Scouts Honor?

We don't eat at Chick-fil-A. It's not because we don't like the food (which is mediorcre, at best). But because we don't want our hard-earned money to go to the coffers of a company that endorses hate and intolerance, and supports it financially.

Which is why, now, we find ourselves with a true moral dilemma. For the last two years, the Boy Scouts of America has been a big part of our lives. Holden has very much enjoyed the group activities, camping and all that he's learned and earned. We've always known that the Boy Scouts had some backward policies on allowing gay scouts and troop leaders, but we were encouraged that the policies were under consideration, and felt that our own little Cub Scout world was insulated from the hate of the larger organization.

But with the Boy Scouts announcement last week that, after a two year review, it will still ban gays, we find ourselves questioning if we can allow our children to participate in an organization that is so exclusionary. Holden is a great scout and we are so proud of him for his commitment, effort and accomplishments. He has worked so hard and we've all had a lot of fun. Riley can't wait to join the ranks in a few weeks.

We're going to begin, I think, with a dialogue with our local Cub Scout leaders. I don't know of any other way to start this tough decision-making process.

The boys would be disappointed to have to give up Scouting, and I don't want to be the source of that sadness. But I think about all the kids and parents being denied this opportunity, and how awful they must feel that the Scouts' message is that they are not good enough, not the same. I don't know if my boys would understand now. But I have to hope that, later down the road, they'll look back and know that whatever decision we make is out of love, peace, fairness and in support of something we truly believe in: That everybody, no matter what, should be treated equally with all the same opportunities. Bigotry is just not valued in our family, and shouldn't be by a service organization, either.

At the Advancement Ceremony in June. Proud Holden and his proud dad, as Holden becomes a Bear.

Holden's Den 6 with Cub Master Plaster

A Monday Text Message From Kevin

"When we get home tonight, let's pop open a bottle of wine, get some cheese and crackers and go relax on the patio for a while. We can order some Chinese a littler later. Either that, or we can yell at the kids for a while and then eat dinner out of a box in front of the TV."

"Crappy" Is The Only Way To Describe This Week

They say a picture's worth a thousand words, so here it is. Our week, in pictures:
First this:

Then, this:
We're basically all surprisingly OK - physically, anyway. I'm a bit traumatized.

It began Monday night. Driving home on the 405 Freeway after my haircut appointment, I was contentedly listening to a podcast in a child-free (thank God) car when - CRASH! I was in the slow lane having just got on the freeway when an out-of-state driver in a rental car realized his lane was transitioning to the 90 Freeway. According to the CHP (aka: My Effin' Heroes), he plowed through some cones to avoid the transition, and changed lanes into the front side of my car. I remember the noise and the sight of my hood buckling. A piece of metal floated by. I swerved a bit to my left then straightened back out into my lane just as I saw the gore point.

I pulled over and glanced down at my lap. Hands, face, body - all there. All moving. No cuts. I think: "Holy shit, I'm OK." Then I lose it, BIG TIME. The other driver, being the braniac that he is, came to my window (right next to moving traffic), and all I could do was cry hysterically while trying to call 911. I choked out my desire to get him to move to the other side of my car because I didn't want to see his body floating by, either, but it took him awhile.

Then this morning, I watched as I have a million times before, as Riley stumbled while toddling about and fell on his face. We were at daycare and he just slammed into the door jam. I went right to him as he cried and immediately saw the gushing blood and a partial bit of tooth. He calmed down pretty quick. No, I still haven't.

I got him into a pediatric dentist a few hours later. After an excruciating battle for X-rays and a quick sand job of the jagged edges, she said there's not much we can do at this point until we see how bad it is. His front, bottom left tooth broke and got pushed back into his gums. Two other lowers and the upper all chipped. We have to watch for nerve damage and such.

My heart just breaks for his broken little face. Apparently, from what people have told me today, this happens all the time. With boys, it happens again and again. It's a long time until his permanent teeth will come in. I don't know if I can stand this trailer park look for very long.

McAnnoying

With Kevin gone for a weekend of manly manliness in the remote forest, certain deals had to be made to ensure our survival back home. One such deal involved a helpful, good-listening Holden and the child's equivalent of Heaven on Earth: McDonald's.

Now, I've been known to partake in the occasional Micky D's meal, and enjoy it. But it's just not a place we go to often. For one, it's just not healthy (thank you Supersize Me). Second, the dining experience is, how shall we say.... lacking. Third, I find objectionable and questionable any place that has kids so excited about going, even when those kids have no idea what it is. Call it scary marketing, call it smart marketing. I call it brainwashing.

So, Holden earned dinner Sunday night at the Golden Arches. It didn't seem like a bad deal to me. I got out of cooking and clean-up, got to be the good guy and hoped that the indoor playground would provide some end-of-the-weekend distraction and burn off the last of his wiggles.

We didn't go to the closest outlets, since they didn't have the playground, but to one about 10 minutes away. (Yes, there are probably two or three that are closer). About a block away, Holden grabbed his crotch and announced with urgency: "I've got to peeeeeee!" As I coached him to hold on, I swung the car into a spot and, with lightening speed, unloaded Riley, the stroller, the diaper bag and Holden, ushered them into the restaurant and directed us with undeniable accuracy to the bathroom.

McGross. There was pee all over the toilet and in the bowl which, consequently, wouldn't flush. "Don't touch anything!" I repeated to Holden as he unleashed with a sigh. Now, this is a place that caters to kids - would it kill them to have a sink they can reach? I hoisted him on to the wet, germy, bacteria-filled cesspool of a counter so we could wash our hands. Then we got in line.

McWait. This is fast food? Fifteen minutes later, we had our tray and headed toward the table. Then I had to dash back to get straws, napkins and the very last ketchup packet in the restaurant.

McCrappy. We ate in the playground area. Holden could not have been more pleased with his ChickenNuggetsandFrenchFries (yes, one word, because you can't have one without the other). All around us were hordes of fat, noisy kids, shoveling in this "food" between trips to the play structure where they not so much as played, as pushed each other and screamed. The table was sticky, the trash cans were overflowing and I kept Riley in his stroller so he dare not touch anything!

McCrazy. After Holden horked down his ChickenNuggetsandFrenchFries, he took off his shoes to go play in the structure. Hahahaha. Yeah, this is Holden. "I'm too scared," he said, matter-of-fact. Despite talking all day about how he was going to play in the playground and slide on the slides. So instead, I cringed as I watched him shuffle about on that disgusting floor in his socks playing his with lame-o Happy Meal toy, all while Riley chucked the chicken nuggets from his tray and demanded French fry after French fry. At one point, he protectively clutched three in his fist against his chest while pointing to the bag on the table. What the hell is in this food?

McTired. McDonald's seemed to work it's magic on the kids. Riley, his belly extended full of saturated-fat soaked potatoes, fell asleep without a peep. Holden, adding his Happy Meal toy to his bedtime posse, was nearly in dream land even before we were done singing songs.

I sighed, happy to have made the kids happy after such a good weekend. I resisted the urge to shower the McGrime off me, and instead, ate a carrot.

We May Be Smiling on the Outside...

...But inside, we're feeling anger, frustration and stress.

We love having professional portraits, we just don't like doing them. Holden wasn't being the best listener and smiled so hard in most pictures that his eyes were closed (thanks, Grandma Bonnie, for passing that gene on to him). Riley was ultra wiggly and getting anything semi-decent of him was a chore. Getting the two of them together for one picture was akin to herding goats made of Jell-O.

Despite that, we did end up with some surprisingly nice photos.

For a limited time, you can see the whole session here. When it prompts for customer name, use Denise Nix.

'Tis The Season

While most people's thoughts this time of year turn to last minute gift shopping and festive recipes, we in The Nix Family are consumed by high fevers, wicked-breath inducing congestion, barf and sleepless nights.

It all began with a call from Holden's daycare Tuesday informing me that Holden is a very sick child and I must come fetch him. At that time, I was half-way through the grocery store with Riley, who was about due to eat. Right. Step up the shopping, rush home with a crying baby, feed him and off to get a very sad looking Holden. That feeding was pretty much the last time Riley's received some of that real good one-on-one attention infants are due. He's lucky if he gets fed and changed lately, what with the work Holden's mystery illness has brought on us.

For the last two days, we've thrown the rules out the window. Sleep in our bed? Sure. Another night? Why not. Milk all day and no food? OK. Five hours of television a day, with four of those hours being Dora? What the hay. It's hard though, being torn between being our usual hard asses and wanting to cuddle, cuddle, cuddle for hours straight, holding my ailing baby who seems so confused by this hot-cold-hot-cold existence he now lives in. Even now, on our third night of this disease, he is, as I write this, crying, "I want my mommy," for the sixth or so time since he went to bed two hours ago. I paused there, to debate with Kevin the pros and cons of going to him or letting him continue to cry. Yes, it's getting louder and sadder and has turned into, "I'm cold." Kevin reluctantly responds.

What's also hard about this is that, for hours at a time, he seems like his normal Holdenself, not sick in anyway. He cheerfully jabbers on, narrating our day, like all is well. And then he turns. His temperature shoots to 103 and his mood plunges in equal denominations.

From Holden's room right now: "Rub my back!" "Ssshhhh." "I want to cuddle." "(unintelligible murmurs)." "I want to hold you." "Sssshhhh."

The timing of all this couldn't be worse. Last night was his little show at daycare where, I was told when I picked him up Tuesday, he was to be the star with a solo performance of "The Star Spangled Banner." I cannot ever remember feeling more disappointed than I did about missing that show. You only get one shot at seeing your 2-year-old put on a winter concert.

Also, on a more selfish front, this was to be my last week of solo maternity leave. Kevin and Holden are both off next week and we have 10 days of nonstop family togetherness before I return to work and Riley starts daycare with Holden. I was looking forward to these last couple days alone with Riley - gobbling up his sweet babyness, storing it in my cheeks for the long, hard days of work ahead. Instead, I've guiltily abandoned him to lay by himself batting at his toys or watching his mobile while I tend to Holden's never-ending list of needs.

Yeah, this illness is a jip.