The Best Thanksgiving Ever!

Like most grandmothers, my mom enjoys spoiling her grandchildren. When it became apparent that all 16 of her grandchildren would be coming for Thanksgiving, she pulled out all the stops. To get things started, the pool was heated and a bounce house was rented. Then she ordered all kinds of crafts for the kids to do over the course of the weekend. She was intent on making this the best Thanksgiving ever for all of her grandkids and nothing could stop her - until she got a phone call.

The first call was from my sister. "Uhh, mom. I don't think we're going to make it. I have four sick kids at home" As a matter of fact, she had finally thrown in the towel after cleaning up the fourth bed that had been splattered with vomit. "But I think Kevan will still make it," she added reassuring Mom that her husband would represent the family.

As my wife and I were driving into town, we called ahead and let my mom know that my in-laws, who frequently join us for Thanksgiving, had also called in sick and would be sitting this one out. With the count now at 12 kids and 9 adults, it would still be a full house, but just not quite the same.

As it turned out, there was more than enough food to feed everyone for the entire weekend and a great meal was enjoyed by all who were there. The next morning, my sister's kids were feeling better, so they decided to come over and join the after party. As they were preparing to get in the car, my 5-year-old nephew, who missed the original dinner but was nonetheless excited about seeing his cousins, looked up at his mom and said, "This is the best Thanksgiving ever!" Not wanting to ruin his enthusiasm, she decided not to mention the fact that he had completely missed the entire day and was instead on his way over to Grandma and Grandpa's to eat leftover turkey.

Prior to joining us on Friday, my sister decided to call ahead and let us know that Kevan would be missing the planned guys day out since he was now stuck in bed with the flu. That's okay. We could still have fun without him.

The guys day out involved lunch on the beach that included raw fish and oysters. Me, being more of a connoisseur of fine ground beef than delicacies of the sea, tried to avoid the raw fish, but finally gave into the pressure against my better judgement. After a fine lunch with my dad and brothers, we returned to my parent's house just in time for me to start feeling queasy. By nightfall, I was sick and by midnight, I was rushing to the bathroom as two days worth of eating was working its way back up. By two o'clock that morning, my wife had joined me and we traded off the rest of night vomiting. We did stop the cycle on a few occasions as we cleaned up the vomit from our middle daughter and oldest son who didn't want to be left out. By morning, we were all exhausted. By the time we inventoried all the sickness, we found out that my mom had also joined the fun, followed by my niece.

A second niece added her name to the ranks on Saturday night as well as my dad who woke up Sunday morning feeling under the weather. Who knew that raw fish disease could spread so fast? Can't wait for next year.

PS: Just before leaving Mom and Dad's tonight, our 3-year-old threw up twice. Then he added six more to his total while we were in the car. The only good news about this is that the dog, who usually pukes in the car, held it all in!

PS 2: By the time the week ended, the final count stood at 20 kids and adults sickened by the bug. All but three threw up. Of those 17 who puked, the average number of heaves stood at 3. That means that there were approximately 51 sessions of vomiting that occurred as a result of one family weekend. If only there was a market for the stuff...

Rained Out

The smell of sizzling bacon early in the morning. Lazy afternoons spent sitting in a chair surrounded by tall trees as sunlight bleeds through the shadows to light up a good book. Campfires with marshmallows turning slowly above the flames. These are things I think of when I think of camping and that is why we decided several months back that we would spend the long Veterans Day weekend camping with my sister and her family and my wife's parents.

What we got, however, was slightly different. Friday night started things off with a gentle pitter-patter of raindrops on the roof of the trailer. I knew that rain was in the forecast, but the last report I had seen said showers in the late afternoon on Saturday. Nothing said rain Friday night. Soon the pitter-patter turned into a steady drumming and my mind raced to think of all the things I had left outside exposed to the rain. Not wanting to get wet, I decided that there was nothing that needed immediate retrieval and I eventually drifted back to sleep.

The next morning, the rain continued off and on. The kids played outside as much as they could, but there is only so much that can be done without creating a huge mess, so Plan B was put into motion. "Hey, kids!" I yelled. "Who wants to go play at the McDonald's playground?" Needless to say, the response was unanimous and we loaded five kids into our car while my sister and her husband took four. (No one really paid attention to whose kids were where as long as the numbers added up.) With all nine buckled up, we hit the road and invaded the unsuspecting McDonald's.

After returning to the campground several hours later, the rain began to come down much harder than before and the wind picked up. With the question of how to get a dry lunch answered, the topic inevitably shifted to dinner. No one really wanted to go out again and no one really wanted to spend hours cooped up in small trailers either with passels of young children clamoring at our feet. Since our house was only 40 minutes away, we suggested heading home for dinner and returning to the campground later in the evening once the rain died down.

The idea sounded great to the adults, but the kids took some convincing. "You can't go home in the middle of a camping trip," my oldest son complained.

"I know it is a little unorthodox, but it will be fun," I insisted. He eventually agreed, but only after he realized that using the word "unorthodox" in various sentences was actually the fun part.

Dinner was tremendous and the various catastrophes that fell upon our home during that time were all remedied before we left. This story isn't really about the catastrophes, but I will summarize them for your reading pleasure: 1) "Uhhh, Honey. Is the liquid laundry soap supposed to be spilled all over the floor of the laundry room?" 2) "Aaron, Elijah just spilled your dinner all over the floor!" 3) "Hey Aaron, do you have a plunger?" 4) "I think the leaky roof just got worse. Get me a bucket!"

During the course of dinner, the storm passed and by the time we returned to the campground a full moon was breaking through the clouds. With the kids in bed, the adults gathered around the campfire to enjoy what camping is all about.

Growing Pains

When we first bought our house almost nine years ago, it was perfect for our little family. There was an extra bedroom and closets galore. I even remember commenting to my wife as we were unpacking, "I don't think we will ever be able to fill all these closets. Look at all the extra space!" I was young. I was naive. I was a father to one 11 month old baby boy.

Something happened over the last nine years that changed things. I don't think it was the birth of our daughter. It wasn't the birth of a second daughter either. Maybe it was when the fourth kid came along. Or possibly even the fifth. I'm not exactly sure, but at some point things changed. The closets filled up. Extra cabinets appeared in the garage. They filled up too. A shed popped up out back. It filled up with bicycles of every shape, size, and gender. The attic that was once home to noting but Christmas decor now contains 20 boxes of neatly labeled children's clothing.

While we have managed to keep up with the demands for space and have even updated the interior of the house somewhat, the outside has done nothing but deteriorate. Over the past several years, the lawn has been behaving much like my hair. At first it was only a little thin in spots, but then somewhere between baby 2 and 4, it surpassed my own hairline and completely disappeared. I went out back to look for it a few times, but only found dirt.

And this dirt was not very well behaved. It liked to crawl off the former lawn space and get comfortable on the patio. The flower bed that once boasted of vibrant hydrangeas somehow turned into a dog bed and a series of moats and canals for kids' buckets, cars, and boats. This dirt joined the other dirt on the patio and a never-ending cycle of moving dirt became the norm.

A few months ago I got tired of it. On a sleepless night, I devised a plan to section off the yard into thirds. One third would be for the kids and dogs, one third for the beautiful lawn and flowers, and one third for the trailer and other things that Daddy wanted outside where kids and dogs wouldn't get them.

Last weekend, the biggest part of Operation Normal Yard was completed. Thanks to the help of some friends, (one with a tractor and one with some sweat) a brand new lawn was laid down.

When we first moved in nine years ago, I took the lawn for granted. I assumed that it would always be there. Now, having experienced its death and renewal I have a new appreciation for grass. I have invested money, hard work, and time and now I have a plan for watering, fertilizing, and even over-seeding it each year. I keep the kids and dogs off of my lawn and will use nearly lethal force if necessary to protect my lawn.

My dad used to say that his lawn was more valuable than his kids and I think he was on to something. His yard was always green and all five of his kids turned out great. There must be a connection.