Jeff and Charli, Bill and Lois, Deborah, Rick, Shellie… I hope you all have a beautiful Christmas this year. 
Thank you for being a part of my life- for the smiles and laughter you have given me. You’re all just precious!
God bless you!

Love,
Jennine

We recently purchased a very inexpensive digital camcorder to record the boy’s wrestling matches.  It worked great on Thursday! Kevin would finally be able to watch himself wrestle once we uploaded it to our PC. The only problem was that the removable memory card from the camcorder wasn’t being detected by our computer.

Darren spent a good amount of time troubleshooting before he decided to get live support from the manufacturer. In his nervous state of not only having to ask someone for help, but also having to type on a keyboard in the process, this is how the conversation unfolded:

Stephen N: Welcome to HP Total Care for Desktops. My
name is Stephen. How may I assist you today?

darren: how do i access the sd/mmc slot on my
pc after i plug my dick into it?

darren: dick…sorry

darren: d i s c

Stephen N: What is the Model Number of the PC?

darren : tj5113mw

Stephen N: Okay.

Stephen N: I will check the specifications

Stephen N: I will be back in 3 minutes.

darren: ok

It was at this point that Darren found me and said “Can you come here for a minute? I’m so embarrassed. Look at what I just accidently typed to the support guy!”

I don’t know what response he was hoping I’d have but I immediately burst into a hysterical laughing fit.

“Oh Darren. Don’t worry. That kind of thing happens to the breast of us. I mean BREAST of us. UGH!! B E S T of us!”

Oh Isaiah. Why must you forever ignore my wise instruction and find out things the hard way?

When you were two years old I turned my back for a moment and you somehow unlatched the 
kitchen cabinet, opened the big tub of Crisco grease and smothered yourself and your surroundings
with the white material. It took me six hours to clean up the mess. Bathing a toddler covered in
thick, slippery vegetable oil was never adressed in any parenting books I owned. I had to thumb
through Popular Mechanics instead.

And then there was the whole machete incident. You were told to never, ever touch it. It was put
far out of your reach but we underestimated your ability to haul a 6 foot ladder across the garage.
Unfortunately your little brother was in the vacinity when you decided to harvest a zuchinni from the
garden, throw it up in the air and chop it with the weapon. In the emergency room I overheard the
doctor say to the nurse “Who lets their kid PLAY WITH A MACHETE??”

I guess that’s all history now and your brother has forgiven you for costing him seven stitches across
the bridge of his nose. But when you came to me and said “Look at my tongue!” I was somewhat
shocked that you haven’t outgrown your need to break rules.

Who cares if your friends said nothing would happen if you stuck your tongue on a cold metal object
in the middle of a Minnesota winter? Why did you feel the need to prove them wrong? Especially since
it’s winter break at school and you’re not going to see them again for two weeks.

Yes, I know it hurts. I don’t know how long it takes to grow taste buds back or why, if taste buds
can grow back, your little finger cannot. Don’t you DARE try to experiment with THAT one.

Let’s give your guardian angel a winter break, too.

One of the disadvantages of living in a small town is that once you’ve earned a reputation for yourself, it’s very difficult to change people’s perception.

Meet James. James was party guy in high school. He was an outstanding wrestler and an average student with a knack for bumping into Trouble on occasion. Graduation from high school meant not only enlisting in the Army but also in Fatherhood.

James spent the summer in basic training while his girlfriend spent it caring for a newborn. The town, hungry for the newest scandal, condemned them both with vicious words and dirty looks. So when James entered the high school for the wrestling tournament last night (fresh off the plane, still in his fatigues and smelling like boot polish) the woman sitting next to me whispered “Can you believe he came in his uniform?”. Her tone was unforgiving and venomous. “You mean the clothes that say ‘I’m serving my country and protecting YOUR freedom?’”

My face felt hot with anger while I moved to a different spot on the bleachers and The Star Spangled Banner began over the loudspeaker. The crowd turned their attention to the flag mounted on the gymnasium wall, but I could not take my eyes off the man who snapped to attention and sang with pride to the song that had new meaning for him. His hat was in one hand and his son in the other.

I’m so proud of James and how he has managed to turn his life around, hold his head high despite brutal murmurings and love his child the very best he can. How anyone dares to condemn that is beyond me.