The $2100 Newspaper

My family’s Sunday routine getting ready for church is usually the same each week. The older girls plod along getting ready, trying on no less than 10 outfits each as I get frustrated because it took me 15 minutes to get ready so I proceed to sit, wait, and yell about being late for church. They yell back as they continue to move as slowly as possible and still be conscious, and then 1 1/2 minutes before we should be at church, we jump in the car, and race through the streets like wild people being chased by the police until we pull into the church parking lot, late, yet again. By the time we arrive, I've lectured about being on time and the kids are mad because I've lectured about being on time and once we're all good and aggravated, we all put on smiles, walk in looking happy and ready to praise the Lord. It’s a weekly process.

Many years ago I stopped receiving the daily newspaper at my house; but I still enjoyed getting the Sunday paper to peruse the weddings and engagements and sale papers. So on our way home, after we'd praised the Lord with our wonderful attitudes, I'd get a Sunday paper if I didn’t forget. I guess it's possible that God did something about our bad attitudes when we were in church, but for the life of me I don’t know why He'd want to. So, by the time the 6 of us would arrive at home, the atmosphere would have become much more relaxed. We'd change into comfy clothes, begin preparing lunch, watch TV, get a snack, discuss church and the behavior of our children in church.

Well on this particular Sunday in December, I realized I had forgotten to stop by the store to purchase my $1.50 newspaper. And because I didn’t want to get back in the car to go get it, I made the decision to send one of my kids to do the chore.

They were VERY happy to do it.

In true kid fashion, Caitlin and Emma began arguing about who and why and how and finally for some reason, they decided it would take 2 people to go for the paper. And as they were leaving, they were still arguing about who was going to actually get out of the car and walk the 7 steps to the newspaper dispenser thingy. I was annoyed at the strife this small task had caused but I was busying myself tending to lunch. But in record time...about 10 seconds after they walked out the door...the two of them walked quickly back into the house talking in very hushed tones and asked their father to come outside. I thought it odd but paid it no mind...until John, red faced and steam rolling out of his ears, came back in the house and tolde me to come outside. Now ALMOST every time calling a parent out to see something is never a good sign. This was no exception.

Because the girls were still arguing as they got in the car, with Caitlin driving and Emma passengering, closing the car door became a secondary concern. So as the arguing continued and Caitlin began backing up, Emma hadn't shut her door before the car began moving backwards. The opened passenger door got caught on a piece of molding on the side of the house and the door bent waaaaay backwards and...and... pulled pieces of the house off with it.

At first, John and I just stood looking in shocked disbelief. A fog was rolling in if you will...it was all of the steam seeping out of our ears. Blood pressures were reaching stroke levels while our suddenly silent and humbled daughters stood nearby fearing for their lives.

The car door was bent BACKWARDS! It just hung there pitifully. It looked as if it had been beaten with a baseball bat...backwards. I don’t remember what happened in the next few minutes. It’s hard to stay focused when you’re trying to hang on to your mouth, your attitude, your sanity and not beat your flesh and blood to a pulp. We just stood there...taking it all in and adding up the price tag in our mind. I couldn’t tell you how much if any yelling was done. Everything around us was fading to black and all we could see was a battered car.

Well needless to say lunch was extremely tense because the 2 girls feared for their lives. Olivia and OWen were thanking God they hadn't been invloved in any way and the 2 parents were questioning why we had ever decided we wanted to have kids.

After lunch, children scattered to the four winds and our house was as silent as the grave. And for the rest of the afternoon, John or I would walk to their room and yell something we'd already forgotten to yell and then silence would once again envelop the house. And then he and I would try to think of something else to yell. One thing historically has always happened at our house, when a child of ours did something stupid and expensive, room cleaning seemed a necessary penance for EVERY ONE of them. It’s as if it’s the only sacrifice they can offer.

Well, somehow we managed to not kill the kids but that night we had a church Christmas party to attend and we had to go in my car. Once I realized that, there was more yelling. But it was as if heaven had opened replaced all 4 of my kids with angels because suddenly their behavior was stellar. It’s amazing how children behave when fear becomes a motivating factor. For about 8 hours, they did anything we said and they did it quickly and efficiently.

No redneck Christmas can happen without someone wiring a car door shut so a vehicle can be used and that’s exactly what we did. Yep. All 6 of us rode silently to the Christmas event...where we found no joy. Others thought it funny but John and I didn't. In fact, because their laughter annoyed us even more, we left pretty pist. And when we got home, all of our children studied hard that night and went to bed quickly and efficiently.

And so the next day began with insurance estimates, $2000, and rental cars, $200, and the grand total for the most expensive newspaper in the history of the world totaled $2200. We we paid about $500 to $700 for a $1.50 newspaper. After all, Christmas is the season for spreading cash.

This kind of happening is called the stupid tax and it's absolutely no fun to pay. Sometimes with kids, it comes early and often. And car doors aren't the only doors that don’t bend backwards. Dishwasher doors don't either.

Oh there’s another story to tell.