The updates on Joey

Ahh, I almost forgot, yes, Joey is doing much better from his flu, but he is still coughing a ton at night. His pediatrician mentioned that we may want to limit his intake of dairy, so, starting tonight, we are going to try to remove the dairy that he gets (milk and cheese mostly) in the afternoons and evenings. Hopefully this will help.

Here is Joey and Jenny reading a story just before bed.

jp

Her name is Jessamyn

So, tonight, Jessamyn, Joey, and myself will be heading through the snow to Grand Rapid's DeltaPlex to attend a showing of 'My Little Pony - Live'.

I can't wait for this as it will be tons of fun, and we've only told the kids that they are in for a suprise tonight.

I will be sure to post some photos from the show in the next several days.

Enjoy the snow, I know I am.

Joey's birthday is only a week away!!! He really will be five.. (yes, I'm having a hard time grasping this fact, if you can't tell already, but seeing it in writing seems to help get it to sink in a little more).

Next week we go to the Great Wolf Lodge for some fun with water during the college girls 'Spring Break'.

jp

Jocie's Sorrow

Poor little Jocie has succumbed to the early childhood frustration that plagues all of us that are blessed with baby teeth. Although medicated, she has been nothing but miserable for the past couple of days. She even cried her way through dinner….

“Wahhh… wahhh…” stuff food into mouth… “wahhh…. wahhh…”

No amount of consoling seemed to help her. The only reprieve was experienced by the fifteen minutes that she played in her bath before returning into agony.

Not wanting her to suffer alone, here are some pictures of her not so happy experience, and a couple proving that she really did enjoy the bath.

jp

Two Lost Forgotten Yet Now Found

Earlier today, I got lost into some odd directory tree on my computer while searching for some place to store the latest patches from Sun Microsystems for Solaris, and ran into two pictures that got lost into the disorganized quagmire known as my “work laptop.”

The first one is known as “Jess’s Bad Hair Day” and although I’d like to say this is a rare occurrence with her, it is actually something seen on a somewhat frequent basis since she detests having her hair done. She is slowing growing towards tolerating it, but it will be some time before she achieves “Hair Diva” status. On this particular day, she had some pony-tails that she insisted on removing after getting into her pajamas. After some intense play, I cornered her behind her table and snapped this photo while she was taking a breath to re-energize her activities.

The second picture was taken several days after Jocie was first born and is my favorite newborn picture of her. Warm, swaddled, and sleeping. She was and is a very beautiful baby. She even graced both her mother and myself last night by taking her first confirmed three steps in front of us both (read my previous blog entries for the “unconfirmed” walking incident).

I hope you enjoy these as much as I did when I shocked myself earlier today in finding these two lost and forgotten photos that are now found.

jp

Dinner with Crazy and Cute

As I walk through the front door the previous evening, I found myself greeted with a screaming voice yelling “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” as my three year old daughter comes rushing from the living room to the front door to greet me. Her jubilance at seeing me every night makes me feel like a king in her eyes.

Normally I park in the garage and enter through the side of the house each night and I play a little game of hid-from-the kids when I first hear them running towards me as I try to make my way to the front of the house to doff my shoes, coat, and anything else that I may be carrying in from the car. On this day, though, I’ve had to park outside since my usual spot in the garage has been taken by Brooke, and come through the front door and am ambushed without an escape-route to exit to. Jess plows into me like a locomotive giving me a great big huge hug and saying “Daddy’s home” in a very relieved sounding voice.

I ask where her brother is, since he usually joins in this nightly game.

“Well, he’s upstairs, he’s not feeling very good.”

Her mom had previously informed me that Joey had been to the doctor’s office that afternoon and was diagnosed with a severe flue. He was so tired from his illness that he fell asleep on the doctor’s office examination room table (you know, the tables with that oh so comfortable tissue paper all over them that makes you feel like your some sort of cold-cut sandwich being wrapped up at a deli) after stating ”I’m sleepy.”

Deciding to harass my daughter, which is something I take great pride in and developed my “toddler harassment” techniques to a fine art in the past several years, I tell her that I don’t see her as I throw my coat on top of her.

“Well, were did Jess go… she was just here a moment ago?”

A muffled voice can be heard from underneath the now wiggling blue colored Columbia coat that my wife bought me for Christmas.

“Right here Daddy! I’m right here!”

I circle around, acting like I’m still having a hard time hearing the now overpowering yells that has increased at least two full octaves since this search began.

“Hrmm, well, I guess she must have gone to bed. I guess I’ll just take a little seat right here until she comes back.”

At this point, she has almost gotten the coat off her head that I’ve been continually putting back on top of her each time she shrugs it off, all the while backing her towards a coffee table that sits in the middle of our living room. As she is trying to tell me that she is right behind me, I gently sit on her and hold my hand up to my face in a mock thinking pose.

“Wow, that’s really odd. I know I had just seen her here when I came in, it just seems so odd that she would have left. Now where could she be?”

Jess is so lost in giggles at this point that she can’t even make a single word come out of her mouth as I’m helping provoke her response by now tickling her sides.

By now, my one year old daughter, whom had supposedly said ‘Dada’ for her first time when I first came in the door (this event was unheard by me due to the above mentioned shrieking from Jessamyn), has spotted me and is making loud announcements in my general direction in her attempt to invite me towards her.

Actually, to her credit, Jocie almost always calls me ‘Da’ when she sees me, which absolutely love, since, from her, any acknowledgement of my existence is a gift, given her early life dependency belief that her mother was the world’s only satisfactory caregiver.

With a happy kiss and greeting from my wife, the greetings from the y chromosome deprived faction of my household are now complete.

Happy to no longer be a cushion for her father, Jess now escorts me to the dining room and ushers me into my chair. She helps sort out my food (tonight’s dining cuisine is from Burger King, a horrible choice for me since I had a burger for lunch, but, my flue ridden son had previously usurped the family dining plans with a feeble voiced request for ‘Nuggets’ which ended up diverted the entire family into a fast food dinner scenerio), sets my drink in front of me and announces “There you go Daddy, now you can eat.”

Like the Tasmanian Devil of the Loony Toons series so loved in my youth, Jessamyn now tears off into the living room screaming and bouncing from couch to couch, tossing pillows and cushions off as she flails.

Since Jenny and Brooke are busy straightening out the kitchen, I enjoy my dinner for two with the company of Jocie who now sits across the table from me. We both share smiles and little laughs as we enjoy the tableside performance of the extremely animated serenade of screams and bounces from Jessamyn.

Tonight, Jocie’s face is much more presentable than the night previous when she got to try ketchup for the first time and promptly took two fully drenched fists and planted them on top of her head (note: this happend after I gave her a bath not thirty minutes prior… L) leaving what looks like two spots where, if she were to act like her older sister on this night, I’m sure two horns could have sprouted from.

Normally an attentive listener, Jocie doesn’t provide very much insight into conversations I’ve held with her… Most of my serious life’s questions are either met with a ‘aieee’, ‘da’, ‘mama’, or just some cute looks which, although lacking in verbose substance, leave me with a residual feeling of elation. It seems to me that she tries to provide more inspiration than soulful insights, which is just fine with me.

I update her on the events of my day, tell her how work was stressful since I’m working on 14 projects simultaneously, spend half of the day on conference calls about the projects (something that sounds and is counterproductive, yet a part of everyday life in the IT industry), and ask her if she is as excited as I am about going to DisneyWorld in just over seventy-six days (my wife is tracking the countdown like she is some sort of director at Nasa’s Mission Control Center… thanks honey).

“da yaaaaaaa. Mama… a daaaa”

This sounds as plausible a response as any thus far in our dining discussion.

Quiet fills the room as the crazy whirlwind named Jess has now ascended to other parts, thankfully distant parts, of the upstairs portion of the house.

I can see that she must have finished her dinner at least fifteen minutes ago, yet this little one will eat and eat if someone remains in her company as she now attempts to place a few more bites of food into her well food-decorated mouth.

We smile some more at each other, and play a quick napkin shielded game of ‘peek-a-boo’ before deciding we’re both done eating.

I should also note at this point that she also enjoys the ‘peek-a-boo’ games that happen while I do the nightly dishes as she sits just around the corner from my view in the dining room. After each dish I place in the washer, I take a quick peed around to see her eagerly awaiting my glance, at which I am rewarded with an ear piercing joyous outburst of laughter. This game will last for at least the duration of the large dishes, but by the time I get to the silverware, she will have decided that she wants to help out and that I need to come get her out of her chair to assist me. Once free, she will come right into the kitchen and supervise my efforts and even verify my quality of work by climbing up onto the dishwasher lid and manually examining all of the spoons and forks (I place the knives towards the back where she can’t reach them). If she finds my work satisfactory, she will then continue her examination by verifying each plate is in its proper place by removing them and placing them next to her. A true hard worker in her profession, she never complains about the hazardous conditions she is often exposed to since there is often water on the dishwasher lid. She just climbs right in and starts helping Daddy out.

Not having any dishes due to chosen dinnertime meal, Jocie helps me clean up by bringing in the garbage from the dining table to the kitchen and then we both go upstairs to join the rest of the family in the kid’s playroom.

The perceivable absence of an older brother has left Jessamyn with three adults to herself, and in her after dinner playroom free time she decides to make the most of the attention by running around, dancing, and sharing quick exclamations while jumping up on our knees wanting us to interact with her.

Brooke finally gives in and starting playing with this wiggling and giggling infestation of exuberant energy disguised as our child while I play ‘Superman’ with Jocie (the game where I lay on my back and ‘foat’ her up in the air on my bare feet while holding her hands for safety).

This nighttime enjoyment continues until, like a roaring train that has suddenly run out of fuel and stopped, both of the energy bound bodies quickly descend into their beds and pass-out without even firing a single warning cry or protest, a true testament to the energy burned off in the “witching hour” events of the past several hours.

Amazed adults with puzzled minds try to make sense of the energetic chaos that has transpired, but feeling too tired and worn out from keeping up with bodies thirty years younger, decide on relaxation in the form of homework (if you can really call that relaxing…).

Another day has passed and yet somehow we’ve made it through it unharmed, still alive, and for some unknown reason, eagerly awaiting the next day.

jp

Jocie Walks with Thai

Accounts of Jocie walking seem to lack significant credibility as the only witness to this single act was, of course, me. I’m pretty sure my wife is convinced that I made the whole thing up as some sort of self-facilitating publicity stunt, but, I honestly saw our year-old daughter take three steps unassisted while carrying a ball.

These three steps were taken towards a birthday-invitation-creation obsessed mother and was loudly advertised by various shrieks of ‘da’ and ‘ma’ as the self-proud almost-toddler figure teetered towards her favorite parent in search of gratification.

For the rest of the day, we watched her every move, followed her around the house like magnets, and encouraged her attempts at anything with high pitched loving voices which netted us beautiful giggles and smiles, but no walking.

Her now trounced abilities vanished later that night as the little one decided to start pushing her luck with her newfound celebrity in the form of a face-first plant into to my wife’s Thai dinner.

While my wife had her first ever Thai food experience (at least that she’ll admit to with me) of Pud Thai (a wonderful friend noodle dish), little Jocie took a short glance at mom, as if to make sure she wasn’t paying too close attention to her actions, and then literally dove her face into the take-out carton. Astonished by her action, we could do nothing but laugh at this devisive action.

Rewarded and proud by her ‘apple-bobing’ style, she attacked again. In form that would make any county fair pie eating contestant proud, she held arms back and pushed mouth and jaw forward to maximize the take on the second successful attempt.
After completing the action several times, she opted to sit back and utilize her hands to push fistful upon fistful of fried rice into her mouth. The truly amazing part is that she had eaten an entire hot-dog and half a plate of mac-n-cheese barely thirty minutes prior.

I know full well that it is her chubby thighs that drives this ferocious appetite, as they seem to grow larger and larger like trunks of some huge oak tree. This inherited trait is probably a gift from her mother, whom I once caught eating cookies at the cottage table after we’d eaten a meal, and she accusingly stated: “That’s right, I’m applying them directly to my thighs.”

Well, at least she got a good meal. Maybe tomorrow, she’ll pick some other unsuspecting soul to place the whistle-blower tag onto that no-one else will believe. Until then, I’m happy that two of my family members will now eat Thai with me.

jp

The 'Honey-Do' List

Why does it always seem that in the Spring, when we look back at all those things we did over the Winter, it appears that we just loafed around and did nothing but hibernate? Yet, while living day-to-day during these months, I can’t seem to find any free time to even stare endlessly at the television or watch snow fall.

Maybe this Winter we’ve been busier than ever, but I really doubt it. This past weekend as an example, we worked tirelessly at the revolving list of projects around the house (hung shelves, pictures, sent birthday invitations, cleaned the playroom, did laundry), while also shuttling the kids to dance class and birthday parties.

I proclaimed Sunday my official ‘pajama’ day where, even though I took a shower (I have to… everyday… it’s just a personal thing), I wore pajamas all day in an attempt to remind myself that I need to relax more. Yet, this didn’t deter me from project execution and working a twelve hour shift on the home front.

This, in the Pike household, is the time of year where we focus on getting things done on the inside of the house that we wouldn’t normally have the time for during the “outdoor tempting” months. Although I hate this time as I view the inside of the house as more of my wife’s domain of control than mine, we do seem to make things look a little nicer and improve the things that we see on a daily basis.

For instance, this past weekend we’ve embarked on a rather massive endeavor of replacing the furniture in our bedroom with something that matches and fits our current needs. The set that we’ve built over the past seven years that now resides in our bedroom is a mish-mash of non-matching items: a tv and stand from pre-Jenny-n-Jay-days, a queen size bed that was a housewarming gift from my father, a dresser that was taken from my parents house when they migrated North, and two night side stands that were my older step-brothers from the 80’s and are specked with hundreds of ‘bb’ gun holes from some non-parental-approved indoor target practice.

It is past time to put some thought and effort into this long neglected room, that much is for sure. My wife has even gotten me to begrudgingly agree to a repaint of our room as well as the playroom, and, if she keeps pushing me, maybe the living room and dining room as well. I’m not sure why she is so admit about this change of wall coloring since my personal tastes seem to never wander farther than flat-white wall paint. Oh well, she seems to think this is a needed change, and, as I’m sure I’ll like it in the end, I’ll only complain about it and the work required for it for the next 10 months.

It sometimes feels like I am more of an interior decorator’s assistant who also doubles as a furniture mover than an active design participant in my own home. The change is good, but in my mind, if I had my way, all items would be static to match the picture I have in my mind of the pristine home we walked into the first day. My grasp of the visual reality of an aging and well used home is greatly tarnished by my blindness of the facts and and I am overpowered by this imaginative picture.

And so I wander listlessly through these modifications with half-hearted conviction and an almost perceptible disdain towards the situational protagonist: the wife.

Although appreciative and even jealous of the wonderfully simple and elegant enhancements that our surrounding neighbors have, I seem remiss towards the efforts required toward similar updates in our home. Yes, I do love and wish I could do those things, yet when it comes time to do it I seem to want a self-image of the couch dwelling husband enjoying extended and well-deserved relaxation time in front of the central entertainment device that corrupts the wifely desired productivity: the television.

I whine with attitude’s ten times worse than our children’s after long days of school, activities, sugar buzzes, and sleep deprivation. I drag nails worthy of Johnny Depp’s portrayal of Edward Scissorhands in the classic cult-drama from our youths.

Can I stop this inevitable change? Should I?

jp

Not My Day

This morning, while emptying the litter box that sits in our garage and is over used by the massive number of feline quadrupeds that wander our house, I got a little ‘residue’ on my khaki work pants. In my normal morning pattern, I was of course late to drop off Jess at school, so I ran upstairs quickly and changed into another pair. Now, I thought I had grabbed everything off of and out of my pants during the switch, but I must have missed something. My wife, in a hurry herself, instructed me to bring the pants for an immediate washing, and I dropped them off to her as I ran out of the house. By the time I got to the truck, which was parked in the driveway, since Jessamyn can’t get into the side door when it’s in the garage, I realized that I was missing my cell phone.

Upon entering the house, I heard the washing machine running, and asked Jenny where my pants were. “In the wash” was her reply. I quickly opened the door to the laundry room and shuffled through the washing machine and located my now drenched pants only to find a soggy cell phone fully drenched in soapy detergent based water.

Not my day.

It’s dead, and its replacement just cost me $50. In reading the fine print of the warranty service, I’ll be receiving a used phone that may have some “signs of normal use and minor scratches or abrasions.” Oh joy.

Now I get to spend another six months reprogramming the list of people that I keep exclusively in my cell phone, since I refuse to carry a planner or any other sort of address storing system like most normal people do…. Every time I have to switch cell phones, I always tell myself that I’m going to resolve this problem and keep a rolodex…

Maybe someday I actually will…

jp

The vanishing moon magic trick

Centuries ago, confidence trickster’s knowledgeable about the celestial events (often by almanac) would con lay persons into believing they possessed any number of magic abilities such as being able to see the future or that they could control the Sun or the Moon in the hopes of getting either money or power.

Last night, we were audience to one of these celestial events, as the moon was eclipsed by the earth which cast its massive shadow across the distant body for a short period.

Though I couldn’t convince our children that I can control the moon, as they were already asleep, I was able to capture some beautiful shots with my camera before heading off to sleep.

jp

The little Transformer named Joey

This was our son this morning as his imagination overran reason when he decided to be a “Transformer” instead of our son. Ever since seeing this movie, which is a throw-back to a childhood cartoon series from the 80’s, he has been fascinated with pretending to be and playing with Transformers. His mother even went out and purchased a 4 year-old appropriate version of Optimus Prime. Many hours have been spent with Joey convincing Jessamyn to also be a Transformer as they do battle against unseen evils that transcend all echelons of our house.

It should come as no surprise that he woke before dawn this morning, went down to his playroom and found several colored markesr and decided to self-decorate himself into something visibly approaching a robot, or so he thought. Blurry eyed parents were not so sure what they were dealing with when he arrived at our pre-dawn bedside with a low-toned voice announcing “Mom! Mom! I’m Optimus Prime!”

The signs that we are now living with a creature that is all too rapidly approaching adulthood seem to abound daily in not only his actions, but in questions and realizations that he is making.

The other day, Jenny passed a funeral procession during which Joey asked why they have a purple flashing light. She explained that this denoted that someone had died and they were on their way to be buried and that people were probably very sad. At dinner that night, Joey relayed the whole learning experience to me as “Dad, when you die, this car comes and takes you away with a purple light. And people will be very sad!”

Yesterday, he asked “Are there witches in this world? Are there dragons in this world?” And I’m sure all too soon will come the dreaded Santa Claus and Easter Bunny questions at this rate.

His strong will within his personality is now starting to take a rather ragged hold of his fashion senses as he now likes to pick his outfits and dress himself. Although not the fashion statement I would have made, he decided to wear a surf board shirt, green tie, and baseball cap and he was very admit about this particular concoction disregarding all suggestions from his mother that he should reconsider certain elements. Some days he will allow compromise and settle for being able to wear something that he likes underneath whatever we want him to wear to school, like his Power Ranger tank top (although he’d like to, I’m not sure the school would like him just showing up dressed with just it), or his superman tank and underwear set that I came home to the other day as his mother was flying him about the kitchen.

Thankfully he has not decided to wear his ‘Tarzan’ outfit to school or try become the vine jumping character while in the classroom (note: this is where Joey takes off all his clothes save his underwear which he wears around his knees).

I am still proud of him for having no ego or attitude that would prejude his playful and meek temperament, thankfully. He is still the honest and transparent person we’ve had for five years now. Brutally honest at times too, as yesterday Jenny rushed to get the family ready before calling the doctor’s office (they sometimes give her an immediate appointment that barely gives her enough time to drive there let alone ready three kids plus herself) she had opted for a hair style that pulled back into a pony tail (something not visually stimulating given her current “Hairspray”-esque design) and was immediately informed that Joey didn’t like it. Later, she spent time getting herself ready as the assistant at the pediatrician’s office had graced her with a couple hours lead time, and was informed “Much better Mom!”

This fortitude comes in the middle of family planning, collage saving payments, schooling decisions, and vacation decisions roll around our minds like a tornado ripping through trailer park. We are so busy trying to drive the ship of our lives while Joey refuses to just be a passenger content to sit in a seat staring out the window. He forces himself front and center with a child’s barrage of intellectual questions that reinforce his parent’s self-realizations of their responsibilities towards his edification, and rightly he should.

We need the reminder. We need the redirection.

We really need him as we do all our children to help us to devise our futures.

Our very existence is pivoting on them as they are our focal points. They are our immortality. They exist as appendages of our heritage and will forever link our two intertwined lives as one.

jp

The two sick Pike members

Here are our two little daughters... sick... and staying home to hopefully get better.

jp

Joey Skiing!

A proud little skiier is busy tearing up the slopes this past weekend. I'm so proud of how far he has come. Soon, we'll be heading out West together.

The pictures below are of Joey eating snow, going up the conveyor and of his first encounter with one of those crazy skiers who have no idea what they're doing and use the intertia of other people to stop, in this case Joey. He handled it well, got up, put his skis back on and headed down the slopes for some hot chocolate and cookies.

jp

February Musings

In contrast to her normal “bubbly baby” personality, Jocie has recently been a much more subdued, calm, quiet, and very cuddly baby. Although I’ve loved this recent character trait, it is indicative of a more pressing issue. Compounded by our daughter’s entrance into our room this morning announcing that her head hurt, my wife took the whole family to the Pediatrician this morning.

A double-ear infection for Jocie is the culprit for the change of personality, and Jessamyn has been stricken with ‘strep throat.’ Joey was luckily exempt for illness as should be expected by his rather intense concoction of drugs, antibiotics, and allergy medicines prescribed to help treat a chronic sinus infection aggravated by allergies.

Stuck in the middle of the “Winter Blues”, I guess this is as good a time as any for our children to be sick, though, it is hard trying to get a good night’s sleep in our household.

Here are some updates on the family members:

Joey did amazingly well at his second skiing lesson of the year and even earned himself a pair of Scott goggles, which he has been proudly wearing (with helmet) around the house claiming that he is either a Power Ranger, FireFighter, or Soldier. On my cube wall now hang the output of his imaginative artistry from this past weekend as he colored me several paintings of firefighters spraying black tipped hoses gushing blue water that seems to move in directions I’ve never thought possible. I’m sure my mother often dotted her own private spaces with similar creations in my youth. It adds to the hundreds of photos of my family and our vacations that line my office walls.

Jessamyn is sort of experiencing a pre-teen ten-year early attitude disorder where she gets very moody, crosses her arms, scowls, and will not participate in anything. She did this last Saturday during her weekly ballet class. In watching through the window, we noted that for most of the hour she would be seen standing in this position and ignoring the rest of the surrounding class. It’s as if she is trying to say “I’ll ignore you and act mad until I get what I want.” Oh, it assuredly is just a phase, but, a tough one to deal with as “Ms. Nice” seems to involve herself in everything and when she gets scolded or can’t affect change on the rest of the family, out comes “Ms. Temper Tantrum.” Most of the time, though, she is just as sweet as can be and continues to be a great helper and caretaker over her little sister. Ask anything of Jess, and she'll most likely do it.

Jocie refuses to learn to walk, following a similar pattern of her elder siblings whom also refuted the task as long as possible. Instead, she opts to Stand, Clap, Fall to Knees, Crawl to next destination, and Repeat. Nice and cute… ‘till I started noticing the DVD player in the bedroom having an odd desire to keep coming to life sometime between the morning and when I come home from work, whence I turn it off again. We even tried teaching her to descend stairs, but this seems to end in a few stairs down and ten stairs up to the top, and she’s gone playing again.

Jenny and Brooke continue their momentous schooling endeavors with constant studying and discussions about what teacher said what, who did what in their class, and just how much they can’t wait to be done with class.

Me? Well, I’m still trying to decide if I’m going to stay on the fire deparment. I’m taking pictures every chance I get (and reading lots of books to try to improve my abilities). Someday soon, I hope to play drums with my friend Scott.

jp

Happy Valentine's Day

Playing with the Sun

Ok, so I couldn't resist going back to Milham Park for yet another photo shoot. This time, I had ideal lighting conditions, but I've tried not to repeat (at least not too much) previous shots that I've posted here. Since I'm starving for praise, I'll post these in the hopes that someone will love them as much as I do.

jp

"I Spray"

My wife’s thirty-second birthday had already been a very un-celebratory day by the time a decision about evening dining had come around. Our usual inability to conclusively decide and agree on an establishment to take ourselves and the kids to had manifested itself into an ugly roaring ball of frustration, bitter looks, and trite comments and so we decided to try to re-tame the ‘Olive Garden.’

Although our previous dining experience had not been bad at all with a highlight when our son, while eating a ice cream Sunday’s cherry, threw the stem over his shoulder and onto the occupied table behind us. Shock and disbelief made way to uproarious laughter as we saw the action and his nonchalant attitude about it evidenced by a wry little smile.

Hoping that our already tired and exhausted children would turn a 180 on their whiny and agitated temperaments, we both put on our optimistic attitudes in the face of obvious disaster: yes, we are as good at lying to ourselves about these sorts of things as any other of “those” people that occupy public spaces with their unruly and undisciplined children.

And so, into the restaurant we went with our crying, temper-tantrum-throwing, disdain drawing entourage en tow.

The hostess led us back to table located near the middle of the room yet in full view of dozens of patrons, a fact that will become painfully irksome later in this story. The table was a typical four-top, and I got to sit in the wait staff hating isle based seat in an already crowded room. A constant ‘bump and apologize through gritted teeth’ routine started due to my location which was the first sign that this may not have been the best idea, yet, given the day, I was not fazed by this in the least.

We order our many varied tastes of food via our ever so non-enthralled waiter (he can obviously see that whatever tip he’s going to get from us will not cover the amount of work he’s going to have to do to clean up this space after we depart). Jenny and I order more adult entrees: I would have tried the Chicken Scampi (my personal favorite), but my wife chides me that it’s all I ever get, so I ventured towards something from an adjacent menu item. Joey goes after his now trademark ‘macaroni and cheese’ while Jess opts from chicken fingers. We reward Jocie with her own menu option, yet, I’m wondering to myself why we are even bothering ordering it for her… in my mind, we should just tell the waiter to pour it directly on the floor, which is where most of the bread sticks, Cheerios, ravioli chunks, and crotons that we’ve given her seem to have found their way to by now anyways.

As we are finishing up our appetizers of soup, salad, and toasted ravioli (my favorite at this particular venue), the waiter is on approach with a landing-pad sized tray full of our food along with an assistant in tow, when I see my older daughter start to gag from what I initially mistakenly think is from a breadstick (and note that she has never tried an Olive Garden breadstick again without announcing the title of this article).

Mother and father watch in disbelief as a stream of liquid emanates from our daughters mouth sufficient to have been generated from a fire hydrant. It makes at rather horrible landing on her older brothers shoulder and flows down his arms and torso finding a resting place in his lap.

A brief look of horror fills Jessamyn’s face before another onslaught of regurgitation cycles into another stream that is this time re-directed onto the table in front of us.

Silence befalls the room, and I am keenly aware at this moment that we have become more towards the far end of the “those parents” meter than I’m really comfortable being.

Waiter and assistant stand in shock at what is taking place in front of them. That tip he might have been thinking about earlier is farthest from his memory.

The table of high school teenagers in full winter Prom dress apparel at the neighboring table is more shocked than we are. In fact, everyone is silent and staring not at the children, but at the parents… “What were they thinking?” “What did they do to that poor little girl?” “Someone should call Children’s Services…” These are the thoughts that befall embarrassed parents minds in moments like these.

Time stops.

I’m really hoping that I can just wake up from this nightmare, roll over and go back to sleep like I would normally do…. Yet, I can’t seem to wake…

Phrases and mantras from my youth pass through my mind trying to draw my mind away from the horrific situation mere feet in front of me:

“Calgon: Take me away.”

“Baby steps to the elevator…”

“If you build it, they will come…”

“R-O-L-A-I-D-S spells relief…”

“Bring out yer dead…. …. Bring out yer dead…” “I’m not dead yet” “Oh stop yammering, you’ll be dead in a moment…”

At this moment, there are multitudes of life scenarios that would be far more appealing than this place at this time…. Even a prison cell would be more welcoming than this.

An inappropriate statement from my older son breaks the moment: “Daddy, Jessamyn just sprayed me and I want my Macaroni and Cheese.”

We take a deep breath and push ourselves back into the world again to take on our roles as parents as we arrive back from the vacations of our thoughts. The room seems to return to whatever previously occupied their fancy as if none of this ever happened. Waiter and wait staff place trays on stands and go to get us an uncountable number of napkins to assist with the now growing mess on our table top.

Jenny quickly rushes a still sickening daughter out of purview of the diners and into the ladies restroom in an effort to clean her thoroughly drenched outfit.

I’m left to clean a table that looks more like someone dumped a five gallon bucket of pea soup with bits of bread stick onto it than anything else.

During this whole event, my son is still only worried about his dinner, and shows no concern about the marinade he has become.

I clean up the table as best I can with the hopes that no one will remember that this happened and try to make our table look somewhat neat and presentable.

Upon returning from the bathroom, my wife informs me that we will need to leave immediately as our daughter is still ill and her clothing needs an immediate changing. This is a welcome invitation, as I can't wait to put this memory in our past.

We wrap kids in jackets and pack a neglected meal into boxes to head home.

While focusing on the preparations for departure, I failed to notice the slinking off of my obviously ill daughter towards the front door. My wife points out my failing parental duties, and I rush off to try to corral her back towards our comfort zone, yet, while reaching for her, I fail to note my dangerous proximity to a half-wall that separates my son’s head from my waist.

“Thunk”

The audible equivalent of hitting a wall with a sledge hammer resounds from my actions as Joey’s head is slammed into the well trimmed wall edge.

I’m again thrown into the cross-hairs of a malice yielding audience that is now bombarding me with disdain like bullets from a rail-gun. At this point, I'm well beyond caring what they could possibly think of me, so I try to regain control of a trespassing daughter and at the same time try to triage a son inflicted with a fatherly induced head injury.

We race to the car like thieves stealing gold from Fort Knox and try to put as much distance between the memories of dinner and ourselves.

Jessamyn now enlightens us on her viewpoint of the situation: “I’m sorry I sprayed.”

She turns to her brother and tries her best at an apology: “I’m sorry I sprayed you brother.”

In thinking this event was over yet wanting to provide comfort and consoling, we placed our daughter into our bed and my wife tended to her needs while I prepared the rest of the family for bedtime.

Another “spraying” even took place in our bed with Jenny acting as the catcher’s mitt for Jessamyn. “I sprayed mommy” was how it was described by Jessamyn to me as I took care of her while Jenny changed.

A long night of tending to an understandably needy daughter was endured by both parents before the next day which say the passing of the illness from one and on to another family member as Joey took up the torch of “spray.”

A now frequent story is told from Jessamyn as she passes by the Olive Garden restaurant now and she tells everyone “that’s where I sprayed. I sprayed the restaurant. I sprayed Joey. And I sprayed mommy. I sprayed.”

jp

A couple notes

Note #1:

Our youngest daughter has been stricken with an ailment that plagued her older two siblings in the weeks prior that manifests itself as a very high fever with an unending flow from a runny nose.

Feeling like holding a twenty pound nugget from the sun, our littlest angel up being a cute bed partner for the past few nights as she occupied a position that seems to be a regular role for our eldest daughter.

In reviewing our frustrations over her inability to sleep solo and in her own bed in a perfectly good bedroom filled with an excessive amount of stuffed animals and play things that regularly find her whimsical fancies, I am remiss about an altogether interesting phenomenon.

As children, we often find ourselves finding comfort in the resting places of our parents. Either from fear, illness, or just bad habit, our children seem to creep in like water through the roof of a century’s old ill-maintained barn. And as parents of those children, our role is to routinely push them back into their beds, alone and isolated, yet, is this not in stark contrast to the way we ourselves spend our lives?

Are we not encouraged and pushed towards a life-long relationship with a partner in marriage that will result in us sharing this location for an eternity?

It seems to me to be a harsh inconsistency to encourage now what we will so much desire later. Yeah, I know about the teenage years, and I am quite sure I’ll regret this line of thinking later, but it just seems to be so contrary to mainstream parenting that I felt the need to state it here.

Personally, I seem to enjoy the company of either of my daughters, but don't tell my wife that....

:)

Note #2:

Another note to make came in a statement that caught me off guard by my wife the other night when discussing the merits and desirability of the female reproductive system’s monthly cycle. I had stated that I doubted that any woman had ever really thought of it as a blessing, aside from the obvious need for it regarding child creation. My wife countered with “actually, most women between the ages of 18 and 24 welcome it every month.”

I laughed and admitted that I could indeed see the benefit of it.

jp