Sunday Morning Circus

Erin's job, as Director of Religious Education at our Parish, requires her to be out of the house Sunday morning. No problem. I got this. A loaded bottle, Sesame Street, a few tylenol, and its go time...I lost.

So what went wrong? Well, it all started with Karis playing the "spoon game". The "spoon game" refers to her throwing yogurt covered spoons accross the kitchen. She knows the stakes are high, but it's worth it. Playing the "spoon game" can mean time-outs or spankings, but Karis believes that's a small price to pay for the delightful look of approval on Grace's face as I mop up yogurt from the floor (and counter, sink, and fridge). Did I mention I do all this one handed since I'm holding Wells with the other? I think the image of me hunched over with back pain makes the game all the more enjoyable for the girls.

So...after a few time outs, I issued Karis a final warning not to do it again. As soon as I turn my back, however, Grace whispered in her ear. Now, if you've ever heard a four year old whisper, you know they're not very good at it. Everybody can hear. It's more like a different voice they use then a true whisper. Grace said, "Karis, throw your spoon again." Karis immediately obeyed. Having heard the whole exchange I told Grace to go to her room immediately. At this point, Grace lost it.

I don't know what was so devastating in her four year old world that caused the outburst (maybe she was outraged I heard her secret), but it was one of the worst ever. I had to put Wells down to deal with her. In a matter of a few seconds he transitioned from a peaceful sleep into a tortured scream. In a panic I went looking for his bottle which seemed to have gotten sucked into a black hole. It was nowhere to be found. It turned up in the shower 48 hours later. I must admit that I do have vague memories of attempting to sedate him with hot steam, but these memories didn't surface until after I rediscovered it. Nonetheless he was screaming his head off for the next hour.

As I attempted to calm Grace down from her fit it occured to me that I have three children now, not two. After doing a quick head count, it was clear that Karis was the missing party. I began searching for her in all the usual places. When I found her she had a mysterious orange jell all over her face. I promptly began investigaing, "Karis, what have you been doing?" I'll never forget her response. "Just drinking medicine." I quickly dialed 9-11. "My daughter just drank half a bottle of children's ibuprofen." Their response was unexpected - "what"? Forgetting that all of my children were screaming in a unified chorus of protest at my failed parenting I repeated myself in normal volume. After being asked for clarificaion again I realized their deafening screams were the problem. Hopefully Grace and Karis will never remember me covering the phone and shouting with a bright red face, "BE QUIET NOW!!! EVERYBODY, PLEASE STOP SCREAMING. STOP PRODUCING SOUND. KARIS HAS POISONED HERSELF AND I NEED TO KNOW WHAT TO DO."

I took off work yesterday to recover. We're all doing much better now. Karis is fine. Love you all.

Jerry W. Tate

On September 24th Erin gave birth to our first son, Jerry Wells Tate. He will go by "Wells". Becoming a dad to a son has led me to spend countless hours over the past two weeks reflecting on my own father, "Jerry Wayne Tate." The two Jerry's already have a great deal in common; same name, similar hair cut, occasional gas problems, dramatic mood swings when hungry, unexpected naps, ect.

I hope my little Jerry will experience all the blessings from me that I experienced from my dad, Big Jerry, growing up. I remember having my manhood tested at the young age of three when my dad would wrestle with me on the floor. I remember the proud look on his face when I made a great catch in backyard footall. I remember laughing hysterically when he read Patrick Mcmanus stories to me before bed. I remember him fixing my fishing pole while I'd use his (and quickly break it as well). I remember the smell of his coffee as we would drive to our favorite fishing hole in the dark. I remember his smiling face on August 14th, 2004, as Erin and I exchanged wedding vows. Consistent, reliable, honorable. These words describe my dad. He taught me what it means to be a man.

My dad left me a hard act to follow, but I think Wells will be extremely blessed if I can be half the dad to him as Big Jerry has been to me. Many theologians recognize a dad's unique role in shapping our conception of God as a Father to us. My earthly father has helped me believe in the reality of the heavenly Father described in Scripture. Jerry Tate made the idea of an all loving, patient, consistent, reliable, and forgiving heavenly Father, believable to me. Thank you dad. I love you. Alaska 2016 (you, me, and Wells). It's on!