I've never been so stressed out in all my life

Germany beat Argentina 4:2 in PK's.

I hate when a game comes to that. Germany was definitely not playing their game today, and it hurt 'em in the first few minutes of the 2nd half, when Argentina put up the first goal.

The Germans looked lost for most of the game, the ball would fall between two players, and they would just look at it for a second before deciding what to do. It was weird and surreal, and I was very upset, certain that Germany wouldn't regain their footing.

Boy was I glad to be wrong, but I just don't like when a game comes down to a shoot-out. There's so little skill involved in PK's.

I'm glad that's over.

Ferberizing, Stage III, and a brush with death

Last night was NOT tough. The little man is starting to get with the sleep program, although with the re-emergence of the pacifier. The first night took 2 hours, the second night took about an hour-and-a-half, and last night wasn't quite a full hour of crying. That's not to say the crying was any less intense, but it definitely took less time to get him to sleep.

During the heat of it, I went outside and stripped carpeting out of the Miata, to prep it for the rollbar installation. Nothing clears the head like good hard work in the outdoors, especially if it gets you away from a wailing baby.

I've been sending Amanda away every night this week, since she's more bothered by the crying (not angered: just bothered; she feels like she's neglecting him if she doesn't attend to him), and I'm hopeful that there won't be many more nights of sleeplessness for the little guy.

So my near brush with death...

Every morning I travel I-95 South through the city. There is one area where there are 2 exits and 2 entrances in a very short span, and this area is always congested. Usually, I fly by in the left lane, since that one's generally clear.

This morning, though, I was leisurely driving in the middle lane, when this guy just started merging on top of me. Unfortunately, because modern car-makers seem to believe that the horn is irrelevant, my horn buttons are so small that I couldn't find them in the panic, and I had to rely on a hearty shove of the brake pedal. Alastair's bottles, my lunch, and everything else that wasn't fastened down went shooting forward. By the time my thumbs found the horn button, the guy was fully in the lane.

I let him know what I thought of his maneuver, and he gave me a semi-apologetic wave before merging into the left lane. On top of a motorcycle.

This little stretch of highway bends to the right, and the cyclist was run off into the shoulder, where he hit the jersey-wall, bounced up in the air, hit the jersey wall again, bounced again, and regained his balance.

The merging madman swung back in front of me again, although I was expecting it this time. He gave another semi-apologetic wave, rubbed his head as if in disbelief of what he'd done, and vanished into the right lane.

I couldn't believe it: I'd just seen a motorcycle get airborne twice off a jersey wall, recover both times, and ride on as if nothing had happened. I caught up with the rider a little later and gave him a big thumbs-up for his composure. He gave me a nod and rode on, occasionally glancing at the side of his bike to make sure it was still intact.

The merging madman was an elderly fellow who was clearly not focused on driving his car.

Scary stuff. I was fully prepared to stop the car and start picking up pieces of motorcycle man, and was really disappointed that the cop I saw 1/4 miles ahead wasn't there to witness the mayhem. We might have had one less terrible driver off the road.

Ferberizing, Stage I

Last night was tough. Amanda fed the boy at 7pm, making sure not to let him fall asleep on the breast. We sat and chatted for a while, and after he ate, I sat with him and read to him for about 15 minutes.

At 7:45, I put him down, kissed him, told him "good night", and walked out. He didn't even give me 15 seconds before the wailing began.

In an effort to be resolute, I went outside for 5 minutes, so that I wouldn't have to hear the crying (actually, I could hear it just fine, even through the new insulated windows).

Then, every 5 minutes I went in, rubbed his belly, soothed him for a moment, and left. After about 4 or 5 times, I increased the time to 10 minutes, then to 15.

The wails got progressively worse through the evening, and eventually his voice was sounding quite broken, but short periods of silence began to intermingle with the crying.

At about 9:15 I went in for the last time. He was screaming with his eyes closed, basically trying as hard as he could not to fall asleep, but it was a losing battle. I loved on him for about a minute, rubbing his belly and whispering "I love you", and then walked out. He cried a couple of times, each for about 30 seconds, but loud and hard enough that I thought Amanda might crack, and then he fell asleep.

So after night 1: Parents 1, Alastair 0. He's like Switzerland on penalty kicks.