Allbrittons by the numbers: October edition

There are so many random, often ridiculous, events that occur in the daily life of on of these Allbrittons, but they are not all riveting enough to warrant their own blog post. I like to do these little recaps for you, just so you do not get the sense that 1-2 posts per week means that nothing happens. For instance,

Three is the number of conduct marks my youngest boy got IN ONE DAY last week. The next time this happens, she will send him to the principal's office to be disciplined, and we've made clear what happens when he gets home should things again escalate to that level.

Four is the number of teachers and administrators who participated in my parent/teacher conference at school this morning. It was scheduled prior to the earning of three marks in one day, which is probably why the Principal and the Assistant Principal got added to the meeting this morning.

Seventeen is the number of years I predict I will walk around with the feeling that someone heavy is standing on my chest and occasionally jumping. Extend that if there is a third Allbritton added to our brood in the next couple years. I base this number off the fact that my parents are seeming to relax a little, finally, now that my sister is 24 and pursuing a direction in life. I'm thinking Landen will be 25 before I can say "f*ck it" and let the chips fall where they may.

Eight thousand, eight hundred is the number of dollars that someone else's insurance company paid to have my car restored to its purchased condition. It's better than it was before it was wrecked, since I had dinged it twice: once on my garbage cans and one on a car parked too close behind me. The amount that same insurance company pays moi for hurting my shoulder and pinching a nerve in my back better be considerably more than this.

One is the number of the lesson in the life rulebook that I propose should be "Never be at fault in a wreck with a lawyer's daughter."

Seven is the number of A's that Landen had on his report card. He had a "B" in P.E., which lends something to the "nurture" column of the nature vs. nurture debate on how children turn out, because I'm pretty sure I went out and got mono in high school to get out of P.E. for six weeks. The puzzling thing about this is that he's only had one week of P.E. I asked him why he has a B, just curiously, and he believes it to be that he slides around the floor in his socks too much. He somehow emerged from the nine weeks with a B+ in conduct, which I said I could not believe. To this he responded with "Me neither."

Last night after I yelled at him and sent him to his room for disobeying me by playing on the bus and getting in trouble for it, I told him that he makes me smile and I'm not happy when he's not here. This is a very confusing relationship between parent and eight-year-old son.

Six is the number of A's that Jake brought home on his report card. I'm really going to count and say it's seven, because he has not taken art yet, and Landen has. There is no doubt that when Jake Allbritton takes art, he will make an A in it. What Jake will never make an A in is penmanship. This frustrates Corey because he cannot read what Jake writes. I say "pick your battles," because Jake can read his own writing, and apparently the teacher can read it well enough to mark his answers right or wrong, so I do not harp on how many extra lines he puts in the number "6." And just to give you a sense of how different Landen's conduct is than Jake's - Jake got an A in conduct, and that's WITH detention for slapping Landen in the face.

If you know the parents of this boy, please slap them in the head for not being more attentive to the growth of the child's hair. This is immortalizaed in the St. Jude yearbook for all eternity. Also, please send $5 bills postmarked to The Tooth Fairy at our address because Jake keeps pulling his teeth.

More than eighty-five is how many pounds of intruder have been occupying my marital bed this week. Could you tell this face she had to sleep on the couch or the floor?

In the past, she's made me sleep in the middle. I've been putting my foot down lately, so she's been sleeping in the middle. She does not care for this mandate.

Fifty-two is the number of lines that you have to write for me when you come home with a conduct mark for not following the rules at St. Jude.

Twenty-four is the average number of points our flag football team scores in a ball game. If you live in Baton Rouge and want your kid to play flag football for the YMCA, email me and I'll tell you which coach to ask for. We have stomped every team they've given us. We only have one game left.

Twenty is the number of minutes you have to read in my house after you finish your homework and before any electronics are powered on, IF you have not gotten yourself grounded from electronics for the evening. The Cub Scouts say that as long as I am feeding you adequate (not delicious) meals, clothing you, getting you medical attention and sending you to school, I am not neglecting you. I am not required to let you participate in extracurricular activities, buy you toys, take you to the movies or restaurants, have a television for you to watch or a video game for you to play or buy you trendy clothing. I would add that if I am not teaching you the value of reading and comprehension, I am also neglecting you.

Thirty is the number of minutes that Jake hi-yahs in tae kwon do every Thursday. He has another month of his introductory course at the YMCA, and then if he wants to continue, I can get a second mortgage to pay for his continued lessons at the dojo. The best thing that has come out of this for me is that when you give him what he wants or command him to do something, he bows in gratitude or acquiescence.

Seven-hundred-sixty-nine is the number of miles between me and the nearest military school that will accept fourth graders. Fun fact.