Our Installment of Home Alone (but only for a couple minutes…)

Before I share the anecdote at hand, I found out today that if I cared about my personal stories getting out to people I know that I should be a bit more careful in the information I provide.  I received an e-mail this morning from Carol, one of our marketing gurus, letting me know that Google Blog Alerts had my posts all over her computer screen.  Not really knowing anything about this whole blog alert thing, I e-mailed back that I didn’t know what she was talking about.  As it turns out, if I mention the company’s name that I work for, then it pops up on her computer, since she tracks any discussion going on about us in the blogosphere.  Lord only knows where else in the company it popped up, so for all I know the story about me wearing my wife’s pants (accidentally!) could be working its way up the ranks this very moment.

Fortunately for you, and for me I think, I lack pride.  I like myself, and me being an idiot every now and then adds to my appeal, I believe.  If you can’t laugh at yourself, I think your life is not as good as it otherwise could be.  So, Carol at TRAVEL GUARD, enjoy the next anecdote!

Wendy has actually covered this briefly on http://thebluehouse.wordpress.com a few days ago.  But it’s a fun story, so I’ll share my version of it here.  

Before I start, though, I want to assure everyone that not much time elapsed.  Unfortunately, people today are so freaking paranoid and ready to pounce on every little innocent mistake parents make (especially parents of larger families) that I almost hesitate to share this story.  People have lost their sense of humor and have elevated expectations of parents to the point of ridiculousness.  That’s my story, and I’m sticking with it.

Anyway, last Sunday the family was getting ready for Sunday Mass, when something unusual happened…  we lost track of time and needed to scramble in order to get going in time.  (You may have caught the sarcasm in that whole “something unusual” remark…)  It seems like, no matter how much time we actually have, we manage to not have enough.   I don’t know how that happens.

Well, a few things were in confluence on this day that made us scramble.  I had to get Tillie (our dog) into the kennel, and then realized at the last minute that our car seats and booster seats and all that stuff needed to be transferred to the big, honkin’, white cargo van.

Just as I left the house to take care of that, I heard Wendy tell the boys to get their coats and shoes and such on and get out into the van. So, I was frantically moving seats, the kids were frantically scurrying out the door and getting into the van, and finally Wendy came out and got into the van, while I looked at the clock and lamented that we may not make it in time for the start of Mass.

After taking a deep breath or two and relaxing, as Wendy continued tradition by putting her make-up on in the van as we were driving, we were finally in control. Just as I was trying to figure out how much of Mass we would miss if our Priest started Mass 2 minutes early like he always does, the 7-year-old (AJ) turned to speak with the 2-year-old (TM) who sits right next to him. “Hey , look at… Hey! Where’s T.M.?”

Collectively, everyone in the van said, “What?!”

Wendy turned around. No TM.

Fortunately, it had only been a couple minutes. Our road is about a mile and a half to the first turn, and we were maybe halfway down the road. And, of course, I turned around immediately. Visions of screaming TM, psychologically crushed that we left him behind, danced through our heads. We pulled back into our driveway, Wendy hustled inside, and the rest of us waited. We waited a little longer. Finally, after waiting some more, mother and son were reunited with the rest of the family.

As it turns out, TM was up in a far corner of the house taking care of a little business of his own. Wendy had to take care of that odorous business before coming back outside. He never even knew we were gone (thankfully).

It would have made a better story had we not figured it out until we reached the Church, but it’s a good thing for all involved that didn’t happen. Plus, I probably wouldn’t share the story if that had happened. And no, we didn’t miss Mass, though we had to go to a different church.

From now on, though, maybe we need a pull-tab system or something to let us know that everyone has left the building.

“There’s Poop on the Refrigerator”

Under the list of proclamations that a man doesn’t particularly care to hear, this one ranks right up there.  Nonetheless, this was the information provided by my four year old last evening. 

Fortunately, he was referring to a play refrigerator in the bedroom.  Apparently, the two year old overextended his diaper and then brushed up against the big plastic fridge before he was caught and changed.  

Upon further investigation, however, I did not see a mere smudge, but a glob. 

Ah, parenthood.   You pretty much know what you’re going to get, you just don’t know quite how you’re going to get it.

The Story of an Idiot, his Truck, and his Wife

A true story about a man and his truck, ignoring a comment from his wife – an inaction that would come back to haunt him – and multiple idiotic decisions that culminate in that man spending a lot of money on what should have been unnecessary repairs.

 

The following events occurred about two years ago.  I share them now because I never posted about them, and the story is a good one (even if it colors me as a moron.)  With the passage of time, the specific conversations may not be perfectly remembered, but the events as they unfolded have in no way been exaggerated.

 

As I have alluded to in the past, we have a camper parked on a permanent site in northern Wisconsin.  Before winter hits full-force here, we must embark on a trek to drain the pipes and add anti-freeze, get the site cleaned up and any perishables taken home.

 

It was the month of October, and cold weather was around the corner.  I had set the date for heading up north and winterizing the camper.   The plan was to take the truck, a 1996 Ford F-150 (in very good condition), up the following weekend and take care of business.   I would bring the air compressor and blow out the lines, and do all the other stuff I needed to do.  Wendy would come along, as well, and we’d make a day of it.   It’s a 2 and a half hour drive, so it would be a long day of driving.

 

It is in this context that the fateful events began to accumulate, as follows:

 

SCENE: Ford F-150 parked in the driveway, idling.  Wendy and Joe are present.

 

Wendy:  What’s that noise?

Joe: What noise?

Wendy: I hear a noise on the truck.

[Joe listens, and finally notices a very slight but distinct rattle.   It sounds like nothing unusual.  He thinks to himself “sounds like a little rattle with the fan.  I’ve heard it a hundred times before.”]

Joe: That?  It’s fine.

Wendy: Don’t you think you should get it looked at before we go up to the camper?

Joe: No.  It’s no big deal.  I’ll have them check it next time I take it in for an oil change.

Wendy: [with that tone…   you know the one…] Oookaaay.

 

SCENE:   A couple days later, as we’re sitting in front of the computer, looking at the weather.

 

Wendy: It’s going to snow up north.

Joe: Well, I can’t get up there until the weekend.  I’m sure it will melt before then.

Wendy: What about the pipes?

Joe: I doubt the water will all freeze through that quickly, but even if it does it should melt by the weekend.  It’s supposed to warm up a bit by then.

 

SCENE: Saturday arrives and Wendy and I travel up north to the camper.  As we get closer, we realize that there is more and more snow still on the ground.   We had received nothing at all where we live.  We pull into the campground with about 8 inches of snow on the ground. 

 

Wendy and Joe:  Uh oh.

 

SCENE: As we pull up to the camper, it is covered in snow.   We manage to get the snow off the awning, which thankfully had not broken.  We also manage to get everything done that we need to get done, with the exception of one brutal detail…  the pipes are frozen solid.   It’s not cold enough yet to worry about them bursting, but nonetheless it means that we cannot clear them out.  This means that I will need to make another trip as soon as the weather warms up enough to melt the ice, which really sucks.  Due to the fact that I have to make another trip up anyway, I decide to leave the boat up there, since it was full of snow.  We drive back home, finishing our long day.

 

SCENE: Three days later, immediately after work, I leave to go finish closing the camper.  It had warmed nicely.  It was 5 PM when I left, and if all goes well I hope to be back home by 11:30 PM or so.   I decide to use the time in prayer.   I decided to say all 20 decades of the 4 mysteries of the Rosary.  I did two mysteries on the ride up.   I arrive, and find that the pipes had indeed melted.  After about an hour and a half of finishing the camper and hooking up my boat, I’m back on the road as scheduled.   Over the next hour and a half, I get the other two mysteries of the Rosary completed.

 

Joe [finishing his final prayer]: Amen. [Immediately upon saying this word, the battery light pops on.  I’m not kidding about the timing.]

 

ASIDE: Now, I must relate why I did what I next did.  I have had two other instances in my driving life where the battery light came on.   In both of those instances, my alternator had stopped working.  The alternator charges the battery, so when it stops working it means that you will not be able to restart your car or truck if you stop and turn it off.   In addition, it means you will have limited life with your lights and other electrical devices that are run by the battery.  Therrefore, in my genius, the following thoughts entered my head…

 

Joe: [thinking] The battery light?  My alternator must have stopped working.   I had better put this on cruise, and then I’ll turn down all the interior lights to preserve battery life.

 

ASIDE: Now, the ramifications of this brilliant move will soon become apparent.  But what this meant to me as a driver was that I could not see any of my gauges.  Since I was on cruise, I didn’t need to see the speedometer, so I thought it was no big deal.  I thought wrong.  To make matters worse, I was in the middle of a construction zone where I had no place to pull over even had I wanted to.  But in reality, I never considered that.  And so I went on my merrily way, hoping to get home – now about an hour away – before I lost my lights or ran out of gas.

 

SCENE: Now about 45 minutes from home, my engine shuts down and I start coasting. 

 

Joe: [Steering off to the side of the interstate]What the heck?

 

SCENE: Truck stops.  You’ve seen pictures of the steam erupt from Mount St. Helens?  That was the front of my truck as I stopped.  Strange noises, too, as if the whole thing were going to explode.   Clearly, this was not going as planned.  After letting this sink in, it becomes clear that I am stranded here.   The next few minutes are filled with the phone calls necessary to secure a tow truck.

 

WHAT HAPPENED (in case you don’t already know): The battery light went on because it wasn’t being charged.  But this was NOT because the alternator stopped working because of its own malfunction.  Instead, the serpentine belt snapped.  This belt drives the alternator that in turn charges the battery.  But the other thing the belt does is it runs the water pump.   And because I turned down all my interior lights, I never noticed that the engine was getting hotter and hotter until I saw that fateful steam emitted from under the hood.   Older vehicles do not have a fail-safe that kicks in an auto shut-down, so it was not until I basically just melted the whole works that I knew something was wrong.  By then all the damage was done.

 

Joe: [calling Wendy]  Hi, honey.

Wendy: Hi.  So did you get everything closed up OK?

Joe: Yeah.

Wendy: Oh, good.  When do you think you’ll get home?

Joe:  Um… there’s a problem.   You need to come and pick me up.

Wendy:  What?  What happened?

Joe: [After explaining it all and providing location] So, a tow truck is supposed to be hear in a half-hour or so.  Can you get here by then?

Wendy: [Clearly annoyed because 5 kids must be awakened and tossed into a cold vehicle, and she must now drive for half an hour and it’s 11 PM.   I don’t see the big deal, personally…] All right.  I’ll get there as soon as I can.

 

SCENE: About half an hour later, Wendy pulls up and turns on the hazard lights.  The tow truck has not yet arrived.   In the meantime, I have unhooked the boat.  Wendy pulls in behind the truck, and we sit there and wait.   After some small talk, and me apologizing and being mad, the following exchange occurs.

 

Daughter #2 – Eight years old at the time:  Mommy says that if you just would have listened to her, we wouldn’t be here right now.

Wendy: <Name of daughter!>  You weren’t supposed to tell him that!

 

SCENE: Tow truck arrives.  Payment is made.  I am told where it will be delivered.  As the tow truck pulls away, I get in the minivan.  I turn the key.

 

Nothing.

 

The battery is dead.  I had known before this that I needed a new battery.  I didn’t realize how bad it was, and that flashers blinking for 20 minutes would drain it.  

 

Immediately, I jump out to try and flag down the tow truck.  It’s pitch dark outside, and he does not see me.

 

Stranded again, now with the whole family.

 

I just laugh.  Why not?  What else can you do?   I call the police.

 

Joe: [after embarrassingly explaining how I got in this situation] So, are you able to send a car to jump-start me?

Police station woman: I’m sorry we don’t do that.  But I’d be happy to send a tow truck.

Joe: Darn.  I just had a tow truck.

Police Station Woman: Well, we don’t do that, so you need another one.

Joe: All right.  Send a two truck.

 

SCENE: In the meantime, a police officer pulls up behind me to see what the trouble is.  

 

Police Officer: Do you need help with anything?

Joe: Well, I’m waiting for a tow truck to jump-start my vehicle.  It’s on its way.

Police Officer: Why is there a boat in front of the van?

Joe: It’s mine.  Let me explain…  [Explanation ensues.  He looks at me with a combination of incredulity of my stupidity and disbelief.   He leaves to check on the boat.  He must have received what he needed, because he didn’t question it after that.]

Police Officer: I’ll stay parked behind you until the truck arrives.

 

SCENE: The truck finally arrives.  He jump-starts me.  I pull in front of the boat and hook up.  It is now past midnight.

 

The taillights on the boat do not go on.

 

You’ve got to be kidding.  There is a police officer standing here, and my freakin’ taillights on the boat won’t work.  They worked before, for crying out loud.

 

Police Officer: You can’t drive it like this.

Joe: So, what am I supposed to do?

Police Officer: Well, pull it back into town [points back to the exit I had just passed, less than a mile away] and take it to so-and-so shop.  You’ll have to leave it there.

 

ASIDE: No laughing anymore.  That really, really sucks.   But, for one wonderful moment, fate turned in my favor.

 

Police Officer: I just got a call.  I think you have it from here.

Joe: Yep.  Thanks.

 

SCENE: Police Officer leaves.   I get in the van.  I do NOT turn around.  Screw that.   I’m normally one to follow the rules, but enough is enough.  I finally arrive at home with the family at 1 AM.   Somewhere along the way, the boat taillights had decided the joke had gone on long enough, because they were working when I got home.

 

POST-LUDE: I fried the motor.  It was unsalvageable.  I had it towed to a shop I know and trust in the town where I live.   They all agreed that I “really did quite a job on it.”  They also agreed that turning my interior lights off was pretty stupid, and that this could have been taken care of by simply replacing a belt.  It would have cost me between $75 and $100 dollars.  It ended up costing me almost $3000. 

 

Wendy, for the rest of her life, has this story to hang over my head.

 

It’s all very humbling.

My 2008 Christmas Letter

Greetings and salutations to all of you! (That means, “hello.”) Merry Christmas!

So, I just put up a bunch of Christmas lights (Wendy granted permission for me to actually decorate the way I wanted!) and read a bunch of cards and letters that we have received this week (no permission required). I felt inspired to sit down and write to you all! But since I’m not sure what I’m going to say, that first couple sentences was what I call “buying time” while a thought or two strikes me.

I suppose I’ll start with where I left off last year, and hope this letter gets a little better. As you may or may not recall, last year we announced the expected birth of a seventh little “bundle of joy.” So, at the time of last year’s letter, we had six munchkins making loud noises and causing physical damage to things in our home, and another one on the way. It is in this context that we decided, for reasons I still don’t understand, to get a dog. But I put my foot down on this, and laid down very specific requirements, as follows: (1) some sort of hound (explanation: hounds look funny. If I’m going to have a dog lying around, I want to look at it and laugh. I’m a simple man amused by simple things.) (2) already housebroken, and (3) cheap.

Well, we found a dog that seemed perfect for us! OK, so maybe not all of my requirements were satisfied… An overly expensive pure-bred black lab puppy that had not yet set foot inside a house. Her name is Tillie. She’s big, dumb, and happy. The kids love her. I, um, do too. Really. Now, I will say this for her… she’s great with the kids. Not that we encourage pulling tails and ears and trying to ride dog-back, but she pretty much just lays there and lets them do whatever they want.

I cannot let mention of the 2007-08 Packers reaching the NFC Championship game pass. (Get it? Pass. Hahaha. I slay myself sometimes.) I went to the Seattle game where it snowed about 200 inches in half an hour (perhaps a slight exaggeration) and between the win, the weather, and it being the playoffs it is probably the most memorable game I’ve ever been to. We won’t talk about the NFC Championship game except to say that the temperature was insanely cold.

There’s not much to share on our activities through May 2008. Wendy was expecting, and the weather was cold and wet. Somehow in there, with the help of my dad, we got our garden planted. Then, thanks to Wendy’s parents and some dear friends, we finally managed to finish redoing our kitchen, only 9 months after we started! Then, June came. <name of newest addition> entered the outside world. The sun came out. Warm weather arrived. A distant chorus of angels could be heard. Life was good.

Whoa… I think Wendy just spanked <boy #4>. It’s hard to believe that one of our angelic kids is misbehaving!

Where was I? Oh, yeah. <boy #5>… Born on June 14 (Flag Day! My favorite holiday of all time…A real patriot, that boy.) He weighed in at 9 lbs, 3 oz. You may be inclined to think that he was a big boy. In truth, he ranks as our second smallest kid at birth. The little wimp.

The day of his birth is a good story. Wendy informed me that she “felt funny.” “Funny” here is defined as having contractions that were unlike the six other times we’ve been through this. I was then informed that we needed to go into town and buy a car seat. To recap, my wife is in labor, we needed to get to a hospital 30 miles in the opposite direction of <our town>, and somehow we managed to wait until “Labor Day” to get around to getting a new car seat? Yeah. Welcome to our family.

Well, we left <oldest daughter> (12 is babysitting age! Hooray for us!) in charge of the kids while we went to get the car seat. But in the 12 feet between our house door and the minivan, Wendy decided – this was a fluid situation, so to speak – to call the midwife woman with whom she had consulted with occasionally. She agreed to check Wendy, and it was soon verified that Wendy was indeed moving along in her labor and should go to the hospital. After a quick call to my mom to let her know it was time to come on over to stay with the kids, we drove to <birth city>, and contractions are, like, two minutes apart. As I am about to drive past K-Mart, Wendy says “where are you going?” I’m all like, “Where do you think I’m going? I’m going to the hospital!” And she’s all like, “But we need to get a car seat!” You see, if we had not stopped, it would mean that I would have been solely responsible for picking the car seat out. This, apparently, was more of a risk in my wife’s mind than the risk of giving birth in aisle 12 of K-Mart. And so, we stopped. We got the car seat. Wendy had to stop every couple minutes because contractions were so strong she couldn’t keep moving. So, she immediately went back to the car, right? Wrong. No, first we needed to stop and pick out swimsuits for the girls! Lord knows that couldn’t have waited…

Well, somehow, we managed to get to the hospital before any of the gross stuff happened. Please, if you are expecting a baby, when you go into labor, do not try this at home. Please leave it to a professional.

So here we were, with seven kids. Who’d a thunk it? Soon, we came to the realization that if we all wanted to travel together as a family, we’d have to strap one of the kids to the top of the minivan. While an enticing thought, the authorities made it clear that this is not socially acceptable. So, while gas was over $4/gallon, we were the only people in America looking for a 12-passenger van. We bought a white one. Let me tell you, nothing says “cool” like a big, honkin’ white cargo van. It gets negative gas mileage, but we can now travel together without risking arrest, or bugs getting caught in one of the kids’ teeth.

In early July I was finally able to go open the camper we have up nort dere, hey. The month of May was so cold and rainy that we didn’t want to go then, and Wendy didn’t want to travel the two weeks before she was due or the two weeks after giving birth. But we were in a conundrum, because the only way everyone could sleep in the camper was to either sleep standing up or to lie on top of each other. Well, that might sound good to me, but Wendy was having none of it (something about, “that’s how we got into this in the first place.”) We had a decision to make: (1) keep the current camper and go up in shifts, (2) buy a different camper that could accommodate our small army, (3) get a cabin, or (4) nix the camper/cabin.

A cabin was out of the question due to a little something I like to call “we can’t afford it.” As the suggestion of “nix the camper” made its way through the house – news travels quickly around here – it was made known that this was not a desirable option. Long story short: we found a fair deal on a nice camper that could sleep all of us comfortably. By the time we got it later in the summer, we were only able to use it a couple times, but we loved it and look forward to next season.

It was another successful gardening year, particularly with potatoes and tomatoes. We canned over 150 quarts of tomato sauces, soups, and juices among other crops. Note to selves: not as many tomatoes next year… But we love having all this home-grown food to enjoy.

As for each of us, from smallest to biggest:
· <boy #5> is 6 months old, smiling, sitting, crawling, and in the process of sucking on his toes. While I don’t want to suck my toes, it would be cool to actually be able to physically do that if I ever wanted to.

· <boy #4> has graduated from grunting to using vowels. While I still can’t understand him 99% of the time, this improvement has us hopeful that he does in fact have a brain, and that this brain will someday let him know that consonants are not only allowed, but encouraged. One positive indication of brain activity is his fascination with the Green Bay Packers and his constant desire to toss the football around.

· <boy #3> managed to make it a full year without going to the Emergency Room. He still does things like running full speed into things… on purpose. We don’t know why.

· <boy #2> in his own words: “I’m strong, right Daddy?” “I did a good job, right Mommy?” “I’m smart, right?” As good parents, we answer these questions with affirmation, even if the honesty of our response is a little dubious.

· <boy #1>, while still engaging in maddeningly annoying behavior, the kid has surprised us by his desire to learn. He likes Piano and does well at his reading and math. Now, if only he could finish his chores without declaring how tired he is and how much his legs hurt. We reminded him of these failings for his First Reconciliation in December. [He] did play baseball this year for the first time and, as an infielder, mastered the art of sifting sand through the web of his glove.
· <girl #2> is such a sweetie. Either that, or compared to the boys, we’re starved for anything resembling good behavior. [She] can be found underneath her 40,000 stuffed animals, reading, drawing, or playing outside when she defines her schedule. Schoolwork, piano practice, and chores cramp her style, but we make her do them anyway.

· <girl #1> has become our saving grace this year with her ability and willingness to baby-sit. Wendy and I can now actually spend some time alone together (OK, “alone” to us is only having <boy #5>…) It’s weird, though. We go out, and we look at each other and kind of say “Now what?” We’re not used to this. <girl #1> continues to flourish at Piano and Violin and really does embody the stereotypical thing about the oldest kid being the most responsible. She’s growing up too fast – she’ll be a teen next year! I have informed her that she is not allowed to grow up any more. I think she thinks I’m joking.

· Wendy is still homeschooling the kids and all is going well. I pitch in occasionally, but she does all the planning, research, curriculum and most of the teaching, so she deserves the credit. With that, of course, comes the blame if our kids turn out to be morons. Since she doesn’t go to work and doesn’t really do all that much around here, she decided to start up a 4-H group with a couple other people this fall. We learned that, when you let kids vote on the name, you end up with something like “The Howling Huskies.” And yes, I’m joking about her not doing anything. She does get me slippers and beer upon request.

· Me (Joe): Yes, I work for an AIG company, though we prefer to simply be called “<company name>” these days. I’m guessing I don’t have to explain why. Yet, with everything going on with the company and the economy, work is going surprisingly well and I feel blessed to be there. In other news, my fantasy football teams are horrible. So, Wendy went on this freaky diet and I decided that my life would be less miserable if I went on it with her than if I didn’t (if you know what I mean). The best way I can explain this stupid diet is: close your eyes, and think of something you really enjoy eating. Put a red “X” over it, because I can’t have it. Now think of something else. I can’t have that either. Now, think of a staple food that all normal people eat. Forget it, I can’t have that, either. And there you go… our new diet. We are, of course, doing this over Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years. Why? Because we believe in making life as difficult as humanly possible, that’s why. But I have a plan. Mom is freezing Christmas cookies and cinnamon rolls for me at Christmas. Come February 5, it’s cookie day for Joey.

We said good-bye to Wendy’s Grandfather, <his name>, who passed away this year. We will always remember his love for story-telling, joke-telling (always the long version) and propensity for singing some old song that fit into the occasion. He will be missed this Christmas.

With love and wishes for a joyous Christmas, celebrating the birth of our Lord, and a blessed 2009!

Joe , Wendy (40), the kids, and Tillie (the dumb dog)

It just gets louder…

In today’s society, those of us with “large” families kind of stick out.  We have seven children.  A few years ago, I would ahve considered this a large family, and I suppose I still do a little bit.  But the truth is, you get used to it.  It’s not like we sit around on a daily basis and think to ourselves, “Wow…  how’d this happen?  (um, and yes, we do what causes it, thank you very much for asking…).  We go on with our lives like everyone else does and we play the hand we’ve been dealt and we adjust.  

It’s kind of interesting how the perception of “what we can handle” changes as time goes on.  Back when we had two kids, having four or five seemed like a remarkably difficult thing.   When we had three, five or six seemed insane.   When we had four, six or seven seemed ridiculous to imagine.  This continued on merrily until we’re here today with seven kids and now the thought of nine or ten seems like it’s too much too handle.   We’re now to the point where if a couple of our kids visit Granpa and Grandma for a weekend and we “only” have five, we’re like “This isn’t even parenting!  What a piece of cake!”

Anyway, back to the culture we live in, where having four kids is considered insurmountable odds.   I can’t complain, in general, about the response I receive when I am asked about my family.  Oh, I hear all those “tongue-in-cheek” comments about getting fixed or what-not from the occasional person, but all in all people react with a mix of appreciation and astonishment.  The conversation inevitably has some variation of the phrase “That’s great that you can do it.   I never could.”

When asked how I can handle all of them, my general answer is that because the oldest kids actually grow and are taught to assist and be responsible and stuff, you kind of reach this critical mass of work around the four or five kid mark.   After that, it just gets louder.

I don’t think people really believe me, but it’s true.   I think what people can’t get past is that I am not saying the work ends or alleviates any time soon.  I’m not saying it’s not a sacrifice.  I’m not saying that I will be saddened the last day I ever put on a diaper.  I’m not saying that my wife isn’t tied down in many ways to a nursing baby.  What I am saying is you reach a point where there’s only so much you can do, and you make determinations about what is really important for you, your family, and your children.  And in the end, I really believe the whole group is all the happier for it. 

We don’t buy in to certain cultural norms that seem to think it’s cute or OK for the kids to fight with or not like each other.  The kids need special permission to exclude their family members from activities they are engaging in.  The norm is that we don’t do that.  I can honestly say that all of our kids like all their brothers and sisters (not that there aren’t certain times where they get mad at each other.  That would be crazy talk.)  All in all, we have really tried to strike a balance between letting them be kids and giving them responsibility.

I think it also actually helps that we homeschool.  People can’t seem to grasp that homeschooling may be a huge commitment, but it’s probably less stressful overall than running around to all the different school activities and teachers conferences while holding a job and trying to worry about daycare and all those things.  For as many questions as I get about “How do you do it?” I look at what other people are doing, which is the accepted norm, and I ask, “How do you do it?”  You can say whatever you want about the reasons for or against homeschooling, but what i can tell you is that we have plenty of friends who have otherwise good kids, and the parents are becoming frustrated at the attitude these kids pick up from their peers.  It doesn’t have to be big stuff, but it pretty much comes down to “I’m the center of the Universe, you and the rest of the family should cater to my needs, and by the way, you’re really kind of dumb and don’t understand me.”   Obviously, it’s not every kid, but there are enough stories of that where I look at my own family and think “Thanks God.”

Now, I’m not an idiot, even though I play one on the internet.   I realize that these young skulls do think on their own and at some point may well think I’m dumb, or too strict, or whatever.  But I think we can work with that and teach them that they have a right to opinions, but there is an expectation of respect.   That will be enough to deal with without them getting fed all sorts of garbage from their peer group.

But I digress a bit, as I often do.  

I guess I just want to present reality to people from someone who has been there.  If you think my wife and I went into our marriage thinking “Wouldn’t it be great to have 7 kids?” then you’re wrong.  We were caught up in things like many others and placed ourselves and our own plans and goals ahead of such frivolous foolishness like actually bringing more life into the world.  And while our attitude on that changed markedly over time, with every step along the way we admittedly did not necessarily think to ourselves that this is the greatest thing since sliced bread.  Announcements of newly expected kids were met with a combination of joy, anxiety, questioning, nervousness, fear, excitement, and a general hope that we would be able to keep our sanity.    But as with most things, once you accept it and move on, you realize that not only can you handle it, but it’s a huge blessing.

I don’t accept it when the people say to me “I couldn’t do it.”   No, really, you choose not to do it (unless you have a physical impediment or other major issue to deal with).   Just be honest about it.  If you had to do it, you could.  You may not beleive it, but you may actually like it. 

A larger family forces you into choices that bring about simplicity.  But I see this as a positive.   One of the reasons why parents with two kids can’t imagine having more kids these days is because they have the kids involved in every damn thing that comes along.   Any parent with two or three kids in hockey aroound here puts nearly every weekend on the shelf for about six months.  You want insane?  That’s insane.   Every kid needs to be in music lessons, dance, three sports, on top of daycare and school activities.  Everything is scheduled.   It’s no  wonder the idea of more kids is incomprehensible. 

I’m here to tell you that you are not doing your kids a disservice by saying “You can pick one thing.  When you get older, we’ll talk about whether or not you can do more than one thing.”   Our kids are not being run all over the place.  We tell them to go outside, even if they don’t want to.  Inevitably, they build a fort or ride their bikes, or sled in the snow.  They act like kids unconcerned about a schedule of events.  Video games are severely restricted.  We have a Sony Playstation 1, and about the only games we have are football, scrabble, a racing game, and the old classics like Pac-Man and Centipede and stuff.  They are allowed to play it only on Sundays, and only when it’s raining or severely cold.   In other words, they play it maybe a half-dozen times a year. 

This lack of access to a gameboy and a relatively unscheduled life allows and forces them to do things like read, or play, or pretend, or practice piano, or go camping, or do homework.   What a concept.

But I think I’m digressing again…

I’ll wrap it up now.  But, in the spirit of recognizing that all these little packets of energy can really tap your own energy, I leave you with my personal mantra:   “The years fly by, but the days seem to last forever.”

Momisms, Part 1

I love my mom.  Always have, always will.  But the dear old lady has a penchant for turning phrases around or just getting things wrong in the most humorous of ways.  I, along with my brothers and sisters, have always said that we need to write theses things down.   Tonight, I start.   I expect that I will continue to have revelations as time goes on.  When those occur, I will be sure to throw out a quick post with whatever the new momism of the day is.  Most certainly, new ones are to happen, as well.

I start with a few quick hits, and end with the most embarrassing momism on record.

First, some quotes:

“Well, you know what they say.   You can lead a cow to water, but you can’t make it drink.”   Perhaps this is to be forgiven, since she has spent her entire married life on a dairy farm.

For my non-farm friends, a little explanation is in order for the next momism.  When farmers make the first hay of the season, it is called “first crop.”  Then, the hay will grow back so that later in the season it can be cut again as “second crop.”  In some years, if the growing season is long enough and weather allows, the hay may reach harvest-able height once again, for “third crop.”  Logic dictates that you cannot have third crop until a second crop has occurred.  Logic is not my mom’s strongest suit.  And so the next momism happened in a year where the weather was not cooperating, and the first crop hay was being harvested much later than usual: “Boy, by the time you get the first crop hay in, you’ll have to go straight to third crop!”

This is an adult-oriented story.  I apologize in advance for something that may not be appropriate for all ages.  But the story is a true momism, and one that must be shared.  I trust you will understand.

My mom has a standing hair appointment at 10:00 am on Friday mornings.  This has been a staple of her existence for as long as I can remember.  I long ago stopped trying to figure out what the draw in this is, but I think it has more to do with the fact that the hairdresser in the small town in which I grew up is the hub of all information much more than it actually has to do with getting her hair done.

On one of these many days, my mom had gotten a wash or something.  All I know is that the woman was blow-drying her hair.  My mom apparently thought she was doing a fine job, and said, “Boy, you sure give a good blow job.”

The place erupted into laughter.  My mom, who didn’t have a clue what she had just said, wanted to know what was so funny.  It didn’t take them long to realize that this dear old woman truly didn’t know what a blow job was. 

And, so, my mom came home trying to figure out what it could possibly be.  The first victim was my older brother, who refused to answer her question, and was horrified that she had asked him such a thing, and also that she had said such a thing in public.  Well, I guess that made her figure out that this is probably a bit too sensitive for a mother-son conversation, so she asked my dad.   I did not witness that, but word has it he busted out laughing that she actually made this statement, and then shared with her the embarrassing details of it all, which she was then shocked and appalled at.

But she wasn’t done.  Here I was, probably 13-14 years old at the time.  I remember lying on my back on the kitchen floor tossing a ball up into the air (trying to see how close I could come to the ceiling without touching it.  Man, I was a crazy kid…).  Who would have guessed that my mom, who was standing there with a contemplative look on her face, would utter the question, “Joe…  Do you know what a blow job is?”

I was raised to be honest.  But I wanted to lie.  I wanted my words to be, “Why, no mother.  I have never heard of such a thing.  Has it, perchance, anything to do with furnace repair?”  But I did not.  I stammered.  It was obvious that I knew,  I could not hide it.  At this point, I had not heard the story of my mother’s embarrassing appointment.  I did not know where this was going, and didn’t particularly want to get involved in this conversation.   But I finally responded, “Uhhhhhhhh…   yeah…”

What followed was a confusing verbal chastisement about how I shouldn’t know what that is.  She was angry.   I know she wasn’t angry at me for having heard of it, she was angry at society for making me aware of it.  I see that now.  But as a 14 year old, I was freakin’ confused about why I was getting yelled at.  She finally must have felt like she needed to share the story with me as to what brought all this up.  I remember thinking it was funny.  I’m not sure she appreciated that.  But I was also relieved at that point to know why this had suddenly become the Saturday morning post-breakfast subject of choice. 

I am not quite sure I have done justice to the story.  This has lived in infamy.  Despite its adult subject matter, it has been a story long told at Thanksgiving tables or family gatherings (usually just among the adults, of course).  One thing about my mom is she’s a good sport.  She knows she has her moments, and she laughs at herself.

Nothing says ‘cool’ like a big honkin’ white Cargo Van

Originally posted at http://digitaldiatribes.wordpress.com on July 22, 2008.

As you might imagine, we’ve been busy lately. Any time you add another little tyke to the brood you can expect to have your schedule tossed upside-down a bit. But a lot of the things that are keeping us busy aren’t necessarily the actual care of the little guy as much as it is indirectly related to simply having the little guy. (“Little” is relative. While little compared to you and me, he was born over 9 lbs and has put on a whopping pound per week. Last night, at 5 weeks, he weighed in at 14 pounds. He’s an eater!)

As for the title of this post, let’s start there. When we were expecting our sixth child, we shuffled our Pontiac Montana seats around and found three bucket seats for the second row so that we could fit six kids in. Later, we picked up a Chevy Venture with the same capability. I did this because the second vehicle was a Dodge Intrepid with a gazillion miles on it and I figured that we’d be seeing that car die some day, and the Venture was a pretty good deal at the time. As fate would have it, the Intrepid hasn’t died yet, and now I’m stuck with two minivans, an Intrepid, and a Ford Truck.

But that’s not all. Enter child #7.

Well, this just threw my plans awry. We can still use the minivans when it’s just Wendy or me driving the kids around. Our oldest can sit in the front and we’re good to go. But when it’s all of us, this no longer works. Enter the coolest possible vehicle someone would ever want to own… the big, white, 12-passenger, cargo van. It’s truly a sight to behold.

The coolest vehicle in the world.

Now, I’m – ridiculously – a five vehicle family. Fear not, I want to rid myself of at least 2 vehicles at this point. I’m thinking the Intrepid now goes and the truck. I’m currently working on finding a home for both. I may even ditch one of the minivans, but if I do that it would be replaced by a car that gets better gas mileage. The big honking van is to be driven only when necessary, because I think it actually gets negative gas mileage.

Anyway, let’s get back to this monstrosity that is now our new vehicle (new meaning “new to us.” It’s a 2006.)

Let’s just say that we were probably the only ones in America looking for something like this with $4/gallon gasoline. And while I think we got a reasonable deal on it, I anticipate more than making that up over time. I think a vehicle that actually runs by burning dollar bills may be more fuel efficient. And we’re just thrilled to death about the color: white. Seriously, I know other colors are out there, but we looked and looked and waited and waited and we just did not find anything we liked that was in decent shape that was anything but white. What gives with the white? I’d like to have flames or something painted on the hood. Yeah… that would be cool.

But I haven’t gotten to the best part. Once again, it is a story of me being an idiot.

You see, the day we bought it, Wendy picked me up over lunch, and then I drove back to work while she drove home with the new van. After work, predictably enough, I went home. I see the van parked outside. I question why this is the case, and I find out that it was like a museum of the day for our kids. Kids are great. If it’s new, it’s interesting. Even a big white van. Well, as I’m standing outside looking at how tall this thing actually is, and comparing it to our garage door, I started wondering if it would actually fit inside. Not one to think things through as I always should, I decide to measure the door and then measure the van… actually that’s a lie. I didn’t think to do that. So, what I really did was call Wendy out so she could watch to make sure it would make it… actually I didn’t think to do that either. No, here was my brilliant plan: “Hey, I’ll just drive it in really slow, and look up and listen really hard, and I’m sure that even if it starts to touch, nothing bad will happen.

This is the way I think. Surprisingly enough, it apparently works out for me enough so that I have an inability to always determine when it’s not a good approach.

So, here I am, looking like a fool, looking up and listening and driving forward as slowly as possible.

Sound effect: “Crunch.”

Me:

I’m thinking, “how could it crunch like that? I wasn’t going that fast!”

I suddenly realize that it was not the top of the van. It was the side. I look over to find that I had ripped the passenger mirror clean off. I had been focusing so much on the top of the van, that I completely forgot that I actually needed to pay attention to the sides. I mean, it wasn’t even close! I pulled that sucker off right from the base of the mirror.

This was about – oh – six hours after we bought it. It’s amazing how angry a person can get at himself. And it really stinks to have nobody but yourself to blame.

As it turns out, the van actually does fit. When driven in properly, that is.

And the mirror is still being held on by duct tape. Yeah… probably want to get that fixed one of these days.

Play by Play Arrival of the Newbie

Originally posted on http://digitaldiatribes.wordpress.com on June 18, 2008.

As I could have attested even prior to this, and as others reading this can certainly also understand, the last few days have been a whirlwind. Thankfully, all has been going extremely well. For friends and family who are checking in and haven’t had a chance to catch the details, here’s the scoop. For those of you who don’t care and just want the next global temperature update, I’m working on the NCDC spreadsheets when I can, and am close to getting something up. But bear with me over the next few days.

Saturday morning I had considered heading up north to clean up and open the camper (yes, we still haven’t done that, between schedules and cold/rainy weather). As it turned out, it was a long week and I was exhausted Friday evening, and slept like a rock. When Wendy woke up the next morning, she shut off the alarm and let me sleep in because something was feleing just a tad different than usual. So, my lovely wife gave me the gift of sleeping in, and needless to say, the camper still has not been visited upon.

Introducing #7!

Originally posted on http://digitaldiatribes.wordpress.com on June 15, 2008.

Please help me welcome our new little guy, #7. Mother and baby are doing great! Can’t imagine a better way to celebrate Father’s Day!

At 9 lbs, 1.5 oz. he’s actually tied for our second smallest!

Our Own Little China Syndrome (aka: 5 year olds can do dumb things)

Originally posted on http://digitaldiatribes.wordpress.com on May 20, 2008.

 

Changing gears from the direction this blog has been headed (all climate all the time), I decided to lighten the mood with some family updates. I’ll try to keep this entertaining enough for everyone, but always remember the cardinal rule here: it’s my blog and I can do what I want.

 

 

Anyway, it’s been so long since an update on the personal front that I don’t know quite where to begin, so I’ll just start throwing stuff out there.

 

 

First, child #7 is expected in June. My extended carbon footprint indeed makes me a nemesis of Al Gore and his minions. Shucks… what will I ever do? Through the miracle of ultrasound technology, we know that we are expecting a son. Another one. The fifth in a row. God does have a sense of humor.

 

 

So, while we anxiously await the new arrival, we’ve also been waiting out the weather. I think we’ve finally reached the point here where we can consider planting the garden. Those who started their plants inside have a definite advantage this year. Just two nights ago it dipped down to 30 degrees here, and we’re over a week behind the previous years in getting the garden going. It looks like there are finally consistent seasonal temps ahead and we’re hoping to catch up.

 

 

The other thing the cooler temps have accomplished has been keeping us at home a bit more. Normally by now we’ve gone up and opened up the camper, cleaned it up, and enjoyed a weekend away. While I like camping, I don’t enjoy freezing, and so we have not yet taken advantage of the meager second home. Plus, there is the logistical issue now of the size of our family, the size of the people in our family, an ever-expanding abdomen on my wife, and so on. We are thinking the whole camper thing may be going away after this year. It’s a tough call, but we’ll see how that plays out.