penny earned,” or “if you want to head off a balanced attack, you must first learn to balance a tack hammer on your head.”

The second event for our little family group was what you might recognize as a Trust Fall or Faith Fall, where the chump de jour climbs a tree – somewhere between 15 and 126 feet – and falls backwards into a net that is being held by his extra special “family”…who would never dream of letting something bad happen to their new friend, who is exercising such great faith and trust in them.

As I climbed up the tree, I must admit I felt an imminent sense of doom. But I had it in my mind that I was going to do this. I was in no way going to appear a total wimp to this group made up predominantly of strangers, none of which I was going to slow dance with or kiss. With my back to the crowd, I stood on a branch no less than 839 feet above the ground (or so). The warm summer breeze felt cool against my profusely perspiring body. All surroundings went silent. I let go of the branch and fell backwards.

I hit the ground.

My faith, as you can imagine, was in the pooper.

I couldn’t breathe. My back was screaming profanities at me, but I couldn’t apologize to it. I wanted to try to roll over onto my side, but couldn’t move. I didn’t know if I was paralyzed or partially paralyzed or was experiencing my last few minutes of mortality. The thought running through my head was “Would it kill one of these leaders to run to my side and apply deodorant so I could die with some Old Spicey dignity?”

I was given a priesthood blessing and promised that this accident would not inhibit me from fulfilling the things I was sent to earth to accomplish. My priesthood leader wasn’t taking requests, but I wanted to tug at his shirt and inquire if he could include “…and that you won’t be doing them from a wheelchair…say ‘and not from a wheelchair’….”

I was hoisted onto a stretcher and taken to base camp, where I was blessed to have many friends and visitors stop by to check on me. And a younger brother to drag me on his back, into the woods, to occasionally do my “business.” (Once again, I thank you, Justin.) One of the young women (with hair that smelled as if it still carried trace amounts of Aquanet) gave me a kiss on the cheek (making the Youth Conference experience complete) and I was ready to go home.

And 20 years later, my back still occasionally swears at me. But while it is something I will always have to deal with, that priesthood blessing has certainly kept things in perspective for me. I have never been hindered in doing what I have felt I should be doing in this life. Except owning my own island in the Caribbean. But I hardly think I can blame my back injury for that. (And yes, I’ve tried.)

There is still some mystery as to what exactly happened that fateful morning. I may have landed too close to an edge of the net and the impact was too much for little 14-year old girls to hold.  Or there is also a story that it was one of the young men who shouted to me “Ready!” when in fact, they who were on the ground were not ready and he was making a joke because they knew they were not ready; so the net was never pulled taut to catch me in the first place. But since I wasn't facing them, I didn't know that. 

No, I never did figure out what precisely went wrong – but the truth is out there. And the truth is, just like in some campy horror flick, I am going to spend my remaining days tracking down each one of those individuals from my “family group,” and delivering a debilitating throat-punch to every last one of them. Then I’m going to write a movie about it. It will be called I Know What You Did At Youth Conference. Or wait, I’ve got it. Remember Wilderness Youth Conference, Circa 1988? Me Too! Or perhaps I Don’t Know If You’ve Forgotten About Wilderness Youth Conference, But I Sure Remember It Clearly and Frequently! See, again, I’m just not so good with titles. 

Questions & Answers

Over the weekend I received the most spectacular email. It was a fascinating read, and gave me great pause as I reflected on its intriguing exterior and deeper assertion. I was initially unprepared for such a complex, philosophical investigation and soul searching inquiries as these; yet as I read this long list of personal questions, each one probing further into my unpremeditated thoughts, I couldn’t help but to respond with instinctive honesty and audacious truth.

And here are my responses:

1. First Name: What do you want it to be? (OK, it’s Ken)             

2. Were you named after anyone? My pops.

3. Do you wish on stars? Well, if by “star” you mean celebrity, then yes I have. I once wished Jennifer Lopez would stop making movies.

4. When did you last cry? At the end of Indiana Jones 4. So disappointed, I wept.

5. Do you like your handwriting? Meh. Not really.

6. What is your favorite lunchmeat?  Pizza.

7. What is your birth date? March 17.

8. What is your most embarrassing CD?  Well, I do own Neil Diamond’s “The Jazz Singer.” But I will go on record that I am in fact NOT embarrassed about it. I am slightly embarrassed about my TV Theme Songs CD. That is, until the Golden Girls theme song comes on, because really, if you did in fact throw a party and invited everyone you knew, you would see the biggest gift would be from me. (And the card attached would say “Thank you for being a friend.”)

9. If you were another person, would YOU be friends with you? Yeah, I think I would. But mostly so that I could hang around Katie.

10. Are you a daredevil? Oh, heavens yes. This one time I ate ice cream AFTER 10 p.m.! Oh, that went right to the thighs. I just threw caution to the wind on that one. But I’m crazy like that.

11. Have you ever told a secret you swore not to tell?  No, my friend.  Your secret is still safe with me. (Wink, wink.)

12. Do looks matter? Well, mine do.

13. How do you release anger?  I make out my “People to Whack” list and hand it over to my mob friends. 

14. Where is your second home?   The car.

15. Do you trust others easily? Why? What are you getting at? What is this for? Who else knows about this?

16. What was your favorite toy as a child? Star Wars figures.

17. What class in high school do you think was totally useless? Yes.

18. Do you have a journal?  I do, but I never use it, as I can’t read or write. I don’t even know how I’m completing this survey.

19. Do you use sarcasm a lot?  I use sarcasm exclusively.

20. What are your nicknames?   Craigles, Kenfusion, Keneroni, KC, Kenji, Kentacular. (Most of these I just made up. But I didn’t want to look un-cool by not having nicknames.)

21. Would you bungee jump?  When I was younger, I did bungee jump. I also skydived, parasailed, and occasionally would break dance. Because before you have children, you are immortal and pretty sure nothing bad will ever happen to you. I have since learned NOT to publicly break dance. (Or do any of those other things.)

22. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? Shoes?

23. Do you think that you are strong? Odor-wise…or…what?

24. What is your favorite ice cream flavor? Just put it in front of me.

25. Shoe Size? 10.5 in Men’s (Or 23 in Boy’s)

26. Red or pink? Red or pink what?

27. What is your least favorite thing about yourself? Hmmm, let’s see. Uhm…gee, I dunno. Well, there’s my…no, that’s not it. Oh, I know – nah, that’s not a good one. Well, there’s always…nope. Hmm. Oh, now I remember – my indecisiveness.

28. Who do you miss most? Sunday afternoon naps.

29. What color pants and shoes are you wearing? Black shoes, no pants (Scottish kilt.)

30. What are you listening to right now? My tummy. It’s saying “more ice cream.”

31. Last thing you ate? Well, I’m trying to eat healthier. So I had a bowl of steamed vegetables. With ice cream.  

32. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? An oak. Oh, wait, that’s if I were a tree.

33. What is the weather like right now?  It’s like Las Vegas.

34. Last person you talked to on the phone? Katie.

35. The first thing you notice about the opposite sex? That they are more attractive than men.

36. Favorite Drink? Strawberry lemonade. What? It is TOO a manly drink!

37. Favorite Sport? Trying to find the car keys. I guess it isn’t my favorite, really, but it’s the one I end up playing more than any other sport. 

38. Hair Color?  I’m a natural brown. (and grey)

39. Eye Color? Brown (and white)

40. Do you wear contacts? Nope.

41. Favorite Food? Yes it is.

42. Last Movie You Watched? Enchanted.

43. Scary Movies Or Happy Endings?  Can’t we all just get along?

44. Summer Or Winter? May through December is where it’s at, for me.

45. Hugs OR Kisses?  Now slow down there, sweetheart.

46. What Is Your Favorite Dessert? Why don’t you just ask me to choose my favorite child while you’re at it?

47. Living Arrangements? I make Katie happy, and I get to live with her.

48. What Books Are You Reading?  The TV Guide. It’s FASCINATING!

49. What's On Your Mouse Pad?  Uhmmm…looks like ketchup stains.

50. What Did You Watch Last night on TV? Nothing.

51. Favorite Smells? The beach. Clean laundry.  

52. Favorite Sounds? Ed McMahan’s voice. “Mr. Craig, you just won $1 Million!”

53. Rolling Stones or Beatles? U2

54. Do you believe in Evolution or Creation? Does anyone really believe in evolution? I mean…REALLY? Do they also believe in goblins, the boogeyman, and taxes?

55. What's the furthest you've been from home? Israel.

56. What is your pet-peeve? People asking me what I like most about myself.

57. What do you like the most about yourself?  Oh, you are KILLING ME!

58. If you could change something about yourself, what would it be? I would change it so that I could FLY! 

59. Who is your make-believe hero and living hero? Well, I believe that the children are our future and that the greatest love of all is learning to love yourself.

60. If you could teach one thing to the world, what would it be? I'd like to teach the world to send me money so that I wouldn’t have to work for a living, but rather spend my days becoming a world-traveler and famous writer. And work on my tan.

Okay, now that I’m done with your interrogation, I’D like to ask some questions. That’s right, the tables have turned. Now I’M holding the proverbial conch. And this is what I want. I want to do a Roll Call of sorts, here. I want to know who’s out there. Who is reading The Craig Report? Anybody? Just the original 5 college friends who signed a contract with me that we would all start a blog at the same time? Just family? Long lost friends? Did we date in high school? Did you laugh at me while I played Water Polo? They MADE us wear Speedos, you know! It wasn’t MY choice!

I’m just intrigued by the idea of seeing if anyone is out there, and who they might be. And in order to sound compLETELY narcissistic about this, I will also be offering a free autographed photo of myself to anybody who leaves a comment! That’s right, I ‘m opening this post for comments! (Just click on the "comments" button on the bottom!)

Let me know: Are you out there? Do YOU have a blog I should be reading? How did you find The Craig Report? Are we friends? Do we know the same people? Is there anything I can do for you? Do you have any recommendations for baby names? Are you as personally offended as I am at the price of gas?