These Children are Testing Me, Part Two

 This one is "Oldest Child Edition."

I was talking to Tucker as I drove home from work on Tuesday (I think), and he mentioned that if the Vikings playoff game gets moved to Phoenix he will probably have to go because everything will be cheaper due to the change. "Why would it get moved?" I asked. Then I learned that they are scheduled to play in LA and may have to be moved due to the wildfires. 

"Well. Use your judgement, I guess," was my response, and we moved on.

Wrong answer. 

Note here that Tucker has been a Vikings fan since the beginning of time. I know he loved Adam Thielen, and it seems like there was a Vikings player before that who was also a favorite. The College Station, Texas, kid has been a Vikings fan for life. 

Fast forward to Wednesday night when we start getting text alerts that our credit card has been used. A flight. A hotel room. Then we get a phone call.

"Hey. I booked the trip to Phoenix on your credit card. Just tell Dad to take the money out of my savings."

Ummmm...what?

So many questions. Do you have a ticket to the game? (no - they go sale tomorrow) When will you leave? (Monday) When will you get back? (Tuesday) Is anyone going with you? (no) When do classes start? (Tuesday)

Yall. This takes sports-obsessed to a new level. An even higher level than when he got in the car and drove to Omaha and back TWICE last year to see the Aggies in the College World Series. This isn't even the Aggies, for goodness sake!

On Thursday he scored his first ever NFL Playoff game ticket for about $140, and it's on the first deck. 

Then yesterday on my drive home he calls me. "Mom, I need to tell you something that is going to stress you out but I've already worked it out."

This immediately stresses me out.

Turns out the cheapest way to pull off this little 24 hour football trip was to leave from one airport in Houston and return to the OTHER airport in Houston. No worries, though, because he's already got a plan for a cousin to handle the airport transport situations. 

Here's his plan:

Leave Houston around 10:00 a.m. Monday, fly Frontier Airlines to Denver where he'll have a layover and then arrive in Phoenix at 3:45. Uber to the stadium with a stop at the hotel so he can drop off his carry-on bag. Game starts at six. 

After the game, find a bar nearby to hangout until the traffic clears out. Uber back to the hotel. Leave the hotel at 4:00 a.m. for a flight home (to the other airport in Houston) with another layover in Denver - this one only 45 minutes. 

Not to worry, though!  He's already called the hotel to make sure he has a super late check-in and verified that the Cardinals stadium has the seventh cheapest beer of any NFL stadium.

Goodness. 

This is him. My child. Traveling alone to a foreign land.

I take deep breaths. Remind myself he's a resourceful kid. Start word-vomiting to Trey all the things that could go wrong. Trey then reminds me, "We wanted them to believe they can do anything. And if we taught them anything it's how to travel." And he's right again. 

I have given specific instructions: Keep your phone charged so I can track you at all times. Avoid white vans. Don't drink too much because you will be robbed and kidnapped and left in the gutter. 

Today he mentioned he needed to email his professors to let them know he would be missing the first day of class. "What are you going to tell them?" I asked.

"That I had the chance of a lifetime at the last minute to see a Vikings playoff game and will be missing the first day of class. I'm not going to lie." 

So there's that, I guess. 

I'm telling you, these children are testing me.

Now I suppose I'll just pray that the flights are on time, that the people he makes friends with along the way appreciate his Vikings-obsession and are kind to him, and dear Lord please let the Vikings win because if they lose we will be talking about the money he spent for years to come. 

If you know anyone in Phoenix or anyone who loves the Vikings enough to be at this game, tell them to keep an eye out for Tuck. 

 

These Children are Testing Me, Part One

Back when this blog started 16 years ago, I often referred to myself as the Mediocre Mommy. Mostly because I was doing my best but also raising children, which is hard. It was to remind myself that mediocre days are just fine if the kids are still alive. 

When the boys were teenagers, I mostly stopped sharing stories because it seemed like being a teenager is hard enough without your mom putting your business out in the world. Now that they are mostly grown, I feel the need to document a story or two now and then. You know, for my future grandkids.

Trey and I talked often about how we wanted to raise our kids. We knew we wouldn't be perfect, so we made sure to work hardest on the things that mattered most. We want them to be adults with faith, to take care of each other, to be good to people - especially those who need it most, and to understand they are capable of anything they set their minds to. 

These days we know we have good boys. Not perfect, but they mostly do most of the things we talked about. I'm not sure you can ask for more from young men at 19 and 21, so I'll not only take it but be incredibly proud. 

But friends, in the last week I have been challenged! 

Let's start with my itty bitty baby boy I grew in my belly and experienced all of my motherhood "lasts" with. Since he was about 15 he's talked about the tattoos he would get. My rule (maybe prayer, hope, desperate beg) is that there are no tattoos on his hands, face, or neck. What kind of mother tells her 15 year old where he can and can't get tattoos? Mediocre ones, I suppose!  I knew it would happen, so I just tried to put my influence in a place that had some hope of working.

On his 18th birthday we took him and his friends out to dinner, and after we left he texted to tell us he was on his way to get his first tattoo and he didn't want to keep it from us so he just figured he'd tell us. It's on his chest and a scripture, so I was supposed to like it. 

And I was so cool about it. I mean, SO COOL. He followed the rules. 

Then about a year ago he came home with a rose on his thigh. I found out later that his cousin got a matching one, and the rose is the flower for the month of June - birth month for him, his cousin, and my dad. That's kind of sweet, I guess. Again, I was cool. 

Along the way he has mentioned a sleeve tattoo. I tried not to comment on this too much because I knew my objections would just make it more likely and, also, he's grown. I reminded him of the rules. I figured a sleeve tattoo seemed painful and expensive and took a lot of time, so I hedged my bets and kept my mouth shut.

As a sidenote, sleeve tattoos or tattoos in general don't bother me at all. Seriously, you do you. I care not. I feel like it's not even a thing anymore, and if you want to express yourself in that way it can even be kind of awesome. 

But this is my sweet baby boy!

(read that sentence again in a despairing mom voice)

This kid started off 2025 by taking a day off of work to start his sleeve tattoo. A kid who wouldn't take a day off work unless he was legit unable to get out of bed, who doesn't like to take vacation, who works kind of compulsively. 

And that night he came over to show us. And sure enough, the kid is tatted up. On his arm. All of it. 

Yall. This sweet baby child has a sleeve tattoo. 

And I'm trying to be cool. I really don't mind it, but it's my sweet baby child!  Did I say that already? Goodness.

I'm sure I'll get used to it. The tiny sobs I feel inside are probably about something else.

Three notes about this. 

1) Tucker and Keaton are currently roommates. Keaton pays the electric bill. It's been freezing all week and we just learned that Keaton won't let Tucker turn on the heater. He may have a fancy new tattoo, but the kid is a cheap grandpa way down on the inside. 

2) As Trey and I talked about this, he reminded me of the things that we always said were important to us when raising the boys. Being tattoo-free isn't relevant to even one of them, and he followed the rules. He is so right. 

3) While I didn't exactly hope for this, people better not even think about saying anything bad about my awesome tatted up electrician kiddo. I will cut you. 

My sweet baby child is still just as sweet. Just a little more decorated. :)