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Friday, June 12, 2015

Suppressing Blood Terror for the Love of The Freak


The piercing scream came from outside my bedroom door. A terrified yell, mix with sobs. I woke up with a start and shot out of bed, throwing on my ample robe, crossing to the door, and flinging it open.

There stood The Freak (5). She was holding her hands to her nose. Blood was coming around her fingers. She's terrified of bloody noses and worse, has been getting them once a day or so, since allergy season started.

My bride, the blood queen, wasn't at home, gallivanting around somewhere else for the night. My specialty is barf. I'm scared of blood, broken bones, bumped teeth, loose teeth, bruises, forks stabbed in an eye, gashes to the bone, cancerous tumors that come and go over 24 hours, and anything else that happens to kids. But barf? Bring it on. I got that shit.

I had no choice. It was 2:30 in the morning and she had yelled for me.

I grabbed her hand, blood and all, and gently led her to the bathroom, grabbed a few Kleenex, and a baby wipe or two, put the Kleenex to her nose, scrubbed her hands with the wipes, and laid her carefully on her back, on Mommy's pillow.

She whimpered a little and added a little pressure. I went downstairs to the freezer, wrapped a few ice cubes in a wash cloth, and then applied that to her nose as well. 

In just a few minutes, it had stopped, commencing the next phase in bloody nose marathons - sniffle and ask Daddy 100 times if it's really done.

She stayed the night in my bed. 

I may have this down. But really, I can't wait until my wife is home. I'm going back to barf.

Wednesday, June 10, 2015

When Your 13-Year-Old Daughter Knows Your Heart

If you've read my blog long enough, you know two things about me. The first is well-known, the second lesser, yet regardless, well-known to me. 

1. I want my house clean at all times. No equivocations. I cannot handle a dirty house.
2. I have no desire to learn what the hype about Minecraft is, nor do I want to play it at all - ever.

And, if you've followed me, you know that #1 is a constant problem. My kids know me as the dad that always makes them clean. Sure, we have fun together, as a family, and individually, but if you stopped them on the street and asked, "Tell me the one thing you would tell the world about your dad," they would reply, "He never lets us do anything but clean."

Welcome to my life. 

I disagree though. That isn't true. They actually spend the majority of the day creating the mess that they will be required to clean later, or the mess that I will need to clean all by myself.

And they love Minecraft. All of them do. I hate it. But I see value in it for them. I don't know what the value is quite yet, but I'm learning. It seems to create a sense of community amongst them, as well as with their friends from school and the neighborhood. They build things together, destroy things together, fight over The Freak (5) destroying all of their things, together. On and on it goes.

Last night, I walked into the house and saw that the two kitchens' sinks were piled high, overflowing with dishes. The kids were headed to bed, but I intervened, rustling them all to the kitchens. There, we split into teams and finished the job in about 20 minutes. Even The Freak grabbed a dish towel and learned how to wipe well, with Laura's (11) instruction.

Then, this morning, Renaya (13), brought me her phone and showed me something on Minecraft.
Daddy. See these carpets I made? All the kids picked their color. Each of them has 10 carpets. As they complete a task, clean a room, weed the property well, etc, I will destroy one of their carpets. Whoever gets to zero carpets first, gets to play on my phone for an hour.
As I walked out the door to go to work, this morning, Frederic (10) and Jack (6), the little guy who never cleans, burst out the door after me.
Daddy! We cleaned our room. Now we're going to weed the swing set area!
Um....what just happened?

There are some days I really feel warm fuzzies for my squirts.

Thursday, June 4, 2015

The Duggars Are Rape Apologists

During the Fox News interview on June 3rd, JimBob and Michelle Duggar came up with the following conclusions, which I shall paraphrase for them:
  • Josh mostly touched the girls over their clothes
  • When he did touch the girls under their clothes, it was only for a few seconds
  • The girls were asleep at the time of the touchings and were unaware of the goings on
  • Josh personally and un-prodded-ly confessed to his parents
  • He had tears
  • Jesus forgives
Let's leave off the 'Jesus forgives' conclusion in my assessment of this treatment of sexual abuse. I've already spoken at length about the theology of "ignore my crimes, God forgave me" that the Duggars espouse so well. Instead, let's imagine something:

It's a cold and rainy evening on the long slog back to my college dorm. I have a very beautiful girl on my arm, who turns on every light bulb in me, including my non-existent soul. As we walk, I can smell the shampoo she used a few days prior, to wash her hair, mixed with the deliciously pungent scent of sebum oil.
I breathe deeply, wrapping my arm around her a little tighter. She sighs and we continue to awkwardly stumble home.
We pass her dorm. She makes no motion to turn and walk up the steps, but instead, gives me a knowing glance, the moon lighting up the features of her stunning face, revealing her lips, slightly parted, her breath panting through them.
As my heart begins to race, I try not to quicken my pace, knowing full well what she seems to be desiring and wanting to finally experience this woman, in her full naked glory, expressing our love together for an entire night.
After what seems like an eternity, we arrive at my dorm room, open the door, and immediately fall onto my bed, kissing deeply and passionately, grasping aimlessly at each other's clothed bodies.
As I make a move to slowly slide my fingers beneath the front hem of her panties, while at the same moment, allowing my lips to brush the nape of her neck, she murmurs ever so softly, "Let's sleep, wrapped in each other's arms."
I kiss her on her forehead and whisper back, "As you wish," and move down to her feet to lovingly remove her shoes and socks. Then, pulling the blankets over us, we do as she desires, which, funny enough, as do I.
According to the Duggars' rules, there is nothing wrong with me hopping out of that bed, handing her a drink with a rape drug in it, then having my way with her - only for a few seconds - and tearfully admitting to it in the morning.

After all, Jesus will have forgiven me.