Keeping Up With the Kids

First let me welcome my niece who isn't. The "she" we all were expecting and for whom I diligently scoured the clearance racks for Christmas gifts arrived last night as a very healthy, 8 pound, baby boy. Welcome to our crazy family Layton Arthur. I would like to reassure the out-of-towners that the spoiling has already commenced.

Lauren took the news that Auntie Rachel delivered a baby boy rather poorly. After all, everyone was expecting a girl baby. Lauren's exact words were(very sad face, blue eyes downcast, lip in a pout): "Awww...but Mommy, I don't like boy babies. I like girl babies. I want to play with a girl baby. (Sniffle) I'm just so sad, Mommy." But like all Lauren's traumas and difficulties, this too was short lived after some back rubbing and sympathy.

Brandon has been nothing short of an absolute terror in church. To the point I tell him that I will never, ever take him to church again. Which results in him crying that he loves church. He begs me to take him to church. He picks out his clothes ahead of time, wears only his favorite shirts, and asks me every day, "Is today a church day?"

I cannot, for the life of me, get the child to sit with the other children to learn the songs for the Christmas Pageant but he sings them at home and becomes really upset if I threaten to pull him out of the play. I want to scream. I want Brandon to understand that he IS going to attend church service with the family, even if it kills Rich and I and we don't hear a word Pastor Kurt says the first six months of 2008.

Jonathon and Noah have survived the first quarter of school. Rich and I survived conferences. I always take Advil before I attend parent/teacher conferences, thinking it will make the entire experience less painful. We never hear horrible or terrible things about our children. Our kids are bright, great problem-solvers and well-mannered.

However, we hear things like, "Noah has such a bright mind. During our discussion about dinosaurs he and another student were absolutely certain that the scientists are wrong that the dinosaurs roamed the Earth 25 million years ago because Jesus was here 25 hundred years ago. And there is no way that God would put His son on Earth before the dinosaurs. The scientists have it wrong."

Much to Noah's teachers credit, she handled it very well, explaining to Noah and his class that everyone has their own beliefs, that no one is positive when the dinosaurs were here, and that this is the scientists best guess, etc.

Much to my credit, my head does not explode in to a million pieces when I hear these things now. My smile hardly even falters. I simply close my eyes briefly, open them, and say, "Of course my son did. That's sounds just like Noah."

Jonathon is also having a successful school year. Nothing quite as funny at his conferences, but I will not leave the crowd without a Jon story. Initially for Thanksgiving 2007, Rich and I had planned on taking the kids to volunteer for the Community Meal in our community. (This was before Jonathon was hit with bronchiospasms, I was down with severe bronchitis and unable to catch my breath, and Rich did not come from work until 12:30am, all on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving.)

Anyway, the week before the family was hit with the bronchial plague, I was inside of the van with the kids, while Rich was putting gas into the tank, explaining what we would we would be doing at the Community meal, such as serving food, removing plates, helping people to their seats; basically whatever needed to be done. Jonathon, who was in a bad mood to begin with, yelled, "You mean we have to be their servants?"

To which I calmly replied: "No, we are going to make their lives easier for a day. Jon, these are people that are not going home to Game Cubes and soccer lessons and maybe not even enough food at their houses." It was silent for a few moments and then I heard crying from the back of the van. I asked (rather exasperated), "Jon, What is your problem now?" His tearful reply: "Now I feel bad because I was fighting about helping poor people!"

I started banging my head against the dashboard. Honest to God. I really did. It felt really good when I stopped. And it was my choice to stop. Even better stopping and starting was something that I could control unlike my sons emotional roller coasters that he likes to take me for rides on with no prior warning.

Well, just as the blog started with a blessing of new life with all his parts in working order, many of us are getting older and some our parts do not want to work in their correct order. So I will end it with extra prayers and wishes of a speedy continued recovery to my Dad and brother-in-law Ken. I hope you get all those parts working soon.

Public Service Announcement

After sitting in the bar of Point Bowl Thursday night, (thank you NFL for the blackout) in order to watch my beloved Packers be completely mistreated by the referees yet again (Redskins game anyone?) which caused them to lose to Dallas, my even more beloved Brett Farve suffer a elbow injury causing him to sit our for the rest of the game, all the while trying not aggravate an already inflamed asthma attack, I realized that even more shocking than all the football events playing out around me was this:

Most of the people around me were drinking way too much alcohol and still planning on driving themselves home.

This really upset me. Because the drunk person behind the wheel probably won't take out themselves in a fatal accident. Chances are they will take out a family of four. Or six. Or my family. Or my friends. And that is tragic. And completely, 100% preventable. I don't care how long they have been drinking and driving. I don't care how "good" or how much "practice" they think they have had. The fact of the matter is, up until now they have just been lucky that they haven't been caught or caused a fatal accident. Every time they get behind the wheel intoxicated, above the legal limit, they are endangering my friends and my family. And I like my friends. Most days I even like my family.

Even in college where I was no choir angel, my friends and I always had a designated driver. I will even tell you why we did, or at least my reason. Fear. Pure, abject, and total fear of my mother. My parents couldn't pay my tuition, but they could and did, generously pay for my truck when I was in college. I was cold-stone terrified by the prospect of ever having to tell my mother that I had been pulled over for a DUI. Not only would it have been the end of my truck privileges, but probably much of life as I knew it, so I never put myself in a situation to discover the alternatives. I walked, crawled, stumbled, and staggered home. I took my turn as the designated driver. I did not drink and drive even in college.

So, as your friend, your relative, the person your friend forwards this too, or your random blogger, please do not get the behind the wheel if you are intoxicated. Even if you think you are borderline intoxicated and unsure if you should drive, call a cab, give your keys to a sober person, or call someone to come and pick you up. The benefits of not paying $6000.00 for your first DUI, the embarrassment of it, and the potential injuries you may incur, far outweigh any inconveniences you may face in the next morning.

I love my husband, my kids, my friends, and my family. All of them deserve to live their lives to fullest and not have them cut short because of poor decision making. Accidents are avoidable. So is driving drunk. So, for my families sake, for your families sake, make the smart choice and please, please, stop driving drunk.