Let me first start with the problem, my XBox. It may seem like a childish pursuit but let me tell you what, it is responsible for many, many, MANY adventures for everyone in the house. Yes even my wife. Seems she has an inner Janis Joplin in her and as soon as we acquired 'Rockband' the whole gaming situation took a turn for the better. That's right, the whole dang family downstairs with the music cranked, one of the boys on bass, one on drums, I (of course) have to be guitar, and mom on the vocals hammering out any number of tunes from Bon Jovi to the Foo Fighters.
I realize this is not your traditional 'family' time but then again, who said we are traditional, I hope we never are. Sometimes we put the kids to bed, pick out a 5 song set list, and go all Led Zeppelin up in here, it's great. So you can imagine the sadness, disappointment, and general malaise that set in when we saw the three red flashing lights on the front of the Xbox. When have you ever known red flashing lights to be good? That's right, never.
I contact a few experts in the gaming field, (my Bill Gates-like brother-in-law, and my neighbor, best toys in the world) to find out what kind of trouble I was in. I got the same response from both, ohh, those are the three red lights of death, your system is dead. What?! No in between, no just wiggle the cord, no turn it off then on a couple times? Just dead? Can't be. It can and is, both of them have been through it and talk me off the ledge. I am told just log on with your user name and put in your serial number, you registered it didn't you? Screeeech, stop the music. Log on? User name? Register? Does anyone really do that? Well apparently you should. My heart feels like it is being squeezed by icy fingers, call and set it up? Deal with customer support? Something like this rarely goes smoothly for me. I hate it, everyone else just clicks the mouse a couple times and wallah, fixed, with me it's like sorry sir you bought yours on a Tuesday after eight but before noon so the standard warranty no longer applies, would you like to purchase a new one?
Now for me to take this monumental step of even picking up the phone I need some crazy motivation. Well here it comes, my wife hosts her Bunco group in a few weeks and the boys and me will be banished to the basement for roughly, ever. We have to have Orcs to slay, or Storm Troopers to cut in half, we can not survive in the basement without the force. So I pick up the phone.
Hello my name is Homer, how can I help you? Homer? Really? You've got to be kidding. Alright Homer here's the problem, my system is dead. Can I have the serial number? Sure 'Homer' its blah blah. HMMM, this system isn't registered. No kidding Sherlock, that would have meant I called you when I got the machine, no way. Well you need to give me some information. We will see about that, what do you need? Name, address, e-mail, phone. Fine. OK thank you Mr. Shepherd now if you just go on-line you can process your repair request. Silence. That's why I called you 'Homer'. You need to log on and blah blah blah. Are you sure, isn't that what the customer support number is for? Yes it is, but now you can process your request on-line if you just blah blah blah. I GET THAT, can't you just press a button or flip a switch and make this happen? Sir you need to log on to process... Goodbye 'Homer'.
I am lucky enough to have written down the site address and miraculously find it. Now all I need to do is log in. Great, I would but have no idea what my user name or id is. I do know my password as it is the same for everything, just like you are not supposed to do. I take a stab at it and use my gamer name and, wonders of wonders, I'm in. Now I'm getting into this, it's like a quest, I'm Indiana Jones looking for the holy Xbox. Please put in your serial number, I oblige and go figure the warranty has expired. My heart stops for a second, how am I possibly going to tell my wife I need a new system. I quickly consult my brother-in-law who tells me to look for the red lights of death loophole and they will extend my warranty. I scan the page three times, nope nothing, figures, screwed again, oh wait, there it is, click. Sure enough, your warranty is extended would you like to print your pre paid shipping label? No way, it's working, I'm starting to see a glimmer of light. Yes I would like my label, then click here, OK, click, and the printer starts printing. Now with my shipping label they remind me to make sure no games are in the machine, duh, and just remove my hard drive before shipping. I KNEW IT!! Remove my hard drive, I didn't go to ITT technical institute, come on. I look over the console and start pulling and pushing, looking for somewhere to put a screwdriver, or hammer or something. One small button, I keep pressing it and nothing. Figures!! So close, yet so far away. Then I twist and the hard drive pops right off, just like I thought, perfect.
Now all I have to do is pack it in a box, drop it at a UPS, and wait 14-21 days. Bunco is in 18 days, if I don't have it back by then, Homer, I'm calling your ass.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Fred is..........DEAD!
Last weekend started a crazy week of animal encounters for the family. It began innocently enough as a friend of ours is wanting to put her house on the market and wanted a little help outside sprucing things up. Sunday was the only time I had that would work with her schedule and unfortunately didn't work with my wife's as she had a meeting scheduled for most of the afternoon. This presents a couple different scenarios: 1) I take all three boys with me and try to get them to pitch in, or 2) leave them at home by themselves and hope our house is still standing when I get back. I chose option one.
We arrived at our friends and there were some weeds to pull, some sprinkler to fix, but the big ticket item was cutting out some grass to make a new planting bed and mulch it. After nine years of watching my wife prepare to go anywhere with the kids I took the liberty of packing some snacks and bottled water to make sure of their survival, we also threw in the inhaler for good measure. When we arrive I get out a bucket and point out the weeds that are to be pulled showing them how unbelievably easy it is and making it sound like they are saving the planet. They descend on the noxious weeds like a plague. I take this time to go over what the shape of the new bed will be, get out some tools, and start chopping grass. It's at this point that my five year old loses interest in the weed pulling and comes over to 'help' me. I tell him to stand clear and when I say it is safe throw some of the chunks in the wheelbarrow. Worm!!! He spots a nice sized earthworm and decides he will keep him. This is fueled by the fact that his older brother received a leopard gecko for his birthday and this worm is close to being that cool.
He decides to name the worm Fred and to carry him around. I tune out for a little bit trying to get some work done before the other two boys give up on weed pulling. He wanders back in range and I glance up to see he is still carrying Fred but Fred has elongated to about a foot from riding shotgun all over the yard. I tell him to put Fred back in the dirt until we are ready to go, that worms don't like to be carried hoping he will follow instructions and forget about Fred. No chance. They are buddies and will stick together. Fast forward through six bags of snacks and three bottles of water and all in all they have done a pretty good job pulling 50 % of the weeds. I have long since forgotten Fred and get all the tools, kids, and snacks back in the truck to head home.
We pull into the driveway and I open the doors for them to pour out, the two big boys do and that leaves the five year old sitting by himself whimpering. What's up, what's wrong? Did your brothers put gum in your pocket again? He slowly raises his head and whimpers, Fred is.....dead, then starts to wail. I tell him we need to get Fred in the house and some water on him(Fred now looks like a leather shoe string and I know he is DOA) maybe he will be alright. This slight of hand works and gets him back to just whimpering and into the house. He goes straight out to the sand box and puts Fred down. He asks his mother if she thinks Fred is alive, mom tells him she doesn't think so and this sets him to wailing again, Fred is dead!!!!! We explain to him how much worms like dirt and that we surely can find more worms but first we need to create a 'habitat' for them and he brightens a bit. It's great having a teacher for a wife.
With Fred's death behind us, we move on to Tuesday which brings an ornate box turtle into our lives. I happen to be working on a job site south of the South Platte river and one of my co-workers spots the turtle so like an idiot I ask if I can have it to take home to the kids. I call ahead to check with my wife and she sounds excited about it so I think I'm going to be a hero, like an idiot. I drop off the turtle on my way back to the shop and everyone is ecstatic. When I get home that evening the tide has turned. My wife does a little research on the computer and finds out that we are doing irreparable damage to the turtle population because this one is a male and must be released back into the wild. What? The kids are hounding me that it is a living thing and doesn't want to be trapped in a cage, what about the gecko upstairs I'm thinking but have learned to not speak out loud. Fine I will take it back but I won't be going to that job site until Monday, this appears to appease the animal lovers for the time being.
Now it's Saturday and I actually make it to the golf course for the first time this year. When I get home I notice the five year old is in his room and I know something big went down. I say hello to my wife and try to take the temperature of the situation. She seems alright so I venture a little farther by asking what he did to be in his room. She stops typing on the computer and says oh nothing much, he and his friend from across the street let the geckos food go. If you don't know, geckos eat live crickets and we have a cricket cage just for this purpose. He let them all out? Yes there was probably twenty in the cage and he found one. That's pretty creepy. She tells me she sent the neighbor scurrying to find his shoes as she let the thunder go when she found out what happened. Poor kid, he won't be back. I ask my youngest if he tried looking for the crickets to try and repair some of the damage, he tells me I saw one but he hopped back down. Down where I don't know.
So to recap, we buried Fred this week in the sand box, have endangered the ornate box turtle population, have a starving leopard gecko, and there are twenty crickets loose in the house. I'm starting to like cats more and more.
We arrived at our friends and there were some weeds to pull, some sprinkler to fix, but the big ticket item was cutting out some grass to make a new planting bed and mulch it. After nine years of watching my wife prepare to go anywhere with the kids I took the liberty of packing some snacks and bottled water to make sure of their survival, we also threw in the inhaler for good measure. When we arrive I get out a bucket and point out the weeds that are to be pulled showing them how unbelievably easy it is and making it sound like they are saving the planet. They descend on the noxious weeds like a plague. I take this time to go over what the shape of the new bed will be, get out some tools, and start chopping grass. It's at this point that my five year old loses interest in the weed pulling and comes over to 'help' me. I tell him to stand clear and when I say it is safe throw some of the chunks in the wheelbarrow. Worm!!! He spots a nice sized earthworm and decides he will keep him. This is fueled by the fact that his older brother received a leopard gecko for his birthday and this worm is close to being that cool.
He decides to name the worm Fred and to carry him around. I tune out for a little bit trying to get some work done before the other two boys give up on weed pulling. He wanders back in range and I glance up to see he is still carrying Fred but Fred has elongated to about a foot from riding shotgun all over the yard. I tell him to put Fred back in the dirt until we are ready to go, that worms don't like to be carried hoping he will follow instructions and forget about Fred. No chance. They are buddies and will stick together. Fast forward through six bags of snacks and three bottles of water and all in all they have done a pretty good job pulling 50 % of the weeds. I have long since forgotten Fred and get all the tools, kids, and snacks back in the truck to head home.
We pull into the driveway and I open the doors for them to pour out, the two big boys do and that leaves the five year old sitting by himself whimpering. What's up, what's wrong? Did your brothers put gum in your pocket again? He slowly raises his head and whimpers, Fred is.....dead, then starts to wail. I tell him we need to get Fred in the house and some water on him(Fred now looks like a leather shoe string and I know he is DOA) maybe he will be alright. This slight of hand works and gets him back to just whimpering and into the house. He goes straight out to the sand box and puts Fred down. He asks his mother if she thinks Fred is alive, mom tells him she doesn't think so and this sets him to wailing again, Fred is dead!!!!! We explain to him how much worms like dirt and that we surely can find more worms but first we need to create a 'habitat' for them and he brightens a bit. It's great having a teacher for a wife.
With Fred's death behind us, we move on to Tuesday which brings an ornate box turtle into our lives. I happen to be working on a job site south of the South Platte river and one of my co-workers spots the turtle so like an idiot I ask if I can have it to take home to the kids. I call ahead to check with my wife and she sounds excited about it so I think I'm going to be a hero, like an idiot. I drop off the turtle on my way back to the shop and everyone is ecstatic. When I get home that evening the tide has turned. My wife does a little research on the computer and finds out that we are doing irreparable damage to the turtle population because this one is a male and must be released back into the wild. What? The kids are hounding me that it is a living thing and doesn't want to be trapped in a cage, what about the gecko upstairs I'm thinking but have learned to not speak out loud. Fine I will take it back but I won't be going to that job site until Monday, this appears to appease the animal lovers for the time being.
Now it's Saturday and I actually make it to the golf course for the first time this year. When I get home I notice the five year old is in his room and I know something big went down. I say hello to my wife and try to take the temperature of the situation. She seems alright so I venture a little farther by asking what he did to be in his room. She stops typing on the computer and says oh nothing much, he and his friend from across the street let the geckos food go. If you don't know, geckos eat live crickets and we have a cricket cage just for this purpose. He let them all out? Yes there was probably twenty in the cage and he found one. That's pretty creepy. She tells me she sent the neighbor scurrying to find his shoes as she let the thunder go when she found out what happened. Poor kid, he won't be back. I ask my youngest if he tried looking for the crickets to try and repair some of the damage, he tells me I saw one but he hopped back down. Down where I don't know.
So to recap, we buried Fred this week in the sand box, have endangered the ornate box turtle population, have a starving leopard gecko, and there are twenty crickets loose in the house. I'm starting to like cats more and more.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Winner Winner Chicken Dinner!
As you well know by now, I have three boys so between them, their mother, and myself the competition level in the house is always hovering around the out of control mark. You might think the right thing to do is make sure everyone 'wins' and that there be more of an emphasis put on how you play the game than on the outcome. Wrong, if you think this way you obviously haven't been to our house. We talk about those other things but it is in a cynical way inferring that those things apply to others and not to ourselves.
I know this is a pretty brutal viewpoint, especially for our four year old, but to quote the famous Red Auerbach, legendary coach of the Boston Celtics, "Show me a good loser, and I will show you a loser." My mother is to blame for most of this as she was the one who taught me how to play every sport I know how to play today. She didn't mind beating up on her eight year old son in anything: Scrabble, Golf, Ping-Pong, Cribbage, Monopoly, Sorry, Crazy Eights, Double Solitaire, Bowling, mowing the lawn, pulling weeds, whatever! If you are going to compete, then you need to try to win. Growing up I lost all the time, and didn't share my mother's stance on competition. Then I got a little older and would beat her at something, look out, she would be furious but try to hide it, and it felt great. Talk about addiction, who doesn't want that high again and again? As I starting winning more than I lost with her I started to see what kind of damage losing inflicts on another person, and who wants to feel like that. When I started beating her regularly at ping-pong I decided that I would play left handed to make it more of a match, you could feel the electricity building on her side of the table. Don't you dare, she told me, not only was it an insult but twice as devastating if she lost, and she did. I think I know what heroin addicts feel now. What a rush! This has followed me around my whole life, even when I go golfing with friends and we are not 'keeping' score, I'm keeping score. I'm chasing that feeling any chance I get.
I believe it might be genetic now that I think about it. My mother gave it to me and now, like the blond hair and blue eyes, I pass it on to my heirs. Lucky ducks. Never is this more evident than when we arrive home from anywhere. We live on a corner lot and actually have two separate driveways. My wife gets the large driveway closest to the front door, and I, of course, park around the corner. So when we pull into 'Dad's' driveway we all spill out grabbing backpacks, coats, water bottles and it is a mad dash to the front door. I of course dominate the first few years as they are barely big enough to get out of the truck without a rope and pulley. My catch phrase as I touch the door first is, "Winner, winner, chicken dinner!" The boys are deflated of course as I let them think they might win but hurdle the basketball hoop in the nick of time to chalk up another win. Now somewhere at school the order has been modified. I actually stay behind to help my youngest out of the truck still almost beating the older boys but not quite and the oldest one says,"Winner, winner, chicken dinner!", to which the middle replies, "No, first is the worst second is the best!" Interesting turn of events to say the least. Now the focus has been to let me get there first,(like they had a choice), then try to be second.
Now it gets good, one day I win then oldest then the middle and my oldest shouts,"First is the worst, second is the best!", to which my middle son replies "No, first is the worst, second is the best, but third gets the treasure chest." Great, now none of us know where to finish, I'm not going to lie to you, getting the treasure chest sounds pretty good to me. Which leads us up to this evening. We pull up and avalanche out, I help the youngest out and as we see the middle one round the house his backpack spills and he is mortified. He has to pick up his homework or Mom will kill him, the youngest is beaming with joy as we blow by the fumbler, third and the treasure chest is finally in his grasp. We get to the door and see the oldest standing there proudly waiting for the middle one to finally get there to drop his triumphant bomb that goes like this, "First is the worst, second is the best, third gets the treasure chest, but fourth wears the lady's dress!" This sets off screams of disgust, allegations of cheating, excuses of how it happened, and protests that we were the ones who actually wore ladies dresses. The three of us continue to giggle, laugh and point which in turn makes the middle son slap me in the back and scream, "Now DAD wears the lady's dress!" This is so funny I laugh out loud and tag my oldest telling him he is the new owner of the lady's dress and I love that color on him. It is now on and out of control, we chase each other around the yard and through the house transferring the lady's dress to the nearest person.
I blame my mother for this, but also deeply thank her.
Thanks Mom, you're the best.
I know this is a pretty brutal viewpoint, especially for our four year old, but to quote the famous Red Auerbach, legendary coach of the Boston Celtics, "Show me a good loser, and I will show you a loser." My mother is to blame for most of this as she was the one who taught me how to play every sport I know how to play today. She didn't mind beating up on her eight year old son in anything: Scrabble, Golf, Ping-Pong, Cribbage, Monopoly, Sorry, Crazy Eights, Double Solitaire, Bowling, mowing the lawn, pulling weeds, whatever! If you are going to compete, then you need to try to win. Growing up I lost all the time, and didn't share my mother's stance on competition. Then I got a little older and would beat her at something, look out, she would be furious but try to hide it, and it felt great. Talk about addiction, who doesn't want that high again and again? As I starting winning more than I lost with her I started to see what kind of damage losing inflicts on another person, and who wants to feel like that. When I started beating her regularly at ping-pong I decided that I would play left handed to make it more of a match, you could feel the electricity building on her side of the table. Don't you dare, she told me, not only was it an insult but twice as devastating if she lost, and she did. I think I know what heroin addicts feel now. What a rush! This has followed me around my whole life, even when I go golfing with friends and we are not 'keeping' score, I'm keeping score. I'm chasing that feeling any chance I get.
I believe it might be genetic now that I think about it. My mother gave it to me and now, like the blond hair and blue eyes, I pass it on to my heirs. Lucky ducks. Never is this more evident than when we arrive home from anywhere. We live on a corner lot and actually have two separate driveways. My wife gets the large driveway closest to the front door, and I, of course, park around the corner. So when we pull into 'Dad's' driveway we all spill out grabbing backpacks, coats, water bottles and it is a mad dash to the front door. I of course dominate the first few years as they are barely big enough to get out of the truck without a rope and pulley. My catch phrase as I touch the door first is, "Winner, winner, chicken dinner!" The boys are deflated of course as I let them think they might win but hurdle the basketball hoop in the nick of time to chalk up another win. Now somewhere at school the order has been modified. I actually stay behind to help my youngest out of the truck still almost beating the older boys but not quite and the oldest one says,"Winner, winner, chicken dinner!", to which the middle replies, "No, first is the worst second is the best!" Interesting turn of events to say the least. Now the focus has been to let me get there first,(like they had a choice), then try to be second.
Now it gets good, one day I win then oldest then the middle and my oldest shouts,"First is the worst, second is the best!", to which my middle son replies "No, first is the worst, second is the best, but third gets the treasure chest." Great, now none of us know where to finish, I'm not going to lie to you, getting the treasure chest sounds pretty good to me. Which leads us up to this evening. We pull up and avalanche out, I help the youngest out and as we see the middle one round the house his backpack spills and he is mortified. He has to pick up his homework or Mom will kill him, the youngest is beaming with joy as we blow by the fumbler, third and the treasure chest is finally in his grasp. We get to the door and see the oldest standing there proudly waiting for the middle one to finally get there to drop his triumphant bomb that goes like this, "First is the worst, second is the best, third gets the treasure chest, but fourth wears the lady's dress!" This sets off screams of disgust, allegations of cheating, excuses of how it happened, and protests that we were the ones who actually wore ladies dresses. The three of us continue to giggle, laugh and point which in turn makes the middle son slap me in the back and scream, "Now DAD wears the lady's dress!" This is so funny I laugh out loud and tag my oldest telling him he is the new owner of the lady's dress and I love that color on him. It is now on and out of control, we chase each other around the yard and through the house transferring the lady's dress to the nearest person.
I blame my mother for this, but also deeply thank her.
Thanks Mom, you're the best.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Indiana Jones and the Legend of the 9th Birthday
This was the "theme" for my oldest son's most recent birthday. Can someone tell me when this started happening? You have to come up with a theme for the kids and each year it has to be bigger and better. I remember my 9th birthday, I think, I received a Nerf football and when my friends came over to the party my Mom said go outside. Not go outside and do this or do that, just go outside. We could have been playing with fireworks or shooting guns as long as we were outside, no themes.
Fortunately and unfortunately I married the most creative person I know. My wife comes up with great ideas and insists that we can make it happen. We have to build things and bake things not sold in stores. I figure if you can't buy it in a store then it must not be that great an idea. Wrong, it can be done in our basement, garage, or kitchen.
This year I was informed that I needed to come up with a treasure hunt that included the Staff of Ra, Sankara Stones, the Holy Grail, and the Well of Souls from the Indy movies. What!? My wife informed me that that part was up to me because she was busy finishing up the 10 fake Grails and touching up the Ark of the Covenant. (We tag teamed building the Staff of Ra.) This all probably doesn't make a whole lot of sense to you if you haven't seen all the Indy movies at least 30 times as we have in this house. Finding out I was on my own I quickly phoned my sister, (creative also), for some help. She came up with some beauties that were used in the hunt.
All party invitees show up and it's time to hunt. There are six participants all together so not crazy but enough. The first clue requires them to take the 'Leap of Faith' from the first movie so they climb hay bales to get onto the fence and jump into the backyard where they find the next clue floating in a bottle in our water feature. They follow this clue to the 'Map Room' also from the first movie, which is in our basement. Here they find the Staff of Ra and a clue leading them into the garage where they find the Sankara Stones and another clue. This takes them upstairs to a small treasure chest filled with 'jewels' and the final clue. They hurriedly come downstairs and piece together the clues that reveal the location of the Ark of the Covenant. The Ark is hidden in the back of my pick-up, we have taken a picture of it, printed it onto an old piece of paper and cut it up so they can piece it together. It actually stumps them for a few minutes, then they realize what they are looking for and sprint out the door to the truck where they find the Ark filled with candy and toys, not a Nerf football.
We take a break from the action at this point to open presents and eat cupcakes. One of the guests decided to bring a homemade card but no gift. Really? My son doesn't even notice being filled with the joy of finding the Ark of the Covenant. The boys all go downstairs to play some video games for awhile, I am not invited and hurt but try not to show it. My wife decides it's time to get dinner ready and I find out that we are all ordering our own 10" pizza. We start to take orders and a couple of the guests say that aren't that hungry. Are you kidding me, your own pizza and you aren't that hungry? What other party do you get to do this at? We make them order so in case they get hungry later they will have something. I go pick up the pizzas and when I get back, sure enough, everyone is hungry. Root Beer and pizza for everyone! I'm starting to get into this.
After pizza and an Indy movie, I am invited downstairs to join in the pillow fight. Now we are talking, they come looking for me like the neighborhood kids all banding together to take out the bully on the block. Be careful what you wish for kids. It is an all out brawl and my wife comes downstairs to watch and encourage the kids, probably to make sure I don't get carried away and knock someone out also. The battle rages and they keep coming in waves but I am like a man among boys, wait, bad analogy. I mow them down like wheat in front of the blade. They are a game bunch, there is always one dragging another injured friend out of the fray while the others keep me engaged. Finally, as we all knew it would, we break a light fixture and glass goes every where. The boys love it and my wife isn't mad so it all ends well in a shower of sparks and glass.
They watch another Indy movie and get their camp set up in the living room for the night. I go to bed at midnight, and they are still awake. Two o'clock rolls around and one of the guests has to call his mother to come get him. The others say he doesn't have a great track record at sleep overs but is getting better. They are up at six thirty and watching more Indy. I am required to make pancakes, cinnamon rolls, and bacon. I'm OK with this, what a great breakfast. The boys hork down everything in front of them and go back to Indy. I take this lull in the action to jump in the shower. When I get back downstairs my wife informs me that one of the guests has thrown up on the kitchen floor, thank God for being in the shower.
She tells me the guest informed her he wasn't used to that kind of bacon, they usually get a better kind of bacon so when his body got rid of the bad food he felt better. This is also the no gift guest, strike two buddy.
I have condensed this version but am left wondering is this how everyone else does it too? I hope I find out soon, my other two sons have birthdays in April and I'm sure we are on the hook for something magical. Stay tuned.
Fortunately and unfortunately I married the most creative person I know. My wife comes up with great ideas and insists that we can make it happen. We have to build things and bake things not sold in stores. I figure if you can't buy it in a store then it must not be that great an idea. Wrong, it can be done in our basement, garage, or kitchen.
This year I was informed that I needed to come up with a treasure hunt that included the Staff of Ra, Sankara Stones, the Holy Grail, and the Well of Souls from the Indy movies. What!? My wife informed me that that part was up to me because she was busy finishing up the 10 fake Grails and touching up the Ark of the Covenant. (We tag teamed building the Staff of Ra.) This all probably doesn't make a whole lot of sense to you if you haven't seen all the Indy movies at least 30 times as we have in this house. Finding out I was on my own I quickly phoned my sister, (creative also), for some help. She came up with some beauties that were used in the hunt.
All party invitees show up and it's time to hunt. There are six participants all together so not crazy but enough. The first clue requires them to take the 'Leap of Faith' from the first movie so they climb hay bales to get onto the fence and jump into the backyard where they find the next clue floating in a bottle in our water feature. They follow this clue to the 'Map Room' also from the first movie, which is in our basement. Here they find the Staff of Ra and a clue leading them into the garage where they find the Sankara Stones and another clue. This takes them upstairs to a small treasure chest filled with 'jewels' and the final clue. They hurriedly come downstairs and piece together the clues that reveal the location of the Ark of the Covenant. The Ark is hidden in the back of my pick-up, we have taken a picture of it, printed it onto an old piece of paper and cut it up so they can piece it together. It actually stumps them for a few minutes, then they realize what they are looking for and sprint out the door to the truck where they find the Ark filled with candy and toys, not a Nerf football.
We take a break from the action at this point to open presents and eat cupcakes. One of the guests decided to bring a homemade card but no gift. Really? My son doesn't even notice being filled with the joy of finding the Ark of the Covenant. The boys all go downstairs to play some video games for awhile, I am not invited and hurt but try not to show it. My wife decides it's time to get dinner ready and I find out that we are all ordering our own 10" pizza. We start to take orders and a couple of the guests say that aren't that hungry. Are you kidding me, your own pizza and you aren't that hungry? What other party do you get to do this at? We make them order so in case they get hungry later they will have something. I go pick up the pizzas and when I get back, sure enough, everyone is hungry. Root Beer and pizza for everyone! I'm starting to get into this.
After pizza and an Indy movie, I am invited downstairs to join in the pillow fight. Now we are talking, they come looking for me like the neighborhood kids all banding together to take out the bully on the block. Be careful what you wish for kids. It is an all out brawl and my wife comes downstairs to watch and encourage the kids, probably to make sure I don't get carried away and knock someone out also. The battle rages and they keep coming in waves but I am like a man among boys, wait, bad analogy. I mow them down like wheat in front of the blade. They are a game bunch, there is always one dragging another injured friend out of the fray while the others keep me engaged. Finally, as we all knew it would, we break a light fixture and glass goes every where. The boys love it and my wife isn't mad so it all ends well in a shower of sparks and glass.
They watch another Indy movie and get their camp set up in the living room for the night. I go to bed at midnight, and they are still awake. Two o'clock rolls around and one of the guests has to call his mother to come get him. The others say he doesn't have a great track record at sleep overs but is getting better. They are up at six thirty and watching more Indy. I am required to make pancakes, cinnamon rolls, and bacon. I'm OK with this, what a great breakfast. The boys hork down everything in front of them and go back to Indy. I take this lull in the action to jump in the shower. When I get back downstairs my wife informs me that one of the guests has thrown up on the kitchen floor, thank God for being in the shower.
She tells me the guest informed her he wasn't used to that kind of bacon, they usually get a better kind of bacon so when his body got rid of the bad food he felt better. This is also the no gift guest, strike two buddy.
I have condensed this version but am left wondering is this how everyone else does it too? I hope I find out soon, my other two sons have birthdays in April and I'm sure we are on the hook for something magical. Stay tuned.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Terror on the School Bus
This doozy took place last Friday night as I returned home from an out of town basketball game with my team. It truly was a surreal experience, one of those that you couldn't make up if you tried.
I would like to preface the story with the fact that it was indeed a dangerous situation and I am in no way trying to make a joke out of it, only passing on what was going through my mind, as small as it may be. There were many witnesses/participants on this ride with me and some of the account may be embellished, for this I apologize, but again it is how I processed the situation as the events unfolded. The names of towns and individuals will remain undisclosed to protect the innocent.
It all started as we loaded up the bus, as we have done countless times in the last three years, to go on the road and stomp the guts out of our opponent. Not bragging here, that is just our frame of mind, why get on the bus or take the floor if you don't expect to neutralize the competition? It just so happens that this game would take place in my hometown, where I grew up playing basketball, so it always has a little extra oompf for me. It is also about a two hour and fifteen minute drive.
We headed out to the eastern plains around two o'clock in the afternoon, plenty of sunlight and a gloriously warm winter day. That removes two very large obstacles that confront a driver in Colorado in the winter. Good roads and plenty of daylight to get there, things are looking up. Both the JV and Varsity boast records with only one loss and the bus, coaches included, are brimming with confidence. Designated parents have brought sack lunches for everyone to tide us over for the long haul into the sand dunes. As we board the bus I notice we have a driver that I am unfamiliar with but don't give it a second thought, he appears to be at an age that he could probably drive this bus in his sleep from the thousands of miles he has logged in his career, ironic huh? We were soon to find out different.
Everybody on, roll call taken, because it really is about the kids right: their commitment to the team, their school, their friends, and themselves. I always tell the girls that basketball is a microcosm of life. You can't win them all, you can't do it all yourself, you need help and must help others. I don't know if they believe me but I find it to be true. Now as coaches we are entrusted with teaching things like this along with a good old pick and roll, and with that comes the trust that we will have other people's children in our care. Something you take for granted and don't really think will ever be challenged.
We are casually on our way and have touched the rumble strips on the side of the road a couple times but who doesn't, and the bus is huge. We are sixty miles in and the tires actually leave the pavement and we are on the gravel shoulder, just for a few seconds but long enough for everyone to think is it just me or was that a little scary. No one really says anything, a few nervous laughs, but no one wants to be the person who yells fire. We touch the rumble strips a few more times and there is an anxious moment when we share a narrow bridge with an oncoming semi. More glances and jokes, but a little perspiration is added.
We arrive at the game site and are roughly pulled into a parking spot, everyone debarks, glad to be off the bus and ready for a game. My team plays first, we stomps guts, and as the varsity is warming up I notice our driver in the stands sneaking in a cat nap, good, better now than later right? The varsity gets a great win and we are ready to go. Some kids ride home with their parents, others get on the doomsday bus.
We are now headed back home and on the ride of our life. We are no more than three miles out of town and start to gradually drift in and out of our lane. I am starting to get a little nervous and try to get an angle to see if the driver is 'napping' again. The girls on the bus are squirming and screeching with every movement that might be considered out of the norm. They are fueling each others fear and it is on a steady rise, jumping by leaps and bounds. The head coach and I talk and decide we will move up by the driver and start a conversation, one that will keep him engaged and more importantly alert. It works to some degree, but if the conversation lags for a minute or two we start to drift one way or another. We reach the first small town and see the only stoplight in town is red, for some reason we stop a block away.
The coaches again start their incessant chatter with said driver but find that silence, even a minute is directly proportional to our drift factor. Now it's getting a little freaky and the girls are really amped up, some have called their parents to pull over and pick them up. the coaches decide we should tell the driver to stop at a town half way home to help with the attention problem and we do. Five or six girls get off to ride with their parents and the others are left feeling like human sacrifices. As the driver turns the bus around he swipes the mirror against a no parking sign and parks to wait. We can't believe it. We wait for the girls to come out of the convenience store, many of us needed a bathroom break, and I notice the driver dozing in his seat. What the? The girls file on after hugging the 'lucky' ones who are riding with parents, it looks like a parade down the green mile as they find their seats and brace for the worst.
We are on the interstate for a few miles and things are better, we have parents following us now to document exactly where we exited the road as the bus drove into the ditch. Just kidding but at least we now have someone who knows where we are. We leave the safety of the four lane and it's back into Dantes Inferno. Driver is confused by all turn lanes, we ride half way in and half way out. I notice driver get out a flashlight and start to check the dashboard, I can see the dash fine from where I am and wonder what we did wrong to get Mr. Magoo as a driver tonight. We are still trying to talk to him but the drifting is back. I try to draw attention to the fact and ask if the bus is a little light in the front end and he replies that sometimes it's kind of hard to see at night. WHAT? You have your brights on and haven't dimmed them for anyone no matter how many times they flash you. They paint a white line along the road that goes from here to where ever you are trying to get, it's like a safety precaution so stay beside it, not over. How much help do you need?
At this point we round a gradual curve and see a semi coming our way, we have again drifted and the girls actually dive from one side of the bus to the other and the head coach starts screaming over, over, over. This is the final straw. Head coach tells him pull over, we are going to have a different driver or we are getting off. Driver says you can get off but no one else is driving, so we get all the girls off the bus and watch him drive into the night as we stand along side the road. Eventually we have parents that were called show up and we pile everyone into cars and head for the school.
The next day when I see the girls again one player asks if I have heard the ending and I ask what it is. Apparently the driver got to the bus barn fine and as he is navigating into the garage manages to side swipe the diving coaches car for his finale. A perfect ending to a nightmarish trip.
Fortunately no one is hurt on our bus nor any other drivers on the road that night. It just goes to show you you can plan for a lot of things, but you can't plan for everything. We leave again on Tuesday to play ball out of town and you can bet the driver is in for the third degree, even Otto from the Simpson's would make me feel better. I will let you know how it goes.
Sorry this one is so long.
I would like to preface the story with the fact that it was indeed a dangerous situation and I am in no way trying to make a joke out of it, only passing on what was going through my mind, as small as it may be. There were many witnesses/participants on this ride with me and some of the account may be embellished, for this I apologize, but again it is how I processed the situation as the events unfolded. The names of towns and individuals will remain undisclosed to protect the innocent.
It all started as we loaded up the bus, as we have done countless times in the last three years, to go on the road and stomp the guts out of our opponent. Not bragging here, that is just our frame of mind, why get on the bus or take the floor if you don't expect to neutralize the competition? It just so happens that this game would take place in my hometown, where I grew up playing basketball, so it always has a little extra oompf for me. It is also about a two hour and fifteen minute drive.
We headed out to the eastern plains around two o'clock in the afternoon, plenty of sunlight and a gloriously warm winter day. That removes two very large obstacles that confront a driver in Colorado in the winter. Good roads and plenty of daylight to get there, things are looking up. Both the JV and Varsity boast records with only one loss and the bus, coaches included, are brimming with confidence. Designated parents have brought sack lunches for everyone to tide us over for the long haul into the sand dunes. As we board the bus I notice we have a driver that I am unfamiliar with but don't give it a second thought, he appears to be at an age that he could probably drive this bus in his sleep from the thousands of miles he has logged in his career, ironic huh? We were soon to find out different.
Everybody on, roll call taken, because it really is about the kids right: their commitment to the team, their school, their friends, and themselves. I always tell the girls that basketball is a microcosm of life. You can't win them all, you can't do it all yourself, you need help and must help others. I don't know if they believe me but I find it to be true. Now as coaches we are entrusted with teaching things like this along with a good old pick and roll, and with that comes the trust that we will have other people's children in our care. Something you take for granted and don't really think will ever be challenged.
We are casually on our way and have touched the rumble strips on the side of the road a couple times but who doesn't, and the bus is huge. We are sixty miles in and the tires actually leave the pavement and we are on the gravel shoulder, just for a few seconds but long enough for everyone to think is it just me or was that a little scary. No one really says anything, a few nervous laughs, but no one wants to be the person who yells fire. We touch the rumble strips a few more times and there is an anxious moment when we share a narrow bridge with an oncoming semi. More glances and jokes, but a little perspiration is added.
We arrive at the game site and are roughly pulled into a parking spot, everyone debarks, glad to be off the bus and ready for a game. My team plays first, we stomps guts, and as the varsity is warming up I notice our driver in the stands sneaking in a cat nap, good, better now than later right? The varsity gets a great win and we are ready to go. Some kids ride home with their parents, others get on the doomsday bus.
We are now headed back home and on the ride of our life. We are no more than three miles out of town and start to gradually drift in and out of our lane. I am starting to get a little nervous and try to get an angle to see if the driver is 'napping' again. The girls on the bus are squirming and screeching with every movement that might be considered out of the norm. They are fueling each others fear and it is on a steady rise, jumping by leaps and bounds. The head coach and I talk and decide we will move up by the driver and start a conversation, one that will keep him engaged and more importantly alert. It works to some degree, but if the conversation lags for a minute or two we start to drift one way or another. We reach the first small town and see the only stoplight in town is red, for some reason we stop a block away.
The coaches again start their incessant chatter with said driver but find that silence, even a minute is directly proportional to our drift factor. Now it's getting a little freaky and the girls are really amped up, some have called their parents to pull over and pick them up. the coaches decide we should tell the driver to stop at a town half way home to help with the attention problem and we do. Five or six girls get off to ride with their parents and the others are left feeling like human sacrifices. As the driver turns the bus around he swipes the mirror against a no parking sign and parks to wait. We can't believe it. We wait for the girls to come out of the convenience store, many of us needed a bathroom break, and I notice the driver dozing in his seat. What the? The girls file on after hugging the 'lucky' ones who are riding with parents, it looks like a parade down the green mile as they find their seats and brace for the worst.
We are on the interstate for a few miles and things are better, we have parents following us now to document exactly where we exited the road as the bus drove into the ditch. Just kidding but at least we now have someone who knows where we are. We leave the safety of the four lane and it's back into Dantes Inferno. Driver is confused by all turn lanes, we ride half way in and half way out. I notice driver get out a flashlight and start to check the dashboard, I can see the dash fine from where I am and wonder what we did wrong to get Mr. Magoo as a driver tonight. We are still trying to talk to him but the drifting is back. I try to draw attention to the fact and ask if the bus is a little light in the front end and he replies that sometimes it's kind of hard to see at night. WHAT? You have your brights on and haven't dimmed them for anyone no matter how many times they flash you. They paint a white line along the road that goes from here to where ever you are trying to get, it's like a safety precaution so stay beside it, not over. How much help do you need?
At this point we round a gradual curve and see a semi coming our way, we have again drifted and the girls actually dive from one side of the bus to the other and the head coach starts screaming over, over, over. This is the final straw. Head coach tells him pull over, we are going to have a different driver or we are getting off. Driver says you can get off but no one else is driving, so we get all the girls off the bus and watch him drive into the night as we stand along side the road. Eventually we have parents that were called show up and we pile everyone into cars and head for the school.
The next day when I see the girls again one player asks if I have heard the ending and I ask what it is. Apparently the driver got to the bus barn fine and as he is navigating into the garage manages to side swipe the diving coaches car for his finale. A perfect ending to a nightmarish trip.
Fortunately no one is hurt on our bus nor any other drivers on the road that night. It just goes to show you you can plan for a lot of things, but you can't plan for everything. We leave again on Tuesday to play ball out of town and you can bet the driver is in for the third degree, even Otto from the Simpson's would make me feel better. I will let you know how it goes.
Sorry this one is so long.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
