Tonight ... On ER

Our Thanksgiving road trip was fairly uneventful ... until Jake fell in the world's largest McDonald's in Vinita, Oklahoma, and split his forehead. A fellow customer on a quest for a double Big Mac knocked him down and didn't even stop. (As a parent and a vegetarian I have an ever-growing disdain for McDonald's.)

And although there was blood and tears and french fries, what I walked away with was surprise at how calmly Bryon and I (and Jake and Sam) handled the event. My optimistic friend Joslyn thinks everybody can sweat the small stuff, but it's how you handle the big stuff that matters. I hope that is the case.

A local offered to lead us to a nearby hospital. To circumvent any panics I mentioned that he happened to look like Santa Claus and ... did anyone notice he was driving a red pick-up truck? Sam took the bait and started in with a story about how Santa must have fairy dust that turns the truck into a flying sleigh on Christmas Eve because a pick-up truck would be much better for collecting toys.

As long as we were handing Jake McNuggets and Happy Meal toys he was happy. A little superglue and we were on our way. The glue will flake off in time and he'll be left with a teeny scar and a good story.

So, lessons learned? Kids love hotels. The person who thought to put DVD players in cars is a saint. And, when it's all said and done, there really is no place like home.

Bang

I have always known that Sam and Jake play rough. They're boys, they're resilient, they tussle. No harm, no foul, right?

Apparently wrong. Sam's been having a tough time at school the past few weeks. His teachers say he is "quick to be physical." Bryon and I have rewarded, punished, promised and pleaded with him to 'use his words' rather than his hands and feet. Then last week he fell while trying to body slam a larger classmate.

I don't know if it was the bloody head wound or our constant lecturing or the fact that he could tell by the impromptu parent/teacher conference that we meant business but after the fall, he had a couple of really good days. So what did we do? We rewarded him with a trip to to Dave and Buster's, where he can get all hopped up on goofballs and play video games.

If you don't know Dave and Buster's it is essentially an arcade for kids and adults. (Bryon claims to hate it, but I think it's because he really wants to go there alone.) The food is irrelevant because you eat in the middle of the arcade and the kids might as well be eating bugs. This particular night several 40-year-old men were having a Dance Dance Revolution dance-off, complete with headbands and clipboards.

We insisted that everyone eat before we could play games. Sam was mindlessly shoving a cheeseburger in his mouth when he stood up, clenched his teeth and fists and said, "I have GOT to play a gun game."

We should re-think our reward system.

Road Trip

Next week we are going over the river and through the woods to grandma's house for Thanksgiving. I realized yesterday that I hadn't yet told Sam about the trip.

"Hey Sam, did you know we're going on a road trip to Grandma Becky's next week?

"No."

"It'll be our first road trip in the minivan. We can play games and draw and read. I'm going to buy a book," I told him. Before we hand them a bag of Pixy Stix and pop in a DVD, I thought I would buy the first Harry Potter book to read aloud.

He was silent so I asked him if he was excited.

"Yes, I can't wait to get the butt," he said.

"What?"

"The butt. You said you were going to buy me a butt."

"No, I said a book. I said I was going to buy you a book."

"Oh. Then, no, I'm not excited."

Table For Five

Most Sundays after church we go out to lunch. It takes us about a week to remember why taking 3 hungry, dressed up kids to a restaurant isn't always a good idea. But we are learning and adjusting. We have lowered our standards a bit - when we first started the 'tradition' I was hoping for a Norman Rockwell-esque Sunday dinner with roast beef and white tablecloths and waiters pouring ice water. We've resorted to Taco Cabana.

This Sunday we opted for a new restaurant/bar in our neighborhood. (I checked the Web site and they had a kids' menu, which to me is the universal indicator that kids are allowed. Restaurant owners - if you don't want kids in your place, don't have a kids' menu.) The patio was small but full of folks enjoying cocktails and a slow lunch. That I envy. These days, most of our meals at a restaurant are eaten with at least one of us standing up or cleaning up after someone or making trips to the bathroom. I find myself devouring every morsel of available food - the kids' leftovers, garnishes, rinds of quesadilla, pizza bones, bowls of condiments - just to get something that resembles a meal.

This particular Sunday things were going better than usual. Everyone was eating, no one was complaining, the weather was lovely. Sam ordered a hot dog with ketchup only (the server seemed a little perturbed that we didn't want the hot dog with the gourmet fixings) but it was too hot to eat when it arrived. That, and Sam has an aversion to hot food. Jake will basically gobble anything up if he's hungry enough, but lukewarm is too warm for Sam. So shortly after his hot dog arrived he yelled, "Will someone blow my wiener?" Since Bryon and I both started laughing, Sam assumed he should do it again ... and again ... and again.

So now that Sam's shouted vulgarities at this restaurant and Jake knocked over the Christmas tree at Hunky's, it looks like we're back to Taco Cabana.

Rain

One night last week I paused to reflect on what a good week it had been. I can't even recall why now. Whatever it was, it was a smooth week, everyone was happy and healthy, our planets were aligned, our dance steps were in sync.

Then there's this week. Sam's vomiting stopped just in time for Abby's fever, which subsided about the same time Jake's asthma worsened. Then there's trick or treating and missing costumes and forgotten parties and missed photo opportunities and night terrors and gas leaks and bad plumbing and mice and grudges and don't forget work.

I don't think our family handles stress very well. Of course most people don't. But ours handles it particularly badly. I get silent. Bryon gets loud. Sam gets cheeky. Jake gets needy. And Abby, well, Abby is probably thinking "All the families in the world, and I end up in this one."

One of my favorite writers, Anne Lamott, says there are two types of prayers: Help Me and Thank You.

So, Dear God, Help me.

Thank you.