Not so secret subliminal message, "Football hurts!"

Since before he was born Jett was talked to, prayed for, and read to.  Immediately he was cared for, loved, read to more, talked to more, and sung to in Spanish (even if it was just food related words I could remember from high school.)  I've tried to provide him good nutrition (aside from the Handy Snack incident), his grandma practices good manners with him, we count constantly, talk about colors, letters, and describe nearly every experience possible. 

Along with all of these positive lessons and messages, I've also said something else over and over.  No, he will not play football.  I was reminded of this again last night as I ran past the junior (very junior) football kids practicing in full pads.  Nope, not my baby.

So, I've started to send my own not so secret subliminal message whenever we see a football game on TV or kids in the field.  "Ooh, OUCH!  Football HURTS!" This summer when we saw the cross country teams running, I'd say, "Oh, look at all those fast kids.  Jett, you will be fast like that and run someday."  Now that boys tennis has begun, we purposefully take a different route to the park on Saturday mornings in hopes that we'll see all the "cool, smart boys" playing tennis at the courts.  I've even started planting these seeds with my husband, trying to convince him that cross country or tennis would be much better fall sport choices in preparation for basketball season.

 

So, this weekend when you are watching the local high school teams or cheering on the Huskers, please say a prayer for me, because I'm sure I've committed a cardinal Cornhusker sin, and another prayer for my baby, because I know it's going to take a decade of prayers and divine intervention for my little quarterback to actually believe that "Football HURTS!"

The Naked Truth: When Fundraising Goes Wrong

Sometimes I wonder what must go on in the mind of post office personnel as they process and deliver the mail.  They have a very personal glimpse into our lives; the magazines we subscribe to, the coupons we receive, the stacks of bills, cards and letters, and envelope after envelope of credit card companies trying to lure us into yet another low interest rate.  This weekend, I can’t even begin to imagine what our friendly postal worker thought as in between a card from a friend, an appeal from Concordia University, and the lease statement for our car, was ESPN Magazine - The Body Issue.

I won’t even tell you my immediate thoughts (because my grandmother and pastor's wife read this blog) as I unfolded the magazine in the front yard walking back to the house and to my shock saw a completely nude female athlete on the cover.  Now let’s be honest, I’ve seen “artistic” modeling before and partial nudity is nothing new to the readers of Vogue or Instyle, but this issue made the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue look like the church newsletter.  Not just the cover, but page after page after page displaying athletes wearing only the uniform of their birthday suits.  I double and triple checked that indeed this was sent to the correct address.  And in my husband’s name.

I decided to wait until he arrived back from Chicago to ask if one of his buddies had thought this would be a good joke.  But I quickly learned that was not the case.  I wish I could go back in time and have a video capturing his face and the next comments that came out of his mouth as he surveyed the photojournalism.  I soon found out that this was a fundraiser gone very, very wrong and that he along with several other teachers and parents had subscribed to ESPN Magazine as part of a fundraiser for a school sports program.  Immediately Kevin called another teacher friend to learn that his wife had a similar reaction. He jokingly asked if I wanted to trade him issues, because theirs had a male athlete on the front.  I declined.

Being in fundraising and development myself, I find the whole thing absolutely hilarious, and when I think about it can’t help but laugh out loud.  I’ve heard fundraising horror stories that run everywhere from letters with the wrong donor name, to unsuspecting volunteers who were forced to make and then sell homemade pickles, to frozen goods that never came in, to events that have been rained out.  But this one takes the cake.  There was no possible way that the fundraising committee could have known the content of the magazine or that this would be the first issue out to donors.  I will be sharing this story at future AFP (Association of Fundraising Professionals) events for years to come.  And I can’t help but wonder...will they raise more money now than they did when they were just selling subscriptions?

16 Hours to Superhero Status!

"It's no big deal, really.  The set comes in three boxes, and most people can put them in the back of their van.  It might take you a good afternoon to get it set up."  Says the woman at Sam's Club that was obviously not a part of the backroom construction of their floor model, that no doubt caused cursing and likely tapping into the stash of wholesale liquor.

It was over the course of the next five days and 16 hours that I witnessed my husband's true dedication to daddy-hood as he, two of his high school students and a friend (who is also fortunately a shop teacher,) labored over Jett's new swing set.  Working in the hot sun, I wasn't sure if Poweraides, pizza and chocolate chip cookies would be enough to get them through, but they prevailed.

Daddy, I'm not sure this is right...

One of my favorite moments was when I thanked one of the students for his help and said, "Thank you so much, Jett is really going to enjoy this for a long time!"  He replied excitedly, "No problem!  I had a play set like this growing up and I played on it until, like third grade.  And mine wasn't nearly as cool as this!"

This smile made it all worth it!  Through all the hard work, Kevin didn't complain once.  Watching him tackle the project with patience and pride, will be one of the moments that I look back on in our life and say of my husband, "I love him more every day!"

Mr. Mom

I couldn't be more thankful for my wonderful husband that took on the unexpected roll of "Mr. Mom" this weekend.  Canceling plans to go to the farm, study for his graduate final, and golf for the first time this year, he opted to stay home to take care of his very green, disgusting wife, and give Jett a very happy play filled weekend in spite of the looming flu.

Not only did Super Dad wrangle kiddo and chiweenie, but he did all the laundry and dishes, and checked on me regularly to make sure that I was drinking enough fluids.

Thank you Mr. Mom, you are my hero!
-Love your fluish wife.