Someone had a bad week...

Friday afternoon I received a text from Kate. She had given Samantha a bloody nose. She had come down to the landing, and dropped a pencil box into Samantha’s hands. Before Sammy could close her hands around the box, it bounced, crashing into her nose and unleashing a torrent of blood. This was the capper for a rough week for Sammy-Lou-Who.

Monday afternoon Kate took our calico, Marilyn to the vet. She had been extremely lethargic, and would not let anyone touch her. The feline had crawled up under an end table, and stayed there for over fifteen hours. After a battery of tests it was determined that Marilyn had feline leukemia, and would have to be put down. We had not been prepared for this, and I found myself breaking the news to my kids at the dinner table: Marilyn would not be coming home. I expected Whitney to be emotional about the news, and she was. But I didn’t expect Samantha to take it as hard as she did. She was inconsolable.

We have since found that Marilyn’s brother, Joe also tested positive, and will have to be put down. Because of the circumstances of their birth (in a window well, to a stray) they were probably born with it, and their vaccinations could not prevent the inevitable.

On Wednesday, Kate took Samantha to see a dermatologist to address an outbreak of warts on the child’s hands, feet and lip. Kate had to have the pleasure of wrapping her arms and legs around Sam, to hold her still while the doctor froze the warts. We have since had to keep her lubed up with a cream that stings, but we have found that she is much more amenable to putting on the cream when we explain that failure to do so might mean another trip to the dermatologist. Though, that might happen anyway…

All of this on top of the fact that Samantha’s school science experiment has not gone according to plan. Several weeks ago we went to Home Depot and bought five stalks of the same common house plant. She has been ‘feeding’ them each something different: water, orange juice, milk, root beer and diet coke. Her hypothesis was that the one being fed orange juice would do the best, and the rest would die. Orange juice has vitamins, after all. We had to replicate the experiment three times, which means that Kate had to make another trip to the Depot for ten more plants. Now, several weeks later, we have 15 plants in our kitchen, and none of the damn things will die! The orange juice drinkers have mold growing at the bases, and the milk eaters stink to high heaven.

I tried to explain to Samantha that this was not a bad thing: What’s not important is that you are proven right, but that you learn from the experiment. All that we learned from this trial is that the little bastards are resilient.

I told Samantha not to worry, and to keep her glass half full. The upside from having a bad week is being able to look forward to how much better next week can be…

What’s in a Name?

For those who don’t already know, Kate and I once again find ourselves deciding on baby names. We have decided that we will not find out the baby’s gender until the arrival date in May-ish. So we have to be prepared with both boy and girl names. Staying true to my word, I will not give away what our top picks are. I can say, however, that Kate still rules out my top pick for a girl name: Laverne Ann Shirley. We have also decided against some of Bean’s favorite picks: Derek, CC, Thurman, Mariano, Lou, Babe and Mickey.

As we sat around the kitchen table talking about names, the conversation soon turned toward maiden names, I’m not sure how. Kate explained to the kids why women (and sometimes men) take the names of their spouses when wed. Fortunately the kids didn’t ask me why I didn’t take Kate’s name when we were married. ‘Chris Christiansen’ just didn’t have a ring that resonated with me. Samantha twittered and giggled when Kate asked whose name she wanted to take when she got married, but wouldn’t answer.

Patrick then asked ‘Can I change my name?’ Having been really happy with the choice ‘Patrick’ I was taken back.

‘Why would you want to change your name?’ Kate asked.

Patrick’s demeanor suddenly changed and he burst into tears. ‘I hate my name!’ he said. ‘Every day when I get to school a kid named Isaac comes up to me and yells ‘get back to your TV show!’’

I stared at him for a moment until I made the connection: Patrick Starfish from SpongeBob Squarepants.

‘Seriously?’ asked, laughing despite his tears. ‘Patrick. When he says that to you, just point at him and laugh and say ‘You still watch SpongeBob? I stopped watching that when I was like 4!’’ This seemed to help him a bit.

‘Patrick’ Kate said. ‘It doesn’t matter if you change your name. He will still find some reason to tease you. When I was a kid I was Kathryn Mary Christiansen.’ The kids didn’t quite understand the Catholic school girl reference.

‘When you were a kid, did other kids call you ‘Chris Swirley’?’

‘Yes!’ I said. ‘And if anyone calls you that, you have my permission to give them one.’ This seemed to help, as the image of flushing someone made him laugh.

I don’t feel bad for Patrick, or any of my kids who get taunted because of their names. Surely it happens to everyone (and don’t call me ‘Shirley’). Even Whitney’s own jerk of a father refers to her as ‘Whitnerd’. I myself also remember giving as well as I got to my elementary school peers calling Donovan ‘Dorkovan’ and Dennis ‘Pennis’ and thinking that I was oh, so clever.

And I certainly won’t feel bad if I get a call from the principal to tell me that my son gave a swirley to someone who taunted him about his name…

You'll Shoot Your Eye Out...

We sat at Grandpa Stretch's house Sunday afternoon, visiting and enjoying our Christmas Day while A Christmas Story played in the background. Suddenly Patrick tugged on my arm.
'Papa!' he said. 'Look! That kid got a Red Rider BB gun. Just like the one I got!'

'Imagine that.' I replied. 'They stole my idea.'

No, we didn't get my nine-year-old a BB gun for Christmas. We got it for him when he turned 8. However, there are few holidays and birthdays where Patrick does not get a new gun. When I was a kid Nerf made squishy footballs and basketballs. I don't know if they still make sporting items, but they have a lucrative business in arms sales for kids. I am pretty sure that Patrick has one of every model gun they've ever made, and we have an impressive amount of suction cup and whistling bullets strewn about our house and yard.

In addition to the sponge bullet shooters, he also has an array of water guns, and his latest weapon shoots Orbeez, which are tiny water-filled balls that splat on contact with hard surfaces.

I shouldn't be surprised at his love of guns, though his father's only owned gun is a .22 pistol that, to the best of my knowledge has never been fired. After all, we live in Utah, a state that now has an 'official' handgun. It won't be long before he starts carrying an NNRA (National Nerf Rifle Association) card and touting his right to carry his recon pistol to church. He's even asked me to build a hidden gun safe into the wall of his bedroom.

Just the other night, when he refused to clean his room and put the guns away, I threatened to take them away. At this he held one aloft and cried, 'From my cold, dead hands!'

At least I know that when the Nerf-Zombie apocalypse happens I will have him to protect me...

Short and Stout...

Recently Whitney took a beginning pottery class. It has been one of the few she has enjoyed. She has been very proud of the pieces she has been bringing home.

I love the ugly mug on this mug.

She was a bit frustrated with her little tea pot. I told her it looks as a tea pot should: short and stout...

Of course, she compared hers to a tea pot Kate made in school, that we still have.

We have several of Kate's pieces from when she was in school. Of all of them her 'cat pot' is one of my favorites.

But of all of the creations Whitney has brought home, none has been more awesome than her garden gnome. She asked if we would put it in the garden, and we said no way. I love it too much to risk seeing it broken outside. He is currently guarding the kitchen, patrolling for late night food thieves.

And though this piece is not pottery, I include this bronze as another of my favorites of Kate's creation. But it's still not as cool as the gnome...

It's So Great to be Eight...

I hope you enjoy these photos from Samantha's baptism. It was a great day. Samantha played a nice piano piece before the baptism. Big brother Patrick did a great job with the spotlight. The only hitch came when I got a text 30 minutes before the baptism telling me that someone who was to give a talk, who will remain nameless (Chas) was stuck in Park City and would be late. We juggled the program, and all went well. I am very proud of her, and thankful that I could be a part of this with her.

Why do you have to be so much like me?

Often I find my kids doing things that remind me of things I did when I was a kid. When I was a kid, these things were okay. Now that I am a parent, they make no sense to me, and I find myself saying to my kids ‘Do as I say, not as I have done.’

For example, Patrick insists on riding his bike to school every day. This is a good thing. We live close enough that he should not need a ride to school, even in winter. The problem is that he refuses to wear a coat. He insists that he does not get cold, despite the fact that his cheeks (all sets) are purple before he gets there when the temperature is in the teens. I am reminded of times when I was a youth, walking to school in short pants in the middle of winter, with icicles forming on me leg hairs. Why did I do this? Why does anyone do anything? Because they can.

Last night I sent the kids down to their rooms for reading time. After a time I noticed that Patrick’s light was off. Knowing that there was no way he had gone to bed on his own, I ventured down to find the door to Samantha and Lauren’s room closed. I opened the door to find that the three had taken every stuffed animal, pillow and blanket in the house (there are many) and lined the floor of the bedroom. They had then proceeded to stuff their pajamas with pillows and stuffed animals and were punching each other in the chest and kicking each other in the butt as hard as they could, trying to knock each other down. They were also belly-flopping from the upper bunk into a pile of pillows, blankets and teddy bears.

My first thought was to get mad at them for eschewing story time in favor of roughhousing. However, though they were throwing punches, they were not ‘fighting’ as they usually do. Also, they agreed to clean up the mess. And most importantly, they were not lounging in front of the TV, thumbing through the iPod, or playing video games.

The activity reminded me of some of the many adventures we got into as kids. Specifically the slide we used to make down the basement stairs. We would drag two mattresses from our beds and place them end to end on the stairs, forming a nearly 12 foot slide. Due to the narrowness of the stairs, the mattresses were cupped, and we would shoot recklessly down the chute. At the bottom of the slide we had created a padded landing, similar to the one my kids were using to dive from the top bunk. The difference between our escapades on the stair-slide and my kids’ wrestling, is that our fun usually lasted until someone fell into tears. P-Man, Sam and Bean eventually cleaned up their mess and went to bed without incident. Maybe it’s only a matter of time before we end up in the ER with a head injury or a tooth through the lip. It’s all a part of growing up I guess…

Time to Reflect

We just got home from the Reflections contest award ceremony at the kids' school. Samantha viewed it as a waste of time because she did not get more than an honorable mention. Adding insult to her injury, Patrick got a medal for an 'award of merit'. The kids did a great job with their entries this year.

The theme this year was 'Diversity means...' Bean decided to go with an entry that featured her with her bodybuilder friend, showing that people who are different in appearance can still be good friends.

Samantha went 'Warhol' with her entry, using the same photo with several variations in color and tint with the words 'Beautiful in every color'.

Patrick's entry also showed how people of differing interests can get along. He used a picture of him with his friend Max and the raingutter regatta holding up their respective boats above the title 'Love your enemies.'