If you wanna feel better about your family, just read about ours...

Starring: a dad, a mom, a son & daughter-in-law, a daughter & son-in-law, another daughter & son-in-law, 1 teen, 1 grandson, 3 granddaughters, 4 dogs, and a whole lot of love.






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Friday, December 22, 2023

The one with Santa and "the incident"(s)

No good comes from the phrase "the incident." You're basically saying "that horrific thing that happened that should never be spoken of again" but you also know you're gonna have to tell it now because nobody lets the word "incident" go unexplained. 

You know if I titled this 'The one with Santa' you wouldn't be reading this right now. You're here for "the incident." Or as it goes with our family, the incident(s).

My research for this blog (yes, I do research, don't look so surprised) entailed messaging our family members and asking if we have any incidents in our history involving Santa, specifying not counting the incident of 2020.

See. Now you wanna know what happened in 2020, right? Sorry. As the saying goes, what happened in 2020 stays in 2020. Therefore the incident with C*v*d Claus gonna stay in the vault. As will the incident involving Santa's unfortunate dismount from the mechanical bull I persuaded him to climb onto for a picture at my birthday party this year. *Zips lips, throws key* 

One of these days we're gonna run outta Santas willing to come to our house.

Anyhoo. Zac was the only one who responded to my in-depth research and answered, "The year I pooped my pants at dad's work party during pictures with Santa."

Unlike the pants pooping incident in 6th grade when he blamed the smell on Victoria until I picked him up from school, I'd totally forgotten about the one with Santa. The incident in 6th Grade was like, 2005. The one with Santa was 2016. He was 22. I  guess I blocked that one out. I remember now though, and it was very much an incident.   

In more recent years an incident happened that didn't directly involve us. Last year we'd taken our 4 grandchildren on a train ride to "the North Pole." Santa visited our train car and everyone was served cookies and the kids all received balloon animals. Everyone was having a great time, but before we could reach "the North Pole", the train stopped suddenly and we were surrounded by firetrucks, police cars, and ambulances. We had no idea what was going on, but once we started moving again an announcement came over the loud speaker: "We are now heading back to the station. PLEASE do NOT put your balloon animals in your MOUTH. Thank you."

So basically one latex intolerant balloon licker ruined the North Pole for everyone. Nice.

It obviously wasn't enough to ruin our experience because we went back again this year.

Same setup: Train ride, the "North Pole", Santa, cookies, and balloon animals because the operators of the Santa railroad apparently maintained their faith in the common sense of humanity. Adorable. They did make one change however, and brought in Lucky the libations elf to serve adult beverages. (Suspected connection to the chaos of last year's incident but unconfirmed). So if you needed a little somethin' somethin' to take the edge off, you just yelled "LUCKY!" and voila. Until Scarlet, age 6, called for Lucky and we had to wave Lucky a never mind.

Shout out to Lucky the libations elf. We kept her busy.

Ron had opted for the seat across from 2 strangers. He loves strangers. As I've explained before, on his solar system of relationship priorities, strangers are his Mercury, baby. 

I was sitting directly behind him with 2 of our granddaughters when the strangers found out we'd done this train ride before and said, "Must be pretty good then, huh?" to which Ron replied, "Welllll, last year there was..."
I interrupted from my seat behind him, "Ron, no." But of course he ignored me,
 "....the incident."
And as if that weren't enough he continued,
"Somebody almost died."

For Ron, the only thing better than strangers is making dramatic announcements so when his 2 worlds can collide, it's a Merry Christmas. 

But hey. If it prevented them from licking their balloons that day, I'll allow it. 

On the upside, we made it to the North Pole this year but the downside is that "the North Pole" turned out to be a stop at nothing where the train simply reversed and headed back to the station, so my apologies for resenting an allergenic child for an entire year. 

It was when they took our family picture that we noticed Hays, age 5, lookin' a little...weekend at Bernies, ya might say. But she held it together the remainder of the ride.

Back at the station, everyone was crammed in the isle waiting for permission to get off the train. Scarlet and I stood behind strangers and the rest of our family was behind us. Nick leaned up and whispered to me, "Hay Hay says she's gonna throw up." 

Okay, confession time. Did I switch me and Scarlet places with Nick and Hays, putting the backs of unsuspecting strangers in the line of vomit? Yes.

But have I seen Hays vomit over the top of Scarlet and witness the chaos that ensued? Also yes. Cue Kearstin's wedding and the vomit covered flower girls.  

My sincerest apologies to the guy in front of Hays who took the hit and everyone there who witnessed the stampede-like departure of our train car with Lucky the libations elf nowhere to be found. 

I can hear next year's repeat riders now:
"Wellll, last year there was...the incident..."









Tuesday, December 5, 2023

The one with Nate Bargatze, a dead body, and most of my triggers

If you don't know who Nate Bargatze is, start googling and enjoy the cleanest most hilarious comedian you'll ever see, in my opinion. I seriously can't say enough about his perfectly dry delivery of relatable topics, minus raunch and profanity. It's refreshing. 

Our adventure began when Ron bought tickets to take Caymen and me to see him in Cleveland. I was super excited because Nate Bargatze, but also not excited at all because Cleveland. 

I'm an introverted homebody. If given the choice, I'm staying home. When I am persuaded to leave the house, it better not involve excess traffic or people. And Cleveland just sounds traffic-y. And people-y.

I agreed to go to Cleveland, but he couldn't convince me to book a hotel and spend the night. It's 3 hours to Cleveland from here. That's a day trip. Nate Bargatze is totally worth a day trip. Not so much an overnight. Homebodies have a system and charts about these things. 

Halfway to Cleveland, I said out loud to no one in particular, "I'm excited to see the show and I'm excited to go back home." Fellow introverts relate to that statement. Extroverts will never understand. Ron and Caymen are extroverts. 

Our first stop was Harry Buffalo because we ate at a Harry Buffalo before the Big Foot Festival and after researching their online menu, we knew exactly what we wanted when we got there. But first we had to drive around and around and around Cleeeveland to find freakin' parking. 

You know where we never have to worry about finding parking? 
Our driveway. At home

After battling entirely too much traffic and parking lots charging $50 for 6 hours we didn't need, we finally found an empty spot in front of a meter and dropped in enough quarters to cover the amount of time we'd need for dinner. Then we walked the 2 sketchy blocks to the restaurant. 

And that's when we passed the dead body wrapped in a quilt and I stopped dead in my tracks. (Unfortunate pun, kind of intended.) Ron looked from me to the quilt and quickly said, "He's just sleeping" and guided me away from the doorway it was lying in. Um, no. Sir. He was stiff and straight, completely still, and wrapped head to toe in a quilt. That's not somebody sleeping. That's a dead body. 

In the very next doorway we passed a pile of poop so Ron thought it'd be a good subject change to announce "that's human" because nothing brings your appetite back from a dead body quicker than a pile of human feces. Seriously? Couldn't just let me think dog poop, huh? 

We arrived at the restaurant and let's just say that the Cleveland Harry Buffalo was nothing like the Hocking Hills Big Foot Festival Harry Buffalo. I can't believe I didn't see that coming. Right off the top, I was blocked in the bathroom for 5 minutes by 2 waitresses fighting each other. Then when I finally made it back to our table, we had a piece of paper with the words 'Limited Event Menu' written across the top. Code for- hope you're in the mood for a cheeseburger. 

Ron (aka; Spooner Senior, with his big feelings about his food demands) said "I'm ordering whatever I want from the online menu! I don't care!" I leaned across the table and whisper yelled "You damn well will care and you're gonna order something from this piece of paper because I know for a fact there are 2 waitresses here who will happily kick your ass and the last guy who probably 'didn't care' ended up wrapped in that quilt out there."

We ordered 3 cheeseburgers.
And they were seriously some of the best cheeseburgers we've ever eaten.

When we returned to our van, I was pleasantly shocked to find it just as we'd left it since throughout our entire meal I kept repeating "you know our van's being vandalized and we're going to be stranded here, right?" 

According to my therapist, I struggle with "catastrophic thought tendencies and abandonment issues." So then by all means play some sick game of trigger therapy with me and quit the practice with no forwarding address. But I digress. 

The body in the doorway remained unmoved, if anyone is curious.

We drove to the show where we then had to...you guessed it...find parking. We finally found an attended lot for $10, so we jumped at it. Then we walked the 4 blocks using GPS to the Key Bank Theater. But when the GPS said, "You've arrived" we were next to an unmarked building with fire escape stairs running up the side. We were standing there debating whether we were supposed to climb the stairs when I said "I think we should ask somebody." And Ron replied, "There's nobody to ask." 

Except that group of people that just passed us or maybe that guy crossing the street right now. If the introvert is suggesting we strike up a conversation with a stranger, you know things are desperate. 

He wouldn't agree to ask for directions, but said "Let's just walk with him." Yeah. Because silently joining him wherever he's going makes way more sense.

So we caught up and began crossing the street with him. Then I (the INTROVERT) turned to him and said, "Excuse me, Sir. Do you happen to know where the Key Bank Theater is?" He stopped in the middle of the crosswalk, looked at me like he was wondering if I was serious, and then said "It's right behind you." We turned around and faced a giant marquee with Nate Bargatze's face on it. 

Had we but just glanced to the right instead of crossing to the left we could've saved ourselves the humiliation of looking stupid to a complete stranger, which doesn't bother me at all. It still keeps Ron up at night.

Nate Bargatze was amazing and did not disappoint. As for the comedians who opened for him, the first 3 guys were pretty funny, the 4th guy no. As a whole, they did their job well. The first 3 guys, I mean. Couldn't stand the 4th guy, in case you didn't pick up on that.

*Pause for a couple of basic theater etiquette guidelines that apparently need reviewed*

1. Arrive on time. Come on. Unless you just found those tickets outside on the sidewalk, you knew you were coming to a show tonight. The ticket said 7pm. At 7:20, hundredsss of people were still pouring into the theater all casual-like while my anxiety rage-fired because the entire show was put on hold and then people were missing the beginning because entire rows were still having to get up and down to let people in to their seats. We had a 3 hour drive, found a dead body, ate dinner at a fight club, got lost, and still managed to arrive in front of the theater with time to spare before the doors opened. It can be done. 

2. I get that you're 6'4 and that's not your fault. But do you know what is your fault? That giant hat that you kept on top of your 6'4 head the entire show. Make better choices, lady. 

Now where were we?

Ah. We'd made it back to our van and I was excitedly messaging our kids that we get to come home now when it happened. I sensed motion beside my window and a strange man was standing beside our van trying to hand me a dead white rose while I stared down the barrel of a long gun he had tucked under his arm.

Okay, the gun turned out to be an umbrella, but it was dark, I'd been traumatized allll day, and in that moment I was staring down the barrel of a long gun so just stick with me here.

Caymen was in the seat behind mine and I turned in a panic to see how Ron was going to handle this. (His people skills are better than mine.) But the driver's seat was empty and his door was flung wide open. I assumed he was on his way around the van to be my hero, but turns out, he'd abandoned me to get himself a bottle of water from the trunk for the ride home. 

I had seconds to think this through. Refusing a gift from a guy with a gun seemed like a bad idea, but so did accepting a dead white rose before a 3 hour drive home. Not that I'm superstitious, but it's not a good look should the van flip and the coroner get called to the scene and find a dead white rose clenched between my cold dead fingers and bring this trip's body count to 2 in case you're not keeping track. 

So I decided to go with repeatedly saying "No thank you" like a super polite robot until he finally walked away and that's when I saw that his long gun was actually a long umbrella.  

My therapist would have a field day with this one, but of course she quit through no fault of my own, despite my husband accusing me of "Bob Wylie'ing" her, which I did not. 
But while we're on the topic of What About Bob, Dr. Marvin's 'Death Therapy' actually did cure him.

I'm not saying I'm cured. I'm just saying that ever since Cleveland, I sleep a little sounder, wake up a little happier, and stress a little less...as long as I'm in the safety of my own home.

Staring down the barrel of an umbrella changes ya, man.











Wednesday, November 15, 2023

The one with bad cop and the screen door

Ron and I take turns being 'bad cop' although admittedly, the role usually suits me best. He's the gentle giant with the patience of Job and blah blah good cop blah, until his eyes shift, and then everybody in the room realizes they underestimated him. The problem is, in my bad cop opinion, it takes far too long to push him to that point.

Take our new front door for instance. Last December, we ordered an exorbitantly priced front door from Lowes, complete with a storm door and screen door. The main door got installed, but problem #1 arose because after paying full price for everything upfront, we were told our door frame wasn't suited for a storm and screen door. Well sir, we already paid for it so I suggest you suit it up and make it work. So they eventually did.

Problem #2 was that the screen they installed was loose and clearly too big for the frame. It would literally billow in the wind, had no structure to it, and when Jehovah's witnesses stopped by with encouraging news for me, our German Shepherd dove through it and chased them back to their van. 

Ron spent the next several weeks repeatedly calling Lowes requesting they please install the screen that fits the frame. Repeatedly.Calling.Lowes. Until they finallyyy returned his calls and scheduled a time to replace the screen door.

Which brings us to problem #3 when they ordered the same wrong sized screen. You know, the big billowy one that failed to protect the Jehovah's Witnesses and their encouraging news.

And so it began. Months and months of Ron calling every manager in the store who'd tell us our new screen door had come in and they'd promise to "look into it" and call him back to schedule installation but never would. Meanwhile, our fully paid for exorbitantly priced front door stood with an empty screen-less frame that everybody stepped through to get into the house, because why would anyone go through the hassle of opening a useless shell of a door when they can just climb through it?

By the end of August, I'd had enough. So after nine months of Lowe's playing around with good cop, bad cop was goin' in. And by that I mean I was literally going in to Lowes.

That might not seem like a big deal, but as a general rule, I don't go into stores by myself. 

Let me give you a couple examples of why that is: 
Four days earlier, I had time to kill while I waited for Caymen at Driver's Ed. I decided to go into Big Lots, but accidentally walked into Shoe Sensation right next door, and then said out loud to one of the employees of SHOE Sensation, "Wow, I didn't realize you sold shoes here."

Another time before that, we had to stop by Verizon to get a new phone for me. While Ron parked, I walked inside and told the employee that I need a new phone. He just sat behind the counter staring blankly at me while I stared back wondering what his problem was, until Ron popped his head inside the door and yelled, "Shar! This isn't Verizon. This is Game Stop."

So you see why I don't go out unsupervised, much less ever gone traipsing alone on a mission into Lowes.

Until August 28th, that is. I put the grandbabies on the bus, got dressed, did my hair, and applied a full face of makeup. I was gonna walk in there looking like a put together woman who can reasonably work with them to solve their communication problem.

I also didn't eat breakfast, drink any coffee, purposefully drove through every construction zone, and listened to politics the whole drive over. If I could've inflicted spontaneous PMS on myself, I would've. Triggers I actively avoid had become weapons in my arsenal. 

Why? So that just under the surface of that put together woman would lie a female rage fire that would happily eliminate their communication problem for them, and cry on cue if needed. 

All the stops had been pulled and I had zero good cop supervision to step in and prevent whatever was about to go down. We could resolve this the easy way or the peri-menopausal way, the choice was entirely up to Lowes.

I walked to the customer service counter and politely asked to speak to a store manager.

When the smiling store manager approached and asked how he could help me, I gave him my most charming smile that didn't quite reach my eyes and calmly explained that we paid full price for an exorbitantly priced front door 9 months ago and it's still surrounded by a useless door frame that everyone climbs through because even though Lowes assures us our new screen door came in, they can't seem to pinpoint a time to get that installed for us. And then I stood there boring into his eyes while his smile slowly disappeared. Then he pulled out a piece of paper and said he'd take down my name and number and "look into it." 

That's when I ruined his day by explaining that I'm going to be staying right there in the store until we get to the bottom of this situation, me still smiling into his deer in the headlights stare. 

He then condescendingly explained to me that's not the way it works, so then I explained to him that their way doesn't work and it hasn't worked for nine whole months and I could've grown an entire human baby in the amount of time it's taken to get a screen door that fits on an exorbitantly priced and fully paid for door and that's the problem that brought me into Lowe's by myself so we're gonna try it my way today. 

Me still scary smiling. 

Realizing I wasn't going to budge, manager #1 led me back to manager #2's desk and told him the brief summary of what I needed. Then manage #2 pulled out a piece of paper and said he'd take down my number and call me back after he "looks into it." But I pulled out the chair across from his desk, sat down, and explained that he won't need to do that. 

Me. Smiling. 

Manager #2 wasn't smiling and actually looked physically ill. Manager #1 even asked him, "Are you ok?" And manager #2 said, "I don't feel good." To which I interjected, "I bet you'll feel better after we get our installation scheduled." 

Smiling. Always smiling.

Manager #1 escaped the scene and manager #2 called the installation company, told them what I needed and gave them my name and number. Then he got off the phone and told me, "They're going to call you. If they don't call you by noon, give me a call back and I'll call them again, okay?"

I sat my phone on his desk and said, "You'll know if they don't call." And I sat back and crossed my legs. Smiling. 

In a miraculous 20 minutes, we had the installation date set and to the relief of Lowe's Managers everywhere, I was leaving the premises. Everybody smiling. 

The new screen door was installed the following Monday.

Tuesday morning our 8 year old grandson arrived, ran his head through the frame, and was wearing our new screen door like a hat before anybody had a chance to remind him it had a new screen.

Wouldn't Lowes love to know who finally wiped the smile off my face.


 



Wednesday, September 20, 2023

The one where Jehovah's Witnesses regretted stopping by

I don't like unexpected visitors. If a car pulls into our driveway or somebody knocks on our door, I better know who they are and what they want because I'm not into surprises. That extends to phone calls too. There are like 8 people I'll answer an unexpected call from. Otherwise, leave a detailed message and I'll call you back after I'm mentally prepared to talk to you. Or don't leave a message and we can move forward and pretend that never happened. 

Part of it is due to my own anxiety and introvert-ness and a lot of it can be blamed on situations that happened when we used to live in a neighborhood where pushy people would knock on our door wanting to clean our carpets or guys selling meat out of the back of their pickup trucks. The final straw was when a guy with the name Sue tattooed across his neck knocked on our door and his opening line to me was "Would you like to take a look at my meat?" 

"Sue" almost got himself kicked in the meat that day.

Now fast forward to a couple of months ago, I was out watering my flowers when a white van slowed in front of our house. Thinking it was our contractor, I waved. But as it pulled in, I saw it was full of old people all dressed up and I knew this wouldn't end well for somebody. 

The white van was the first strike against them, because you might recall it was a white van that triggered a call to ADT and the transformation of our house into Fort Knox with cameras, motion sensors, security systems, and everything in between. Our 2 German Shepherds are the second line of defense. No need to detail our 3rd line of defense here, but if you know you know.

So while 2 old ladies climbed out of the van with clipboards and pamphlets, I walked inside to wait behind our useless and unstable screen door. (The story on that door is currently ongoing, but coming here real soon.) Ryder, our smaller German Shepherd, met them outside beside their van. Emma, our larger German Shepherd stayed inside beside me. 

One of the ladies was looking cautiously down at Ryder who stood continuously barking up at her and said, "He won't bite will he?" I replied, "Only if I tell him to." She nervously laughed and said, "You're not going to tell him to, are you?" And with a straight face I answered, "Depends on why you showed up to my house uninvited."

Let's get a couple things straight real quick. 
For one, Ryder's a girl but that's neither here nor there. 
For two, she's never bitten anyone that I know of, much less on command, but she's a rescue dog so I don't know her history. Just a word to the wise- your best bet is don't go onto somebody's property and ask if their dog bites. It's a dog. Assume it bites and do everyone a favor and don't show up at peoples houses uninvited. 

But undeterred, as Jehovah's Witnesses are known to be, both women stepped onto our porch and approached the (useless and unstable) screen door, which amped up the barking from all the dogs, making it impossible to hear anything she was saying. I just kept pointing to my ears and saying, "I can't hear you." 

She started to grab a pamphlet to give me as she yelled over the barking, "WE HAVE ENCOURAGING NEWS FOR YOU!" But when she reached into her bag, Emma lunged straight through our (useless and unstable) screen door and the women took off running screaming, jumped back into their van, and left without another word.

Unless their encouraging news is that they're going to get Lowes to finally replace our useless and unstable screen door, I doubt the van full of Jehovah's Witnesses comes back. 

Probably for the best. Our dogs don't like unexpected visitors either. Or pamphlets, apparently. And one of em's willing to dive through a door to shut that sh*t down. 


Wednesday, August 30, 2023

Jesus Talks

I don't compartmentalize Jesus. Any chance I get, I say His name. I'm not hesitant, embarrassed, or afraid to bring Him into conversations. As a matter of fact, I look for any opening that presents itself. 

Not because I'm a good Christian who lives a good Christian life and I think you need savin'. Quite the opposite, actually. Believe me when I tell you my list of regrets, struggles, sins, fears, traumas, insecurities, failures...they're all fresh in my mind because Satan keeps reminding me. (Usually on a loop at 3am.) 

If you know me at all, you know I speak openly and honestly about the mess that I am. Why am I so upfront about the crap that haunts me? 

Because it automatically gives me a reason to say it:
"But JESUS."

Remember when you did that? 
"But JESUS."
Remember when you said that? 
"But JESUS."
Remember how you still do this even though you know it's wrong? 
"But JESUS."

"But JESUS. But JESUS! But JESUS!!"

Satan will never stop.
Neither will I.

There is power in the name of Jesus and Jesus loves me!
And if Jesus loves a hot mess like me, He surely loves you too!

So if I'm talking about Jesus to myself at 3am and to anyone I encounter throughout my day, it's a no-brainer that Jesus talks happen on the regular with our kids and grand babies. It's not forced and I don't sit everyone down for a daily sermon, although my kids might remember differently about their childhood. I just speak His name like He's a member of our family who's in our house with us- because He.is.

For instance, every day at rest time, as I tucked our two youngest granddaughters into bed, I asked them, "Who loves you the mostest?" And they teased me with wrong answers until I yelled, "JESUS!"

It's the last name they heard spoken over them before they went to sleep.

One day Scarlet woke up from her nap and sat with me on the couch and I asked her, "What do you think I love most about you?" 

To be honest, my answer was going to be her huge sassy personality that refuses to follow the crowd and is destined to lead someday.

But without hesitation she answered, "My heart."
Surprised by that, I asked, "Why do you think I love your heart the most?"
And she said, "Because Jesus lives there and you always love Jesus."

*chills*
I wasn't about to let this opportunity pass, so I continued- "Did you ask Jesus into your heart? Because He doesn't just come in there. He waits to be invited."

Without missing a beat, she answered- "I talked to Him last night and told Him He could come in there and spend one night. He's going back to His house tomorrow."

And that right there is a glimpse of Scarlet.
Six years old now. 
Baby stepping toward salvation. 

Aren't we all?

The deeper levels of meaning you can attach to that conversation have been at the forefront of my mind. How many times do we invite Jesus into our lives, but on our terms?

Okay Jesus, you can be here today because it's a good day and I feel ya.
Okay Jesus, imma need you to head back to your house for awhile because I know you won't approve of what I'm about to do.
Stay put, I got this one Jesus.
Everything's falling apart, where you at Jesus?

I'm guilty of it and Satan loves nothing more than to shame me into believing that I'm a failure every time I get myself into another mess and call out to Jesus, because Jesus has obviously given up on me by now.

But Jesus isn't like that. He loves me with an overwhelming-never-ending-leaves the 99 for-reckless kind of love. Every single day. He's not a one and done figure painted onto my life portrait. He's the artist, and as long as I'm alive, I'm his masterpiece in the making and so are you. Even when I get it wrong.

Speaking of getting it wrong, awhile back, Scarlet asked me where babies come from.
As the grandparent, answering that with biological facts is outside of my lane, so I said "Babies come from mommies tummies!" She shot back with, "Nooo, they come from Jesus. I can't believe you got that wrong." 

I walked right into that one.

So for anyone reading this today who needs to hear it- Say it out loud: "JESUS." 

And for myself- a cracked pot, work in progress, repeat offender, baby steppin', lost sheep who needs Him to come find me every single day- I call out "JESUS!" 

If you haven't met Him, I'd love to talk with you about Him- reach out to me or click the link to check out this song and Let Me Tell You About My Jesus


Wednesday, August 16, 2023

The one where they dragged me to a Bigfoot festival

Ron believes in Bigfoot. I shielded our son Zac from such a fate, but apparently neglected to protect our grandson and now Ace is also a Bigfoot believer. At least it skipped one generation. Chuckles (as our grandkids call him) and Ace can regularly be found huddled together watching anything involving Bigfoot. Expedition Bigfoot, Finding Bigfoot, Hunting Bigfoot, Mountain Monsters, and throw in a little Destination Fear for good measure and periodic nightmares.

A few months ago, Ron, Caymen, Ace, and Zac drove to Pennsylvania to tour the infamous Pennhurst Asylum and meet the cast of Mountain Monsters and Destination Fear. Caymen went because she'll never pass up a road trip and she has a crush on Dakota from Destination Fear. Granted, so do I, but not enough to road trip to Pennsylvania. Zac tagged along because somebody had to be the adult supervision.

A little side story. Bigfoot is not the only thing Chuckles and Ace have in common. If you're familiar with the old sitcom 'The King of  Queens' they're both very much like Arthur Spooner who lived in their basement. That's how their nicknames Spooner Senior and Spooner Junior were lovingly born. Someday I'll blog about the Spooners and their very strong opinions and very big feelings. That skipped Zac too. 

But back to Bigfoot. We were scheduled to babysit Ace and Scarlet the first weekend in August and Ron suggested we take them to the Hocking Hills Bigfoot festival and stay in a hotel. Caymen was all for it because road trip, but zero part of me wanted to spend a day at a Bigfoot festival and a night in a hotel room with both Spooners. But with Zac out of town and our other kids having to work, that left me to be the adult supervision on this trip. A sad state of affairs, I admit, but that's how it landed. 

My first job as the adult supervision was to refuse his demands to take his Sasquatch costume to scare people. I told him absolutely not and he threw a minor fit. Sorry, but watching my husband get shot in the woods of Hocking Hills is not on my bucket list. Oh, you thought I was talking about our grandson? Nope. That was Spooner Senior, everybody. 

So we loaded up in the van. Ron, Caymen, Ace, Scarlet, me, and our oldest dog Quincy, the only one who can travel on trips and be trusted not to act a fool. I wish I could say the same for the humans.

Our first stop was lunch. Most of us wanted Mexican, but Ace hates cheese which apparently disqualifies all Mexican food so we ended up at The Hungry Buffalo. It has a pet friendly patio and the waitress brought Quincy a large bowl of water, which Ace promptly stepped in and immediately had to remove his wet sock and shoe to dry on a nearby railing, almost ruining the entire day for him. Then our nacho appetizer arrived with cheese and he went over the edge. Spooner Junior, everybody.

Next stop- our hotel, where a lady approached us in the lobby pointing at Ron and Ace's matching Bigfoot shirts and asked, "Why is this big monster thing so popular here?" Ron excitedly answered, "Because there's been SIGHTINGS!" Overhearing the conversation, the front desk lady quickly interjected before things escalated into who knows what, "Well, word of sightings happen anywhere there's heavily wooded areas..." and I finished her sentence, "or heavy populations of hillbillies." *points to the senior Spooner* 

Note to front desk lady- I'm normal. I married into this.

We found our room and within 90 seconds of entering, Ace pulled the refrigerator out of it's cabinet and Caymen came out of the bathroom proudly announcing she'd found a hair dryer hanging on the back of the door that "someone forgot." Orrr, and stick with me here, maybe that's the complimentary hair dryer that comes with the room. 

Good lord, what have we done?
Family meeting: "We've stayed in hotels before. Let's everybody get it together and stop sounding like a lunatic to strangers in the lobby while we're at it." *side eyeing you, senior.*

We decided it'd be best if Sassy everyone took a little nap before doing anything else. Ace looked at the 2 queen beds and asked "Where's Sassy sleeping?" 

"Excuse me, sir? Chuckles and I are sleeping in this bed. You're sleeping over there with Scarlet and Caymen."

Flash to 10 minutes later when I was laying with my head on the bedside table while both Spooners lay cuddled beside me in the bed. I lost that war hard and fast.

The festival didn't have anything fun for Scarlet, so she and I stayed at the hotel pool. There was nothing there to play with, so I gave her some pennies to dive for and she was amazed. Welcome to old school dive toys, kid. 
Apparently the festival was pretty boring and although they saw 'Wild Bill' from Mountain Monsters, "he was too hot and grumpy for pictures." I can only imagine how the two Spooners found that out. So they came back to the hotel and started watching the Bigfoot marathon on tv. There's a reason I never leave home without a book.

Around 5:30, Ron suggested we 'go on a hike through the Moonville Tunnel down near Bubbawoods Trail.' Everything about that suggestion was alarming. He explained that it used to be a train track but now it's a hiking trail that leads to an old school a mile down, then we'd turn around and come back. Sounded easy enough.

In reality, what we did was take 2 of our grandchildren on an unscheduled and unsupervised Sasquatch Hike (aka; Squatch and Seek...I wish I was making that up) in a sketchy area with no phone signal that turned out to be far longer than 'a mile down each way' because my husband lies to get his way. 

My first clue that we should leave was when there was what appeared to be a woman living in her car in the parking lot. The second clue was the 4 people walking toward us through the tunnel singing 'Take me home country roads,' a song I used to like until I heard it being sung Acapella through a tunnel by people who looked like the cast of Children of the Corn. I took my phone out and started recording so someone might find it as evidence if we disappeared. Not even kidding.

On top of all that, it was 6:45pm and trying to walk a mile each way with a slow mover (Ron, not the children), we'd be racing sunset. The last thing I wanted was to end up somewhere on this Moonville path in the dark and the flashlights we carried weren't nearly as comforting as Ron thought they were.

If this had been a movie, I would've been calling us idiots through the screen.

The tunnel singers turned out to be a harmless family who ended up wanting to take a picture with Ron and Ace and their Bigfoot shirts. The Spooners have obviously hit celebrity status. Once their fans left, we started on our way. 

As expected, Ace and I walked faster than Ron and the girls, so we ended up quite a ways ahead of them. I told Ace at first sign of that school, we're turning back. While we walked, Ace filled me in on the back story of the school. He explained that the old school burned down a long time ago and some children died and some children got out and they rebuilt a new one. (The following day, I confronted Ron about filling an 8 year olds head with tragic stories. He didn't know anything about a fire. Caymen googled it): 

Meanwhile, sitting on Chuckle's shoulders, Scarlet was having a nonstop conversation under her breath. When Ron finally said, "I can't understand what you're saying." 
She answered, "I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to my flashlight."

For future reference, it's not our place to take the grandchildren to places that could scare them and/or possess them. File this under things I shouldn't have to say.

Eventually giving up on finding the school, we turned and met back up with Ron and the girls. When you've walked so far you have to carry the dog, you know you've walked too far.

Ron and the girls were busy taking pictures of broken trees, because Bigfoot,

obviously. As we trucked along the ever-darkening path through the woods, Quincy darted after what I thought was a long black stick, but then it slithered across our path, and that's when I peed my pants. Like, abruptly. Straight down my leg. 

That's right, the adult in charge is the one who peed her pants. The irony is not lost on me, I assure you, and the Spooners will never let this go.  

Before anybody asks me why I didn't Kegel, let me remind you that A HUGE BLACK RAT SNAKE SLITHERED IN FRONT OF ACE, ME, AND QUINCY. There was ZERO Kegel time! Also, my Kegel game is weak, but mostly there was no time. 

It's not like my bladder completely emptied, so I real casual like dropped my shorts for a quick little Squatch and Pee, when I glanced up and found Ron taking pictures of me. Oh now dude walks fast and catches up. He said if the roles were reversed, I'd be taking pictures of him and I'd blog it. He's not wrong. So here I am forced to be on the receiving end of my own hilarity. 

He earned back some marital points when he stopped to carve our initials on a bridge and we made it back to our van right before we lost all daylight. The kids didn't seem too traumatized as they babbled on the whole ride back to the hotel about how Sassy peed her pants. 

I don't even care. Whatever stopped Ace from his telepathic history lessons and Scarlet conversing with inanimate objects was fine with me. Just add it to the list of things we'd have to explain to their parents.

The following morning, we got up early for the hotel breakfast before heading home. AGAINST MY WISHES, Ron brought Quincy with us to breakfast. I know better. I need you to understand that. So I wasn't at all surprised when he and Quincy both got kicked out of the breakfast area.

Ace wanted to bring his peanut butter bread with us to eat later, so I reluctantly asked the nice employee if he had a ziplock bag. I'm a huge stickler for buffet etiquette and you don't ask for take home bags. But you also don't bring your dog in there either, so may as well ask since we were already in the thick of it.

He very kindly brought me a gallon size bag, which was all he could find. Ron appeared back in the breakfast line, minus Quincy, and as I cleaned up our area, I noticed the breakfast line backing up at the pancake station and looked up to see both Spooners overly involved with the pancake conveyor belt. I'm not a fan of being a spectacle at hotel breakfasts, so I loud whispered "Ron!" They turned around with a plate overflowing with pancakes and I growled "Ronnn!"

As if it made it better, he hurriedly explained "Half of them are Ace's!"

Just as the employee began to approach us again, Ace grabbed a handful of pancakes off the plate and tried to force feed me one before dropping the rest of them into his 'to go' bag.

I waved off the employee. 
                                          We'll show ourselves out.
Our 4 little Bigfoots


Wednesday, August 9, 2023

On the 8th day, Sassy rested

 Let me tell you about my first week of August.

Ron was working in Mexico the first 3 days. I don't think I know any wife out there who loves it when her husband is away, but I definitely don't. Not only do I miss him terribly, but I'm not smart enough to be left alone for extended periods of time. It's ok, I know myself well enough to admit that. Logistically speaking, Ron runs this circus. When he travels, he's basically leaving the clown in charge of all the monkeys and I just hold my breath and hope nothing hits the fan while he's away. Thankfully we raised kids much smarter than me who live on standby when Ron travels.

On the 3rd day, two of our grandchildren arrived for an extended stay while their parents went on a little getaway. 

On the 4th day, we took them to The Big Foot Festival for an overnight stay in a hotel.

On the 5th day, after a day of boating, our other two grandchildren came home with us for a night swim and a Sassy slumber party with all four. 

On the 6th day, Chuckles (aka; Ron) took them all to church while I listened to online church and cleaned the house. I call that a mental health morning, cuz cleaning and restoring order calms my mind and soul. Is that all moms or just me? 

On the 7th day, I had my regular schedule of classes as well as all four grandchildren for our normal summer Monday.

I was blessed to be a stay at home mom with our four children and I'm blessed to be a stay at home Sassy for our four grandchildren...but I'm old now.

So on the 8th day, SASSY RESTED.

I've been planning it for weeks. I blocked out the entire day for my perfectly perfect day off. No classes, no writing, no cooking, no cleaning...nothing. I don't know how you spend your perfectly perfect day off, but let's just say I'm no Ferris Bueller. My goal is not to go do all the things. My goal is to stay at home and do nothinggggg.

Yesterday consisted of snacks, takeout, movies, sleep, no pants, and a bottomless margarita with Ron who scheduled the day off with me.
*Hangs sign*
Ron's a Ferris Bueller, so yesterday was not his dream day off. 
But he did it for me, because Big Foot Festival

I'll give ya two guesses whose idea that was.
Hint: Not mine.
Tune in next week when I'll be back to write the one where he dragged me to a big foot festival against my will.