Error On The Side Of Not Going To Jail

I can't stress this enough. You are not cut for prison life.

You will find yourself in many conundrums over the course of your years. Sometimes there will be a fight you think you should join, sometimes there will be a purchase that would be too easy to skip, sometimes you will want to skirt the law.

Don't do it.

We as Jorgensens are adept at handling many situations. Jail is not one of them. There are many moral reasons to stay out of jail, but the overriding reason is that PEOPLE IN JAIL ARE SCARY. I watched a Maury Povich show once which confirmed it. The other main reason is that it would hurt your mother unbearably. You hurt her, and I will hurt you. Even worse, some big biker dude will hurt you.

Long story shot, this family has a long tradition of not going to the pen. Any time you find yourself thinking "Will this land me in jail?" Assume it will, and then don't do it. Jail is for guys with last names like Bonecrusher, not Jorgensen.

Wait Until Marriage

Son, if there is one lesson that I teach you with a heart full of sincerity, it's that you should never give a woman the wood until marriage. It's a gift that you can never get back once it's given. Some people say that you should give it freely to those you care about. Some say it's OK to give to other guys or even strangers. To me it is something more special than that. Sometimes you spend hours upon hours thinking about how to give it to her, and with all the sanding away on it you will be doing there will be plenty of time to think about how it will go. I can tell you from experience that sometimes the reaction after giving it to her will be very satisfying. Sometimes it won't be everything you had wished for.

A man name Rustwick tried to warn me, he said that it would ruin relationships. He warned me about all of the kids he had seen give their girlfriends the wood before marriage and how all of those relationships ended shortly there after. I figured they just hadn't sanded it on it long enough before they gave it to them. Sure enough, once I gave it to my high school girlfriend we broke up shortly thereafter. I even gave a piece to three girls I was really close with in high school and sure enough we drifted apart in college.

So there I was, after all that time sanding away thinking of how it would all go, I left disappointed. I should have listened to my old shop teacher Rustwick. Now the first time I built something for you mom, it turned out great! She loves her kitchen, the table, and even the baby furniture I am building for you. I would have a few more jewelry boxes laying around if I hadn't rushed to give away all those early woodworking projects in high school.

So before you spend all that time in the shop inhaling sawdust and exposing your ears to loud machines you should decide if it's worth it. Your wife will appreciate more than anyone else ever will.

Bring the Cat In

Jade is our cat. She would love to be a great explorer homicidal pysco jungle kitty. Instead she is a pudgy little fur ball that meows out the window. Tonight while I was sitting on the deck I let her outside to play in the yard a bit after supper. She loves it out there. She eats grass, walks over six inches at a time, and even looks at birds like she might do something. Tonight I did a bad thing. Tonight I left Jade outside.

Your mother had gone to bed as pregnant women do, and I stayed up on the deck enjoying the nice weather and talked to our neighbors as I do. It was a nice night, a peaceful night, the kind of summer night that I live for. Then came the blur.

Around the corner they raced tightly trailing each other. Bounding up the stairs the first cat, a pure bred farm cat took her stand, tail full, ears perked, and the hair on her back a ridge of terror. She mightily hissed and even swatted at her assailant. The second cat, a Siamese ninja, lunged forward and retreated like a trained fighter. They stood off with moans howling and hisses shrieking through the night air.

I watched all this thinking, "What the hell are these cats fighting on my deck for? Why aren't they running when I stand up? Why does that cat look so much like Jade? Oh no!"

Jade held her own... this time. I wonder what would have happened if I had gone to bed with your mom. I wonder where in the hell she was all that time. I wonder how I forgot all about her.

So in summary, if you let the cat out you have to bring the cat in. I swear I did, but there is substantial evidence to the contrary. By the way, I am 50% in charge of your well being. I am scared too.

Sanding... Sanding... More Sanding.

"Beau, I really like this baby furniture from Pottery Barn," your mother said.
"Send me a link, I will build it." I replied.

And so began the odyssey that is the baby furniture. Your Grandpa Ray and I are building all of the furniture for your room. Sometimes I question this. Today as I approached hour number seven of hand sanding was one of them. Don't take me wrong, I don't regret the decision one bit. In fact it's been great to spend some time at the shop with Dad. It's what us Jorgensens do to have bonding time. Building stuff is in our blood. Wood glue is in your Grandpa's blood because he eats it. Seriously, he licks it off his fingers like it's a sugar pop. He's a strange dude that way. To me it takes like a mix of drywall mud and flour... yeah I did get some in my mouth when I was drywalling the basement ceiling. It's not good. Neither is wood glue, and yes even your mom has been forced to try it.

Sanding is one of those unfortunate things in life that is critical to do, but is negative amounts of fun. Your first experience that will be comparable will be when your mom and I are slapping the holy bejesus out of you trying to get you to burp. Nobody likes it, nobody wants to do it, but it has be done. It will probably be alot like changing your diaper. By the way, I am going to do my best to force potty training on you at an extremely unreasonable age.

So get ready little man. You too will be expected to join in the sanding parties that go along with having a woodworking habit. In fact that was a driving force in having you! I kid, I kid... but really, get ready, wood glue tastes awful.

Tell Dad Your Secrets

You will be tempted to tell secrets to pretty girls, your mom, your friends and others. The best person to tell them to is me. The main reason is that if you have a secret you have to know the other person is trustworthy. If you can't trust your dad, who can you trust (no one). Sure, if you tell a girl a secret she will probably be more inclined to like you, but she will also be more likely to use it against you to make you carry heavy objects. I can carry way more than you so you need not fear that kind of manipulation.

People often refer to keeping things on the down low. If you trust your friends with that task they will keep things at eye level. Down low is their only option. I have the ability to keep things on the down low, medium, and the the up high. Your friends will not be able to offer that kind of versatility for years. When your mom needs help getting things from upper shelves, who does she turn to? Me. So I am the obvious choice for all your hard to keep secrets.

OK, your mom is good with secrets too, but you have to run them by me as well. I am like *Aerosmith "and I don't want to miss a thing."

*No more Aerosmith references

OhMyGodYouAreABoyIAmSoExcited!

I have to admit that I thought you were going to be a girl. I was trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do to try to relate to this little princess. I don't understand dolls, little tea sets, and I despise most forms of dancing. Then the nurse started the ultrasound. Just like your dear old dad, there you were laying back flaunting your junk. I think you even gave us the finger in one of the pictures. I am so proud. I would have loved you either way, but man am I relieved.

I can't wait to meet you, throw you around with little regard for your well being, and just hang out like us guys do. I can't wait to explain why the DH is stupid, why a 4-3 defense is a superior base set than a 3-4, and why even though you can pee outside at a farm you can't in town (ok, you can but it has to be dark out). You can even write your name in the snow. How cool is that? By the way, peeing your name in the snow is why they teach cursive in school. Then again, they might skip writing all together and just have you type... if that is the case you cannot lay your keyboard in the snow and pee on it. That is not the same thing. Also you should know that if the snow is yellow that Daddy might have already written on it, and therefore you should not eat it.

I am so excited to have you around to hang out with. You are the coolest little dude in the world and you can't even even eat a steak yet. This is going to fun.

You Probably Aren't Crazy

This might sound strange, but you know that little voice in your head that sounds like you, the one where you practice what to say, the one that won't shut up after someone says something funnier than what you said?

That my little man is your inner monologue. I spent the first... well... alot of my life thinking that I was crazy. I heard about people that heard voices in their head and assumed I was on a one way ticket to crazy town. So before you start wondering if the padded walls will be nice, and if you can hang posters on them without getting in trouble, just know that it's ok. In fact once you get old enough people will to tell you to think before you speak, and that is what they are talking about. At least I think so. Then again I just admitted that I have voices in my head.

I hope for you that your inner monologue has a cool voice. Sean Connery would be an option, maybe even Leonard Nimoy or even better Morgan Freeman. If it sounds like William Shatner you might be crazy. It, will also... take longer, to get thoughts... out.

Just wait until you start thinking about girls. Your mind will host thousands upon thousands of coversations that will never happen. Trust me, the ones that you think sound super smooth and the girl laughs and tells you how cool you sound are the ones that will make you cringe when you try to renact them. You will also practice telling your mom and I outlandish lies to get away with something there. They will make us cringe. Please, try them both. I am looking to you for great entertainment.

So in summary, until you have multiple voices that are constantly arguing and taking stock of near by weapons you should be fine.

Guns Blazing

You have a finite amount of time here. It is up to you to live life to it's fullest. If this were a country song or a sappy Oprah piece they would tell you to live like you were dying. That is not really good advice. If I was living life like I was dying I would not pay taxes, run up a credit card bill traveling, and sky dive every day of the week. The upside: crazy fun. The downside: If you don't die you will spend the rest of your life paying off credit cards, taxes, and every dream of falling from a high place will have a whole new prospective.

What I am recommending is that you don't let the fact you don't have an idea of what you are doing get in your way. Learn to cook! Your mom and I have spend endless evenings with music playing, dancing in the kitchen, and making food. Some times the food is great. Some times we both eat until we admit to the other that the dish just sucked. I do wood working because I get to spend time with your grandpa, and I don't really know what I am doing. By the way, it's my fault if you hate your crib. Sorry. Your mom spends hours upon hours writing a blog that she doesn't know if anyone reads*. Why? Because it's fun, because we want to, and because it's better than sitting idle. I write a blog that I know that no one reads*, but it helps me get my thoughts out and I like to think I am cool.

So what is the point of this? I want you to get out there and enjoy life. I want you to never be scared of failing, because we all do it. If nothing else it might work occasionally, and that is reason enough.

Just don't try to vote democrat or do drugs. One rots your soul and the other could cause death. You figure out which was which.

*It turns out that www.sitemeter.com has confirmed that your mom's blog gets about 60 hits a day and my blog... well I can post my social security number and I would be safe.