For the Love of Scouts

I gave birth to our fifth child last summer. She is our tail-ender, or retirement wrecker as our friends affectionately nicknamed their little caboose. When I had an ultrasound and found out she was a girl, I was silently relieved knowing I would not have to do yet another round of Cub Scout Pinewood Derbies and Merit Badge Pow Wows. I can handle sleepless nights, the chicken pox and chaperoning field trips. The most difficult tasks of parenting hands down are 1) Scouts and 2) The Birds-and-the-Bees Talk. With a daughter, half the hard stuff is never an issue. But it seems DH and I will be tackling another round of The Birds-and-the-Bees Talk soon.

I am planning such a discussion because I found some rough drafts of a love letter on my desk. I was able to identify them as such because of the pink marker lettering and hand-drawn hearts. I am posting the text of them here so that when DH sees them he will know it is time to have The Birds-and-the-Bees Talk with our second-grader.

I figure it is DH’s turn since I had the talk with S1 and D1. Of course we are skipping S2, but only for now. Since S2 is not yet writing love letters (at least as far as we know) we are going to have to bump D2 up in his place.

The first enchanted epistle is as follow:

To: UtahJazzMan
I see you ever (sic) day and you are hot!
I am Lauren

The second draft is decidedly more bold:

Do you want to kiss me?
yes or no or maybe
I (heart) U

While I am not certain as to the identity of UtahJazzMan, my concern for D2’s affections can be comforted by only one thing. It is my dearest prayer that UtahJazzMan, in addition to possessing a love for NBA Basketball is also a registered member of the Boy Scouts of America. If this is the case, he will certainly be too busy planning next year’s Winter Klondike to have time to notice let alone kiss D2.

Knees, Noses, Legs and Fums

On the way home from school last week S2 asked, “Mom, is it fum or thumb?” D2 quickly answered, rolling her eyes at the fact that she needs to answer such simple questions for her older brother, “It’s fum. Duh!”

Speaking of fums, for two weeks DH has been complaining of a tender one. The accident occurred during some old man city league basketball tournament. This was not the first time DH has come home injured from playing basketball.

Once he hurt his knee. It was an intense injury and he eventually had to have the knee scoped. Following the procedure, as I was wheeling him out of the surgical center, DH started puking in an apparent poor reaction to the anesthesia. I really don’t like puke, nevertheless, I decided to bring DH home anyway. He convalesced for a week on the couch where he was miserable, I was bored, and the pain medication gave him nightmares of the Grim Reaper.

Interestingly, many of DH’s basketball injuries have turned out to be less significant than he would lead me to initially believe. One leg affliction was allegedly so intense, he had to be carried home by two large men who took him straight into our bedroom. A physical therapist was even called for an emergency in-home treatment. Somehow the next day DH was miraculously walking without even so much as a hint of a limp. When we were college students, DH came home from a late night scrimmage with what he insisted was a broken nose. We woke up sleeping S1, climbed in the car and rushed to the ER. After paying our $50 co-pay, they played with DH’s nose, x-rayed it and sent us on our way. No broken nose, just a broken budget for the month.

So a couple weeks ago when DH complained of a sore fum, I knew it was probably just a jam or a sprain. Even the swelling and deepening purple tinge didn’t sway my diagnosis. He must have felt that it was not too serious either, because DH played in two basketball games following the initial trauma. Naturally, I did not feel the least bit guilty making him haul a refrigerator into one of my grandpa’s rental properties over the weekend.

Monday afternoon, however, when he could take no more discomfort, DH went to the InstaCare. One hour and 30 minutes later, he came home with proof of a broken bone. Sporting a great sympathy-attracting cast that can only be removed for showering, he's been gathering compassion from everyone. According to the doctor, it is necessary for proper healing so instead of a bum fum, DH will have a plumb fum. He is not supposed to wrap the ace bandage that surrounds the cast too tight or he could end up with a numb fum. Frankly, when I see the doctor bill I’m certain I’ll find his dumb fum to be sum fum. And, as soon as his ball buddies come a callin’ I suspect his chum fum will become a gamesome fum.

March Madness: NCAA Final Four and I'm In Baby!

To know DH is to love him. And to love him you must also love basketball, or at least put up with it. I was mildly aware of his sports passion before we married. I knew he liked to play basketball, in the evenings, while I was studying. However, the extent to which the orange leather ball dominated his life, I did not fully realize until well after I had committed myself to love and pay the cable bill with him forever.

When we bought our first TV, well actually our second... DH bought our first TV shortly after we were married. I came home from work and there in the living room sitting on the sofa (wait we didn't own one yet), so on the floor was DH and his brother sprawled out watching a brand new 26" Sony television, which was placed on an entertainment center (no, didn't have one), a low bookshelf then, (no, not one of those either), just the bare floor. So I put down my purse on the dining room table (uh, we didn't have one of those) so I held my purse and sat down in the chair (nope, didn't own even one of those) so I stood. Next, I basically freaked out at the purchase which two college students definitely could not afford. The following day the TV was gone and our living room was empty once again.

It was not until after the second time we bought a TV that I began to fully comprehend DH's love of the game. Big 12, Big Ten or Big East, the only thing they mean to me are big waste of time, big waste of ugly dish on side of house, and big waste of money. Season after season. One year of expensive cable after another. Is the game on ESPN? TNT? Fox Sports? ESPN2? NBA League Pass? No problem, we've got em' all!

Given DH's intimate knowledge of the game, you would think he'd be doing better on his March Madness bracket. Oh, he's doing okay. He has three of the final four. Which might be pretty good, if I DIDN'T HAVE ALL FOUR OF THE FINAL FOUR!!!!!

My selection for the winning teams was purely mathematical. For example, Dad went to Virginia Tech first, before attending UC Davis where he met Mom, so naturally Virginia Tech will win in the first round. UC Davis is not in the competition, but UCLA is. And Mom and Dad have lived in four different states since I was born, so UCLA should make the Final Four.

Some other upsets were similarly picked as well. We have a friend from college that lives in Michigan, and Marquette sounds like a furniture feature, so I figured Michigan could beat Marquette. Vanderbilt reminds me of Gloria Vanderbilt the cologne which I wore when I was 16, so certainly they can make it to the Sweet Sixteen.

Figuring Georgetown would at least make the Final Four was easy. In high school I was one of four girls in the contest for Homecoming Queen. I went to the Homecoming Dance with Dave Witte. Dave loved the Georgetown Hoyas.

And so my logic unfolded. So purely, in fact, that now I sit here in my crowning glory with the Final Four, just as I imagined. All those years of expensive TVs and cable may soon be forgotten if I actually beat DH at this thing.