Last month I celebrated my 44th birthday, but since it was on the same day we were supposed to be leaving for Florida it received very little attention, which wasn’t a bad thing.  However, my mom insisted on making me a cake for my birthday, I am not a big cake guy but I didn’t protest because I think making me a cake for my birthday allows her to think I had a perfectly normal childhood (I didn’t). Regardless, I ended up meeting up with my parents at Ada Bible in Kentwood for their 5:30 Saturday evening service and then we proceeded to Ucello’s to continue the festivities.  Shirley and the boys were at the airport trying to get us on a flight to Florida the next day due to our Saturday flight being canceled.  Dinner was fairly uneventful but my mom not only had a cake but also some presents from me, she cautiously said “don’t get mad” when she handed me my presents. Don’t get mad is never a good sign for anything and it may be the first time in the history of the universe that it has been said prior to someone receiving their birthday present.  The gift bag contained some random food and when I say random I mean really random, hot chocolate, beef jerky, and some mixed nuts.  I am certain they all came from Big Lots.  However, the  don’t get mad comment had nothing to do with the randomness of the snacks she purchased me, but was a reference to a book she also sent my way that involved limiting your kids screen time.  In addition to the book there was two page note which I have yet to read, in my defense if I read it I would have gotten mad and my mom told me not to get mad.

This isn’t the first parenting book my mom has given me, it’s actually the third parenting book.  Is my mom that oblivious? It would be like Shirley giving me a book about how to preform better in the bedroom.  Your parenting really sucks so read these books and you will be a better parent.  Will I?  I suppose it is possible, but what if I am completely content being a mediocre parent.  My parents were terrible parents and I turned out to be a mediocre human being, my mediocre parenting is likely to produce average adults if the trend continues.  What’s even more problematic is the fact that my sister and one of my brothers have offspring but they have not received any parenting books, and my sister is raising the second coming of the anti-christ who is ironically named Elijah, the kid purposely fucks with you.  He was at our house and my sister had to leave to breast feed her youngest child (as previously mentioned she has three all under the age of four) he looked at me and pulled her plate of food off the table spilling it all over the floor.  Did I want to call him an asshole? Yes, but I managed to not call a spade a spade (I got in trouble last week for calling Aiden a dick in front of Shirley, note to self don’t call Aiden a dick in front of his mom) but that wasn’t the end of it, later on he repeatedly punched Parker in the face.  For some reason Parker just took it instead of doing what he should have done, beating the shit out of him.  Maybe for my sister’s next birthday which is comping up in May my mom can get her a book on how not to get pregnant.

The reality is is there are plenty of shitty parents out there who think they are really good parents, I feel like accepting who you are and being fine with that is way better than thinking you are something that you aren’t.  How receptive would my mom have been to her mom giving her parenting books on her birthday?  I can tell you, not receptive at all, my mom takes advice from no one, especially not from me and Rosella giving Ardis (that’s my grandma and moms name resepctively) would have gone over like a lead balloon.  There is a guy on Freakonomics, (Stephen Dubner) who is a professor at the University of Chicago and he postulates that it really doesn’t make much difference what you do as a parent, keeping them alive is basically your one and only job and regardless the level of effort you put into your children they are going to turn out the way they are going to turn out.  The guy is really smart and I feel much better letting my kids watch hours of television and eat ice cream after every meal knowing that getting rid of the TV and cutting out dessert wouldn’t change their future one bit.

Obviously the screen time book, which is still sitting on my night stand in an attempt to make it look like I took my mom’s passive aggressiveness to heart (my mom cleans our house, unfortunately she doesn’t dust so at some point the charade will be over) is relevant because there are so many different types of screens out there than we had as kids.  We had one screen, and it was a shitty screen at that.  It is hard to find an old school tv anymore but if you do or you happen to watch non high def TV it makes you wonder why anyone even watched tv before the advent of flat screen ginormous high def televisions.  Phones, tablets, refrigerators (yes, they now have fridges with televisions in them, that’s fucked up) and the conventional and old reliable television.  My kids constantly are demanding my phone.  When I bring them to school its “dad can we watch your phone in the car?”  when I pick them up from school it’s “dad can we watch your phone in the car?” When I go to the store with them on the five minute trip from our house to D n W its “dad can we watch your phone in the car?”

You know who’s fault it is that they get so much screen time?  That’s right, Netflix, they have at least 600 shows and the content that is available for kids is top notch, a lot of it makes me laugh as I they watch my phone and I am a captive audience member forced to listen to it over my blue tooth.  Growing up we had shit for choices, Wile E coyote and the road runner, He-man, and the justice league with the wonder twins were the cream of an unsatisfying crop of shows.  My kids would probably rather stare out the window as opposed to watching that garbage.  They have Captain underpants, boss baby, atomic puppet and many many more shows to choose from.  I can’t tell them no, it would be inhumane to deprive them of such amazing content, and on top of that Netflix just raised their subscription fee so I need to get the most bang for my buck.

 

I have maintained to everyone I know that I will never step foot in Disney world, there could be a topless super model parade taking place at Epcot Center and I’m not going in there, that’s how much I deplore Disney.  You know what else I can’t stand and fail to understand the attraction people have for it?  Harry Potter, that’s right, and you may be asking yourself what does Harry Potter have to do with my stance regarding Disney?  Unfortunately, my stance on Disney led to me being thrust into the imaginary world of Harry Potter as well as a lot of other horrible stuff.  While Disney is likely the first thing one thinks of when Orlando is brought up, it is not the only ridiculously over priced amusement park in the area.  No, there is also Sea World, Lego Land, Discovery Cove, and Universal (which is actually 3 over priced parks in one).  There are a few things that may have been deal breakers had I known what I know now prior to marrying Shirley.  (As Opposed to thousands of deal breakers on her end regarding me).  One of those deal breakers would have been her affinity to Harry Potter.

The Jansma family decided to take a trip to close out February instead of going on the traditional spring break vacation.  The main reason is that spring break week is typically crowded down south and over priced.  In addition, when everyone is gone on spring break it makes West Michigan a much nicer place, especially for someone who doesn’t like people, and I don’t.  Unfortunately, looking back, I had nothing to do with planning this trip. I am typically the planner, but I handed the reins over to Shirley for this one.  The first leg of our trip was spent in Orlando at Cabana Bay.  It is one of the many resorts directly affiliated with Universal Studios, imagine a Motel 6 with a Starbucks in it, that’s Cabana Bay, if the Motel 6 had a 50’s theme that is.  Fortunately, coming from Michigan and the winter of the polar vortex, staying in a shitty hotel wasn’t going to put a damper on things.

We spent the first afternoon by the hotel pool and then went to bed early so we could be bright eyed a bushy tailed for our first day in the park.  (Shirley bought a package that included two of the three universal parks for multiple days). Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, they let the people who purchase the multi day fast passes go in the park at 8 am, a full hour ahead of all the plebes.  We immediately went to one of the two areas dedicated to recreating the magic that is Harry Potter (the last movie was released in 2010).  Imagine yourself around hundreds of people who have absolutely no chance at having sex with another human being, thats what I encountered that morning.  There were people in their 30’s and 40’s wearing wizard costumes and waving their wands at things.  Of course, my kids absolutely had to have a wand and there was an entire store dedicated to selling wands.  I decided to sit the wand purchase out, as they came out with their wands I imagined myself on my death bed with Shirley next to me, struggling to speak and asking her one last thing “how much were the Harry Potter wands?”  Sure I could probably find out right now by googling it, but I don’t think I am prepared for that bit of information.

Shirley and the kids were running around, making Harry Potter references, as I begrudgingly tagged along.  I had to remind myself that people actually pay money for this experience, I actually paid money for this experience.  If I had taken my kids and wife to the NBA hall of fame they would have been able to feel my pain, but they were oblivious to how little I could care about Harry Potter and the recreation of his realm.

Eventually the wonderment of Harry Potter land wore off and it was time to go on a ride.  We hopped on the Harry Potter ride that was located where we were at and things seemed to be taking a turn for the better.  That being said, the rides at Universal are mainly virtual reality.  They place you in an apparatus and then you go by a bunch of screens that depict scenes with Harry Potter doing things, making it seem like you are part of the experience.  I can handle regular roller coasters just fine, but these types of rides make me feel quite nauseous.  After the ride we managed to make our way out of Harry Potter land and hit another VR ride that involved Despicable Me, this one made me even sicker and I was hoping to get on one of the two traditional roller coasters they had in the park but Aiden wouldn’t ride it with me.

While being subject to these virtual reality rides seemed to be punishment enough, every ride had what was referred to as a “retail opportunity” as the riders exited back into the park.  It’s similar to how grocery stores place a bunch of candy at the check out,  they are betting that your kid will demand a candy bar and that parents will not have the resolve to tell their kids tough shit.  T-shirts, stuffed animals, and trinkets were placed at the exit, unavoidable as riders emptied out, strangely our kids made no real demands for this merchandise.  This was somewhat troubling to me, were the wands that expensive, so expensive that my kids were cognizant of the fact and not even trying to get additional merch out of their hapless and beleaguered parents?  Maybe I won’t bother with that question on my death bed.

Our initial morning in the park found us wandering around Universal, but there was a whole new park to explore, adventure island, and adventure Island had a whole entire section dedicated to Harry Potter as well.  You could walk over a bridge to adventure Island or you could take a train that was an exact replica of the one in Harry Potter.  Why walk when you can ride?  Unfortunately, the people boarding the train looked about as likely to have sex as a penniless Donald Trump and we had to ride in a train car with four complete strangers, one of which was sporting a wizard cape and actually asked my kids “where is your cape?”  I almost told her to shut the hell up until I realized she was special needs, instead I said flatly “they already have wands.”  I didn’t need any strangers giving my kids the idea that they needed wizard capes.  I was hoping the train was a regular train and that I could just stare out the window until we made our way to our final destination, no such luck, it was a virtual reality train as well and had even more virtual reality Harry Potter shit.

Shirley wanted to eat in one of the “cafeteria” that was a replica of a set off from Harry Potter.  It was only 11 am and I wasn’t hungry so I nixed that idea and decided it was time to double down on my nausea by riding another ride.  We made our way over to the Harry Potter ride in that section of the park but were separated when we were commanded by a park employee to put our things in a locker but only one individual from each party would be allowed to access the lockers.  Stupidly I gave Shirley my phone and took the kids to get in line, not seeing the fast pass lane and blindly following all the commoners into their line. (I should have known by the smell and appearance of the people I was following that I was in the wrong line) I assumed Shirley would catch up with us and kept pressing forward as the same bossy employee told us to keep moving.  Shirley on the other hand found the fast pass line and was about 45 minutes ahead of us.  Standing in line with no where to go was likely similar to how many people feel as they go down the aisle, about to be married “I’ve made it this far, as much as I’d like to run, there’s no turning back now, fuck it!.”  So, it was me and the kids with no electronics wondering if we would ever see Shirley again.  Part of me appreciated the experience of the regular line, because it made me relish the fast pass that much more, there is nothing like the feeling of superiority one feels as they walk past all the people stuck in the regular line.  However, the appreciation it gave me for the fast pass was quickly negated by the anxiety waiting in an endless line created.

The ride had four different staging areas that people were shuffled through like livestock to the butcher.  Eventually the regular line met up with the fast pass line and I made an executive decision to jump in the fast pass line willing to take shit from anyone who objected.  No one objected and it saved me at least 15 minutes of waiting.  With no phone and no Shirley I felt liberated, but also concerned that Shirley was freaking out.  Had the shoe been on the other foot, I would have seen it as an opportunity to spend the rest of the day doing whatever I wanted to do, but I knew Shirley didn’t think this way.  After the ride we began looking for Shirley, I figured that she would be by the exit to the ride waiting for us and if she wasn’t I would borrow someone’s phone and text her a location to meet up.  Fortunately, no more than a minute after exiting the Retail Experience, a frantic Shirley appeared.  She immediately dropped an F bomb and likely would have had divorce papers ready to serve had this taken place in Michigan.  I explained to her what happened and how it wasn’t my fault.  Fortunately, she understood and calmed down a bit.  In her mind I was running around the park with the kids having the time of our lives while she frantically tried to find us.  We’ve been married for nine years, so I feel like her notion of what was going on is on her, there is no way I would willingly take my kids around the park by myself.  It’s one of the many reasons divorce would be horrible, I can’t imagine having to deal with my kids all by myself whenever the kids are in my possession.  In all reality, the more likely scenario is me leaving the kids in the kid drop area and heading back to the hotel.  (the kid drop area is a place to dump your kids if they don’t want to ride the ride, we dropped Parker there the next day when we rode the same ride, but this time it was much better because we utilized our fast passes).

The trauma of being separated from us was enough for Shirley to agree to grab lunch and then head back to the hotel.  The following day I stayed at the hotel and did my own thing in the morning and eventually met up with Shirley and the kids.  Some of the other highlights/lowlights of Universal were the following:

• A women sporting both a back pack and a fanny pack, the only thing that would have made it more fashionable was an additional fanny pack placed in the front it could have been referred to as a FUPA pack.  She also had brought in her own tuna fish and avocado to feed her family with.
• Dippin Dots.  Yes, they still sell Dippin Dots at all amusement parks and county fairs, how long is it going to be the ice cream of the future?  I remember that being their slogan when I was in junior high, I’m 45 now.  Dippin Dots are so bad that my kids after having tried them somewhere else didn’t ask for them once.
• The fast and furious ride.  It was one of the newer rides but it totally sucked.  They had two different “sets” before you boarded the ride.  The first set was the “family room” and Jaime was the actor who guided us through that scene.  Various actors from the actual Fast and Furious franchise came up on the TV screen and Jaime would have a conversation with them.  The next room we were herded into was the “war room” and it was occupied by Pat.  However, Pat must have been filling in for someone who called in sick and was likely pulled out of the “retail experience” to that persons place.  She knew none of her lines and actually referred to the Rock not by name but as the hot guy.  We didn’t receive any 3-d glasses nor were we belted in to the ride, two clues that it was going suck, and suck it did.  It was like watching the final installment of Fast and the Furious from a bus.
• On the way out on our final day at the park Shirley decided she wanted to go into the Poseidon “ride”.  However, as we went through the line we were told it wasn’t a ride it was a show.  Immediately red flags went up for me but Shirley thought it would be fun.  After waiting 20 minutes we were put in a room and a guy who looked kind of like you would expect a tour guide on a safari to look like appeared.  He went in to his spiel about Poseidon and immediately I felt trapped.  As they tried to shuffle us over to another room I saw a few people head for the emergency exits, this was definitely an emergency and I ordered the wife and kids to follow me out the exits.  This was the cherry on the shit sundae that was our experience at Universal theme park.

Fortunately, our trip was not solely dedicated to Orlando, and a lot of lounging by the pool in Bradenton made up for the shortcomings at Universal.  However, I was baited in to going to an aquarium while in the Bradenton area with my mother in law, Shirley, and the kids.  My kids were referring to me as a wet blanket when I said I wasn’t going so I showed them that I wasn’t by driving them all to the aquarium, but immediately regretted it when I spotted a pair of Mennonites (not to be confused with the Amish, there was no sign of a horse and buggy so they had to be Mennonites) as we were walking in to the aquarium.  Mennonites at a tourist location are the equivalent of no 3d glasses or seat belts on a ride at Universal, a sure sign of sulkiness and disappointment.  My kids learned a valuable lesson, don’t ever call dad a wet blanket again.

I have attended countless guys weekends wether it be a golf trip, ice fishing, weekend, or the first weekend of March Madness in Vegas, Shirley has always been accommodating and watched the kids while I went off on my adventures and in some cases misadventures.  However, Shirley has actually gone on three trips in the past year and a half, three more than I have gone on in that time period.  For her fortieth birthday she went to New York with her sisters and cousins, in May she went out to California for her friend’s wedding, and this past weekend to Chicago to see Hamilton with some of her girlfriends.  I would imagine the conversation centered on who was going to make it to the Super Bowl as well as their mid season picks for the NCAA tournament.  I can’t get Shirley to stop talking Zion Williamson, at least when she’s not talking about what a brilliant offensive mind Sean McVay has.  Regardless, I have speculated on a number of occasions as to what women talk about when they are together and have come up with a potential list for topics that is in no particular order:

• how to avoid having sex with their husbands
• their kids
• how to avoid having sex with their husbands
• who has the longest active daily delivery streak from Amazon
• how to avoid having sex with their husbands
• their husbands
• yoga pants

I may be missing a few topics of conversation, but I think that nails most of what was discussed this past weekend by Shirley and her cohorts.  While Shirley was busy seeing the sights and sounds of Chicago and drinking wine I had Aiden and Parker to deal with.  The weekend started off on a bit of a rough note when I found out Shirley was leaving Friday night instead of Saturday morning to beat the winter storm that was approaching.  That was a great way for her to get dialed in for girl’s weekend and one of the most popular topics of conversation, had I know about her early departure I wouldn’t have went right to bed when I got home from Bowling league Thursday night.  The nice thing about my kids being 5 and 8 is that they love tv, their tablets, and the Nintendo switch, now I say that’s a nice thing because it allowed me to sleep in when they woke up at 7am on Saturday morning, it’s not a nice thing when it is all they want to do and every time I step away from them they are getting a hit of their tablet or the switch as if they were crack addicts looking for that next high.  I speculated to what girls talk about on a girls weekend but here is a list of the most popular questions my kids ask me:

• Dad can we watch your phone? (Atomic Puppet is their favorite show on Netflix and I put it on my blue tooth  when we are in the car, it’s actually a pretty funny cartoon)
• How old are you dad? (Ive been 44 since last February, yet they still ask me every other day how old I am, wondering if they took out a life insurance policy on me behind my back)
• Similar to the age question, When’s your birthday dad?
• Dad can we watch your phone?
• Can you wipe my butt?  (yes, this question is becoming less frequent, but they know when they have a disaster on their hands, and it’s better for all parties involved if I take charge of the situation)
• Saturday the most popular question was “when are we leaving for the waterpark?”

Yes, I had agreed to take them to the Double JJ waterpark (I kept wanting to call it the Double Va JJ water park) since Shirley was going to be gone for the weekend and she indicated that it would be best if I took them alone since she didn’t want to have to endure a day at Double Va JJ.  My Saturday started off with me heading to the closest Starbucks while leaving my kids at home to fend for themselves, I knew our dog Allie was not going to be of any assistance since she is the Boston Terrier version of Stevie Wonder without the musical talent, but Jasper would definitely keep them out of harms way so that he could eventually attack them while they are sleeping.  Last spring when Shirley was gone I went for a run while the kids watched Peter Rabbit, I felt that the myriad of electronics at their disposal when combined with the frigid temperatures would be enough to allow me to be gone for at least four hours (I was actually only gone for 45 minutes tops).

When I got home I decided to get a P90 work out in so that I could look my best for all the lovely ladies that would be at the water park, my kids came down every three minutes and asked me when we were leaving, I told them two hours but the reality is that I could have told them seventy two days and it would have had the same effect on them.  They still ask me on Monday if they have school the next day and on Tuesday if tomorrow is Friday.  I feel like when I was in second grade I had that shit down and knew how long an hour was, the days of the week, and how old my dad was.  I didn’t mind them coming down and bothering me because I was still able to continue with my workout but their incessant yapping was making it almost impossible to listen to the podcast I had on.

With my workout complete and the swim bag loaded up with towels (I had read a google review that said the double Va JJ towels were the size of a wash cloth and the texture of sandpaper) spare underwear, and swim goggles, we were on our way.  I had to make a stop at Costco and left the kids in my car to watch Atomic Puppet, I leave it running with the doors locked, I figure if someone wants my kids bad enough to break the window of my car and attempt to drive away with them while parked in the Costco parking lot, go for it.  (I am disclosing these parenting techniques so that other parents can be liberated and take advantage of them, or at the very least tell me what a great job of parenting I am doing).  The reason I leave my kids in the car is because they hate Costco, they use to want to go in the store so they could take advantage of the samples, but they have realized the samples suck and are not nearly enough incentive to turn their back on atomic puppet.

Parker brought a friend with him and when we got there the kids insisted on playing mini golf before going into the waterpark.  I went to get them putters and balls and the girl at the counter told me it was $7 a pop, for some reason I didn’t put my foot down, but I did save $7 by not playing myself and we were off to the indoor putt putt course.  The kids averaged roughly 33 strokes per hole, with the highlight being Paker winding up and hitting a line drive that narrowly missed his friend’s head as his friend tried to finish up hole 17.  I was impressed that he could get the ball up off the ground with that much momentum with only a putter but we are definitely going to have to work on his aim.

It was finally the moment I had dreaded, getting the kids organized and ready to go into the water park.  They must have circulated a groupon to all the local trailer parks based upon the customers attending that day, lots of tats and lots of exposed belly fat.  There were separate changing rooms for men, women, and families.  For some reason I had expected the family changing room to be similar to the Y where there are enclosed rooms for families to change in.  Not the case at all, there were stalls to change in, as well as stalls to go to the bathroom in.  I would hope no one is dropping a deuce in the family locker room while families sit helplessly by in their changing stalls, but something tells me it has happened a time or two.  “You kids stay here in this changing stall, Uncle Ron has to drop his own kids off at the pool before we go into  that dog gone water park.”

While I had hoped I could just keep our swim bag in an area with our towels and not have to use a locker, it was fairly obvious that leaving my swim bag with my phone and wallet in it would have been an even worse decision than taking a dump in the family locker room so I ponied up $6 for the extra large locker along with a $20 deposit (they really don’t want you running off with the key).  The kids had been talking about the four person water slide on the way up and I had not put much thought into how that impacted me.  Unfortunately, all of them were completely worthless when it came to helping me carry the four person tube up the six flights of stairs that led to the different water slides.  It was how I imagine business time with a large women would be, I couldn’t get a good handle on the tube and I kept bumping it in to just about everything.  We managed to make our way to the top and go down the four person slide without incident.  The kids wanted to do it again and so I had to haul the four person tube up one more time on my own.  Eventually I was able to talk them in to going two and two so that I only had to haul two two person tubes up the top of the water slides.  It was like how I imagine sex with two skinny chicks, much more manageable.

Many of you seem to think I have it out for fat people, and I will admit I do, but the fat people I have it the most out for are the ones who have no self awareness, and there were at least four women who were somewhere between two and three spins wearing bikinis.  The truly unfortunate thing, and this is probably mostly my fault, is that they had a hot tub area and part of it was outside, but you had to go through a trap door to get to the outside part.  I went in the hot tub (which was roughly 93 degrees, about five degrees below my body temperature making it feel like I was in a tub of urine with a bunch of strangers) and decided to go through the trap door, unfortunately immediately behind door number one was one of the bikini clad fat chicks and one of her equally as fat friends.  I immediately made my way for the exit and learned a valuable lesson, communal hot tubs should be avoided at all costs.  This is something I should have picked up on a long time ago considering the experience I had at MVP a few months back.  I was sitting in the hot tub naked, because who brings a suit to sit in a locker room hot tub?  when a guy went up to the stairs and knelt down on them so that his sack and his butthole was about a foot and a half from my face.  Eventually he army crawled from the hot tub to the showers ( a distance of at least three to five yards)  and proceeded to sit Indian style (can you say that anymore) in the shower.

We had arrived at the waterpark around 2 but there were no clocks in the park similar to a casino, I know why a casino doesn’t want you to know what time it is, but I have no idea what the philosophy of the water park is in not alerting its customers to the time of day.  I had my phone in the locker and decided to go find out what time it was, it felt like it had to be at least 4:30, so it was a real punch to the gut when I discovered it was only 3:30 and what was even more disheartening was the fact that when I asked Parker when he wanted to leave he responded “in a really long time!”  I decided to try and make the most of the experience, I kept my phone out and started using that for entertainment, Rothbury has surprisingly good cell service.  However, I realized that I was at the waterpark to hang out with my kids (while possibly getting a communicable and incurable disease) and that I should do my best to interact with them so I gathered up the kids and went down the waterslides a few more times before using my Ace in the hole to get them out of there.  You guys want to go to the Arcade?

 

In anticipation of the Jansma Christmas party with my aunts, uncles, and cousins which has become a staple of the holiday season and is always at our house we discussed having an ugly sweater theme.  Parker said to my mom “you’re going to win grandma” to which my mom asked “why is that?”  Parker response “because you look like someone who would win”.  Granted, when it comes to sweaters most women in their sixties exclusively go ugly.  Had this been stated by a five year old to anyone else it wouldn’t have been a problem, but my mom is extremely sensitive almost to the point that I wonder if I was adopted, there are many reasons I know I am not but sometimes I wish I was.  The reality is that you can say almost anything to me and it won’t hurt my feelings, my dad was so mean to me when I was growing up that what typically would create immeasurable insecurities in an individual only made me stronger.  What is troubling is that being genetically linked to my parents makes me gravely concerned that I will eventually turn out to be just like them.

My parents live in a five bedroom farmhouse and my mom hasn’t slept in her own bed in at least 25 years.  Every night she falls asleep in the basement of their house watching Nick at Night.  I have no idea why she refuses to sleep in a bed and there are a multitude of reasons I don’t ask but the primary reason is I don’t want to start un-peeling the layers of the onion, the less I know about my moms incredible weirdness the better off I am and hopefully it lessens the likelihood that I will replicate that weirdness.  Here’s just one of many examples of why the future doesn’t seem too bright for me should I start evolving into the male version of Ardis, yes her name is Ardis and while some people may be able to overcome their name unless your Randy, Trevor, or Dale (possibly Esther) my mom couldn’t.  This past Saturday we went up to Grant to get a Christmas tree even though we finally decided to get a fake tree from Costco (this is encouraging because my mom is unable to change and like every good Dutch person is completely set in her ways) and my mom rode up with my sister.  My sister, toting her three kids couldn’t drop my mom off at her car so I took my mom from my house to get her car.  She said “wait a minute I have to grab my stuff”   I thought what stuff? and she immediately appeared with a grocery bag (I never found out what was in it but probably a carton of Pecan Sandies and some other sugary snacks that she would likely refer to as lunch or nourishment).  Whatever was in the grocery bag was secondary to the fact that she had her plastic Tupperware container of coupons with her.  Was she hoping to use one of her coupons to get a deal on a Christmas tree?  Doubtful, she brought her coupons because she constantly needs to be busy.  She couldn’t just sit in a car and go for a ride she had to be organizing coupons.  On top of that I”m pretty sure a majority of those coupons are older than some of the salad dressing she has in her fridge (she never throws any thing out and has dressing that predates the Obama administration and on top of that she puts all leftovers in margarine dishes so you have no idea what anything is or how old it is).

One time she flew out to Seattle and she has a mail bin like the mailmen have for delivering mail (she’s a professional) and she took it with her on the flight so she could organize her mail, not sure how she made it through TSA with that and it was probably the first time anyone tried to fly across the country with a bin full of junk mail.

If I were adopted I am sure one could argue nature versus nurture and claim that because I have been exposed to this weirdness for so long I will eventually embrace it and become as cooky as my mom (I haven’t even gotten into my dad yet) but the reality is that I fully recognize her bizarre behavior and have done everything in my power to not be my mom but I still have a fear that genetics will eventually prevail.  However, even if I do somehow avoid becoming a gigantic Dutch weirdo I can’t avoid the fact that I am going to have to take care of my parents someday and that day seems to be approaching quicker than I had expected.

While my parents are only in their early sixties they act like they are 112 and have a lifestyle that has prematurely aged them, especially my mom.  My mom still lays out in the sun and she drinks liters of Diet Coke daily.  On top of that she will only eat vegetables that are lathered in brown sugar, butter, or both.  Shirley made beef stew once and my mom picked out all the vegetables and only ate the meat, I was waiting for her to grab a couple pecan sandies to absorb the liquid part of the stew but fortunately she didn’t do that.  My dad has MS and was diagnosed when he was in his late twenties.  While a lot of what he is going through is directly related to his illness, there are some things that he does that are entirely his own doing because he’s old and old people are annoying.  Like Shirley’s grandma (yes, her grandma is still alive) my dad has to have coffee all the time and it may be the only thing he thinks about to the point that  he will drink instant coffee if he can’t get his hands on regular coffee.  It can be 95 degrees out and my dad and Shirley’s grandma will be clamoring for a cup of coffee (Shirley’s grandma can only drink decaf though which is even more annoying).  You know what would go good with this popsicle?  A cup of decaf coffee!

While I have come to accept that I will eventually have to be quite involved in my parent’s lives, it still stings due to the fact that my parents are entirely unwilling to listen to any of my advice.  The five bedroom house they currently occupy should have been sold eight years ago but my mom refuses to listen to me and I have stopped trying to get her to sell it.  In addition, my mom refuses to stop driving the handicap van that is meant to transport my dad places.  Granted, she’s stopped parking in handicap spots when he’s not with her (which is 99% of the time she drives the van) but she still insists on driving the van over her actual vehicle because she doesn’t want to put miles on her vehicle (it’s a 2003 Envoy and has almost 200,000 miles on it).  The problem with her driivng the handicap van is primarily that it is hard to find a handicap van and the more miles she puts on it the less miles there will be for my dad to use it.  On top of that, if she’s driving the van and my dad needs to go somewhere it’s tough shit for Tom. (my dad’s name, tough shit for tom is not some new phrase I’m trying to make popular)

My dad ended up in the ER just yesterday and was eventually admitted to Spectrum due to a UT infection.  This use to happen quite a bit and when it did/does he’s rendered completely helpless.  One time my mom just dumped him off at the ER fortunately I ended up showing up and was able to help him through the initial exam and assist him in the attempt to get him admitted.  Frequently hospitals don’t want to admit him but we have been fortunate that he has typically been admitted.  My fear this time was that my mom was going to stay at work since my dad was transported via ambulance on this particular occasion.  The sad thing is my mom is so guarded I don’t think anyone at work even knows she has a wheelchair bound husband.  I get my teeth cleaned at the dentist office where she works and the hygienist is one of the people who thinks she knows my mom.  She asked me if my parents would ever take our kids if Shirley and I went away somewhere and I just laughed.  She wondered why I laughed and I told her about my dad, she had no idea.  The logical question would have been to ask her if she ever wondered why my mom drives a handicap van around since my mom has no obvious physical handicaps, but I didn’t even bother.

The running joke between Shirley and I is that my mom will drop the news about my dad passing away a couple weeks after his funeral. “Where’s dad?”

“He died last Tuesday we wanted to keep his funeral small.”   Frequently when he ends up in the hospital we don’t find out for a number of days as if it is no big deal that he’s been completely incapacitated and is now in the hospital.  While I was always quite embarrassed by how young my parents were when I was growing up (they were 18 and 17 when they had me) the advantage was going to be that they would be able bodied and I wouldn’t have to take care of them as they aged because we were so close in age, unfortunately it hasn’t quit played out that way, I guess it’s a good thing my sister married Super Dave I don’t know where our family would be with out him.  With my two brothers living out of the area and my sister having three kids and counting I am staring to figure out why I woke up at 3 am and couldn’t get back to sleep …….

Last night was the annual NPC Christmas program.  I calculated out the years left for the elementary program and Aiden has three more and I am hoping we can just pull Parker out of the program at that point, otherwise we are looking at five more years of the same story over and over.  The great thing, or not so great thing about where my kids go to school is that they have a band and an orchestra, I don’t know the difference between the two but I can tell you they both suck.  Fortunately I missed the orchestra performance because I was waiting for my father in law who unbeknownst to me was already seated.  However, I did catch the band and had I not had a program and known that they were likely to be playing Christmas music I would have had no idea what the songs actually were.  Now, I am not saying these kids don’t have a bright future or that there isn’t the next Kenny G somewhere in the NPC elementary band, but right now their music should only be played in a sound proof room.  (I doubt there is a Kenny G, I feel like if they had a Kenny G he would have been good enough to make me realize they were playing Jingle Bells)

Now the band and orchestra are bad but actually not the worst part of the program.  The worst part is when the kids have to go up to the microphones and say their “memorized’ lines.  90% of them have  a look of terror and on their face as if they were about to get on board the worlds highest and faster roller coaster.  It’s painful to watch them go through this, and I typically enjoy watching other people suffer.  Frequently a kid will get through part of their lines and then just freeze up and at that point it’s just dead air.  I hope and pray that my kids never get speaking parts, I get squeamish when a complete stranger’s kid screws up I can’t imagine what it will be like to have my own kid get three words out and then start yelling “turd” at the top of his lungs because he can’t remember his lines.

Now, NPC is a private school and that allows them to actually embrace Jesus and all the stuff that surrounds the birth of Christ.  However, it is a bit problematic because they feel the need to include every part of the story.  Come on, even the most godless atheist knows the Christmas story backwards and forwards, in the interest of time can’t we leave the shepherds out?  Or if you are going to keep them in get rid of the Wiseman we don’t need both of their stories.

Somehow I managed to survive the Christmas program once again and I am already dreading next years.  What I did notice is that people are not shy about having their phones out while the program is going on.  I could see if it was a secular Christmas program, all the people involved in those things are going to hell so what does it matter if they are paying attention?  However, God is watching us watch the Christmas program and I feel like we should be paying attention, or at least pretend to pay attention.

Similar to the idea that I have a pretty good idea where most people are spending the after life, I have a relative (not a sibling) who documents her whole life on Facebook.  She had a medical emergency last night and documented the entire thing on Facebook while it was happening.  I wonder if when they took her to the hospital in the ambulance she had Facebook open as she was being pushed out on the stretcher?  This all happened around midnight and she concluded her post by indicating that she wasn’t worried about having an untimely demise because she knew she was going to heaven.  Rather presumptive isn’t it?  Of course I didn’t read any of this, unless my relative was a hot chick who was a victim/witness in a criminal case I was handling or fodder for a group email or a blog there is no way I would run across her posts.  I don’t go on Facebook and I don’t pay attention to anyone’s posts, does that make me better than you?  Of course it does, but it’s just one of the many things that makes me better than you.  I’m glad there is Facebook because it has allowed me to retrieve countless photos to use to make fun of people but that’s about where it ends in terms of it’s usefulness to me.  The only reason I found out about the post is because Shirley saw it and relayed its contents to me.

In line with the entire Facebook thing and sticking with the holiday theme, the Christmas Card was Facebook prior to there being a Facebook.  Facebook is a platform where people can post whatever they want to make their lives look more amazing than everyone else’s lives.  It’s probably one of the many reasons I am not on there, I would post all of the shit about my life that sucks and I’m pretty sure you aren’t suppose to do that on Facebook.  Probably to no one’s surprise the Jansma’s don’t do a Christmas card anymore, if we were still int he habit of doing such a thing it would probably get to the intended recipients around Valentine’s Day.  It would be interesting to do a study to find out how much cabbage is spent on the the family Christmas card industry on a yearly basis.  I’m not saying forego the family Christmas Card and contribute the money you would have spent to a charitable cause, I am saying that most of the money sunk into this industry is postage.  We need to stop funding the US postal service I want it to go away I don’t want it to thrive off the backs of insecure families who send out photos of themselves or their kids in their best moments via Christmas cards so that everyone can think how they have their shit together when there is a 90% chance they don’t.

If someone put a gun to my head and I was forced to put together a Christmas card it would not involve any of my family and it wouldn’t even involve my dog.  What it would involve is a photo of our newest family member Jasper urinating in the toilet.  That’s right Parker caught him peeing in the toilet this morning and unlike his other male counterparts (me, Aiden, and Parker) he doesn’t have any splatter issues.

My sister and her husband just had their third child yesterday.  First let me give you the text exchange announcing the birth of  Esther (yes Esther) Rose (I am not going to try and spell her husbands last name, it has a lot consonants and is polish sounding and starts with a K):

Sis: Esther Rose (my sister didn’t put her husbands last name in the text message either, a lot could be read into that but people already complain this blog is too lengthy) today at 12:21, we are both doing great (just very tired)

Christy (my brother’s wife) She’s so sweet congratulations! (my sister texted a photo I will leave it to the reader’s imagination or you can just look at pictures of your new born babies if you have had a baby, that’s what she looks like). I want to see pictures of the boys meeting her too (I’ll get into that later)

Andy (my brother) Congrats

Me: Looks just like Dave, congratulations.  (in hindsight I should have spaced that out so no one would think I was congratulating them on the fact that their daughter looked like Dave)

Sis: Thanks she definitely looks like Dave.  (since it’s a text I am assuming disappointment when I read the text in my head in my sisters voice, but I can’t be certain)

Jesse (my other brother) Congratulations how big is she?

Sis: 9lbs 13 ounces and 21 inches long (no wonder my sister was tired she had to push a land monster out of her)

Me: Did she come out eating a Big Mac?

In hindsight I should have clarified that, I asked the Big Mac question because she was so big not because she looks like Dave, but Dave has been known to kill a whole lot of Big Macs on a fairly frequent basis so the actual intention behind my question may have not been as clear as I thought it was.  Now back to Esther.  My sister named her first two sons Noah and Elijah.  I told Shirley that I was certain even though they were having a girl it would be a biblical name, I didn’t realize it would be the worst biblical name imaginable.  I am pretty sure  the last person named Ester died sometime during the 1960’s.  Furthermore, what if her kids grow up and don’t love Jesus?  Pretty hard to explain those names away when all your kids have turned their back on Christianity.  On top of all that, I know my mom is kicking herself and saying “why didn’t I think of that?  If only I had given my kids biblical names they would be way better Christians, Brittany could have been a missionary had I gone with Ruth, her Christianity is off the charts all she needed to get to the next level was a non-secular name, Fiddlesticks!”  (my mom actually says fiddlesticks)

Turns out my brother has a biblical name but only because his name starts with a J, my parents were into J’s with their first two but after getting to know Jesse for roughly three years before Andy was born they decided to steer away from the J names.  Interestingly enough, since my sister is 16 years younger than me and my parents felt kind of bad that when I was in high school I had siblings who were 8, 11, and 16 years younger than me so my mom let me pick out my sisters name.  Looking back, Brittany may have not been the best choice.  We have had two Brittany’s that have worked as Secretaries at our firm, Brittany 1 and Brittany 2.  Brittany 1 needed help opening a roll of stamps and couldn’t figure out how to write and send emails.  Not sure how she made it past the interview process but she was gone after 3 weeks.  Brittany 2 on the other hand did know how to not only open a roll of stamps on her own but also how to affix it to an envelope and put it in the mail.  She lasted an entire summer, but got home sick and couldn’t handle the bright lights and big city that is Grand Rapids and moved back home to Elk Rapids.  Am I partially to blame for my Sister’s predicament because I named her?  I can tell you this, if my parents named me or one of my brother’s Randy, Dale, or Carl our lives would have been sent on an entirely different trajectory.

When I speak of my sister’s predicament I probably need to expand a bit.  This past weekend she and super Dave were over with their two kids who are 3 and 1.  Yes, my sister now has three kids all under the age of 4, which is quite depressing if you think about it just on it’s face, but she’s married to super Dave which increases the depressing aspect of it by a power of 10.  You may ask how I dare to write this, am I not afraid my sister will stumble upon or maybe even Dave?  First of all, I don’t think Dave can read, or at least if it doesn’t involve content about crypto currency he wont’ find it or will start reading and lose interest after the first paragraph.  Secondly, there isn’t much Christian about my blog so there is no chance my sister will ever read it.

My Saturday night with Dave was quite remarkable, I have gotten to the point where I try to steer clear of any of his hot button topics out of fear that engaging in an actual conversation with him will make me dumber, but even the most innocuous statement can lead to a highway of misconstrued ideas and conspiracy theories, which is exactly what happened on Saturday night.  I am not sure what the topic of conversation was that led to this particular exchange but this is how it went:

SD “You know about Joan Rivers don’t you?”

Me “No”

SD “Joan Rivers called Michele Obama a tranny and the next day she died during surgery”

Me “I had no idea, those bastards!”

I ended up googling it and it turns out Joan Rivers actually died two weeks after making the comments and was 112 years old.  Regardless, Super Dave had a genuine belief that the Obama’s were directly behind the demise of Joan Rivers.  Prior to the advent of Crypto Currency and even before Dave managed to lock my sister down and then she in turn managed to lock him down by getting pregnant on their honeymoon, he told me he was looking into a Quizno’s franchise.  There were a lot of red flags when it came to Super Dave, but this one was about the size of the State of Texas.  Now that they are married, I don’t know who to feel worse for, Dave to his credit does try to make the occasional joke. My sister was mentioning that Noah likes to watch some cake decorating show ( I wonder if he drinks a glass of milk while he watches? This cake is making me thirsty mom!) and Dave said that’s because it’s all he is allowed to watch to which I responded is it a biblical cake decorating show?

The big question is, was Dave consulted when it came to naming rights for his three children?  My guess is no, because if he had been they would be named Mario, Donkey Kong, and Princess Peach.  It is entirely possible that he had some input in the first two names, but I can’t even imagine Dave being so oblivious that he would green light the name Esther even though his motto when it comes to my sister is “What Britt wants Britt gets” which is why they have three kids and counting.

In closing, Cara’s sister and my sister have both had babies in the past couple of months.  I’ll be honest I don’t even know the name of Cara’s sister’s baby and I actually like her sister, I think it’s Riley but I can’t be sure, I can say whatever it is it’s got to be better than Esther.  But the fact that I don’t know the babies name pretty much sums up how I feel about babies.  Babies are awful, looking at the picture of my new niece made me question how people can like babies that aren’t their own.  I liked my kids when they were babies, sort of, because they were mine and I was obligated to, but there is no way I am liking someone else’s baby, just ask anyone who has seen me around a baby, I never ask to hold a baby and I never pretend to like babies.

I can’t imagine having to go through the entire baby phase again with Parker and Aiden, having kids who can somewhat fend for themselves (I do still have to wipe their butts once in a while when it’s a disaster down there but that’s better for everyone involved) and can be entertained by television while I do what I want to do is complete paradise.  I had a really bad memory this morning, I thought about when my kids were so young that they would wake up at 6 am on a Saturday in the middle of the winter and we would have to get up with them and have absolutely nothing to do.  Now, they just head on downstairs on the weekend turn on the tv and let us sleep in as long as we want.  Granted, my kids getting older means I am getting older, but the trade off is worth it, sure having to pee three times a night because my prostate is growing almost as fast as my back hair is coupled with having  to take stairs one at a time because my knees don’t bend anymore sucks, but not having to try that hard at parenting anymore more than makes up for it.

While there may be a small minority of people who have never had the misfortune of having to clean up after someone who has been sick, as a parent it is probably an unavoidable fact that you will end up being summoned by a sick child at an ungodly hour to put your cleaning skills to use because they couldn’t make it to the toilet.  Last night wasn’t my first puke rodeo, but it was somewhat unique.  Aiden came in our room around 1 am claiming his stomach hurt.  Now, before I get into the specific facts, a little background on his most recent nightly routine.  Typically, he will come in, turn our bathroom light on and take a leak in our toilet at anywhere between 1am and 3am.  If he doesn’t do that there are two other possible behaviors.  If we have turned the hallway light off he will get up and turn it on, or if we have shut our door and left the light on he will at some point open or door.  All of these things are annoying, but exacerbated by the fact that I enjoy sleeping in pitch black conditions and any light bothers me greatly.

Back to last night, he complained he was sick, but I wasn’t buying it (I didn’t buy one other time and I will get to that later).  He climbed into our bed amongst my protests but Shirley was going to let hime stay because she wanted to sleep and not deal with the inconvenience this was causing.  However, Aiden decided he wasn’t that sick and went back to his bed.  May be he is making progress.   At 5 am we woke up to him crying and quickly realized after he said he just puked, that he had deposited chunks at various places no where close to the any toile.  Immediately Shirley said she would take care of Aiden, a veteran move on her part, and the adult equivalent of calling not it.  Hoping to have sex again in the not too distant future, I was forced to get out of bed and go to work on cleaning up the puke deposits.  Aiden said it was really bad, but the first two piles I encountered in the hallway by his bathroom and in the middle of his bedroom floor weren’t that bad.  However, when I inquired further, which in hindsight I shouldn’t have because I am pretty sure there was a strong argument had it been found in the morning Shirley would have been responsible for the cleanup.  This pile was larger and there was splatter on the wall.

A few years ago Aiden came into our room complaining he didn’t feel good.  I told him he was a pussy (I actually said quite being a wimp). No sooner had the words left my mouth then he turned his head and puked all over our bed.  I”m not sure who ended up on clean up duty that night, but that was another reason I didn’t want him sleeping with us last night, if he was actually going to puke I preferred it be anywhere but in our bed.  When Parker slept in his own room, he had a puke episode as well, he was probably three at the time and had puked all over the floor of his room.  It was the first time I had attempted to clean up puke since college and I made a very big mistake, I unplugged my nose and breathed mid cleanup, unfortunately one whiff of that puke smell and it is permanently embedded in your olfactory senses.   The good news is Parker had an IKEA rug on his floor and all of the puke ended up on that.  I tossed the rug with it’s puke contents outside and threw it in the trash the next morning.  While I am Dutch, no amount of cheapness was going to result in my attempting to salvage the rug.  I have the same philosophy with Tupperware and glassware that ends up storing leftovers for too long resulting in it’s contents looking like something that could easily devour your arm if any were to spill on your skin.  Those go into the garbage without a second thought.

In closing, when I was in first grade we sat at tables with four students per table.  The kid sitting across from me hurled all over our table and to this day I can picture his vomit with cut up and undigested hot dog pieces in it.  Surprising I can still eat a tube steak after encountering that type of trauma at such a young age.  Of course the clean up involved throwing sawdust on the vomit.  Has anyone ever figured out what that exactly does?  Every pile of puke that ever appeared in a school setting when I was growing up wound up with sawdust on it.  Does saw dust remove smell molecules?  Whoever was in charge of reordering school supplies probably ordered like this “Ok, I ordered pencils, got the big pink erasers as well, not sure why we need an eraser of that size but I’m not going to switch it up now, glue, oh yeah and we need that puke sawdust too, kids have been really sick this semester.”   I begrudgingly cleaned up my kids vomit last night but theres no way I’d clean up someone’s puke if they were not my own flesh and blood, makes me truly appreciate the selflessness of the school janitor.

Late into this summer Parker told me he wanted to play soccer.   Not sure where that came from since he has shown no interest in soccer, or anything athletic other than playing smear the deer (the politically correct version of smear the queer) in our backyard with his brother and I, unless you count him running out of the shower jumping on our bed naked and rubbing his bare ass on my pillow, but wether that takes athleticism is up for debate.  Granted, him rubbing his bare ass on my pillow after his shower is preferred as opposed to before his shower, it still isn’t something I encourage, although I can’t help but laugh a little when he does it as I discreetly switch my pillow with Shirley’s.

Reluctantly I signed Parker up for soccer and the first week was not what I had expected.  Parker was the biggest kid on his team and seems relatively quick when stacked up against the other kids his age.  However, in his first game he wanted nothing to do with the ball and showed little interest in trying to score a goal.  My visions of him being the next David Beckham (the only soccer player I know off the top of my head other than Pele) minus the tats and venereal diseases were quickly disposed of after his first game.  However, the following week his team went up against a squad comprised solely of four year olds who were a head shorter than Parker.  All Parker had to do was kick the ball as far as he could and then out run the four year olds to the ball and he was set up for a goal.  Ultimately, he scored multiple goals, and my hopes and dreams for a soccer star were still alive.

Week three was this past Saturday and reality once again set in as we got done with team pictures and discovered who Parker’s team was playing.  First of all, I am not sure why they have team pictures anymore, at lest team pictures with a professional photographer where you have to pay to get actual photos.  Shirley took her own pictures on her phone so if we ever want to commemorate Parker’s soccer season we can go to Walgreens and get our own prints for a fraction of the price.  Secondly, we were instructed by multiple sources to show up a half hour early for the team photo.  Guess who didn’t show up a half hour early for the team photo?  That’s right, his teammates, one kid rolled in at 9:59, one minute prior to game time and I told his mom where the team photo was being taken and she acted like I was speaking in Russian.

As the teams started warming up it was obvious Parker’s team didn’t have the manpower to stick with their opponent and that Karma was going to be a bitch.  The tables were going to be turned on them and the fun they had running rough shod over a heard of four year olds was going to be a distant memory.  However, before the blood bath could commence I noticed a kid warming up with the other team who seemed out of place.  He didn’t have a jersey, and he was about twice the size of the other kids, and not in a particularly good way.  I imagined him to be the type of kid who just shows up at your house uninvited to play with your kids even though your kids don’t really like him and frequently plugs your toilet because he uses too much toilet paper,  the type of kid who when he goes trick or treating sticks his whole hand in the candy dish and takes as many candy bars as he can get his grubby hands on.  As I watched him warm up I saw him kick a soccer ball into the woods and not retrieve it, what a dick!  After a few minutes the kids on the team gathered up and ran towards the goal, this was fine for the kids on the team because they were short and fit under the cross bar, but chubbs didn’t, and went full speed ahead into the metal cross bar, I was fifty feet away and could hear the thud.  He went down immediately and I expected the coach to show some genuine concern.  To my surprise he didn’t, which meant the kid was likely either a step child of the coach or adopted.

With Chubbs on the sideline in concussion protocol it was time to begin the game.  Parker started the game but his coach made a misstep by not having Benjamin in the starting lineup.  Benjamin is hispanic and played soccer the year before so not only is he racially geared toward soccer he also has experience.  Without Benjamin out there the other team scored four straight goals using Parker’s method from the prior week, kicking the ball as far as they can and outrunning their opponent.  Parker sat the second quarter and Benjamin took over for him.  Benjamin scored a goal and generally kept things more under control for Parker’s team.  The unfortunate thing for Benjamin is that he was paired with a kid who completely negated Benjamin’s prowess.  The kid upon being told he was playing immediately crossed his arms and began to cry and held that pose for the entire quarter as he meandered around the field staying at least 30 feet from the action at all times.

Granted, if you read my blog you know my parenting skills are still rounding into form, but if my kid acted like that I would either stop bringing him to soccer or make his mom bring him.  I feel like either way you are sending the appropriate message, if you stop bringing him he realizes the value of being able to behave in a way that allows him to get his way, shaping him into a master manipulator at a young age and likely leading to a career as a politician or an attorney.  If you make his mom bring him the kid realizes at an early age there is usually a way to get out of doing something you don’t want to do, make someone else do it.

Mercifully the game eventually ended and it was snack time.  For most of the kids reminding them that snack time is only a short time off while they are playing is the only way to keep them semi focused on playing soccer.  That week we had signed up for snack as I made my morning cold brew run that morning I was reminded by Shirley it was our turn for snack and to get something healthy.  When I returned from the store Parker asked me what I bought for snack, I responded Skittles and Mountain Dew. (I actually bought Drink Boxes and Cheese crackers as well as peanut butter crackers because one of the kids on the team is a pussy, I mean lactose intolerant, if the particular kid also has a peanut allergy he may as well just kill himself right now).  I was half tempted to not allow the kid who was acting like a four year old (and probably was a four year old) by crying and pouting to have a snack or pour his drink box on his head an crumble up his crackers in the package and then give them to him.  However, I have to substitute coach next week and I wouldn’t want to send the wrong message to my team.

Periodically I will take trips to the mall and it amazes me how the mall continues to evolve in the face of adversity.  Rumor has it that the mall and conventional retail are on their death bed as the internet makes shopping at the mall as practical as going to Blockbuster to rent a movie.  However, in West Michigan the mall is still alive and well, my trip on a Tuesday night in September found the mall parking lot packed and me tempted to park in a spot reserved for expectant mothers, seriously, what are they going to do to me?  However, I decided to continue on through the parking lot looking for an empty space because I didn’t want to be that guy.

My first stop was at Banana Republic, a store I am quite familiar with, and a store I feel confident that I can still enter without getting strange looks from the staff and patrons.  I picked out three items and approached the counter where I was immediately asked if I wanted a credit card, pretty sure everyone who not only has shopped at banana republic but eaten a banana has a BR card.  I told the clerk I already had one which brought about the response that I could save 10% on my purchase if I used the card, probably not worth the $6 in savings (that’s right I bought two shirts and a pair of pants for 60 bucks that retailed for $225 total) when I ultimately pay at least $20 in late fees when I forget to pay off my balance.  The clerk proceeded to ask me if I wanted to receive email promotions from BR, I told him no even though I already somehow receive those promotions, If I said yes would I get duplicate emails?  Actually, I should have asked him to unsubscribe me since I have already tried multiple times on my own and am still receiving the emails.  Also, I should have told him to punch me in the face while he was adding me to the email list, it would have been less painful than having to receive their emails.

As I waited for the transaction to go through I began to get anxious.  The clerk had a wireless hand held device that he used to run my debit card and that was linked to a remote printer that he was going to use to print my receipt (email receipt was an option but I”m not giving them my email again).  The receipt wasn’t printing and the music in the background was causing me a great deal of anxiety.  Not sure if stores intentionally play music that is terrible so that people want to leave their store quicker than when they are taking a dump at a Speedway, but I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.  My ultimate question is why don’t they just use the traditional cash register/computer that is actually connected to the printer?  Seems like that would be much more reliable and efficient than the hand held device linked to the wireless printer.

I made my way out of the store and headed towards Footlocker where the employees still wear referee shirts, I was relieved to see that some things in the mall never change.  While they had at lest 60 different types of basketball shoes, they didn’t have the Jordans I was looking for so I decided to see if there were any other shoe stores in the mall that could satisfy my desires.  As I wandered about the mall I stumbled upon a store called the Garage, no idea the demographic they were shooting for, but one of the Mannequins in the entrance had a huge rack with real nipples poking through the sweater that was on display.  I had never seen a mannequin with nipples and it caught my attention, initially this seemed like a great marketing strategy, but then I realized having some guy with his hands down his pants ogling your mannequin while he vigorously works his joint is probably not good for business.  Was I tempted to ask the general manger where they get their mannequins?  Of course I was, a Mannequin doesn’t get headaches and they can’t say no for a number of reasons, one being they don’t have a head, but I am sure there is a website out there that will save me the embarrassment of having to ask an actual person, hopefully they accept Venmo, probably want to keep that transaction private though.

Speaking of erotic, I do think paying someone to go into Victoria Secret and have them sniff the underwear until security is called (I was going to say sniff the panties, but that sounds really creepy) while secretly filming them would be a viral sensation.  Putting them on his head and wearing them like a halloween mask would be a nice touch as well.  It would be a gold mine and the sponsors would be lining up left and right.  While Victoria Secret doesn’t seem to target a certain age group, there were a number of stores in the mall that had me wondering if it was safe for me to enter without being viewed as a poser.  Zumiez left me scratching my head, it looked intriguing but I didn’t dare take a chance going in to the store unless I saw someone else close to my age enter the store.  Another store, Dry Goods, which appeared to be a woman’s store but I couldn’t get close enough to tell if they had a men’s section, seemed to be off limits even if one of the dry goods they sold was beef jerky.

Fortunately they do have stores in the mall that specifically state the age range they are shooting for.  Journies for Kids and Footlocker for Kids are two that I encountered.  While the drawback to labeling your store as a kids store will attract the random pedophile, for the most part it is an effective way to attract your targeted consumer.  However, many stores do not resort to this, while Eddie Bauer probably went out of business a decade ago due to the fact that everyone who use to shop there is dead, other stores have not been quite as obvious about who they want shopping there.  In order to keep people who don’t belong from entering the store they need to rate stores like they rate movies.  Shopping would be so much easier if they were labeled for Baby Boomers, Gen- Ex’ers, and Millenials.   Of course there is always the internet where you can enter any store your want from the safety of your computer without the scrutiny of patrons and staff, but mannequins with nipples are something that can only be truly appreciated in person.

“Mom, if you and dad didn’t get married would I be here?” (this was an actual question from Paker that was asked while I was in the kitchen making dinner)

“Nope”

“Well, I told Mason (not his real name) that you have to be married to have kids and he said his mom didn’t marry his dad and so I told him he shouldn’t be here, so if his mom and dad weren’t married why is he here? How did his mom have him?”

“Well, Mason’s mom and dad loved each other as much as married people so that’s how they had him”

Fortunately Parker didn’t ask me what was up with that because I would have told him that I came about as a result of “love” not marriage and the marriage part came after the “love” part with his grandpa and grandma Jansma.  Would have been great to hear the questions that came about for Grandma Jansma as a result of our conversation.  He asked my mom why she drinks Diet Dr. Pepper, which I feel is a perfectly logical question, so there is probably no limit to the questions he would have asked grandma Jansma if he knew his dad was a love child, and who knows, maybe someday he will ask those questions.

It has been an uphill battle lately in attempting to curb the behavior of my children,  and often times I don’t even try to step in.  A couple weeks ago they were talking about one of their teachers and Aiden said “one of our teachers is so fat we don’t know how she sits on the toilet”.  Parker went on to mention that one of the after school day care providers must also have a similar problem due to her girth.  Should I have chastised them for their contempt of fat people?  I think we all know the answer to that question and I think we all know where I stand on that particular issue.

The reality is that my kids are getting to the point where they pick up on my behavior and seem to think it is ok to mirror my opinions, beliefs, and actions.  The major problem here is that I don’t come with a disclaimer, and rarely do I realize after I say something mean and insensitive about a certain person or a group of people, that my kids are listening and likely to echo what I said at some point down the road.  Furthermore, I see me in them and it is scary.  One day this summer I was mowing the lawn and the tube that sucks the grass into the bagger on my riding lawn mower kept getting clogged, finally I had had enough so I ripped the tube off but it was hung up and snapped back and hit me in the face giving me a fat and bloody lip.  I had never been counter attacked by an inanimate object before and this incensed me, I started slamming it against the driveway as hard as I could, and just as my anger reached its peak Shirley came down the driveway in her minivan.

I have broken remote controls, tennis rackets, and many other objects because of my temper and unfortunately I have witnessed both of my kids flip out on inanimate objects just like their old man.  One morning I was in bed and the kids were downstairs watching TV, I kept hearing something being thrown against the floor.  When I finally made it downstairs Parker told me that Aiden had thrown the remote three times because the DVR button no longer worked, rendering it entirely useless.  In light of what had happened with the Verizon hotspot (I threw it against the ground when I couldn’t get internet and it hopped up and broke our brand new TV) it was tough for me to really tear into Aiden for his actions.  However, due to my procrastination he did learn a valuable lesson.  It took me at least three weeks to order a new remote making it nearly impossible for he and Parker to watch tv on their own because the only way to operate our Dish Network was by using the hopper (that’s what dish calls their version of a cable box/DVR).  Finally, after having to get up on multiple weekend mornings to turn on the TV for them I ended up ordering a new remote.  (One other thing that brought me to the breaking point of getting a new remote was the fact that when watching recorded shows I couldn’t fast forward through the commercials, I was better off reading a book)

While I typically try to not focus too much on some of the things my kids say and do in the hopes that not bringing attention to their behavior will allow it to be swept under the rug and eventually go away, this week I had to step in and dish out some consequences.  One of their teachers takes them home two days a week and after dismissing her I went in to the tv room and found them watching tv.  It was a gorgeous day and I told them to get outside and play while I started getting dinner ready.  This required me to head out and get the charcoal started for the grill, when I got back in the house they had shut the doors to the TV room and were back at it. First of all, they aren’t giving me much credit if they think that merely shutting the doors is going to throw me off the scent of them watching the boob tube.  Secondly, this was quite deceitful on their part as well as disobedient.  I told them they were going to be going to bed right after dinner for their little stunt.  They both flipped out, even though dinner wouldn’t be finished until well after 7.  Eventually when Shirley made it home Aiden had calmed down and admitted that he was in the wrong.  Parker on the other hand was laying all the blame on Aiden because Aiden started splaying on his Nintendo Switch leaving Parker with no choice but to turn on the TV.

As I was grilling Parker approached me and attempted to negotiate a new punishment and was wiling to forego TV until we go to Phoenix, which is in early November.  I said ok and he went in to tell Shirley and Aiden that no screen time for the next couple months was being substituted for going to bed a half hour early.  Aiden immediately objected to this, and would choose crawling over miles of broken glass as an alternative to giving up screen time.  Ultimately, they went to bed about 8 minutes earlier than normal, lesson learned!  It’s the moments where you use your authority as a parent to shape and mold your children that are truly rewarding.

The fact that Aiden acknowledges his wrong doing where as Parker takes no responsibility for anything is somewhat troubling as a parent when it  comes to Parker’s behavior.   His friend Mason, or should I say former friend, came up to me on Wednesday when I picked the kids up and said to me “Parker made me cry today” I already knew that because when I saw Aiden before seeing Mason or Parker Aiden had told me the same thing, and besides wanting to tell on his brother, it also seemed to bother Aiden.  When I confronted Parker he seemed fine with making Mason cry and had an explanation for it, he and Jeremiah were playing a game and it was in playing their game that Mason ended up crying.  Turns out Parker had depantsed Mason in the cafeteria and had also drawn a picture of Mason in jail with all of the other kids outside of the jail looking at Mason.

Is it time for some self reflection?  Is the fact that I can be complete dick the root cause of Parker having absolutely no empathy?  I’ll be honest, when I heard about what Parker did to his friend it made me truly sad, so that’s good right, I at least have empathy.  However, can you create empathy in a five year old if it isn’t innate?  I actually Googled “how to make your child empathetic” and the search found an article in Parenting magazine with eleven (not sure why they came up with eleven, seems like an odd number) tips to help foster empathy in your sociopathic child (that’s my diagnosis for Parker).  One of the tips was to do volunteer work with your kids at a homeless shelter or something of that nature, it’s a great idea, just not sure how I recruit someone to take my kids to do volunteer work.  I was relieved to see that nothing in the article indicated that a parent should change their very own personality in order to create empathy, changing my kid is one thing, but I’m Dutch, and I’m old, this dog aint learning any new tricks.

https://www.parents.com/kids/development/social/raise-a-compassionate-child/