Buck Double is Big Trouble

For Christmas my grandma gave us a gift certificate at Wingers or, as I like to call it, Wieners.  The wife has never really been a huge fan of Wieners, but I’m easy and will take what I can get, especially if it’s free.  I happen to enjoy Wieners and it’s fun to say Wieners, so it was definitely a win-win for me.  Since the kids are out of school on Christmas break things get a little crazy at home.  Knowing the wife would be dying to get out of the house I thought last night would be the perfect opportunity to get some Wieners, even if we had to take the kids with us.

Before I continue it’s important for you to receive a little background on exactly what it’s like going out to dinner with our six kids.  Remember back in the day when you’d go to a restaurant and behind the counter they’d have a list of people not to receive checks from because they bounce?  Well, there’s a Mongolian BBQ restaurant in southern Utah with a picture of my family behind the counter identifying us as Undesirable Number 1, officially banning us from stepping foot on their property.   It was there a few years ago when Lunchmeat decided to have a meltdown, throw his red punch onto the floor, and be dragged out by his fuming father to go for a little ride in the car while the rest of the family finished dinner.  The wife had a look of shocked relief when the two of us returned alive.  Unfortunately, Lunchmeat isn’t the only one who behaves this way.  Once, I was grazed in the neck by a butter knife that landed on the table behind us right in the middle of another family’s dinner. 

Over the years, and through very painful experience, I have learned how to successfully survive a family dining experience.  Every child can be good for a certain amount of time.  The trick is to know the limit and to never reach that point.  For example, Lunchmeat’s limit is 22 minutes and 17 seconds.  At 22:18 something inside him snaps, forcing him to stand up and start wandering the restaurant.  Buck Double, on the other hand, has a much shorter limit of 13 minutes and 45 seconds.  As long as we arrive, eat and leave before those limits, we can usually leave the restaurant without anyone in tears.

How was I to know that last night would be the busiest Wieners has been since the chicken wing rush of ’93?  It took 11 minutes and 55 seconds for us to be seated so, knowing I’d have to improvise, I pointed out the basketball game on TV to Buck Double and let him steal his sister’s lemonade.  This strategy, nevertheless, proved fruitless as he lost control at exactly 13 minutes and 45 seconds.  Lunchmeat’s time expired as well before we had even received our food.  I distinctly remember telling him, “If you don’t stop bouncing on your seat you are going to get it.  What you’re going to get I don’t even know yet, but it’s going to make you cry.”  Needless to say, I didn’t enjoy Wieners quite as much as I was hoping I would last night.  Next time you are there, check behind the counter because you might just see my family picture.

Magic Happens

This all started when, after a win, former BYU receiver Austin Collie said, "When you're doing what's right on and off the field, I think the Lord steps in and plays a part; magic happens.”  This obviously infuriated University of Utah fans(don't get me started on how hyper-sensitive they are).  Anyway, shortly after Utah beat BYU this year, this poster came out.

After Utah was dismantled by Boise State in the Las Vegas bowl I couldn't help myself so I made the following posters.  Yes, I realize this is completely unoriginal and my photoshop skills are incorrigible but it's not my fault I have absolutely no artistic abilities.  I think you get the point anyway.

My Wife is the BEST!

I wanted to take a moment and thank my beautiful, wonderful, amazing wife for her support and superb cleaning abilities.  She really does put up with a lot and always with a smile on her face.  Thanks, wife!

Meltdowns

If there's one thing everyone knows about me, it's that I love to shop.  There is nothing more thrilling to me than finding a great deal on a trendy article of clothing.  Wait a minute, I temporarily had myself confused with my good friend down the street  (you know who you are Mr. Honey-I-Bought-You-This-Cute-Pencil Skirt).  This is a manly man's blog and there will be no love of shopping professed here.  Just think of me as the former drill seargant turned therapist in the Geico commercial and you'll understand my nature, you Jack Wagons. 

Anyway, the wife and I went Christmas shopping tonight.  One of the only ways for me to find this legalized form of spousal torture bearable is to watch other peoples' children have public meltdowns in the middle of the store.  I find this so enjoyable because far too often I have been the parent dealing with a child in full meltdown mode. Besides, seeing other peoples' problems always makes us feel better about ourselves, right? The most important thing to remember when dealing with a child having a meltdown is to stop it before they get into a groove.  Once the meltdown is rolling it is impossible to stop until you get back in the car and threaten punishments that would surely warrant a call to DCFS if other shoppers were to hear.

Both the wife and her mother have a specific way of dealing with a meltdown once it starts....distraction.  They immediately try to find something funny, shocking or scary to point out to the child, hoping to distract the child and stop the meltdown before it starts.  Sometimes Buck Double (only the most loyal of readers will remember how my 1 1/2 year old son got this name) has a meltdown when it's bed time.  The other night he started into a meltdown and, knowing I had to act quickly, I gave myself completely to nature and let my fatherly instincts take over.  Because he still relies on his mother as a supplement to candy, popcorn and anything else he happens to find on the floor, nature told me just what to do.  I lied him in my arms in just the right position, lifted my shirt and offered to feed him.  Although my bottle is full and ample, he knew something wasn't right and looked up at me as if to ask, "dad, what is wrong with you?"  Maybe it was instincts or maybe it was my furry bottle, but something told him this wasn't how God intended him to be nourished.  Perhaps I will never know the real reason, but one thing I know is that he was definitely distracted and the meltdown was avoided.

There is No Joy

As a continuation to yesterday's post, last night we had to have a family meeting to discuss the incessant fighting in our home.  As we sat in the living room talking about it, I noticed Lunchmeat was quietly walking around the Christmas tree removing ornaments.  Upon closer inspection I noticed that he was only taking down the ornaments that say "Joy."  When I asked him what he was doing he replied, "I'm taking down the Joy ornaments because there is no joy here."

Snowballs and Neighbors

Nelly recently suggested that for Christmas this year I should get a swear jar.  In case this is a new concept, each time I swear I would have to deposit money in the swear jar to be saved up for a family treat.  Apparently she thinks my language is unacceptable but, as usual, I retaliated by saying if they'd just clean up after themselves every once in a while, do their homework and not fight with each other I wouldn't have any reason to swear.  Sometimes I feel a bit guilty for being mean to the kids, no matter how much they are asking for it.  As an example, I used to have a disciplinary tool called "The Gunner's Daughter."  The Gunner's Daughter was a wooden spoon with it's name on the handle and "Kiss The Gunner's Daughter" on the end.  This is a reference to a battle ship where, as a punishment for doing something wrong, the sailors would have to give the Gunner's Daughter a kiss.  She was obviously not the most attractive girl in the world so it was an extreme punishment to have to kiss her.  The difference between the original Gunner's Daughter and mine is that mine is the one who would do the kissing, usually on top of the head.  I'm not exactly sure how, but The Gunner's Daughter mysteriously disappeared long ago.  Now that I think of it, I believe it's time to welcome a new Gunner's Daughter in my house.

Yesterday something happened that made me feel much better about how I treat the little psychos.  Yesterday an old friend asked if  some of my kids wanted to go sleigh riding with their family at the golf course.  When they came home sooner than I expected, I knew something must have happened and couldn't wait to hear the story.  According to my sources, the friend's son hit his unsuspecting dad in the face with a snowball when he wasn't looking.  Obviously upset, he expressed his displeasure by yelling, "Oh really, Dip$hit?  Get your @$$ down here."  When the son declined, he insisted, "No, really, get your @$$ down here."  Laughing hysterically, the son walked down the hill to his dad who promptly grabbed him and threw him down the hill.  Needless to say, the laughing ceased immediately and tears followed.

I love stories like this because they remind me that even the best dads get pushed over the edge by their children from time to time. As a true journalist, I am bound by the ethics of my profession never to reveal the identity of those mentioned in this blog, so don't even ask.

P.S.  Thank you Alyce for dedicating the picture from your vacation of the girl in her bikini to me.  That literally made me laugh out loud.

Oh, hi. Remember me?

Things have been pretty crazy at the Burrow so I haven't had much time to write.  Since my inbox has been flooded with requests/demands/pleas for a new post I suppose I better write SOMETHING to keep the mobs at bay. As if, haha. 

Today I think I'll tell you all about my Thanksgiving weekend.  It all started when I decided to take the children sleigh riding on Thursday morning.  Hahahaha, gotcha.  You thought I sold out and became a traditional blogger.  No, today I'm going to tell you some of the funny things people have said to/around me recently.

1.  I challenged one of my kids to a game of foosball and instead of saying, "Prepare to feel my wrath" he said, "Prepare to feel my rash."

2.  An adult neighbor asked the wife if we were nervous our children would fall in love with each other since some of them are adopted.

3.  A coworker actually said that HP7.1 was boring.  For all you muggles that means Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1.  I have heard the term HP7 before but I though the .1 was a nice addition if I do say so myself.

4.  Speaking of Harry Potter and ridiculous things people say, I have to add all of the people who were so offended by the "Harry and Hermione makeout scene" before they even saw it. 

I realize that specific part wasn't in the book but it really expounded Ron's character to a new level, demonstrating the depth of his love for Hermione as never before seen while showing the deep seeded insecurity and jealousy he feels having Harry as his best friend.  Growing up the 5th of six children in a slightly poor family has left Ron feeling forgotten and terribly ordinary, never feeling special, accomplished or deserving of his true love.  Hints of these feelings have been presented in pervious books, but it took the horcrux around his neck to fully reveal his deepest love, insecurity and fear.  Eh, who am I kidding?  I just liked it because Hermione is cute.