Enchanting Eighteen

Well today she did it.  My baby sister turned 18.  

Is it crazy that I remember the night she was born?  All 11 lb 7 oz of her.  It was super foggy and quite cold (sound familiar?) and when I called our Aunt, Uncle, and cousins in Ronald to tell them the new babe was a girl, my silly Uncle Pat shouted to his family that it was a boy.  And then my aunt took the phone from him and I told her the real answer.  

And everyone was relieved, after five boys who didn't want the baby to be a girl?

So here's to you, dear sister, may you enjoy 18 and have the happiest of birthdays!

MWAH!

How Much We've Grown...Or Have We?

I was lucky enough to get a stash of old (old as in when the sibs and I were younger...in some cases much younger) photos from Grandma and in the few weeks I've had them, I must have looked through them at least fifty times.  There's something heartwarming in looking back at where we used to be (and seriously, how CUTE were Sis and the boys!?!?!) and it also amazes me that even then, in cherubic faces, little personalities were shining through...and how those faces have grown and their personalities are the same but yet somehow more.

And speaking of more--how crazy that we used to be here:

And now we're here!

And how we can take a great family picture and then the next minute it's...well, personality!

Normal, see?

Can you pick out the Seven Fenns (Pouty, Hungry, I'm Outta Here...)?

Think this is an anomaly?  Try these if you don't believe me.  Watch carefully, here's the nice, normal family:

And seconds later, the reality that is our family (and yes, though it's difficult to tell, there are FOUR adult-sized male children in this photo):

Here's to another Christmas season with these Doll-Faces!

Move It, Move It!

Whether it was growing up on a farm or just the way we were raised, one thing all of us siblings can agree on (yes, we do all occasionally agree on things) is that we like to be active!  It could be organized sports like volleyball or rugby, community athletic events such as 5K runs, getting out into the wide open spaces and enjoying all that Oregon has to offer (not to mention it means the boys have another excuse to take their shirts off...silly show offs) or just tossing the ball around in the yard (be careful of my rhododendrons!)--we enjoy it all!  And some of us...okay ALL of us are a teensie weensie little tiny bit competitive...

Who looks like a dolphin?  This guy.

After taking 1st and 2nd in their divisions they still had enough energy to chase each other around and have a water fight...

Don't come home without the bling, baby!

"Come on, boys, I promise to give you a five-point advantage if you'll play..."

 

Rugby mode. Grunt.  Don't mess with me.  Growl.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I had to do a special Thanksgiving post since some of the boys were so disappointed that I started celebrating Christmas a few weeks ago, they didn't want me to forget this most lovely of holidays.  So here you go boys, just for you.  

I'm so thankful for many, many things but perhaps most of all I am thankful for my healthy, albeit strange family--even though some of them can't make it here with us today (which means I'm thankful that they have jobs, despite it keeping them away)--here's one for you, Paddy & Greg. 

How could we not miss these boys and all they obviously have to offer at a family meal?

Here's hoping that everyone is as lucky as we are this holiday season--Happy Thanksgiving!

Pride

One of the most significant feelings I have for my siblings (aside from love, exasperation, disbelief...) is pride.  It seems a week can't go by where one of you aren't blowing me away with some kind of amazingness.  Most recently I'm proud of ya for...

TONY: Bones, you're only 6 1/2 months away from completing your Bachelor's Degree!  

PADDY: Bro packed up his bags and moved to Kuwait to teach 7th grade math...and he's still there kicking butt, need I say more?

KP: I'm still in shock that you're a dad, and I am so proud that you are such a good one!

GABER: After 1 1/2 years of living on your own...still making full time work and school happen.  Wow.

GREGGY (notice how I didn't add 'poo' to the end?): This is actually something I'm proud of you for (and yet also secretly hate you for)...your eating habits.  Can't you cheat once in awhile and have salad dressing or ice cream?!?!?  

SIS: New job alert!  Girlfriend's gonna kick it at Nike!

So proud of you all!

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like...

I love winter in the PNW.  I love the rain.  Hence why I love winter in the PNW.  I L.O.V.E. the holidays.  All those warm, fuzzy good wishes, the food, Christmas tree smells, pumpkin pie, Christmas cookies, candles, and everyone stressed and hurried yet friendly and happy.

And I love nothing more than being able to spend the holidays with my family.  Mostly because I just love hanging with them all but also partially because, well...you just never know when one of those 'Fenns' will do something crazy (I mean it's fairly predictable that one of them will do something so nutty that we'll remember it forever, but the fun is that you don't know who it will come from or what exactly it will be). 

Take the Christmas of 2007 for example (and I know the year is correct because I have all my digital photos downloaded and organized by season and year...yup, I know, I even have sub-folders).

Our usual family Christmas agenda goes like this: Christmas Eve at Grandma and Grandpa's with all the aunts and uncles and cousins and Christmas morning is breakfast at Grandpa and Grandma's before we all rush down the hill to my dad's house to have our 'little' family Christmas which means grab a seat and get ready to open stockings and gifts!  Wrestling optional.

Well on this particular Christmas morning we were part-way through the gift opening when we looked out the window (big sliding glass door in the living room) and noticed that it was starting to snow.  Snow might not be a big deal to many people but to us residents at 150 ft above sea level, it's cause to celebrate.  And celebrate we did.  Gifts were abandoned and we stood out between the house and the vineyard fields and did all the things you can do when it's barely dusting snow...like try to catch it on your tongue and pose for pictures.

Notice how you can't really see snow?  Nevertheless it had snowed and was super cold so we were still excited.  

And then, while we're all congratulating ourselves on a successful family picture, we suddenly notice Paddy bounding graceful as a deer towards the grape fields, faithful family dog nipping at his heels.

And oh yeah, he was wearing nothing but boxer briefs.

No drugs or alcohol were harmed in the making of this photo, this is just how crazy our family is.  And we take pride in it. 

So as dutiful siblings we rushed back inside and throughout the house and made sure all the windows and doors were locked--ongoing joke from childhood--and then waited for him to come back (and hoped Grandma and Grandpa didn't look out their window down the hill and deduce that the nearly-naked crazy guy in the vineyard was their grandson.  Heck who am I kidding, they know.)

And here he was when he got back...freezing cold, high from his little jaunt, and still blissfully unaware all the doors are locked:

Yes we (eventually) let Paddy back in the house and yes he (eventually) put his clothes back on and yes (eventually) my dad stopped shaking his head and wondering where he went wrong and yes, we (eventually) opened the rest of our presents and enjoyed the rest of our Christmas.

Now as I look out my window and see frosty white rooftops and fog settling between naked tree branches I can't help but think it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas and wonder what's in store for us this year?

Therese--Sibling Submission

There is one more of the “7 Fenns” that has yet to be written about.  This one is the oldest, most married, most educated, and essentially the metaphorical “glue” of the family.  That’s right, I am talking about Therese.  Although she was a little embarrassed with our last name so she went and changed it to Gerlits, she could have at least put a hyphen in there or something but oh well, not the point.  Therese has been the one that each of us has turned to when we were in need of advice.  She usually had a sound mind and had the ability to give us advice both from a family perspective, as well as an outsider looking in.  And we love her for it.  She has been a surrogate mother to us when our real mother left.  She was all of our games, matches, organized study sessions for those still in high school, and even let her little brother into her home for 9 months until he went off to college.  This woman even moved back into her parent’s house after she graduated from college just to take care of those of us who were still there, thus you have the stairwell story where she screamed. 

Although it probably wasn’t her first choice, she became that mother figure in our lives that we needed.  When we did something wrong, she was there both to scold us like a parent, as well as make fun of us like an older sister would.  If we ever need an escape to get away from everything, we know we can call her up and she’ll have an empty room and a full plate waiting for us.  She never asks for much from us, with the exception of the occasional hauling and stacking wood, frequently house/dog sitting on a weekend, walking the dogs, or even just to come over and make a fool of ourselves on her new dance game on the Wii.  I truly don’t believe we would be how we are today if it weren’t for her.  From relationship advice, fashion advice, FAFSA, financial aid, what classes to take, when to apply for this, stop touching that; she’s always there for us.  Even though we don’t say it nearly enough, thank you for all you do.  

Another submission from Paddy in Kuwait.

The Scream Ignored Round the World--Sibling Submission

As children do, we naturally found different amusing ways of entertaining ourselves using the resources we had available to us at the time.  One fine Oregon morning, okay it may have been afternoon or possibly evening but I’m 73.2% sure it wasn’t evening.  Anyway, One fine Oregon morning in the great state of Oregon, the Fennimore boys, roughly ages 8,6,4, and 2², were trying to entertain ourselves and we discovered that jumping from the top bunk bed to the floor was a lot of fun.  It generated an especially lurid sound when we landed so we decided to cushion the landing.  We pulled a mattress off the top bunk and decided that we could easily jump on it now because we had a plush cushion.  These mattresses weren’t exactly top notch quality.  We could easily pinch them with our index finger and thumb and compress it down to about a half an inch thick.  If you dropped a marble from shoulder height, shoulder height as in at our age back then shoulder height, and the marble would hit the floor through the mattress.

We’re jumping onto these things from a bunk maybe 4.5 feet high onto this lush cushion we have rigged up.  Tony, Ken, Gabe and I are jumping with minimal pause at the top, basically enough time for the previous person to clear and that’s about it.  Greg decides to join in the fun.  He gets in line and when he gets to the top bunk, his mind begins to encase the event he is about to embark on. 

He is on the top bunk and stands there as still as if he were the one who turned back to see Gomorrah (biblical thingy, the person turned to a statue of stone because she turned back to look at the town.  No…nothing?  It’s okay, it’s not that well known of a story, there are a few people that know it but it’s really hit and miss.  Kinda like the story about David (not the Goliath David) and the Zombies.  Even fewer people know that one, it’s a tragedy.  Honestly, I don’t understand why people don’t know these stories or if they do you never hear about them when people are discussing the bible, it makes no sense to me.  Anyway, David’s best friend accidently spills this beaker of toxic fumes that turns people into flesh eating cyborgs (oh ya they are ninja, cyborg zombies, awesomeness, I’m surprised you haven’t heard this story.  It’s crazy what people have and haven’t heard) zombies that begin to terrorize Vietnam, then he gets angry and starts to fight them developing this new martial art he names, Muy Thai (which is Korean for Zombie Stopper), and he has this ninja, cyborg, zombie pinned down and…oh crap the original story!  Long story short, David wins by freeing King Arthur.) and Greg won’t jump.  We start to get impatient and start offering assistance.  Being next in line, I offer him a little extra assistance and push him off the bed onto this lavish mattress.

He lands and lets out this blood curdling scream when he lands and we now are the salt statues.  Here is our around 2 year old brother screaming after I push him off the bed.  We all take off running outside to make it seem like we did nothing wrong.  Our loving father is sitting at the dining room table doing taxes, or something grown uppy, and hears the crying after the dust settled from the rest of us leaving.  He lets Greg cry for a while because let’s face it, kids cry for no reason.  After a few minutes of Greg crying, he realizes that this cry is a little different than the normal ones.  He calls up to Greg asking him to come down so he can see what happened and punish accordingly thinking this is a run of the mill tiny scratch that toddlers typically react this way to.

2 year old Greg, limps down the stairs quite slowly and makes it to the dining room.  We are talking around 24 stairs.  Our dad realizes that he is a little pale and that this is no ordinary scrape/bruise.  Something is wrong with him.  It turns out that after I pushed him, Greg wasn’t watching how we landed and landed the wrong way (HIS fault not mine) and broke his leg when he was 2 years old and was in a cast for some time.

We still argue to this day whether the push to clear our takeoff platform was justifiable or not.  Since this is my story, COMPLETELY justifiable.  He shouldn’t have looked before he leaped.  Lesson learned.

-Paddy, on special request from Kuwait

Hair

Hair, or the lack of it, is often a point of discussion when us siblings get together.  For example, Maureen may walk in sometime with straight hair and I'll comment on it (usually it's all golden curls).  My hair is always unruly, brown, and curly.

The boys' hair really isn't ever discussed unless it's in terms of a recent hair cut or the current need for a trim.  I don't know the last time any of my brothers went to a barber--I've cut their hair for years and now that they've all started growing up and moving away they buy their own $20 pair of clippers and either cut their own--and live with awkwardly shorn locks until someone can trim it up for them--or they cut each other's hair.  Sometimes with more success than others such as yesterday when I noticed Gabe didn't trim Greg's little Widow's Peak and that little angle of hair was creeping down his forehead.  

Hair with the boys is usually discussed in terms of the amount they have in places that aren't their head--don't worry, totally keeping this family friendly.  For instance, Tony has hobbit feet.  This means that he has super wide, super flat feet with super amounts of hair covering them going into even fuzzier, hairier legs.  

They also often discuss how much hair each of them have, or doesn't have as the case may be.  I can still remember the one time Paddy thought he finally had a chest hair and realized it was just an arm hair that had shed and landed on his chest.  

And then there was that Apples to Apples game where Sis referenced someone's now ex-girlfriend's hair to make a perfectly-timed, ultimately hilarious joke.  Still makes me chuckle to this day. 

So all in all, we are a weird family and that's a bit about our hairier memories.  Ha ha.  

And don't get me started on facial hair, leg hair, arm pit hair, toe hair, wacky eyebrow hair, ear hair, knuckle hair, or who has the thickest/thinnest/blondest/brownest hair...

My Chest Still Hurts When I Think About It

Once upon a time there was a girl (me) who moved back home from college to help her dad take care of her younger siblings (in this story I'm referring to Paddy and KP).  However, that girl still liked to hang out with friends and would, on the odd occasion, get home later in the evening.  Say after everyone else was in bed.  And on the rare occasion when that happened, she tried to be veeeeeery quiet so as to not wake anybody up.  Which was silly because it's a 100-year old farm house and the stairs are creakier than a 90-year old marathoner's knees.

Anyway on this particular evening I, I mean she...oh heck lets just go with 'I' and 'me'--I was trying to be oh-so-quiet as I tip-toed through the house, brushed my teeth, changed into my pajamas, and turned out the downstairs lights.  I am a wee bit scared of the dark, or was at the time I mean, and 100-year old farmhouses exacerbate that condition so my heart may have been beating just a half-beat faster than usual as I tip-toed to the bottom of the stairs.  The house was dark and I had to pat the hallway wall until I found the light switch.

Click, click, click.  Nothing.  

Dang it, why did nothing in this house ever work?  The light bulb must have blown out.  

So I ran my hand along the wall as I climbed the narrow, creaky stairs, just to make sure I could find my way up them.   After about 15 steps I reached the first landing, took a sharp right and continued up another four steps.  By now there was a banister and I adjusted my purse and other things I was carrying so that I could use the banister to guide me through the pitch dark and into my bedroom where, God-willing, there was a functioning light bulb.  

As I reached the junction to my bedroom, two enormous dark shapes jumped out at me and roared.  

I screamed.  I screamed so loud that my chest hurt like a horse had just kicked me in the ribcage. 

I screamed so hard that I no longer needed a light because little flashy stars were twinkling in my line of vision.

And rolling on the floor, nearly peeing their pajamas with laughter, were Paddy and KP.  Seriously.  They couldn't talk for at least 20 minutes and were gagging for air as their faces turned blue with hilarity.  

Meanwhile I sat on the floor and leaned against the banister with my head between my knees, rubbing my chestbone, and trying not to pass out.  

In hindsight, yes it was incredibly hilarious, in fact it only took me until the next day to admit that but at that moment, that night I was so startled.  And to this day I have still never screamed so hard that my chest hurts and my eyes see stars when there aren't any.  

In fact, my chest still hurts when I think about it.  You stinkers.

Maureen

And now for my little sister.  Or maybe I should say, younger sister, since she is taller than I am.

See?  Taller.

And younger.  There's 14 1/2 years in between us and she can't borrow my shoes (they're too small and narrow for her) and I can't borrow her shirts (they're too small and narrow for me) but we do sometimes share jeans.  Which means she borrows mine.

And even though I'm older and wiser than her, she is by far braver than me any day of the week.  


That's right.  Brave.


As in fearless.  Lion-hearted.  Valorous.  Indomitable.  Resolute.  


(That's right I can use a thesaurus with the best of them.)



Because this girl has had to face challenges that most people never will and some can't even imagine.  And no, I'm not referring to growing up with FIVE older brothers.  I'm talking about pricking her finger(s) with a needle multiple times a day so that she can feed blood into a machine she always has to carry so that she can decide how much medicine to inject into her abdomen using another needle. 

When most kids were graduating from training wheels to two, watching the Lion King for the 50th time, or sleeping with their blankets over their heads so that the four-headed, hundred-toothed monster under the bed can't get them, at that very same time Maureen was doing that too.  

Only suddenly she lost a lot of weight in a very short amount of time and had a variety of other symptoms that just didn't add up.  Well the doctors did their math and summed it up for her worried family: Maureen had diabetes.


And she still has it now.  And will have it forever.  And knowing that, and dealing with that, makes her braver than anyone else I know.

Did she let it stop her from hitting seven home runs her freshman year of softball?  Nope.


Did she let it stop her from pounding back at her older brothers?  Not in this lifetime.


Did she let it stop her from joining the local firefighter explore program and kicking butt at the summer fire camp?  Nuh-uh, not my sister.


And now at 17 she's faced more adversity and challenge than many will in twice that many years.  And she's out to do more so, world?  Look out, here comes Maureen and she'll catch what you throw at her and tag you out at second.

Greg

Some might think that when I finally get around to sharing about my fifth brother that I would have run out of things to say.  Those 'some' don't know me, or my family, very well.  In fact I have the opposite problem.  Narrowing down what to share.  And at times, how much to share--yup, sometimes it's just that scary and weird.  I'm afraid people won't believe me.

Like the fact that my twin brothers, Gabe and Greg, weighed 10 lb 2.5 oz and 10 lb 9 oz at birth.  For reals.

But that's not today's point.

Greg's sense of humor is.  His laugh.  His poses.  His jokes.  His comments.  It doesn't seem to matter where we are or what pictures are being taken, just look around and Greg will be striking a pose or wisecracking about something.  This is a kid who doesn't wear his 'I've got the blues' t-shirt very often.

Here he is after a family day of terrorizing the mall at Christmas time...oh I mean ice skating (and yes, he is ice skating in shorts and a t-shirt):

And after a family day of terrorizing community events...oh I mean running the Oktoberfest 5K:

There's not that much to contemplate during a rainy rugby match there dude.

Yup he's just plain silly.  And hilarious.  And always good for making someone laugh.  And speaking of laugh you should hear his.  It's like he has multiple personality disorder for laughing because he has so many different kinds.


First is this monotone cheesy 'heh, heh, heh' that he does when someone makes a lame joke--mostly after he makes a lame joke--that even has the brick of cheese groaning.  He has this other one that my brothers have dubbed 'the goat laugh' because well, this one's kind of obvious.

And perhaps my favorite is his silent laugh.  His eyes get all crinkly and close, his shoulders shake up and down and it gets to where you wonder if he's breathing or not and yet he doesn't make a sound.  My favorite way to get him to do this is to say 'woody'.  Over and over and over.  You'd think he was a 2-year old and I was tickling his feet, he just can't stop himself from laughing.


He has a slightly disturbing, freaky laugh too that he uses when he's playing with fire but that's a whole different story for another day.


Then there's his constant dry-humored, sarcastic, mostly self-aggrandizing comments (and no, he's not really an arrogant, egotistical maniac, he just makes cracks as if he is) such as the gratuitous use of 'that's what she said (goat laugh)' or in regards to his summer job as a traffic flagger for the county 'I'm not sure why they gave me a stop/slow sign, I mean everyone is going to be stopping to look at me anyway (cheesy laugh)'.  Okay, he really didn't say that last one but it's an example of the type of stuff he does say.


So Greg, even when I've had enough and am ready to clobber you to get you to stop with the comments (I mean really, give it a break sometime dude...seriously!), ultimately I do appreciate them and your warped but genuine sense of humor.  I wouldn't have it any other way.


And your goat laugh is going to be really funny one day when you're 97 and your dentures fall out. 

Gabe

And now we've made it to Gabe.  Growing up Gabe was often referred to as 'Gabe and Greg' or 'the twins' because he has a (younger) twin brother, Greg.  People often asked 'how can you tell them apart?' and 'how are they different?' and at times it was easier to answer than others (I could always tell them apart but growing up their personalities could be quite similar--like dirt, sports, and farm-outdoor stuff, that kind of thing), but now I can easily say that one of the things I most appreciate and admire about Gabe is his natural curiosity about hundreds of things and enthusiasm to experience life and try new things.  As often as possible.  

In high school, despite being a solid football-basketball-track kid for the three years prior, he decided to also try tennis and and as a senior--swimming.  Even though he'd never done it before.  He joined theater and performed in productions and hooked up with choir despite the fact that not a single person in our family can carry a tune in a bucket--even if the bucket has two ergonomically engineered handles.  He joined the Environmental Club and snow-shoed Tumalo State Park.  In the snowy cold winter.  He helped mentor 9th graders as a LINK leader and mostly attended most of his classes as a senior.  A couple weeks after graduating HS he moved to Central Oregon and a couple weeks after that ran a half marathon, got a job, and enrolled in community college.  

In his adult life, in addition to working, he volunteers for Special Olympics, the Humane Society, and is learning French and would like to do a triathlon and join Search and Rescue. 
How cool is all that?  

I'm so excited to see what he does next and am so proud of who he was, who he is, and who he will become.

  And he hates having his picture taken.  Silly boy.

KP

Those of you who know me know I have the cleanest mouth of anyone around and that I abhor and am greatly offended by any and all kinds of swearing and profanity.  That being said, I must say that KP is a badass.  Oops, there...I said a bad word, now you know how serious this is.
Not that any of my siblings are slouches in the muscle-y, don't want to mess with me or my family, 'oh yeah you and what army?' department but KP, well...he just has his own special brand of badass-ness.  Whoops, there I go again.
While there were definitely times where the 'bad' part of that phrase was a bit more influential in his life he has always been, and still is, a really nice guy.  And not the kind of nice guy that you say is a nice guy because he's ugly or has a back that's so hairy it creeps up his neck and into the hair on his head, but you really want your friend to date him so you tell her he's a nice guy kind of nice guy.  He really is just a friendly, down-to-earth, no frills kinda guy.  
Before I get to my very interesting point about this particular sibling of mine, I'd like to point out that this kid started out as a big tough guy at 11 pounds, 7 ounces and he's rocking the tape measure at almost six-and-a-half feet with a couple hundred solid pounds riding in his Romeo's and Carhart's.  
And finally to my point:  he also has had more head injuries than anyone I know.  Which explains A LOT.  Seriously.  The answer to 'what the heck did he do that for?' can always be explained by this particular year.  I think he must have been four or five...six at the most (hey, I'm supposed to remember how old everyone was when they did everything?). 
This particular summer and fall KP had--count 'em--THREE different sets of stitches in his forehead from THREE completely separate incidences.
Incident #1: Running at my aunt and uncle's house up in Portland.  KP tripped and wham!  Really solid forehead meets really solid coffee table.  Whew, good thing my aunt was a nurse.  No biggie, little kids with long legs are bound to bang into things.
Incident #2: (and yes, I'm a mandatory reporter now but was not at the time of this incident...I still have no idea why he was where he was)  KP was on top of the cab of my grandfather's one-ton flatbed truck (my memory is a bit hazy as to whether or not the flatbed was moving) and somehow--I suspect Tony and/or Paddy may have been involved--KP took a header off the cab and landed on said head in the gravel driveway.  Yes, the insurance company denied this claim, thinking that we were attempting to re-claim the first head incident to get more money.  If they only knew.
Incident #3: We were in the waiting room at the doctor's office, I believe we were there for the twins' vaccinations, when KP, who was heading over to examine the really cool aquarium, trips just as the nurse opens the waiting room door and...well you know exactly what happens when a kid's head hits the corner of a moving door.  Doesn't matter how hard that head is, it's stitches.  I won't even tell you what the insurance company said about this third claim in less than six months for the same kid.

So there you have it.  KP the badass who has more head trauma than anyone I know.  In about a week you'll have your own son and I'm just not feeling evil enough today to say I hope he's just like you!

Paddy

Oh Paddy.  You were the easiest.  
To make fun of that is.  You just made it so darn, well...easy.  You were the easiest to gross out at the dinner table.
Random older sibling comment during dinner:
"Hey, look at this piece of chicken fat, it looks like snot."
Little blonde Paddy makes a dash for the bathroom, intent on kneeling before the porcelain god.
Us older siblings laugh despite dark looks of admonishment from the parent-types. 
Or:
"Hey look, this steak we're eating came from the cows out in that pasture...it's kind of weird that you can see them while you're eating them."
Little blonde Paddy of the weak stomach once again made a beeline for the facilities.  Poor kid.
Before you feel really bad for the little blonde tyke, let me just say that us older siblings grew a heart rather quickly where Paddy was concerned.  Because it was just so darn pathetic how easy it was to make him want to throw up.  And really who likes to hear puking while you're trying to eat (and who puts a bathroom that close to the dining room anyway)?  It's just gross.  Enough to turn your stomach even.  So we stopped making gross comparisons about our food during dinner.  Out loud anyway.  But every once in a while we'd pop one out there just to see if he was still weak-stomached.
Now that we're all much older and wiser I must say--even though Paddy hasn't exactly said it--he should be grateful for the the random bits of mealtime terror.  All those chances to practice his running skills.
Because now he's a stud. 
And by stud I mean that for the last five years--despite a few knee surgeries--he has been competing as a decathlete at the NAIA college level.
Decathletes are the studs of track and field teams.  They do 10 events in 2 days.  Most people do four.  He does: pole vault, high jump, long jump, javelin, shot put, discus, the 100, 400, 1500, and the high hurdles.  See?  Total stud.

I've never known anyone in my entire life who has worked harder or been more disciplined than Paddy when it comes to achieving a goal.  I'm so stinking proud of him. 
And this year he was the Cascade Conference Decathlon Champion, set a new record, and qualified and competed at Nationals in Indiana.  
Not bad for a little blonde farm kid with a weak stomach.