Personal Diatribes

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Archive for the ‘Holidays’ Category

My 2008 Christmas Letter

Posted by The Diatribe Guy on December 14, 2008

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)

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Valentine’s Day Redux

Posted by The Diatribe Guy on November 12, 2008

Originally posted on http://digitaldiatribes.wordpress.com on February 15, 2007.

In the office where I work, there are certain individuals/departments where candy is purchased and offered to the rest of us.  The other day I noticed that the jar was filled with Peanut Butter Easter Eggs.   I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that, in a world where Christmas is advertised prior to Halloween, I would see Easter being promoted before Lent even starts.  But surprised I was as I opened the wrapper and consumed the little treat.  (Hey, I may not understand why it has to be in the shape of an egg, but that won’t stop me from enjoying some chocolate and peanut butter.)

I bring this up because this is the world we live in, and I am now posting about Valentine’s Day.  By definition, the topic is already stale.  I had intended to post this yesterday, but believe it or not, more important things got in the way.  I know, I know…   Once you start a blog, there is nothing more important than your blog, right?   Well, I’m a rule-breaker.   In any case, here’s my strategy to make this post, um, unstale:  Consider this the opening salvo on preparing for Valentine’s Day 2008.  I’m simply getting a good start on next year.

I thought I’d just share our Valentine’s Day traditions with all of you.

There.  I’m done.

I’m sure by now, you have all determined that I am a sensitive guy.  So, it may surprise you that my wife and I have generally chosen not to celebrate Valentine’s Day.  It may be more accurate to say that I choose not to, and Wendy goes along with it happily.  Or at least pretends to be happy.

Now, lest you think I am a heartless jerk, I assure you that is not the case.   It’s more the forced nature of showing affection that has caused this personal stand of mine.  As I see it, buying a bunch of overpriced flowers and paying more for a card than should be legally allowed all because it’s February 14th means far less than offering the random “let me take you out to/bring home dinner” offer on, say, June 7 (a day which otherwise means nothing in particular).  Or surprising her with flowers (admittedly a very rare occurrence) on a random day.

Allow me to illustrate the frustrations us men go through with an example.  As a general rule, men pretty much lack the creativity gene.  Flowers are a safe bet, and so when the Rotary Club has their annual “a dozen roses for $15″ sale, the males among us believe that we can buy these cheap flowers, check that little item off our list of nice things we should do,  and the wife at home will be none the wiser.   The problem is, wives talk to other wives.  And when everyone gets roses on the same day it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to determine that the odds of this occurring are about as likely as gravity ceasing to exist.  And so, this purchase is looked upon in an almost humorous way and not received in the same way as a simple “I love you” is received.  (It has been reported to me, however, that despite this, certain men fear the consequences of not getting the dozen roses.  Better to be looked upon as a loyal lapdog than one who gives the appearance of not thinking their wife is worth $15.  Fortunately, Wendy is one who, while she appreciates and enjoys flowers, understands that they die and the money I spent is our money.)

In fact, this whole Rotary Club thing really hosed me once.  We were expecting our fifth child, and I thought that instead of waiting until the baby was born to purchase my traditional bouquet of roses, I would surprise her early on in the pregnancy with a beautiful array of a dozen roses from the finest flower shop in town.  It was the day of the delivery (of flowers, that is) and I was at work, anxiously awaiting a phone call from my sobbing wife who was overcome with the joy that came with relishing in the expression of undying love for her I had just sent (an expression that cost well over $50, by the way).  As the day went on, I started thinking that maybe she took the kids somewhere and wasn’t home when the flowers arrived, since I did not receive the call I had so utterly anticipated.  Finally, I called home to “check in.”  Hmmm….  yep, she was there.  After some normal small-talk and no mention of flowers, I finally asked if anything had come that day.  Her answer was, “Oh, yeah.  It must have been Rotary Flower day, huh?”

Nothing against the Rotary Club, but I’ve pretty much hated them ever since.  Talk about killing the moment.  Why not just add “Oh, and you’re a big, fat, bald loser who does math for a living.”

And that brings me back to Valentine’s Day.  To me, it’s like the Roatary Club flower sale, except that it’s a lot more expensive.  And while I do not deny that there is an element of obligation borne of love in celebrating it, there is a larger portion of obligation borne out of marketing, and dare I say outright fear.

Therefore, I have made my stand!  I prefer to think of my stand as that of a hopeless romantic who desires only the element of surprise.  Others may take a more cynical view, I suppose.

I will say that the day is not a complete loss.  Wendy celebrates it with the kids, and they make their cards, and it’s a lot of fun for them.  They learn about St. Valentine and they decorate and they make cookies and they eat candy.  They get cards from Grandma and Grandpas that they open and get all excited about.  So, it’s not like we’ve completely eschewed all things Valentine on any moral principle.  For more detail on their special day, check out http://thebluehouse.wordpress.com/2007/02/15/the-sun-has-set/.

Who knows?  Maybe someday I’ll really surprise my wife by actually getting her flowers on Valentine’s Day.  I just need to make sure it’s clear that they aren’t from the Rotary Club.

Posted in Holidays, Life, Love, Marriage, Relationships, Valentine's Day | Tagged: | Leave a Comment »

Groundhog Day

Posted by The Diatribe Guy on November 10, 2008

Originally posted on http://digitaldiatribes.wordpress.com on Feb 2, 2007

There truly is no better holiday than groundhog’s day. It is safe to say that, ever since the final present was opened on Christmas Day, this is the day we’ve all waited for. Forget New Year’s. You don’t wait for a furry little animal to prognosticate on New Year’s.

For 39 years now, I have taken out the lawn chair and set it outside in front of a hole in the ground. There is nothing like the excitement of waiting for the famed woodchuck to hobble out of its hole in 5 degree weather. And the kids just love it!

Unfortunately, for 39 years now, I have actually failed to see “George” (which is what I was prepared to call any groundhog that would have poked it’s cute little head from its underground abode.) But still, the memories will last a lifetime.

I remember that one Groundhog’s Day back in ‘92. Perched in front of that hole with camera in hand for 5 hours, I was embarrassed when a mole scurried out of the little opening in the ground. How shocked it was to see me sitting there like a member of the paparazzi! And how I chuckled when I realized that the hole I had staked out for four years prior to that was not a groundhog den! It was then that I researched the size of the hole a groundhog would make. Apparently I had been vastly underestimating it for some time.

Starting in 1993, then, a new confidence was born in me. So, I recited the age-old passage that would be sure to conjur up the spirit of the four-legged weather forecaster. It was something I read in a Dennis The Menace comic as a kid: How much ground could a groundhog grind if a groundhog could grind ground?

A mere 15 years later, this has not yet worked. And my toes froze this year, so I had to cut my time short. My TV tells me that all the groundhogs of high repute have forecasted an early spring.

Maybe next year, I’ll see for myself. Only 365 days until next February 2!

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