The Best Christmas Blessing Ever

Our family received the greatest Christmas blessing this year: the gift of Kayla Marie, born on Friday, December 21st.

That morning, after dropping Sean off at school, we went to the doctor for a check-in. He confirmed that the baby was in position, Gail was ready, so it could be anytime, likely sometime on the weekend. I asked him if I could go to my staff Christmas luncheon that day. He said sure, as long as I could get back home if Gail needed me. It was weird, it was like I was asking my doctor for permission to go to my own work function! But these were indeed special circumstances.

Text to friends at 10:36am: “Gonna be today or tomorrow. Gail at 2cm with very light contractions. Doc said all is good. Will keep u posted. Keep praying. Thanks.”

We went home for a few minutes, and then picked up Sean from school so we could attend Jake’s first-ever Christmas concert. He did really well, and was easily one of the most animated performers on stage. Jake proved that you can make hand actions to almost any song out there. He’ll be perfect for youth rallies when he grows up.

I left just after noon and drove downtown in the light snow. I had already missed the Mass, but arrived just in time to beat the line up for seconds at the Beatty Street Bar and Grill. I loaded up my plate and sat down to a coke (surprise surprise) and had a nice catch-up with Faye. We then headed back to the building for our annual Secret Santa. It was a memorable one for me once again, as you can read in my blog here .

After a bit of cleanup in the office, I drove Gerard home. Just as I dropped him off, my phone rang. Judging from the voice and tone emitting from the other end, I knew I needed to get home. And fast.

I made it home by 4:30pm and interrupted the boys’ soccer game outside, whisking them inside to find Gail on her hands and knees in our living room, trying to find a comfortable position. Gail’s brother John picked up the boys 15 minutes later and Gail and I bolted to Richmond General Hospital.

Once we were admitted just after 5pm, Gail was already at 6cm. She jumped into the shower to ease her discomfort, while I massaged her back with water. After 15 minutes, she was back in the hospital bed at was close to 10cm! We knew it was only a matter of time.

Text to friends at 5;07pm: “Just brought Gail to hospital…contractions for last hour. Will keep u posted. Keep praying…thank you.”

Gail’s contractions occurred off an on over the next 3 hours, teasing us as we eagerly awaited our baby girl. I was relegated to my usual role as cheerleader, story-teller, and comedian as I shared stories and conversation with the doctor and nurses. Seems like we were connected to almost all of the nurses there somehow, either through St. Paul’s or through friends of friends. It was nice to be in the company and care of friens.

Kayla Marie was born at 8:54pm, the first Imoo girl in 75 years and breaking the streak of 12 straight Imoo boys (starting with my Dad’s older brothers). As Gail and I took turns holding our new princess, we thanked God for blessing us yet once again.

Text to friends at 9:25pm: “Kayla Marie born at 8:54pm. Not weighed yet. Gail so strong. Me too…haha. Baby girl generally healthy…just checking out a small rash. Thx for prayers.”

Unfortunately, Gail’s placenta (the organ that holds the baby inside) didn’t come out after Kayla, as it should have. Gail tried pushing it out for close to 2 hours, but it wouldn’t budge. After losing over 2 litres of blood, the doctor and specialist decided that they needed to operate to get it out. They went over a few worst-case scenarios with us (as they should), including removing the uterus and/or a blood transfusion. We weren’t exactly thrilled at either prospect, the former meaning no more babies for us! I was able to work in my favourite saying as I looked at the doctors and said: “Do whatcha gotta do.”

It was a surreal moment. There I was, holding our 2-hour old baby daughter, while my wife was being rushed down for emergency surgery. The nurses told me to leave for a bit and get some fresh air: go home, eat, take a walk, do whatever. They would take care of Kayla until I returned, and Gail would be over an hour. I agreed, but not before I said a prayer over Kayla and for Gail. Admittedly, I played out a few worst-case scenarios in my head, and I didn’t like any of them.

Text to friends at 11:16pm: “Not out of the woods yet. Gail in operating room to have placenta removed…didn’t come out after Kayla. Please continue to pray. Kayla weighed in at 7lbs 2oz.”

I rushed home to grab some stuff to sleep over only to find that the power was out in our complex. Thus, under the intermittent light of my Treo, I grabbed whatever I could and then headed out. Wanting to post the news on my website and on facebook, I called up Krissy and asked to borrow her wireless internet connection. Thankfully, she invited me in at midnite, as opposed to me “borrowing” the signal from outside in my van. So there I was, wolfing down McDonalds, posting pics to the net, and sharing stories with Krissy and her mom.

(As an aside, I hereby vote Krissy “Most Apt to Save my Bacon.” She has done so time-and-time again over the years…thanks bud!!!)

I arrived back at the hospital just after 1am, and was embarrassed to find both women of my life back in the room already. Kayla was sleeping, while Gail was alert albeit sore. Surgery was successful, but it will be a long road to recovery as Gail needs to replace all of the iron in her body that was lost with her blood.

We got a decent night of rest given the circumstances, and I was able to help give Kayla her first bath, albeit at 5am in the morning. Not sure why nurse Stephanie picked that time.

Text to friends at 9:59am: “Last text for a while haha…thx for reading them. Gail has successful surgery last nite…both her and Kayla doing well. Looking at home Sunday or Monday.”

By late morning, the hospital had discharged Kayla but not Gail. That was rather ironic: the newborn being discharged before the mommy! I didn’t really consider leaving the hospital with Kayla…though that would be been kinda funny. But not really.

Our immediately family came to visit in the late morning, followed by friends in the afternoon. The specialist came to check on Gail and discharged her by dinner time. We waited for Kayla to have her 24 hour blood work done just after 9pm, and then we packed up and headed home, a day earlier than my prediction. To ensure a better night’s rest, Gail’s family took care of Sean and Jake for one more night.

I went to pick them up first thing Sunday morning. Upon arriving home, they bolted up the stairs to enjoy their best Christmas gift ever…even if she was unwrapped 4 days early.

Still Not-So-Secret Santa

On Friday, we had our annual Christmas Mass and Luncheon for our Archdiocesan headquarters. I had to miss the Mass as I was at Jake’s first-ever Christmas concert at his pre-school, but I left my almost-in-labour-wife and 2 sons and bolted downtown for the lunch. I arrived about 45 minutes late, but snuck in just in time to budge ahead of those going for seconds.

On the way back from restaurant to our building, Gerard and I had a great chat with Archbishop Miller. We spoke mostly on gift exchanges, and I was able to share with him my comical experience with last year’s work Secret Santa exchange…the one where Archbishop Roussin told me that he was my Secret Santa…well before I even received my gift!

Here’s the time where you need to read my blog from last year, called Not-So-Secret Santa. It will make the rest of this blog so much better. Go ahead…I’ll wait!

Read "Not-So-Secret Santa" here.

Okay, thanks.


Then, we headed into our famous lunchroom for the annual Secret Santa exchange. Same rules as usual: keep it as close to $15 as you can, and don't reveal yourself as the gift giver. Simple right?

So as Archbishop Roussin walked into the room, I approached him and jokingly asked, “Did you get me again this year?”

Archbishop Roussin will never be a good poker player, in my humble opinion (probably a good thing). And he certainly isn’t a good liar (yet another good thing).

His eyes darted away and I don’t remember him actually saying anything aside from laughing a gentle, yet unnatural laugh.

Sure enough, my gift was the last one handed out. It was wrapped in a big brown paper bag, with a 8 ½ by 11 picture of me (printed off from my website) taped on front. Of course, that drew the attention of almost all of the 80 or so staff members in attendance. So I opened the gift in front of 160 curious eyes (give or take a few pupils).

Similar to last year, I burst out into laughter upon opening the gift. That’s because it was similar to last year:

-a six-pack of Pepsi
-a Hockey News magazine, and a
-a book of Pope Benedict XVI’s Spiritual Thoughts in his first year of his papacy

I looked at Archbishop Roussin and exclaimed: “It was you, wasn’t it?”

His grin said it all…and his dedication on the inside cover of the book confirmed it.

“No poker magazine this year?” I asked him, mostly tongue-in-cheek.

“I thought you would benefit from something a little more serious” Bishop Ray answered.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.”

With that, we exchanged a Christmas hug and wished each other well. I later found out that the picking of my name wasn’t exactly random.

But I wouldn’t have had it any other way. For my gift will satisfy my soul…and my tastebuds!

18 Years Later: Married, 3 kids, and a Catholic Youth Minister!

18 years ago, on Thursday, December 14, 1989, 2 lives changed forever in the hallowed halls of JN Burnett Junior Secondary School in Richmond. That was the day a scrawny, immature, goofy-haired boy asked this beautiful, humble, quiet girl to go to that night’s school dance with him. Thankfully for both of them, she said yes. And the rest, as they say, is history.

It’s amazing to think it’s been 18 years already. Gail is still beautiful, while I am still immature. Gail is still humble, while I am certainly not scrawny. And I guess the jury is still out on my haircut. The length of time really hits home when I’m talking to teens, especially during a presentation. As I share my testimony of how I met Gail in high school, I usually find out that 90% of the audience wasn’t even born yet in 1989.

I was 15 and in grade 10, and serving as the Student Council President. Gail was 14, in grade 9, and one of the “Classroom Reps” and thus, she attended biweekly meetings of the general Student Council that I led. In the few weeks leading up to Christmas, we held our annual Canned Food Drive and in my role as President, I would be in the school office every morning receiving cans from the Class Reps, who collected cans from their entire class. Gail would bring a can of food every single day, even if no one else in her class did, just so she could come down to the office to drop it off (and of course, see me in the process). Meanwhile, I (in my think-I’m-cool phase) didn’t really notice her.

It was the school musical “Lumberjacks and Weddingbelles” that ultimately brought us together. I was originally paired with my ex-girlfriend Elaine while my best bud Javier was paired up with Gail. Then, for whatever reason, the drama teacher decided to switch the pairings and have Gail and I go together. We hit it off quite well, although I thought she was a refugee from the Philippines. As the rehearsal days went on, I started to find myself becoming attracted to her, regardless of her citizenship status. Then, after one of our hoedown dances, the music stopped but Gail and I still held onto each other’s hand. A few people nearby started whispering and giggling. Gail asked why. I told her they were laughing at my haircut. Which may have been true actually.

On our first night as a couple I didn’t kiss Gail, rather I ended up getting kissed by another girl. Carrie, a fellow member of the Student Council, was running around with her own mistletoe. So while Gail and I were talking during my shift in the concession stand, Carrie ran up to me, held the mistletoe above my head, and planted a kiss firmly on my face…right in front of Gail! I don’t think Carrie knew that I had a new girlfriend…at least I hope she didn’t. I’m thankful Gail didn’t go Bruce Lee on Carrie’s behind!

This new couple seemed to be an odd-match at first. I was foul-mouthed, irreverent, and popular (at least I thought I was). Gail was the good Catholic girl, and associated with only a few close friends. I was the athlete, musician, and social butterfly, while Gail was the homebody who valued family time.

My parents welcomed Gail with open arms immediately…a fact my late Father referenced at our wedding in 2000 when he said that he and Mom were forever indebted to Gail for removing me from their house! Gail’s family was another story: the parents were slow to accept me while the brothers would make fun of me and try and steal money from my wallet when I visited. Even John shot a rock at my neck with a hockey stick. At least I was accepted by Gail’s cute 2-year-old baby sister with a mushroom haircut: Julie Ann.

Gail and I count our blessings when we consider the fact that she almost didn’t go to Burnett. She originally applied to go to LFA for grade 8, but there were no available spots. So the counselor (my Auntie Tomi) at Cook Elementary School suggested that she go to Burnett instead, where her husband George was the vice-principal. I’m thankful for Auntie Tomi’s convincing, otherwise Gail would likely have gone to Palmer.

Gail and I also reflect on my conversion to Catholicism and her huge role in introducing me to Jesus Christ and His Church. Most people know the story already: how I would go to Mass with Gail and her family mostly for the free Chinese meal afterwards. How Gail patiently taught me a few prayers while I tried my best to behave during Mass while looking forward to the Sign of Peace (where I would become a handshaking machine, grabbing any loose limb I could find). How she sponsored me through RCIA the same year we both joined the brand new 9am choir (the pre-cursor to the 6:30pm Mass Choir). How I received the Sacraments of Initiation at Easter 1993 and went to World Youth Day in Denver as a 4-month-old Catholic. How Gail and I served on the original Core Team for LIFE TEEN at St. Paul’s and how I took over from Richard Vetter as the Youth Ministry Coordinator in 1997. How I failed my CA exams and bounced around the worlds of accounting, human resources, and financial planning, all while serving in youth ministry. How I went to Toronto for World Youth Day in 2002 asking God for guidance with respect to my career. And how I obtained the position of Director of the Youth Ministry Office for the Archdiocese of Vancouver just 3 months after returning from Toronto, a position I’ve held for the past 5 years.

Gail contends that I would likely not be a Catholic if I hadn’t met her. I cannot disagree, as very few of my friends from high school and/or university are practicing Catholics. It’s hard to say for sure: I’d like to think that God would have eventually led me to faith. But who knows what church or denomination that would have been.

As Gail and I prepare for the birth of our 3rd child, I realize more than ever how lucky I am. Gail was born to be a mother and wife: she is amazing with the boys and with me. She is patient, caring, wise, and she loves us unconditionally. I have no problem admitting she wears the pants in the family. She likely wears the shirt, socks, shoes, and underwear too.

Yet she humbly stands behind me and supports me as I hog the spotlight, do talks at conferences and rallies, make videos to post on youtube, and update my website. She is the consummate encourager and cheerleader.

They say that behind every strong man is a stronger woman. Gail and I prove this to be true time and time again. After all, it takes a pretty strong person to live with and put up with me!

Things You Don't Hear Every Day

There are some things that you just don't hear every day. You rarely hear someone wishing for more rain than sun. No one will (or should) ever complain that the Canucks don't have a good goalie. And relating to my line of work, you (generally) don't hear people using foul language in a church.

Taking this concept to a more personal level, there are many things that I never hear said to me.

"Oh, so you've changed your hairstyle."

"You are an awesome cook!"

"Man, you're looking thin…what kind of diet are you on?"

(As an aside, at our monthly building lunch yesterday, I was sitting with a male colleague who tips the scales at a whopping 128 pounds. Gerard and I were joking that we too each weighed 130 pounds once…back in 1993 when we met!!!)

Anyway, I heard something last week that I've never ever heard in my 12,207 days (including leap years) of existence on this earth. I was at Costco picking up our Christmas family photos that we send out with our Christmas letters every year. The text on one the pictures was incorrect, as they mistakenly capitalized a letter that shouldn't have been.

After reviewing our original order (that Gail filled out), the Costco guy and I determined that it was indeed Costco's fault, so they would replace the cards free of charge. The Costco guy handed me a new order form and pen and asked me to fill out a new submission.

I looked at the Costco guy incredulously as I circled the incorrect letter on the original form. "Can't you just use this one?" I asked. "Everything else is the same aside from this one letter."

No was the answer. New order = new form.

I started to panic. I'm pretty sure my heart sped up and my hands started sweating.

There's a reason why Gail fills out every single form. My writing is atrocious, my printing not much better.

I flashbacked to the day in elementary school when I formally denounced my handwriting and moved towards printing as my written communication of choice, usually in ALL CAPS.

I remembered the times working with my good friend Richard and how he showed me that the order of all my strokes was incorrect (wrong way with the "o" and vertical before horizontal on the tall letters).

How my letters end up looking like they are coming from Clon, Clar, of Claty.

And most recently, how Sean's printing has surpassed mine in terms of quality and readability.

It got so bad that I almost called Gail (who was out elsewhere) to meet me at Costco to fill out the new form.

Instead, I sucked it up and began to write the new form. Despite the sweat forming on the pen, I was able to make it through in one try. I had the Costco guy read it back to me to confirm and then I left promising to return in 20 minutes.

After wolfing down a signature Costco hotdog, I returned to the photo department to pick up the new order. With bated breath I opened the package…and VOILA! It was perfect!

I thanked the Costco guy for his assistance and for being able to read my faulty printing.

"No problem" Costco guy answered. "Your printing is actually better than most people's."

Now that's something you don’t hear every day!

What's in a Name? (Part 4)

(For some light background reading, I encourage you to read What's in a Name?, What's in a Name? (Part 2), and What's in a Name? (Part 3).

In the original blog (written on May 1, 2007) I talked about how parents come up with names for their children and I offered suggestions for a name for our next kid (whenever that would be). Subtlety was never one of my strong suits, as in Part 2 (May 28, 2007) I acknowledged that Gail and I were indeed expecting Imoo Child #3 and I focussed on ways my name has been butchered both verbally and in writing. Then, in Part 3 (September 19, 2007) was primarily based on some bad (really bad) name jokes.


For this latest instalment, I'm gonna go back to name variations ala Part 2.

First and foremost, some of you know already that we are naming our baby girl (expected December 20 or so) Kayla Marie Imoo. We've had this name picked out ever since Sean was born back in August 2001 and have been saving it for the highly anticipated girl (the first Imoo girl in 75 years!).

It took about 2 seconds for my lovely and loving UBC accounting friends to jump all over it. Thus, knowing that (in their words) I'm a BFS: Big Fat Show-off, Joyce, Liz and Phyllis will be affectionately referring to her as "Clayla" (ie. as close to my name as I can get it). Now that's not entirely fair...if that was my sole intention, wouldn't Claire, Claytonia, or Cayla been better choices?

Got an email from a colleague (who I know quite well) referring to me not once, but twice as Claytan. I know I can get dark, especially in the summer (enough to be confused very often as a Filipino), but no need to bring it into the name!

But I recently received a letter that trumps them all. Worse than Clayton Imod. Something that makes Kneejerk look like a compliment.

The letter was addressed to MR. CAYTON IMOS.

I admit that my writing is horrible. It's been well-documented that Sean's printing is better than mine. Same goes for Jake, and he doesn't even know what he's printing yet.

But I can't imagine how anything I wrote down on any sign-in sheet would be remotely close to CAYTON IMOS. I usually don't forget entire letters from my first name. And even when I don't complete the "O", it looks more like a "C" than an "S."

Oh well. Claytan. Cayton. Kneejerk. Call me anything you want. Just don't call me late for dinner.

Be a Fan, Not a Fool

I had the (dis)pleasure of going to the Vancouver Canucks’ game on Thursday night and then the BC Lions’ game just two nights later on Saturday night. Don’t get me wrong, I feel very fortunate that I am able to go to games on a semi-regular basis, and the company was great (I went with Sean to the hockey game, and with my whole family plus Father Luterbach to the football game). And I am a TRUE fan…I don’t have to worry about spraining my ankles from jumping on and off the bandwagon.

Unfortunately, it was the behaviour of the fans at both games that left a sour taste in my mouth.

Admittedly, the Canucks didn’t help matters by playing in the worst hockey game I’ve ever seen live. Goalie Roberto Luongo inexplicably let in the first two shots he faced. So when he saved the next shot he faced (a light wrister from behind centre), some of the 18,630 fans in attendance saw it fit to sarcastically cheer our all-star netminder. I couldn’t believe my ears. Most fans know that Luongo was the primary factor behind our outstanding season last year (especially post-Christmas). Thus, I think he’s entitled to a bad outing once in a while. I was embarrassed for him (not that he needs my seal of approval) and to his credit, he addressed the fans’ reaction in his post-game interviews.

His teammates were no better, as they put the sell-out crowd to sleep. Literally. Sean, who was looking forward to the game all week, fell asleep in the 2nd period (the late start of 8pm, as opposed to 7pm, didn’t help). I wanted to join him to avoid viewing the debacle unfolding before my eyes, but then I’m not sure who would have carried both of us back to the car. That was the last way I wanted to end my night: by dragging 50 pounds of dead weight through a crowded stadium and then 10 minutes in the rain back to my office building. Upon dropping Mike and Chris off (who rode there and back with us), Mike smartly remarked that the ride in the Odyssey to and from downtown was more fun than the game. No argument here.

Then, on Saturday night we picked up Father Luterbach at 6pm and headed downtown for the BC Lions game against the Calgary Stampeders (we go with Father Luterbach once a year to see our Lions). The game was an entertaining, albeit sloppy, one. Things started off well, as we scored a 50-yard touchdown on our second play from scrimmage.

Our viewing experience was dampened slightly by the 7 or 8 twenty-somethings in the row behind us who were drunk, obnoxious, and foul-mouthed. One of them spilt his beer, and some of it seeped onto the ground beneath our feet. Another guy spilt some beer on Jake's seat; thankfully Jake was standing elsewhere at the time. It took about 5 minutes for the guy to apologize or acknowledge it, until his friends' constant badgering got to him. "Sorry" he said, tapping me on the shoulder. I said, "No problem, but you can wipe up the beer." Unsurprisingly, he didn't even flinch. We ended up changing seats at half-time, and enjoyed the rest of the 25-24 Lions victory.

As per usual with BC Lions games, there were numerous fights in the stands, the most violent and intense one being a few rows up from our original seats! As I watched the hooligans being dragged away by police and security, I reflected on the large “Be a Fan, Not a Fool” banner in the endzone. I applaud the Lions for being pro-active and trying to make the experience as positive as possible for spectators. But I guess anytime you mix people and beer, you’re going to get some drunken craziness.

As an aside, kudos to the Lions’ public address announcer, who actually told the fans to stop doing the wave while the Lions were on offence and to save the noise for when Calgary had the ball. I hope the fans get it right for the big Western Final in 2 weeks.

For every silly fan or for every bandwagon jumper, there are plenty of good fans. I have become good friends with one such fan over the past couple of months. His name is Matt Hawkins, and he has his own video production company called Emerging Productions. I met him at the Campusfire youth rally I spoke at last month. Matt is a fellow winner in last year’s Ultimate Canucks Search.

Coincidentally, I met Matt for lunch on Friday, the day between the Canucks and Lions games. I was running a bit late, so when I called him to notify him, he asked if he could order ahead for me. I said sure. He then asked me if I liked meat. Again, I replied affirmatively. Two minutes after arriving, the waitress brought to me the biggest burger I've ever seen. It was so big that I didn't even know how to tackle it. After a few minutes of hopelessly trying to bite into it, I ended up carving it up with my knife. And I could only finish half of it! We had a great time, sharing stories about the contest, the Canucks, and ministry. Check out Matt’s hockey blog here. You won’t be disappointed.

So the next time you’re watching your favourite team, whether live or on tv, remember what it means to be a fan. Passion. Knowledge. Loyalty. That means you sticking with your team through thick and thin.

That’s how you be a fan and not a fool.

Making No (Fashion) Sense

I admit it. I have no fashion sense whatsoever. That’s why I’m not very creative with my wardrobe. At work, I wear a shirt and tie or dress shirt or golf shirt. At home, I wear a youth ministry t-shirt. And when I do go out, Gail usually picks out my clothes for me. When I dare venture to dress myself, I will go to her for her seal of approval. Once she’s done laughing, she’ll usually suggest I change either my shirt, pants, socks, or all 3!

I don’t really go shopping for clothes; I’d rather spend my money on my awesome kids, my lovely wife, or my tasty pepsi. So I’m not really joking when I tell people that I’ve been wearing the same clothes since grade 8. As my brother Jason so nicely stated at my wedding, it doesn’t hurt that I haven’t grown since grade 8.

And on the rare occasions when I’m late to a function, I’m never, ever fashionably late. Just late. And usually unfashionably so.

Two recent encounters reinforced my lack of fashion sense.

Earlier today, I was with 5 teens from St. Paul’s (Mia, Sharon, Miguel, Adrian, and Calvin) who I enlisted to help me in a video I’m putting together for a talk I’m doing this Friday. One part of the skit was to include a couple of them carrying a shopping bag from a “cool” store. The original skit listed Abercrombie & Fitch, but I knew the writers were American.

So I thought I would show my “coolness” and I showed up with a GAP bag.

“What’s that?” they asked…almost in unison.

“It’s a bag from the GAP,” I answered, looking at Mia and Calvin. “You guys can pretend you just bought some jeans there for the skit.”

“Uh…no one shops there anymore.”

“Oh really?” I asked incredulously. “So where do all the teens shop now.”

All 5 of them replied: “American Eagle.”

“Isn’t that an airline?”

So I guess I showed my age once again. It was a nice little reminder that I need to continue to develop my knowledge of teen culture…especially given I’m a youth minister!

The other incident happened last month, after my trip to the States to buy our new van. On the way back, Krissy and I stopped at one of the major Oregon outlets to take advantage of our strong dollar and no sales tax. I spent a good chunk of change in GAP (haha) and Carters buying clothes for our new baby girl, due in December. Basically, if it was pink or purple and cheap, I bought it.

Upon arriving home, I laid all the clothes out on the kitchen table and excitedly waited for Gail to get home and see them. I knew she’d be proud of my thoughtfulness and hopefully, my taste.

She picked up the first dress and asked, “Uh…Clayton?”

“Yes, dear” I sheepishly replied. She never uses my full name. I knew I was in trouble already.

“What season will it be when our baby is born?”

I put on my best smile: “Well…given that the due date is just before Christmas…that would be winter!”

She held up the sleeveless dress. “Then how is she supposed to wear this?”

Quick Clay. Or make that, Clayton. Think of something quick.

“Maybe when she’s exercising at home?”

As Gail shook her head in disbelief, I went into guilt trip mode.

“Couldn’t you have looked at everything I bought before you commented?”
“Don’t you know that I only spent on the baby and not on myself?”
“Isn’t the rest of the stuff nice?”
“Didn’t I get good deals?”
“At least you have a new van to drive!!!”

In all truthfulness, Gail was actually really good about it, even before the guilt trip. She did indeed acknowledge that I had made some good purchases, and that some of the outfits were even cute. And within a minute of our original exchange, she had combined the sleeveless dress with another top I had bought to come up with a pretty alternative.

So the next time you see Sean and Jake dressed up like me, give them a polite hello and even throw in a “you guys look good” if you want. Then pray for them. A lot.