The Daddy Dilemma

I'm going to be a father.*

And that statement is less terrifying than it once might have been. To be quite honest, I don't often think on what this means. I suppose, on a theoretical level at least, it will change everything. But then again, so did so many other steps in life.
  • Potty training was certainly a game changer, albeit one I don't remember well. I vaguely recall a mixed sense of shame and pride.
  • Elementary school was hard--did anyone else notice how they progressively whittled away nap time, snack time, recess, and play time? 
  • Puberty was excellent. 
  • High school took away everything that was glorious about elementary school, amplified everything that was difficult about puberty and forced you to dance with people in the same fallen state. 
  • Dating . . .  well, once you got past the awkward phase, it became fun.
  • Mission Service was hard. Again, once you got past the awkward phase, the blisters, and the homesickness, this was really fun.
  • College. Blessed college. It returned to you all that was glorious about elementary school and combined it with the fun parts of dating. 
  • Law School was . . . well, let's just say it was more like high school than I'd care to dwell on.
  • And marriage. So far, so awesome. (Although, no one warned me about the challenges of the first year. I thought our first argument would end in divorce. Thankfully, my wife is wiser and was more prepared for marital tension).
Each of these moments and phases of life have changed everything to some degree. Fatherhood is another of these phases--albeit one I hope will last longer (and be less emotionally painful) than puberty.  So, given this 1/3 of a lifetime of change, I don't see impending fatherhood as a dramatic sea change.

You know, the kind that's supposed to leave you rattled and questioning your sanity. Rather, it's another (albeit large) step in the same direction I've been traveling. 

Before all you well-to-do, vastly more experienced parents out there start to chuckle, nod knowingly, and mutter "He'll see... oh, he'll see," I'm well aware of the challenges before us.

And I do have fears: that I won't be adequate to the task, that I will fail my children in some way, that I will disappoint more than delight, that I will be Captain Dork rather than Captain Dad, that I will follow my daughter(s) around with a shotgun when they reach high school to ward off any of the unworthy heathen boys who glance their way, that I will unsuccessfully ward of any of the unworthy heathen boys who glance their way, etc., etc., etc.

Reasonable fears all, of course.

But you know what? Above all, I'm excited. Maybe I'm naive. Maybe I'm avoiding reality. Maybe I'm procrastinating my acceptance of "impending doom."

Or maybe I'm just too thrilled at the prospect of bringing another Vogeler into the world to let all the "what ifs" sink in just yet.

I've got thousands of sleepless nights ahead to ponder those, right?


*In light of the public nature of this blog, don't expect too much in the way of personal detail. I'll leave that up to my sweetheart, Erin. If you don't have access to Erin's blog, there's probably a reason or an oversight. Feel free to contact us if you want in, but fair warning: Erin's quite discerning.


Flattery Will Get you . . .


Just ask me. The team over at "the best thing you'll read all day" just featured my Twilight critique on their site. Almost four years later, and this tract keeps plugging along. Bless good people with both good taste and good grammar.

Thanks, tbtyrad!



Today, I give you: Ron Paul.
Ron Paul / Charlie-in-the-Box
·       You start listening to them and you get into the rhythm of what they’re saying (or the music emanating from their box), and it all sounds very compelling; it’s pretty catchy actually, and you think “Hey, I could buy into this, this sounds pretty…” and suddenly  
      Zaniness and/or a strange, poorly-named puppet erupts from the platform.


The Island of Misfit Noms

At the behest of some very vocal friends, I'm taking up the standard again. Rededicating myself to posting more often. Rekindling the blogger's fire. Re'ing, if you will.

I've been pondering the state of national politick lately, and I was reminded of one of my favorite posts I ever created on this blog. Go here if you're interested in hitting the ebv in its zeitgeisty prime. Way back when, I was frustrated with the slew of politicians that were jockeying for the privilege of taking the national reigns as our President.

Now, four years later, not much has changed (although the DNC nominally has its man all locked up). We're once again watching the GOP slog through its nomination pomp and circumstance, and I feel inspired to share some politico doppelgangers. So, in the first of a series, I give you:


Newt Gingrich / The Abominable Snowmonster of the North (aka “Bumble”)
  • Both tend to enter with a roar, but leave humbled, beaten . . . and sans teeth 
  • Monstrously intimidating at first, yet ultimately self-defeating 
  • Quick to reform and/or retreat whenever it is politically convenient (you don’t really believe that Bumble preferred putting the star on the Christmas Tree at the Claus house to munching on the little elves, do you? Ditto to Gingrich with his first, second, and third (a) wives, (b) religions, and (c) runs at the Presidency)