The JackB

"When you're in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will be in the cell next to you saying, 'Damn, that was fun'." Groucho Marx

Family

The Duggar Family Revisited

She is pregnant with her 18th child. Yes ladies and gentlemen, the Duggars are back.
We first encountered The Duggar Family in the following Posts:

Mom delivers 16th child, thinking of more

Should Childbirth Be Legislated

Here is a little bit of information from the MSNBC story I linked to in the lead.

“With two sets of twins, Michelle has gone through 15 pregnancies that ended in 13 natural deliveries and two Caesarean sections.

Both Michelle and Jim Bob — a former state legislator who served in the Arkansas House of Representatives — are real estate agents. They claim their family is debt-free, with the entire bunch helping to build their 7,000-square-foot home in Tontitown. And they are enriched by a devout faith in their religion.

The Duggars are followers of the evangelical Christian movement called Quiverful, which teaches that children are God’s blessing and that husbands and wives should happily welcome every child they are given. In fact, the Duggars’ Web site, duggarfamily.com, quotes “Children are a heritage of the Lord” from verse 3 of the 123rd Psalm.

“We just let the Lord decide,” Jim Bob told Vieira.

“They are such a gift and we’re enjoying them so much,” Michelle added. “We would love more, and the power of the Lord took our faith to give us another one.”

The Duggars married in 1984, when Michelle was 17 and Jim Bob was 19. They held off on having kids for four years before Michelle ceased taking birth control pills to have their first child. After Joshua was born in 1988, Michelle returned to birth control but wound up getting pregnant anyway. Unfortunately, she suffered a miscarriage, which the couple attributed to use of the pill.

Michelle and Jim Bob decided to pray for as many children as God would give them. Within a year, Michelle was pregnant with the first of their two sets of twins.

Their large number of offspring has meant other large numbers for the Duggars. Michelle has been pregnant for 135 months of her life, with an average of 18 months between births. The family estimates it has used 90,000 diapers and launders 200 loads of clothes each month in a row of industrial-size washers and dryers.

Even though they go through three loaves of bread per day, they claim to feed their family for less than $2,000 a month. Transportation is facilitated by nine vehicles, led by a 21-passenger bus. They estimate that all members of the family have combined to work approximately 39,000 hours on their home.Each child learns to play both violin and piano. And for what it’s worth, when child No. 18 arrives, they’ll have enough kids to field two baseball teams.

Most importantly, there is a unique dedication to serve the greater good of the home and family. An older child will take on the responsibility of a younger sibling throughout the day. The children help prepare meals and keep to a steady home-schooling schedule. Group studies include materials from Advanced Training Institute International, a Bible-based education program for families.

I don’t really want to see childbirth legislated, there are distinct limits to government involvement, but there are commonsense issues as well.

To me the most important question of all is what kind of attention the children receive from their parents. I find it difficult to believe that these children receive the time they deserve from their parents. There is such a thing as being spread too thin.

Having the ability to do something is not license nor inspiration to do it.

I wonder about the finances. Maybe they’re very lucky and able to afford this many kids, but it still makes me wonder about how many things they have to sacrifice to do so. Some of those are personal choices, but still..

And I wonder about the burden placed upon the older siblings. I believe that all family members should help out. It makes perfect sense, but I am guessing that the older kids have taken on more child rearing roles here than they should have to.

We’re only children for a short time of our lives. Kids should have the opportunity to be kids.

What do you think?

My Family is Conspiring Against Me

hy·per·bo·le (hÄ«-pûr‘bÉ™-lÄ“) pronunciation
n.

A figure of speech in which exaggeration is used for emphasis or effect, as in I could sleep for a year or This book weighs a ton.

I’d like to say that every story is filled with hyperbole and that this post was a prime example of it. I covered some of the chaos over here too, including the tale of the car fire in which the cats were consumed.

Hyperbole. I only wish that I had engaged in a bit of hyperbole with those posts, but I didn’t. I didn’t even come close to fleshing out the story. I could have and probably should have painted a picture that illustrated what really happened. If you would have seen a man cradling these dad cats in his arms you’d have a better picture. If you would have seen his girlfriend’s reaction to the car fire, witnessed her flailing her arms, hysterical crying and slip into catatonia you would have a much better understanding. Confession, there was not catatonic episode. I couldn’t help myself, not that big a pussy. 😉

There are so many tales to be told. The story of the lawsuit that was served upon a family member by a woman who describes herself as a remarkable intuitive who can help you be the person that you know you can and should be.

Was I wrong for telling her that she is a bitter old crone whose intuitiveness lies in trying to shake down others because she is too stupid to get a real job and too bitter to go on welfare.

I suppose that I could mention the story of the dog watcher who backed out of watching the dog. Pretend for a moment that your parents were staying with one of your 1,982 sisters. Now imagine that the sister and family left for a family vacation, three days before your parents were going to leave.

Pretend that your mother called to ask for your help because your sister was out of the country and the dog watcher backed out of watching your sister’s dog at eight 0’clock at night. Add this to the recipe of ridiculousness. Your parents are leaving for the airport at 4 am the next day.

There is nothing like knowing that people plan and G-d laughs. I am still working on trying to be At Peace with Myself. Well, I sort of am. I tend to laugh at a lot of this stuff, because otherwise I might cry, or scream, or I don’t know what.

Most of the time I try and remember The Impact of My Actions and respond appropriately to whatever situation is at hand. There are always plenty of stories to tell such as The Sloppy Kisser, More Questions about Body Parts or anything contained in this post. Call me what you will but I Don’t Always Believe In Happy Endings.

Sometimes the posts match the title and sometimes they don’t. The sad thing is that a bad headline kills the post almost as fast as something that was poorly written. Come up with a snappy, intriguing headline and people take a moment to look it over. I wanted to say flip through it, but this isn’t a book or magazine.

As much as I love reading online, it will never replace the joy of holding a real book. A good book is simple pleasure that I can’t live without. That reminds me, my bookshelves look like hell. I have run out of space and begun to stack books in odd places. I need to do something about that.

Call me a snob, but if I come into your home and do not see any books displayed I will think less of you. They don’t have to be Plato’s Republic, just show me some books and let me know that you read.

Ok, it is time for this session of frantic blogging to end. Back later.

Coping With Sick Parents

“DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think’st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell’st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.”

Death Be Not Proud-by John Donne
(1572-1631)

One day we’ll all wake up and find out that mom or dad have died. It is an uncomfortable reality…dying. For most of us it doesn’t matter what our spiritual beliefs are, the loss of a parent is hard. Be it at 16 or 60 it can be a very profound experience that impacts the rest of our lives.

Since no one has figured out how to email, Skype or receive blog posts from death it carries a certain weight of finality. There is a reason it is called the final goodbye. And maybe that finality and sense of loss is why it can be so hard to deal with sick parents. It is that underlying fear that one day mom and dad won’t be there.

I remember when I was in grade school there were a few kids who had lost parents. It didn’t make sense to me. At ten years old I couldn’t conceive of a time when my own would be gone. It just wasn’t real. In the years between then and my graduation from college there were a handful of losses. But it still seemed impossible that one day it could happen to me.

That changed a while back. When my father had a major heart attack and teetered on the brink it became very clear that things were different. Thankfully he survived, but it was close.

I won’t forget what it was like in the hospital. The beeps and whirs of the machines and the knowledge that a ventilator was helping dad to breathe. That was really the moment when I realized that he was truly human. It was rough because I really had come to realize how much I leaned upon him.

Maybe it wasn’t daily. I didn’t need him to tell me how to do my job, raise my kids or lead my life. I had already learned the basics from him. Still, there were always little situations that would come up. Most of the time I knew how I intended to handle them, but it didn’t mean that I didn’t want to talk it out.

It is kind of funny. Every day my children come to me and ask to watch as they show me what they have learned. What that moment in the hospital taught me was that I still like doing that too.

And now here we are several years later and I find myself in discussions with more friends about sick parents. Some of them have lost their mother or father, in some cases quite suddenly. And in others they find themselves in a position in which one or both of their parents have become quite frail and or ill.

Intellectually you know that these illnesses are a sign that their journey may not be much longer, there is only so much sunshine left in the day, but emotionally it is harder to get prepared for the twilight.

It is a bit disconcerting, these talks about parents with John and Kim or Mike and Michelle. It was only yesterday that they were telling me about the new guy/girl or the great job they found. Then it became stories about kids and family vacations. And one day the new topic entered, mom/dad are sick, they are dying, what are we going to do. How am I going to explain it to my kids. They were so strong….

In the distance I hear a school bell ringing, marking the end of school. There is a loud rumble accompanying it. It is the sound of a thousand kids running out the door and heading home. A door slams and you can hear the sound of someone saying “Mom, I am home.”

Chanukah Notes- Superhero Edition

It is almost midnight and the house is relatively quiet. If I wasn’t wearing my headphones I could hear the soft snoring of sleeping children and the various noises of the house settling. It was a busy weekend, action packed and full of far too much activity.

More Chanukah parties. More time in the car. More time shopping. More time navigating and negotiating the various pitfalls and challenges that life places in front of us and more questions. Questions from the children. Questions from the wives, mothers, grandmothers, grandfathers and fathers.

A man dressed as Santa approaches my children. My daughter shys away from him. A lady standing nearby tries to sooth her by saying “Santa doesn’t bite.” A few minutes later my daughter says “Santa Bites.” I try to cut this off before it gains traction but we’re in a store and her brother is bored so he starts chanting “Santa Bites” with her. They mean it literally and gnash their teeth at each other while laughing hysterically.

Speaking of laughing hysterically I am trying not to. It is a double-entendre and with my juvenile sense of humor it makes me chuckle. Later my son complains to me that the stores haven’t decorated for Chanukah. I explain to him that it is not important what others do but what we do.

We make a quick stop at the Verizon store. Oops, did I say quick. I meant it was intended to be quick, but the little curly haired boss decides otherwise. Somehow she manages to find three ways to slow the whole process down. Most of the time my children are very well behaved, but they have their moments. So I pick her up and tell her to take a nap. I don’t know who gets more out of it, her or me.

A short time later we’re home. Kids are showered, teeth are brushed, candles are lit and gifts are opened. My son is reading stories about superheroes to me. We’re engaged in discussions about whether Green Lantern could beat up Superman and do I think that I could beat up Batman.

Could I beat up Batman? I tell him it is a good question. He tells me that he is certain that my dad probably could have, at least when he was younger. And if my dad could beat up Batman than so could I. I listen to his rationale and smile. He tells me that he thinks that the biggest challenge is that I don’t have my own utility belt.

I smile at him and tell him that I have a plan. I’ll sneak up and pull Batman’s cape over his eyes and then while he can’t see I’ll take his belt and throw it away. Of course if I was fighting this Batman it is a foregone conclusion that I’d win. I am far too mean for him. Could I stop this Batman? Now that is a different story. What is that line, If you make yourself more than just a man, if you devote yourself to an ideal, you become something else entirely…

But I digress. His thoughts about fathers and superheroes intrigues me. This is not the first time that I have written about this. I remember at my grandfather’s funeral my father stood up and said that his hero had died. It was one of those moments that will probably always stay with me because he was my hero too.

And I remember speaking with my grandfather about his father and realizing that his father was his hero too. And here I am, this man who sometimes feels like a boy and I have my own fan.

There is this little guy who watches everything I do and tries to do it too. And I think back to this post (Father’s Love Their Daddies Too) and remember that we all just figure it out as we go along. It is not always so reassuring, but that uncertainty is part of what makes life interesting.

Chanukah Night Three Notes- The Other Woman

This is what you call an impromptu series. Just a few thoughts about Chanukah, 5768, as well as a sample of the music of the day.

Under Pressure– Queen & David Bowie

I feel like I am suffering from a bad case of cognitive dissonance or maybe it is just the icepick that someone stuck behind my left eyeball. A relatively short time ago we finished up a midweek celebration at my parent’s house. Thanksgiving revisited. The funny thing about it is that there were probably a third fewer people and it was just as loud.

“And you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but its sinking
And racing around to come up behind you again
The sun is the same in the relative way, but youre older
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death”
Time- Pink Floyd

My children are sitting at the dining room table trying to hold it together. They are wide eyed with excitement and anticipation. One of my brother-in-laws is busy goading them into getting into trouble. I stare at him…hard. We make eye contact, but he doesn’t recognize the sign for “stop revving up my kids or I’ll take your little Hobbit ass and throw it into the snow. He is a good guy, but when common sense was offered he took the pennies instead.

My mother is on fire. I don’t know why or what she is upset about, but grandma is clearly unhappy. It is not without precedent for her to be a little tense before company arrives, but usually that dissipates within a couple of moments. And for whatever reason I am absorbing her tension.

Inside my head I imagine that I am sitting in a dark room drinking some Scotch. B.B. King and Lucille are singing The Thrill Is Gone. Stevie Ray Vaughn makes an appearance and I am caught in a Texas Flood. I have some unfinished business in Dallas, so maybe it is appropriate.

My father and I have a series of code words, looks and signs that we share. Since I have 1,876,098 sisters it was developed out of necessity. There were just some things that the girls didn’t get and frankly sometimes it was better that they didn’t understand.

At some point in my teenage years my father made a crack to me about how the other woman was always making life more difficult than necessary. I knew what he meant, because at home if it wasn’t one woman it was another. Two bathrooms, but only one shower. It had its moments.

It kind of makes me think of Cosby’s routine about chocolate cake for breakfast. If you haven’t heard it before I highly encourage you to listen. As a point of reference if this post feels stilted or disjointed it is probably because I stopped to listen to it and lost my train of thought.

Back to the present. Dinner is good. My mother’s latkes are outstanding. I try not to eat fried food, but this is not an ordinary meal or day. I consume the equivalent of three pounds of potato and console myself by saying that I ate them plain. No sour cream, no apple sauce, nothing. They were so good there was no reason to wreck them with anything else.

Later on the kids reap the rewards of being part of a big family. There are far too many gifts. One of my sisters is way too generous. I need to speak with her about this. She can easily afford to be generous and she is, but it is too much.

A short time later I am buried beneath an assortment of discarded wrapping materials. My children both approach me to say thank you. Something must be sinking in. My son says that he wishes he could have been my brother because grandpa gives more gifts than I do. My father’s laughter drowns out my sputtered protestations to the contrary.

Headache or not, it was a pretty good evening.

Chanukah Night Two Notes- Gratitude

Life always has its shares of ups and downs, but lately it seems there has been more than the normal turmoil. So I find myself searching for answers to questions that haven’t any answers. Ok, that is not true. I know the answers to many, I just don’t like them.

Frustration sets in so I head out to the garage to work out on the heavy bag. I turn on my boxing music. As you can guess there are a few standards. The theme to Rocky, Eye of The Tiger and The Contender are almost always included. Beyond that it is a bit of crap shoot. I have eclectic taste, but I need something that has a beat or provides energy, not to mention my mood. I’ll hit the meat of the post in a moment.

Here is an incomplete list of songs from my workout:

Girls, Girls, Girls– Motley Crue
Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now)-C+C Music Factory
What is Love?-Haddaway
Run To The Hills-Iron Maiden
I’m Too Sexy-Right Said Fred
Jump Around– House Of Pain
Dragostea Din Tei– O-Zone
A little less conversation– Elvis Presley
I Feel Love-Blue Man Group

It is another late night. Family obligations require my making several stops on the way home and as a result dinner is late. Needless to say this doesn’t make anyone happy. I take my son aside and say “kabed et eevecha” and he says ok. If you are not familiar with it, it is the beginning of the fifth commandment. In this case it is understood by my son as my way of saying that family “does for each other.” I look out for him, he looks out for me etc.

Still he is young and it is Chanukah. Kids and parents are both hungry and cranky. So we move through the night and take care of the priorities. The menorah is lit early in the evening, but gifts do not come until after dinner, homework and showers are completed to the standards set by the parents. For some reason every time we talk about homework I can hear The Who singing Baba O’Riley, specifically Teenage Wasteland. On a side note I enjoy The Blue Man group’s version too.

Eventually the tasks are taken care of and gifts are given. They are nothing grand. A couple of books, a pair of pants, a puzzle and a Batman wallet. We watch the children carefully because most of the fun is watching them experience these things. It is a little unfair, but I am aggravated with my daughter. She doesn’t like one of her gifts and she throws it on the floor. Granted she is 3.5 and overtired, but…

Moments later we send the kids off to bed and I follow them to talk about gratitude and why it is important to be thankful and appreciative of what we have. Some of the children they go to school with come from very affluent homes and frankly some of them have terrible attitudes. I won’t have it. I won’t accept this sort of behavior from my own children.

This weekend we’re going to spend more time sorting through old toys. It is time to speak with them again about how lucky they are and how not everyone has as much as they do. To ignore this and go about our business would be negligent.

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