This (above) is what my family looked like on St. Patrick's Day 1997. Tommy (the baby) is now 10 years old--and will be 11 in October. Since it's Father's day on Sunday and Bridget's birthday today (the young lass in that picture is turning...ahem...an undisclosed age), I asked them to provide a guest blog for this weekend. I really like their contributions, and I hope you do too.
Give Me Math Any Day
by Bridget Kaempfer
I am NOT a writer. From grade school to college, every writing project assigned to me turned me into the Queen of Procrastination. I assume most everyone is like that at some point in their lives. Probably some of you were still printing (or typing) your final paper for English five minutes before class started like I did. But I even did it in the fourth grade. There was nothing I hated more than a blank piece of notebook paper and being told to “use my imagination.”
However, I AM a reader. I read everything as a kid. My sisters and I would go to the library every Saturday and each of us would check out fourteen books (the limit on our cards), trade them back and forth, and do it all over again the following week. I don’t have time to read as much as I used to, but I still read quite a bit.
Much of what I read these days is the product of my husband’s hard work. Who would have known that he would provide an endless supply of new reading material right in my own home? That I would be asked on a regular basis to give a critique (which ultimately will be ignored) or check for grammatical errors in a new article? Or that some personal details of my life would be twisted out of proportion and posted on the web for the world to read?
Most of the time, I find it amusing. I never knew my family’s life could be so funny... it certainly doesn’t seem funny as its happening. I guess it’s a good thing that I can read about it later and laugh. And of course, I can claim that the really embarrassing stories didn’t really happen (he writes fiction for goodness sake...)
It’s also interesting to see a seemingly mundane event turned into something special with the power of words. Like many working parents, my busy schedule makes it nearly impossible to be as involved as I’d like, and sometimes I feel like I miss out. But I’m lucky. I get a running commentary of what is going on in my house at any given time. Whether it’s learning how to ride a bike for the first time, reaching a new level on a video game or a designing new train track configuration, I can count on the highlights of my family life being recorded so I can go back and see what I missed. It’s like my own personal TiVo (with the added bonus of being able to see humor in a trying situation after the fact, as opposed to living through it myself and killing somebody).
But I can’t do that. I’m not a writer.
“What do you want me to write?” I ask.
“Anything you want,” he says.
“What do you mean, anything? I can’t write – nobody wants to read anything I write.”
“Yes, they do,” he says. "It’ll be fine. Write whatever you want. Use this as a chance to vent at me.”
He may as well have said “use your imagination.”
Besides, I prefer to do my venting verbally. In person. At the top of my lungs.
So here I am, with the proverbial blank piece of paper and an assignment I don’t really want to do. Which is why I waited until the last minute to do this. And once it was done, I didn't tell him for three days so he would sweat about being able to post his blog on time.
After all, I am the Queen of Procrastination. I have to protect my reputation.
As for venting, his oldest son may have a few words to say....
Your Name Has 1,000 A’s
by Tommy Kaempfer
One of the most popular sayings in my house, specifically from me, is the phrase, “DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!”
This is because there are some really ridiculous things my dad can do. I’m going to give you my top five most annoying.
5. Dad does this ‘short-term memory’ thing that drives me crazy. Once he thought I was my brother, Johnny. “Well, hello, Johnny.”
“Daaaad...”
“Johnny, cut it out.”
“Daaaaaaaaad, I’m TOMMY.”
“Don’t be silly.” I ran off to Johnny to show him.
“This is Johnny.”
“You’re getting weird, Johnny. That’s Tommy.”
I don’t EVER want that to happen again.
4. Og. I just can’t take this anymore. Once I told Dad that his jokes were twice as old as him. He took that as a challenge. The very next day, he gave me a smelly joke about Calvin Coolidge. “I guess Mr. Coolidge was a pretty calm guy,” I remarked after the joke. “That’s the point of the joke,” he replied. I heard quite a few VERY weird jokes that day. I haven’t really heard much of his ‘new material’ again.
3. This thing Dad has done for the last 10 (that’s how old I am, for your information) years has annoyed me for life. He says the lyrics of songs that I think s t i n k.
2. This is pretty much the same as 3, but he SINGS the songs instead.
1. This has tortured me for a lifetime. (It also has a tie.) First of all, when I don’t want to get up in the morning, he threatens to use the “Pinching Machine” or to tickle. The Pinching Machine is his own hands, of course. The Pinching Machine always will get me out of bed (other than having the Science Fair being tomorrow.)
Second of all, which is worse than Pinching Machine, is Dad’s voices. The worst is his voice of Grover. We used to have a punishment system when he would hear me talking with Johnny at night. First warning, he would take away our teddy bears. A second time, there would be no Nintendo DS. Third, someone would go upstairs in Mom’s and his room. Fourth, (although impossible), Dad would sing all the songs on his iPod as Grover. I’ve hated the Grover (and technically, Yoda) voice since I was 4 or 5.
So now you know what makes me say “daaaaaaaaaad”. Here he comes right now. He says he ate my Nintendo for lunch. DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!
To see any of my previous guest bloggers, click here: http://rickkaempferguestbloggers.blogspot.com
Happy Father's Day.
