Hurricane Haven

I was thrilled to open the mailbox and find a very official looking letter in a brown envelope from Florida.  NOAA replied to my request that a hurricane be named after Haven!  Here is their answer:

Dear Mr. Thomas,

Thank you for your e-mail. {It was actually a letter}

Since 1953, Atlantic tropical storms have been named from lists originated by the National Hurricane Center.  They are now maintained and updated by an international committee of the World Meteorological Organization (WMO).  Six lists are used in rotation.  Thus, the 2011 list will be used again in 2017.

The only time that there is a change in the list is if a storm is so deadly or costly that the future use of its name on a different storm would be inappropriate for reasons of sensitivity.  If that occurs, then at an annual meeting by the WMO Region IV committee (called primarily to discuss many other issues), the offending name is stricken from the list and another name is selected to replace it.

It is certainly possible that the name “Haven” could be selected sometime in the future if a storm with a female name beginning with the letter “H” must be replaced.

Kind regards,

Dennis Feltgen

Public Affairs Officer

Meteorologist

NOAA Communications & External Affairs

National Hurricane Center

This would mean that the earliest possible storm to be named after my daughter would be in 2018.  For this to occur, next year’s tropical storm Helene would have to be a very destructive one.  If we miss that, then the next date would be 2020 as long as the 2014 storm Hanna is devastating.  Failing that, the new date would be 2022 as long as the 2016 storm Hermine causes a big enough economic impact.

I won’t be rooting for death and destruction any time soon, but should those factors all come together and cause need of a new “H” name, I hope Mr. Dennis Feltgen can sway the committee to consider the name Haven.

Eye of The Storm

Disclaimer:  This is a copy of a letter sent to N.O.A.A. last week.  It was in production before Irene ever came near the coast, so it was not written to belittle the people who have endured her wrath or experienced loss as a result.  Now, that being said, I believe those who would get most offended are still without power, so…let’s just get this underway before they come back online… 

Dear NOAA,

In light of the recent increase in tropical storm activity, I have been perusing your website.  I saw a link for the Hurricane naming list and was fascinated by its history.  I did notice, however, that in the ‘H’ category, the name ‘Haven’ was not used.  I would like to take a few minutes of your time to make a case for why I believe this is a name worthy of entering your rotation.

I think you would agree with me that two of the most notable traits of a hurricane is that they are destructive and they are most often named for women.  Let me just say that I totally get the logic at work there.  It just so happens that I have a 10-month old daughter named Haven, and when I think of raw destructive power, this little girl is what pops to mind.

Since she learned to crawl, there’s been no end to the path of devastation she leaves in her wake.  She sweeps through the house, howling with glee at the mayhem she will cause.  Clearing a coffee table, emptying a cabinet, or yanking over a trashcan is done in the blink of an eye.  Other times, she moves silently, like the eye of the storm, waiting to get a hold of the really dangerous things.  She’s already destroyed her mama’s expensive candle stand (a hurricane candle stand), and it makes me extremely nervous at how she eyes the grandfather clock.

Caught in the act

“But what about water,” you may find yourself asking.  Yes, we have that covered too.  Haven is amazing in the water.  Bath time is an event that requires at least two or three towels to clean up.  No liquid is safe from this little one’s ability to gather and fling it with wild abandon.  The dog bowl is her favorite target.  She’ll silently crawl into the kitchen, stand up at the dog’s feeder, and splash water all over the floor and walls until the nearest adult extricates her from her fun.

Right now, she may be containable, but I estimate that she’s just building in intensity.  It’s for these reasons that I believe Haven deserves a place in your naming rotation.  It’s interesting to note that the word ‘haven’ denotes a place of refuge or rest.  I think the inherent irony is something the Hurricane Naming Convention has been missing for much too long.

Thank you for your consideration.  I await your reply.

Sincerely,

Michael Thomas

NOAA was kind enough to reply.  Here's their answer.

A Babies Diary

Dear Diary,

I just had to write and tell you about the most horrible experience I’ve ever had in my life (granted, I’ve only been here for a month, but still…it was awful).

This morning, about 1:45 or so, I woke up and was terribly hungry.  It was pitch dark in the room, so I was pretty sure the big people didn’t know it was time for First Breakfast.  As usual, I decided to make a little bit of noise to help them get me what I wanted.  A few seconds into my cat-waulering, I heard movement in the room.  I figured my troubles would soon be over.

Imagine my surprise when the closet light came on and an Ogre was standing over my basinet!  Even though it gently picked me up, I was terrified.  Large puffy eyes stared apathetically at me, as it hoisted me toward its face.  It had wild hair that shot in all directions, and breath bad enough to wilt the flowers on my little pink pajamas.  I just knew it was going to eat me, but instead, it merely grunted in some strange language and headed for the bedroom door.  If I didn’t know better, I would have swore that it sounded like my dad, but I couldn’t deny what my eyes were telling me.

Had the tale ended here, it would hardly be worth telling, but there’s more.  The ogre held me close to its chest and stalked into the nursery. After laying me on the changing table, it unwrapped my comfy blanket and started pulling my warm, snuggly pjs off.  It left me there in the cold morning air!  This made me mad.  Instead of yelling out in fear, I cursed him with every single baby curse I knew (I’m going to have to learn few more of those).  In the end, this turned out not so well for me, cause after that, he pulled off my diaper and grabbed the cold wipes.  Let me tell you, if I had thought the air was chilly before, I had a different opinion now.

To add insult to injury, he got one of those cotton balls, dipped it in alcohol, and started rubbing it on my belly button.  At this point, I’d had more than I could take.  I started yelling for mama.

After a while, it worked.  Apparently the ogre feared my mother’s reprisal, cause he dressed me, wrapped me up in my blanket, and handed me to mama.  I don’t know where he disappeared to, after that, but good riddance!

I hope this never happens again, but next time it does, I’ll know exactly what to do.  Scream for mama until she comes and gets me.

-Haven Thomas ♥♥

She's here

Last Wednesday morning, we celebrated the arrival of our little girl, Haven Makenna Thomas.  She came into this world at a healthy 8 lb 2 oz and was 20 inches long.  Tamara seems to think that she lost about 5 inches during the whole process, but since she was completely intact, I’m not quite sure where those extra inches would be.

When a man first hears the words, “I’m pregnant” come out of his wife’s mouth, it’s usually accompanied by a sudden sense of terror and joy along with a stack of mental images that include pickles, ice cream, and a frantic rush to the hospital at some ungodly hour in the morning.  Little Haven managed to fulfill the better part of these nightmares.

I got in bed pretty late Tuesday night.  There were a bunch of things I was trying to get done before we went into the hospital at 5 am to have the doctor manually start the birthing process.  So, I was rock solid, sound asleep when she tapped me on the shoulder and said “My water just broke.”  I believe there are some things that are programmed into the male body, either by God himself, or centuries of genetics.  One of these would be the reaction to that simple statement.  Next time you find yourself in the throes of insomnia with nothing to do, just reach over, tap your husband on the shoulder, and say “My water just broke.”  See if he isn’t up and across the room before his eyelids even open.

That’s what happened to me.  I had my clothes on and phone in hand before I was really aware of my surroundings.  Lucky for us Tamara was able to relay some detailed, specific instructions, or I would have probably dressed the dog, turned the oven on, and took off for the hospital.  As it was, we were able to get in the car and on the road in short order.  Thankfully, traffic is practically non-existent at 2:45 in the morning. 

If you work at the Ft. Smith airfield and picked up a low flying missile headed up 71 last week, then that was probably me.  The doctor warned us that we needed to get to the hospital immediately, and I did my best to comply.  Considering the statute of limitations on vehicular misdemeanors in the State of Arkansas, I will not go into a great deal of detail about our ride to the hospital.  I will merely say that we got there as fast as we could.

A huge sense of relief flooded me the moment my wife stepped out of the truck and headed for the elevator at the women’s center.  I knew, right then and there, that we weren’t having the baby in the front seat of our brand new vehicle.  I can’t even imagine how we would have gotten the stains out.  I was glad I didn’t have to pull over and tell her to get out and have the baby on the side of the road.  She would have yelled at me and probably not gotten over it for a good long time.  Thank the Lord that we didn’t have to cross that bridge.

The check-in process took a lot longer than I expected.  Knowing how quickly Tamara’s labors go, I couldn’t help but think the night crew wasn’t moving with the same sense of urgency that we had.  The antibiotics were not hung and waiting, Tamara’s doctor had not been called, and they were generally reticent to do a single thing to her until we were entered on the computer.  This was all about to change.

Not more than a minute after I walked into the delivery room, Tamara kicked the sheets off the bed and said, “CAN YOU GET ME SOME WATER!  IT’S HOT IN HERE!  PLEASE TURN THE AIR DOWN!  I’M ABOUT TO PASS OUT!”  At this point she sat up so she could breathe.  That was the only signal our baby needed.  The very next words out of her mouth were, “I’M PUSHING!!!”

The nurse, bless her heart, was not ready for this.  She yelled at my wife, telling her she couldn’t push yet, because she didn’t have the clamps.  Tamara simply said, “I’m sorry.”  I could tell she didn’t have control at this point, and that baby was coming whether there were nice shiny clamps prepared to greet her or not.  The nurse’s only response, before she scampered off, was to tell Tamara to breathe.  This is where I stepped in.  I’ve had a great deal of experience with breathing, so I got down in my wife’s face, morning dragon breath and all, and got her to focus on me and breathe.  I felt pretty good for filling that vital gap in time, so I was a little disappointed to hear Tamara say later that the breathing wasn’t any help.  The baby kept moving toward its inevitable exit.

Sometime during those intervening seconds, a doctor materialized behind me.  By the time he showed up, the baby was crowning.  Before they could get a pad down, Haven was making her entrance.  My wife is used to pushing through the contractions, so she stopped when they stopped.  Both nurse and doctor seemed to finally get on the baby bandwagon and told her she needed to go ahead and push since the girl’s head was already out.  She did, and out the rest of it came.  Relief for Momma was instant.

Haven was cleaned up, measured, fed, and whisked away to the NICU.  Since we didn’t get the requisite 4 hours of antibiotics before delivery, there was concern that she might have picked up Strep B during her delivery.  They needed to monitor her closely for signs of pneumonia.  We also found out that she was Coombs Direct Positive, which is a blood type mismatch that increases her chance of jaundice.  When I first heard my wife say it, I thought she was mixing medical and banking terms {Who cares if somebody named Coombs had a direct deposit}.  But, that got me thinking, if this whole Obamacare thing goes sideways, doctors might be able to generate extra funds by letting corporations sponsor diseases.  Can you imagine going to the doctor and hearing him say, “Looks like you’ve got a bad case of the Energizer Pink Eye.”  Or maybe announcing before your procedure, “This colonoscopy is being brought to you by Drano!”  It could happen.

Well, it turned out that the special care was unnecessary.  Our little girl was as healthy as could be, and I am extremely grateful.  God has given us a special blessing.  Two days later, we brought our little bundle of joy home.

It was fifty-nine minutes from start to finish.  That’s a quick entrance.

Welcome to our world, Haven.