I learned very quickly when I became a parent that it didn’t come with any kind of owner’s manual. It’s just as well, like most other guys I rarely read the instructions anyway so I probably would have just thrown the manual in the parent’s glove box and then complain because I didn’t know what I was doing. There are times though that I wish I did have a manual, it would make things a whole lot easier.

My wife Trina and I have five children; four daughters and a son. We hadn’t planned on having a large family but powers much higher than our own felt we needed to be blessed raising these kids. Throughout their lives Trina and I have attempted to teach them right from wrong and prepare them for the inevitable time when they would go out on their own.

For the most part I like to think we have been successful. None of the kids have ended up with their faces on the sides of milk cartons and the last time I checked none of their pictures appeared on the Top-10 list at the post office.

When the kids were small we worked diligently to try and make sure they learned right from wrong and made good decisions. At times that required us to trust our teachings and let natural consequences take their course.

We’ve tried to instill a level of faith in the kids. We’ve given them the freedom to explore their spiritual personality and were there to answer any questions they might have as they gain a personal testimony of their Heavenly Father.

Early on the trials the kids faced were trivial although in their eyes seemed insurmountable. Whether it be struggles with friends on the playground or having a little brother or sister ruin their favorite shirt Trina and I tried to be there for them but allow them to work through the challenges on their own. The goal was to establish a set of problem-solving patterns they could use when they got older and the challenges seemed greater.

There are certain things though that no matter how prepared you think you have made your children they still come up with scenarios you either hadn’t thought about or hoped they would never face. This week has been one of those times.

When Trina arrived at school Monday she was met by the school psychologist who pulled her aside and explained that an eighth grader at Aprende Middle School had committed suicide the night before. Trina works at the elementary school but the boy along with all of his siblings had gone through their school. Teachers and staff were taking it very hard.

As is the case with these types of things, information flowed quickly through the school system with fact mingled with speculation. Given that our kids also went to Aprende Middle School we wondered whether this boy was someone they knew.

Time seemed to stand still on Monday as we waited to pick up the kids and talk to them about this tragedy. As soon as they entered the front door it was all they could talk about. Stories abounded about what had happened but what we heard most was that this young boy had hung himself from a tree near the school because he did not want to face school and the bullying he was receiving. This of course is the story the kids are hearing and the local paper has not yet released that information.

I cannot even imagine the heartbreak that boy’s family is feeling at the moment. It is always tragic when someone dies but especially someone who had so much to live for. I cannot even comprehend how difficult it will be for that family to begin to pick up the pieces of their lives and try to move on; their family changed forever in one brief moment.

At Dakota’s soccer practice on Monday it was the topic of discussion. Dakota had not said much and when we asked whether he knew the boy he shrugged and didn’t seem to know. Several of the parents asked questions but we had no answers beyond what Trina knew from school.

Yesterday our kids went back to school and with that came the inevitable discussions surrounding the suicide. When you are young and in middle school or high school your lives seem to revolve around drama. Most cases that drama is self-imposed and trivial but in cases such as this it is very real and can be devastating.

Going to soccer practice last night Dakota was relatively quiet sitting in the back seat gazing out the window. Trina and I chalked it up to the pressure of playing soccer and starting high school.

The night before when we picked him up from practice he was glowing, eagerly discussing all of the fun he had on the field. Tonight his mood was substantially different.

At first I thought perhaps the coaches had got on him for not performing but he assured me that everything was fine. It didn’t take a psychic to see that something was bothering him. Despite my best efforts he didn’t want to talk.

When we got home he got out of the car but rather than go in the house he stayed outside wanting to talk to his mother. I left the two of them alone. After some time, Dakota came in and went upstairs. Trina came in with a solemn look on her face.

It seems this tragedy hit a little closer to home than we realized. The boy who ended his life was Dakota’s running partner at Aprende track last season. They had spent hours together running, pushing each other to be better and cheering each other at the track.

I stood at the bottom of the stairs as Trina told me looking upward to where my son had gone. I was frozen not able to move. I knew I should go up and talk to him but I had no words. I suddenly wished there was a parent’s owner’s manual that I could frantically look through to find out how to fix this problem.

But unlike a broken taillight on a car, there was no simple solution. There are no words that I can say that will ever make the events of this week less painful. I can talk about remembering the good times. I can talk about the importance of never giving up or how there is no place for bullying but none of that matters.

I can express that his friend is now with his Heavenly Father and is no longer feeling the pain or loneliness he had on this earth but all of that seems rather trivial. As a parent our kids look to us to keep them safe and make the bumps and bruises go away.

In this case I can’t. I cannot say or do anything that will bring back Dakota’s friend. No matter how much faith I have, there is nothing I can do except give Dakota a hug and be there for him as he tries to make sense of this tragedy.

I’d love to say that in time the pain will go away but I know that’s not true. I still feel the pain daily from when Trina and I lost our daughter and Dakota’s sister during childbirth. Despite knowing she is in Heaven and feeling no earthly pain that doesn’t take away the emptiness I feel.

So for now I’ll be there for Dakota and help him to cope with the fact that his track partner is gone. It will likely result in several conversations and possibly a few tears. In the end all I can do is be there for him.

Maybe it’s not so important to have a Parents Owner’s Manual as it is to know that no matter what it would say in the book the most important thing is to be there and to be involved in any way your kids will let you.

The holiday season is filled with all kinds of activities. There is of course the outside decorations, the Christmas tree, and of course the Nativity display. Each of these build towards the magic of the season.

Shortly after finishing the decorating, Trina will make a batch of her wonderful hot chocolate and we will stand back and observe all of the work. It is a wonderful time that fills your heart with joy and happiness.

Like any horror movie, this is the point where the characters feel the safest only to be ripped from the shoes by some horribly monster chasing you around with a family-sized kitchen knife or a chain saw.

In my case it is a wife with a stack of Christmas cards. The cards themselves are not too bad. Trina usually has great taste and has purchased something that captures the season. Granted, there will be a “discussion” as I inquire why the cards a) are not Sedona Red and b) do not include the Arizona Diamondbacks logo but that would hardly classify as horror (according to my wife).

The appearance of the Christmas cards can mean only one thing. I will have to write the family Christmas newsletter. I am not sure how it all began. Somewhere in the distant past my wife thought it would be a great idea to provide a newsletter with the cards to let everyone know what is going on in our lives.

I vaguely remember protesting suggesting that the last thing anyone wanted was a newsletter chronicling the zany escapades of our family. While I thought I had a logical and well thought out argument; I somehow lost the argument and was tied to a computer until I completed the task.

I thought that if I made the newsletter crazy enough that Trina would gladly remove that task from my to-do list. That first year I wrote of all the insanity that had gone on in our house the past 12 months.

Much to my chagrin, the recipients did not recoil in terror. Instead we received countless comments saying how much they loved the newsletter and the humor. My plan had definitely backfired.

From that point forward I was the only one who could write the Christmas newsletter. Our card list continued to grow as the legend of the newsletter spread far and wide. It was like my worst nightmare.

This year marks the 16th year of the newsletter. We have heard from family and friends that they have saved copies from year to year. It really makes me stop and wonder exactly what kind of people are we sending this newsletter to that they would save it?

So now as the family is off gallivanting around the countryside enjoying themselves I’ll be sitting at home staring at a blank piece of paper trying to remember what has happened over the past 12 months and melding that into some kind of story.

Christmas has always been special. From the giant stocking I gave Trina when we began dating to getting engaged, this time of year holds a special place in our hearts. Shortly after we began having children I decided our decorations were missing something.

The first Christmas after our second daughter was born I decided what we really needed was a train to go around the Christmas tree. I had always wanted a model train and this seemed to give me the perfect excuse.

The problem is, whenever I get these types of ideas I tend to take it to an extreme. Rather than settle for a small train that goes in circles on a tiny track, I somehow justify in my mind that what we really need is our own railroad with switches, crossings, and of course cars filled with Christmas gifts.

When you start thinking in that way you quickly realize that a small HO scale train just won’t do. I mean it would look puny and insignificant putting a little train around a nine foot Christmas tree.

So while we were out shopping I went to a train and hobby store looking for something that fit with my vision of what a Christmas train would look like. I came home with a trunk full of track and equipment and began laying out the railway that would become a family tradition.

I began with an LGB train set from Germany. This is an indoor/outdoor train in the “G” Scale making it quite large when compared to typical model railroads. I loved the “G” Scale as it gave the train and its cars a lot more detail.

The engine is an old wood burning steam engine patterned after the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad that graced the Rocky Mountain region in the early years of the western expansion.

Besides the engine and tender the train also came with an open boxcar and a caboose. The boxcar was a dark red color and we filled it with small wrapped gifts for the train to carry to children throughout the rail line.

That didn’t seem like quite enough having only one car so I added a second rail car. This one is an automobile carrier that would hold two automobiles. And if you are going to get a car for Christmas it better be a good one so my automobile carrier holds two brand new Mercedes Benz sedans.

Now with the train set it was a matter of setting up the track. I could have just used the circular pattern that comes with the train set but who wants a train that just goes around and around?

I added three track switches and a couple of different sidecar routes to add some variation to the train’s route. I also added a stop point to back the train off the tracks or unload cars if I felt the need.

By the time Trina came home the living room was filled with train tracks with lights and crossings. When our family came over to visit and saw the massive train display that had overtaken the house and tree they simply shook their heads.

Well everyone except my grandmother. She thought it was wonderful and the next year for Christmas she gave me an entire Christmas village that she made from yarn and plastic canvas. It was perfect and included Santa’s workshop and even a barn for the reindeer.

Through the years as we have moved I have changed the track layout slightly and compromised to only take up part of the living room. The train and the village remain an annual tradition that the family looks forward to every year.

As the gifts are placed under the tree there are soon tunnels and bridges for the train to move in and out of adding excitement and fun to our little railroad. So while Trina still wonders aloud whether we really needed such an extensive railroad no one in the family can imagine our tree not having the Christmas engine carrying the boxcar of gifts and automobiles.

In a sense we have created our own Polar Express that keeps us centered on the magic of Christmas and the memories of our childhood.

For the past several years all we have heard was that man was ruining the environment and that the planet was on the verge of revolt. Terms such as “global warming” and “carbon footprint” were bantered about each being used to describe the impending doom we are about to face.

Scientists throughout the world lamented of melting polar ice caps and large holes in the ozone layer. We were told again and again that if things did not quickly do an about face we could face extinction much like the dinosaurs eons ago.

During the summer months in Arizona I would have to agree the temperatures seemed hotter than I had remembered and I wondered whether I could actually melt. Despite the intense summer months I somehow survived.

Part of the reason we moved to Arizona was the weather. Living in Idaho we were never warm. Even in the midst of summer it still felt cold. And when winter arrived at what seemed like the same time as back-to-school the weather turned bitter.

I can still remember weeks at a time when the temperatures would not go above zero. Tires would freeze to the ground creating flat spots that would thump as you drove until the tire warmed up from friction.

Trina challenged me stating I could never find a place too hot. That is the kind of challenge that I thrive on. When we moved to Arizona it was April with temperatures in the mid-70’s and gorgeous blue skies. I remember thinking it was perfect. Trina of course was still not warm but things would soon change.

By the middle of the first summer here we were wondering whether we had actually taken a wrong turn and was now living in Hell. Later we would find out this wasn’t Hell because even Satan leaves Arizona during the summer because it is too hot.

Those with more years experience in Arizona told us that we would soon get used to the heat. I honestly don’t believe it. These of course are the same people who say, “Yes but it’s a dry heat.” My oven is a dry heat but that doesn’t mean I plan on living in it.

To a certain extent I have to admit you learn to tolerate the three months of extreme heat in the summer because while the rest of the country is freezing their tails off during the winter you have perfect weather for nine straight months. Well that is until today.

When I awoke this morning I went to retrieve the newspaper from the driveway. Standing there in the coolness of the morning something strange happened. I could actually see my breath! This was definitely not right.

Suddenly I realized that my feet were freezing. Looking down I realized that all I had on my feet were flip-flops. I ran as quickly as a guy can run with only one leg back into the house and dove for the afghan that Trina normally has lying on the couch.

Once I checked all extremities for frostbite I huddled up in the blanket and shuffled into the kitchen desperately searching for hot chocolate.

As I put a mug of water into the microwave and set the time I watched the water rotate on the microwave merry-go-round and wished for a second I could crawl inside that mug like a hot tub.

The thermometer outside said it was 40 degrees. Forty degrees? I don’t think I even keep my refrigerator that cold! Something was definitely amiss. For the remainder of the day I would stay huddled in a blanket trying to remember what it felt like last summer when I was actually warm.

The next time I run into one of those climatologists who is proclaiming, “global warming” I think I’ll respond in my best impression of Inigo Montoya from the movie The Princess Bride, “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”

If that doesn’t work maybe I’ll just use the line, “Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.” That’s bound to get someone’s attention.

From a lifetime of being an athlete I have collected more than my share of injuries and scars. I attribute part of it from the fact that I always gave everything when I was out on the field. And by everything I usually mean there was literally a part of me left in the dirt or on the fence or in the trainer’s room.

When I was younger I was under the delusion that I was invincible. For some inconceivable reason I thought I was either going to live forever and not to worry or if my freshman English teacher was correct I would either be dead or making license plates by the time I was 30.

Now that I am well past 30 I have come to the conclusion that this was yet another thing my freshman English teach had no clue about. There are of course consequences for an active and somewhat reckless lifestyle in my youth.

My body and my medical file is like a who’s who of medical calamities and injuries. I have enough pins, plates, and other hardware that if I walk slowly through the airport metal detector I can set it off causing quite a scene as security runs the wand over various body parts to incessant beeps.

My running total of injuries and subsequent medical procedures would make me an interesting case study by first-year medical school students. Going through my daily routine is a perpetual impression of Snap, Crackle, and Pop from the Rice Krispies commercial.

The tally of procedures includes four surgeries on my pitching shoulder with a potential fifth on the horizon. There are the three knee surgeries, one on my left wrist, two on my right middle finger. Add to this a broken right wrist, two ankles, and twelve stitches above my right eye and you begin to get the picture.

Kneeling is always a new experience in snapping, grinding, and other abnormal sounds. The funny thing is that Trina is not a whole lot better off. She too has been a lifetime athlete and while she has not had the surgeries that I have, her bones creak just about as badly as mine.

On more than one occasion I am reminded of the nursery rhyme about the crooked man who walked a crooked mile. So last week when I was out running around I didn’t think much of the popping and subsequent grinding that I heard in my left foot.

In the days after that my foot was tender but really no more than normal. Like I normally do I just ignored it. It’s weird, although I have had a lot of medical procedures; I have a substantial dislike and distrust of doctors so unless something is falling off or bleeding I would rather not go to a doctor.

After a couple of days my foot was really hurting badly. I started to adjust my walking style to try and find a position where it wouldn’t hurt. That of course caused other problems as my left knee dislocated (a normal occurrence I’m afraid).

When things did not get better and in fact became worse I finally decided may I did need to see a doctor. Trina made an appointment for me. Normally she will go with me to see the doctor. It is not that she doesn’t trust me; it’s just that I tend to leave out important details like death or disfigurement and stuff like that.

In this case though she couldn’t go due to scheduling conflicts. So I hobbled into the doctor to see if he could diagnose what the problem was. After what felt like a lengthy examination I was sent for an x-ray with words like STAT and CRITICAL written on the form.

Based on my past experiences the thoughts were that I might have a stress fracture or perhaps a tendon issue. So I spent today trick-or-treating to various medical facilities as they tried to decide what the problem is.

As I sat at home with my foot above my head (not an easy feat given my age and flexibility), I received a call from the doctor, “Your x-rays came back and your metatarsal pack is within tolerance. There is a prescription for a steroid pack and pain killers that has been called in.”

I have absolutely no idea what that means. My metatarsal pack is within tolerance? I guess that means it’s not completely broken, it is just slightly messed up. So for the next several days I get to lay around with my foot over my head while consuming a solid diet of painkillers and steroids.

So what have I learned from all of this? Bones heal, you don’t live forever, and chicks dig scars.

After surviving the Black Friday fiasco I was ready for a little peace and quiet around the house. By peace and quiet I mean the typical chaos that normally occurs around here.

With Thanksgiving quickly becoming a memory it is now time to turn our sights squarely onto the next holiday, which of course is Christmas. This weekend is typically when the Thanksgiving decorations come down to be replaced by the never-ending Christmas decorations.

Christmas has always held a special place in my heart. It is equal parts a religious holiday and a celebration of life. Ever since I was a kid I have looked forward to Christmas and especially for the decorations.

When we were first married we had a small tree that could have been a long lost twin of the tree Charlie Brown found forlorn on the tree lot. It was more like a stump with a branch but it was the greatest tree in the world as far as I was concerned.

That ragged tree was replaced along the way with a beautiful flocked tree that we had for years. When we moved to Arizona we found that the flocking turned an ugly shade of yellow due to the heat of the Arizona summers.

The flocked tree was replaced by an amazing nine-foot tree that stood proudly in our living room. I was never content with just a few lights insisting on wrapping each branch of the tree with the light total somewhere in the 1,500 light vicinity.

It would literally take us three weeks to fully decorate that tree. Finally it just got to be too much work and Trina gave the tree to our oldest daughter when she got married. That is still a sore spot in our marriage since my daughter gave the tree to Goodwill and we were without a tree.

After a year’s hiatus I bought a new artificial tree. This one was 9.5 feet high and came “pre-lit”. I’m not exactly sure what I thought “pre-lit” meant but it wasn’t this. The tree does have lights but I think we spend more time troubleshooting the existing lights than we did wrapping the old tree.

Every year I swear this will be the last year for this tree and that next year I will get a new tree with energy efficient LED lights. And every year after Christmas I put this tree away along with a list of things to do when I get it out next year.

It is not just the tree though. Every year Trina makes a new craft item and it becomes part of the Christmas decorations. Our house when decorated is like a museum that chronicles the evolution of crafts.

There is the nylon era followed by the hot glue era. Then there is the beading dark ages and the plush era. Everywhere you turn there is a Christmas decoration and each of them has a story to tell.

When finished, the house sings of the times we have spent as a family and the countless hours Trina and the kids volunteered to create the special decorations.

Perhaps that is why I love Christmas so much. Each year as we pull the boxes of decorations out of the garage and transform our house we are reminded of all the wonderful times that have been spent throughout our lives. Those memories are brighter than the lights of the tree and beacon us all to the wonderful times we shared together.

The aroma of roast turkey still lingered in the air and the dessert plates had just barely been cleared from the table. The tranquility of Thanksgiving suddenly disappeared with a loud thud.

The Thanksgiving newspaper was plopped onto the table; it’s contents spilling in every direction. Trina brought out “the notebook” and put on her game face. The newspaper was divided and it’s contents were examined at every inch.

The advertisements were divided not by store but by opening time. Each ad was then carefully examined and notes were taken. After what seemed like several hours of close scrutiny and several pens and sheets of paper, the preliminary work was complete.

The notebook was less a shopping list and more a battle plan. It contained the logistics and coordinates to successfully navigate what is commonly referred to as “Black Friday”.

The day after Thanksgiving when stores open early and hope to lure consumers in with terms such as “door buster” and “early bird”. For many this is shopping nirvana. A day when not only are you allowed to shop but expected to buy massive amounts of products in the name of holiday gifts.

It is a day I approach with equal amounts of anticipation and dread. During our wedding vows when they mentioned the part about richer and poorer and good times and bad times, I never would have imagined that would mean the day after Thanksgiving but in reality that’s exactly what they meant.

After we were married I promised myself I would go shopping with Trina on these days after Thanksgiving. Part of it was a sense of fear not wanting my wife to go out alone in the early morning hours. Part of it was self-preservation for not wanting my checkbook to go out alone in the early morning hours.

All of this sounds great when you are sitting around a kitchen table at five in the afternoon but it is an entirely different story when the alarm goes off at three in the morning and you have to get up to go out in the cold standing there with thousands of crazed women waiting for the doors to open so you can rush some kid making minimum wage for the last toy in town.

So as I get ready to head out the door I am again wondering what exactly was I thinking when I volunteered for this? While the rest of the civilized world is lying in bed dreaming of leftover turkey and college football I will be standing outside a Target praying that when I finally get through the door I won’t be run over by a lunatic with a shopping cart looking for a Barbie.

We have a tradition around our house. Each Thanksgiving as we sit around the table admiring the bountiful feast of which we are about to partake; we go around the table and each person states one thing for which we are thankful.

After everyone has had a turn, we say grace and thank our Heavenly Father for all that he has provided for us in our lives. It is a small and simple tradition but one that has become very important in our family.

It provides each person an opportunity to look back over all that they have been given. It humbling to think of all the greatness we are given each and every day.

It is not just the good things for which we should be grateful but also for the challenges and trials, which we face in our lives. Through these trials we learn much about our character and our strength.

At the time it is hard to imagine being grateful for the tough times and challenges but if we are able to endure them and overcome them we find we have strength we never knew we had.

For each depth I have had to endure in my life I have found there is a peak that is as high or higher that I have experienced. While my life has been like a roller coaster with the valleys and the hills of bad and good I have thoroughly enjoyed the ride.

There have been times when the dips and drops have turned my stomach and I just knew I was going to lose it once the ride was finished. But at the same time I have felt the excitement that the rapid ascent after a fall has brought.

Overall my life has definitely been an E-Ticket ride and one I wouldn’t change for anything in the world. So I am looking forward to sitting down with my family for Thanksgiving later today and expressing my gratitude for all I have been given.

It will also give me an opportunity to tell each of these people how much they have meant to me and how much I appreciate them being on this rollercoaster with me.

The people you meet and the experiences you share are what I am most grateful for. Well that and season tickets to the Arizona Diamondbacks.

It must be Thanksgiving, there’s a turkey in my pool. I never get tired of that line nor do I get tired of the confused look that accompanies that comment. I probably need to explain.

My family is addicted to The Food Network. Alton Brown, Bobby Flay, and Paula Dean are all deities around our house. There is probably not a day go by that The Food Network is tuned in. It is not just my wife who is addicted; all of the kids also have their favorite personalities and shows.

It’s not just the shows and the personalities; we have also collected a fair amount of recipes that have become staples on our dinner table. One of the most popular has been the turkey recipe that we found from Good Eats.

Alton Brown is a big proponent of brining the turkey to maintain moisture and give it flavor. The recipe is fairly simple with vegetable stock, herbs, spices, and of course lots of Kosher salt.

These ingredients are combined and simmered then chilled. The turkey is placed in a container along with the brine, ice, and water where it sits overnight before cooking.

Because of the size of the turkey and the brine solution it requires us to use a 5-gallon container. The problem is that we have nowhere to store the turkey while it is soaking.

Our refrigerator is not large enough to keep the bird and the container but it must be kept cool. Well I’m a problem solver so I found a unique solution.

By November our swimming pool water hovers around 45 degrees which coincidentally is the same temperature to maintain a chilled bird. So after putting the bird in the container and starting it to soak we place the 5-gallon bucket in the swimming pool with a brick on the top.

The bird stays in the pool overnight. Sometime in the middle of the night I will get up and flip the bird (yet another great phrase that Trina freaks out about when I use it). The next day we’ll remove the turkey from the brine and let it sit before starting it roasting.

I swear, stories like this are just too crazy to make these things up. So the next time you think you are strange and unusual Thanksgiving traditions ask yourself, do you have a Jewish turkey floating in your swimming bird?

Two years ago all my daughter Whitney wanted for Christmas was a cell phone. She begged and pleaded for a phone. She was younger than the other girls when they got a cell phone so it was a dangerous precedent to be setting.

Whitney has always been mature for her age so I wasn’t worried about getting her a phone. Still I wasn’t about to let on to her that she was going to get a phone. Instead I told her that she had to get an “A” on a particular test in order to be considered for a phone.

Whitney worked extremely hard that semester to get an “A” in that class. In the end though she received a “B” missing an “A” by just a couple of points. Given her hard work I knew I would still get her the phone but she didn’t know that.

Leading up to Christmas I kept telling her that she shouldn’t expect the phone given that she got a “B”. On Christmas morning Whitney eagerly ran downstairs hoping to find a cell phone. It was not among her presents and she was trying really hard to maintain a positive attitude despite her disappointment.

Finally there was one present left. She opened the gift and inside was a plastic phone filled with candy along with a note that stated, “Sorry this is the best you get for getting a ‘B’.” It was a mean trick and she broke down.

Before she could be too upset there was another note suggesting she look on one of the branches of the Christmas tree. There was her shiny new cell phone with a waiting text message from dad saying “You will always be an ‘A’ in my life.”

It has now been a couple of years since that time and Whitney’s contract is up on her cell phone. The rest of the family has moved from Sprint to AT&T and phones have been replaced with the iPhone.

Once again Whitney is clamoring for a new phone. This time though she too wants an iPhone. Given the events from two years ago she is refusing to have it tied to her grades this time.

I’m not sure I would be able to get away with another prank again this year. I have a sneaking suspicion I am going to be shopping for an iPhone this week and Whitney will be getting an early Christmas present.