Shark Week

No, I'm not referring to the annual week long special devoted to sharks on the Discovery Channel.  I'm talking about my PMS. 

Our family is fun.  (Some might argue irresponsible, but whatever.)  There are now 9 of us out to have a good time, freely admitting there's minimal adult supervision, and occasionally things go awry.  We're totally used to that and if you've read this blog at all, you are too.  Most of the time, I roll with it.  Occasionally, I get frustrated.  Like, rarely.  I'm talkin hardly ev-er. 

But here's what pisses me off.  When Shark Week unfortunately coincides with our family vacation to Hilton Head Island, where fun is priority #1 and mishaps are at an all-time high, if I happen to ever-so-barely lose my cool, let's everyone stop making eye contact with each other across the room and sure as hell stop with the under-your-breath Jaw's theme song because I'm "putting off a scary vibe."
Duuuh, duh.  Duuuh, duh...Shut it, Chuckles.

So let me break it down for ya and you can draw your own conclusions, because in my opinion, any sane non-pms'ing person would have gotten equally as irritated as I did...

...when someone from Schuler's Bakery came up with the lame-brain idea to make their doughnut boxes taller causing it to not fit on top of the dashboard and 2 hours into our journey came sliding off and scattered our dozen chocolate covered creme-filled dough balls of heaven straight across my crotch and the floor of our van.  If ever the 3 second rule applied, that was it.  "Duuuh, duh."

...when somewhere in North Carolina, my bladder was about to explode and 3, count em THREE, different gas stations told me their bathrooms were "out of order" and I might have flipped the double bird to an entire town.  "Duuuh, duh."

...when I ended up jumping out of the van while we were stopped at a light, ran across 4 lanes of traffic to a McDonald's and straight into the nearest bathroom stall.  Ya know, the one with no toilet paper.  "Duuuh, duh."

...when just half a mile down the highway from that disastrous exit we passed the South Carolina welcome center.  "Duuuh duh..."

...when the morning of our 2nd day, Ron inflated a giant double inter-tube in the middle of our condo living room.  Over top the pull-out couch where our youngest daughter and grandson were laying.  Right beside the table where my full cup of coffee sat.  In my defense, I wasn't the only one screaming that time.  "Duuuh duh..."

...when he finally convinced me to ride the waves on the super fun inter-tube and I heard him yell something about "a good one" and the next thing I knew I'd knocked down 2 little girls and was sitting in the sand with my bikini top around my waist.  No tan lines today, kids.  "Duuuh duh..."

...when Ron lost another hat and pair of sunglasses in the ocean.  Thus bringing his grand total over the course of 17 years of Hilton Head trips to 27 hats and 22 pairs of sunglasses. "Duuuh duh..."

 ...when everyone decided that I would lead our evening bike ride and then no one kept up with me.  "Duuuh duh..."

...when I was taking our annual 'Watch Us Grow' pictures of all of our kids at the playground and a random little girl kept posing herself into the shot.  "Duuuh duh..."

 ...when Ron and I were sitting by the pool one night and Zac called me on the phone and said, "3-2-1..." before using his water balloon launcher to fling tennis balls at us from our 4th floor condo balcony.  "Duuuh duh..."

...when Ron tried to use the "finders keepers" defense over an inflatable beach ball he took from a little girl's dad at the pool.  "Duuuh duh..."

...when we unsuccessfully tried the same defense over the super cool sand hole, complete with carved in bench seats, we found abandoned on the beach one day.  By the time the family who created it returned from lunch, we'd re-designed it to fit our grandson's baby pool, accidentally caved in a bench seat (or 2), and set up our shade tent over the entire thing.  FINE!!!  TAKE YOUR DAMN HOLE BACK!!!
"Duuuh duh..."

 ...when the local ice cream shop "ran out" of large containers, had to put our giant Brownie Feasts in small ones, and then tried to convince us that we're still getting the same serving size.
Oh, nuh uh, Frozen Moo.  You picked the wrong day to mess.
"Duh DUUUUUUHHHH!"

That wasn't just me.

My whole family had my back on that one.

   

 

Dog Days of Summer

You all know Summer, right?  She's our loveable 12 year old Beagle/Dalmation mix and you might remember, she's had a pretty rough year.  It started last May when our German Shepherd puppy found rat poison as told in the original Dog Days post and we thought we might lose all 3 of our dogs, but thankfully didn't.

Things escalated last October when we thought Summer lost one of her eyes during Fright Night.  We took her to the Vet expecting the worst, but it turns out her eye's not completely gone, but rather missing part of the time and more often than not Caymen announces, "Hey!  Summer has an eye today!"  Which in Caymen's mind is the deciding factor for Summer's quality of life each day.

But for a 12 year old beagle who eats a little less, walks a little slower, tolerates an unruly rolling eye, and frequently chews her belly until we toss her a Benadryl tablet, she's holding her own, ya know?

That is until this morning when she wouldn't get off of Caymen's bed to eat her food.  No biggie.  Everybody needs to sleep in once in a while.  But 8 hours later when I heard her crying and she had to be lifted off the bed, I knew this might really be Summer's last hurrah.  So I headed for the Veterinarian's office and called Ron to meet me there while I silently cried. 

Normally when we enter the Vet's office, Summer has already worked herself into an excited mess of gagging heaves and we burst into their waiting area in a spray of white froth spewing from her mouth.  But today she allowed us time to fully open the door and we walked in slowly like a normal family.  Heartbreaking.  Then they weighed her which I assumed was to ensure they administered the proper dose of farewell meds and I fought tears in my eyes.

Then we were escorted to room 3 where we waited for the doctor.
He walked in, took one look at her and said, "She's thrown her back out."
Whoa.  Wait.  Whaaat?

The next 15 minutes were filled with Ron and I being lectured on the dangers of allowing dogs to jump onto and off of furniture, followed by his plan for her extended care which included monthly shots, regular doses of anti-inflammatory pills and strict orders for us to carry her up and down stairs from here on out.

Ron's immediate response:  "Well none of that's gonna happen."

Look, we're the people who signed up to host a foreign exchange student for a summer 7 years ago and when they asked if we'd be willing to accept one with food allergies we said that won't work.  We know ourselves well enough to know that we lack adult supervision and keeping healthy people alive around here is all the responsibility we're willing to accept.  We're simple folk.  We need low maintenance.  They matched us with an awesome 14 year old named Kosuke who woke early and asked about chores. We spent the next 2 months feeding him and teaching him the joy of sleeping late and taking naps.  When he boarded the plane home, 15 lbs heavier, Ron said, "We ruined a perfectly good Japanese boy, didn't we?"  But hey, we kept him alive.  

So, expensive high maintenance elderly dog?  Well, no, that won't work either.  But we're also not willing to watch that sweet dog be in pain for the rest of her days.

So $55 dollars, 1 shot and 10 days worth of anti-inflammatory pills later, we arrived back home with Summer and the agreement that we'll help her up and down stairs, give her 1/2 an aspirin twice a day as needed should she ever slip another disc...and it just so happens I'm a massage therapist so I think a special furry someone might just find herself on the receiving end of some daily treatments.  

We're nothing if not willing to compromise...especially for the love of a sweet, occasionally 1-eyed, beagle. 

Chuck E. ChEaster

Chuck E. Cheese's.  Where a kid can be a kid.

Which is precisely why I can't stand that place.  

Why in the world would a mom of any children of her own, willingly subject herself to an afternoon of confinement in a hamster cage of tubes, slides, bells and whistles, with a multitude of undisciplined children and the parents who raised them, in a place that encourages everyone to loudly run amok while large stuffed animals singing on stage blares in the background? 

And let's be honest, anyplace that has to stamp matching numbers on a parent's hand to ensure they take their unruly offspring home with them when they leave is not my happy place.

But hey, I also despise Disney World and anything having to do with the movie Frozen, so I'm accustomed to being in the minority, and in my family, I'm definitely in the minority. 
(Flash to my husband, ringleader of all shenanigans, and major contributor to Chuck E. Cheese no longer furnishing a ball pit.)

So about 10 years ago, we found a compromise, and now every year we go to Chuck E. Cheese after church.  On Easter.    Who in the crap goes to Chuck E. Cheese on Easter?  We do.  Because NOBODY is there.  Because it's Easter.

We attend the earliest church service and arrive at Chuck E's when they open.  The kids (and Ron) make their rounds gathering all the tickets protruding from the machines where the employees started them up that morning.  We place our pizza order.  I do the mom-thing...watch a few games, take a few pictures...and then I settle into a booth with my library book.  Everybody wins.

But this year was slightly different because it wasn't about the mom thing for me.  We have a grandson now, so much to my surprise, I was all about this new grandma thing...or Sassy...which is what I'm now called. 

Gone was my wish for  peace and quiet.  No, no.  Suddenly, I'm growing increasingly infuriated that the giant stuffed animals on the stage were silently pounding away on their instruments and the only sound you heard was the clicking of their plastic eyes opening and closing, because this sweet baby boy I'm pushing in the stroller is not getting the full Chuck E. Cheese experience he deserves, dammit!!

So off we went to file a complaint with the 17 year old hand-stamper who explained that sometimes the animals take a break. 

Okay, she knows they're stuffed, right?  And even if they weren't stuffed, real animals wouldn't be playing in a band.  Maybe she's drunk.  So I bit back my super-witty reply and continued strollering. 

Half hour later, I could take the clicking of the plastic eyes no more, returned to the underage drinker and explained that they're still not singing.  Then she replied, "You know they don't really sing, right?" 
Oh, you wanna go?!  Let's goooo.

This is why we can't go to nice places.

Much to my grandson's delight, the animals eventually snapped out of their 'break' and 3 hours later we left with everyone exhausted, their bellies full of pizza, and he with his 10 dollar Chuck E. Cheese ball, purchased with $140 dollars worth of tokens. 

Worth it.

Downhill From Here, Part II

I left off with Zac and I checked into a cabin in Tennessee while Ron, Kearstin, Caymen, Barbara and the baby sat in the van at the top of a mountain with a half mile of steep snow covered hills between us and no cell service. 

This was going nowhere fast and we knew we had to make the inevitable climb back up to the van so we decided to start running.  By the time we got there, it was pitch dark, I couldn't breathe, had numb fingers, frozen snot across my cheek and I no longer felt guilty about the lunch I'd eaten at Golden Corral earlier in the day.  As a matter of fact, my only regret was that we hadn't stayed longer, but I digress.

Nick and Aubrey were still about an hour away when Ron texted them the situation.  We tried to find another route to the cabin, but there was none.  That left us with one thing to do.  We parked our van along the side of the road, everyone took luggage, I grabbed the food and drink bags and we started hiking to the cabin.  Zac and Barbara ran ahead as fast as they could with the baby.  Kearstin and Caymen were in front of me and Ron followed behind.  My goal was to keep the girls within my sights, which worked fine until my feet went out from under me, I landed with a slam onto one of the food bags and slid past them as I rode a bag of potato chips down the mountain.  When I spun to a sloppy stop at the bottom, Kearstin's voice broke the silence from somewhere behind me when she said, "Daaaaaaaamn."

Shut it, girlie.  I saved the wine. 
I. Saved. The. Wine.

We finally made it to the cabin where I poured a glass and soaked my aching bones in the jet tub

while Zac and Ron made the climb back up to meet Nick and Aubrey and help them hike down with all of their stuff.

Once everyone was safely settled in, the fun and laughter that followed was everything you'd ever hope for a family's first getaway to the mountains. 

That lasted until noon the next day when we started to get hungry for more than breakfast cereal and snacks.  The original plan was to go indoor skydiving and out to dinner to celebrate Aubrey and Caymen's birthdays, but we'd given up on that when we barely made it to the cabin at all.  But one way or another, we had to get food.  It was eventually decided that the guys would take the hike back up and check out the road conditions in the light of day after a morning of warm, hopefully melting, sunlight.

An hour later, I was thrilled to see our van pull into the cabin driveway.  Twenty minutes after that, we were stuck in the middle of a steep hill while the guys used a shovel, floor mats and box of kitty litter to inch our van slowly up the mountain.

Where'd we get a shovel and kitty litter, you might ask?  Well, Nick and Aubrey read the warning email the cabin company sent and they packed some of the "recommended supplies." 
Brilliant, I tell ya.

By late afternoon, we were happily signing our lives away on indoor skydiving waivers.  An experience that Caymen will never forget as the young instructor gave her a lot of attention with some special tricks that included a personal flight with him to the very top of the tunnel.  I asked her if she was scared and she answered, "No.  I knew he was a trained professional."

Trained professional / 17 year old kid with a weekend skydiving job...6 of 1, half dozen of another.

After a birthday dinner at Blue Moose and cupcakes from GiGi's, we slid back down the mountain where we got stuck again and Nick and the cupcakes almost went down a steep ravine trying to help guide Ron who was driving the van up the hill leading to our cabin, backward, in the dark.

Miraculously, everyone survived our family weekend and Sunday morning we drove back up the mountain uneventfully, leaving sunny Tennessee, predicting 50 degrees that day, and headed home to our forecast calling for 6-8 inches of snow.

Seven hours later, we arrived home...got stuck in our driveway...and for the 3rd time that weekend, carried our stuff through the snow. 
But hey, nobody fell down or had to pee outside.

In this family, you recognize the silver lining...

...if you can find one.

Downhill From Here, Part I

A couple of months ago, Zac called and asked if we'd be interested in a family weekend with all of us together in a cabin in Tennessee the following month.  Um, let me think...YES!!!

And with that, it's my belief that somewhere in the heavenly realms an emergency meeting of the guardian angels was called and all hands on deck were ordered to be on Courter-duty the last weekend of February.

Apparently, Tennessee spent much of their winter dealing with snow, because a few days before we were scheduled to leave, we all received an email warning us to "come prepared with extra food, equipment and supplies" and were "strongly urged" to travel in a 4-wheel drive vehicle.

So on Friday morning Zac and Ron loaded up our 2-wheel drive mini-van with 2 days worth of clothes, snacks and breakfast cereal (read: the exact amount of food and supplies we'd originally planned), and then threw in a fire starter log and lighter.  Voila.  "Equipment."

Zac, Barbara and the baby were riding with us.  Aubrey and Nick were driving separately and planned to arrive later that night. 

We were a little worried about the road conditions we might encounter, but the further into Tennessee we drove and experienced no problems whatsoever, we began to let down our guard and do what we do...make fun of those dramatic Tennessee residents and their obvious intolerance for a little snow.  At one point as we climbed the mountain, a snow plow passed us going the other way with it's plow scraping dry ground and throwing off sparks.
Tennessee.  Psh.  Stooopid.

We eventually made a sharp right onto the road leading down to our cabin and there in the middle, blocking our way, was a 4-wheel drive vehicle with it's hazards on.  Come on, dude.  MOVE.  So Ron maneuvered around to the left of the guy and then quickly realized why he was stopped when we found ourselves staring straight down a steep hill that disappeared around a hairpin turn that was covered in a solid sheet of ice and snow.  Ron slammed on his brakes, we all gasped and instinctively pressed ourselves into the backs of our seats as if we were teetering on the edge of a cliff while Kearstin screamed from the back. 

Alright, Tennessee.
We'll see you your drama and raise you some panic.

Somehow it was decided that everyone else would wait in the van while Zac and I walked to the cabin to survey the situation, me in my yoga pants and ugg boots.  I mean, how far could it be, right?  Turns out, half a mile going downhill, then uphill and around curves in the bitter cold is far enough to have to make a pee stop in the middle of the road where Zac got a little fancy with his.  Mine, which resembled steaming demonic markings in the snow, was nothing to photograph. 

We finally reached our cabin.  The cabin named, 'Amazing Grace.'  Clearly, God has a sense of humor.

Obviously, the van was not going to make it to the cabin and daylight was quickly fading.  Zac called the rental agency and told them we couldn't reach the cabin and they gave us a phone number to call to "apply for a refund" which is code for: Screw you and your mini-van, too.

He knew the key code, so we decided to go in and get warm before trekking back up the mountain to the rest of the family.  After several unsuccessful attempts, he called the agency back to find out how to work the key pad.  She was surprised to hear that we'd made it to our cabin when just 2 minutes ago, we reported that we couldn't.  Zac explained that he and I had walked there and the rest of the family, including a 3 month old infant, was currently sitting in a mini-van at the top of the mountain.  To which she
replied, "Then I'll mark you as checked in."

And with that, Zac's cell phone lost service.
Damn you, Tennessee.

To be continued...

Be My Valen-Crime

It might surprise you to know that we don't go looking for trouble.  It might also surprise you to know that sometimes we catch ourselves and reign it in when we recognize the potential for trouble.

For example, when Kearstin got her iPhone she began receiving calls regarding a warrant for the arrest of  a guy named Miles Davis.  Then Miles Davis's mom started calling for him.  That's when Ron thought he could "set up a sting" and use the mom to lure Miles Davis to the police.  And I said, "Or, Nooooooooooo we won't do that."  And we stayed safely uninvolved where we belong and for all we know Mr. Miles Davis is still at large. 

But sadly, there are those occasions when we stumble into some trouble, become deeply enmeshed, and then it's too late.

Which brings us to the 2nd grade Valentine party of 2015.
More specifically, the take home treat bags.

When I headed down to the massage room for my last client of the day, Caymen was happily sifting through her treats from her class party.  An hour later, when I returned upstairs, Ron and Caymen were waiting for me in the kitchen.  "Look what she found in her goodie bag!"  And there on the counter was an unmarked pouch of clear liquid.

On the outside, I stayed completely rational as I praised Caymen for doing the right thing by bringing us something that didn't look appropriate for a treat bag.  Then I took a picture and calmly sent it to her teacher asking for her input and then naturally I posted the picture to my facebook asking 'What the crap?'  As you do.

All the while on the inside I'd spun wildly out of control, plotting the end of any and all take home goodie bags now and forEVER and became a person rivaling any Jehovah's Witness who demands the ban of all things good and fun.  And I was totally okay with that.

Obviously, this was a serious matter and the teacher acted accordingly.  The Superintendent was contacted and of course the police would eventually become involved so that forensics could determine what was in the pouch.

And just that quick, we're throwing around words like forensics.

I sat texting the teacher back and forth as we tried to get to the bottom of this potentially disastrous situation when you stop to consider how many other kids might have received one.

Ron sat googling 'What does Heroin look like?'  I can only imagine what Homeland Security thinks of us at this point.

I was uncomfortable having it in our house, so the teacher suggested I put it in a plastic baggie, we'd meet at the school, and she'd take it from there.

I asked Caymen to describe to me exactly how she came to find the pouch.  She said, "I opened the bag in the bag of the bag that (so and so) gave me."

Ron looked up and said, "How pissed is that kid's parents gonna be when they find out she gave their stash away in goodie bags?"  Sometimes Chuckles should just stay quiet and google.

Before she could ask what a stash is, I asked her what she did with the bags and she said, "I threw them all away...even the one with the instructions." 

Whoa.  Baaaaack the drug bust up.  Instructions?

Off to dig through the trash we went.  She pulled out each of the bags and lo and behold, the smallest bag was made of foil and had instructions:
1.  Smack the Pack 
2.  Watch and Wait
3.  See the Surprise...a Balloon inflates before your eyes.

Sooooo.  Maybe, that wasn't Heroin, but Helium?

In summary, we involved the guidance counselor and superintendent...sounds about right...then met Caymen's teacher in the school parking lot at 10:30 on a Friday night to pass her a baggie through our mini-van window that quite possibly contained the pouch intended to inflate a tiny Valentine balloon.

I'm fully expecting to receive a few follow-up calls Monday morning.

I'm also fully prepared to blame this whole thing on a Mr. Miles Davis.  If you know him, tell him his mom's looking for him.

22

Today is our 22nd anniversary.

Twenty-two of the hardest, but most wonderful years of my life spent with my best friend.  Our lives so intertwined that I can't tell where mine ends and his begins.  Joy in the memories we've made, excitement for the adventures to come, and contentment in our here and now.  

And yet, I'm finding this post hard to write. 

On the heels of a year where we witnessed the effects of Satan's marital grenades hitting too close to home, I'm sitting here with so little to say, yet so much that could be said.

I could talk about the collateral damage that ensues when you watch marriages end and it occurs to us that we might be a happily married couple today, but at some point might decide we're not so happy after all.
Paranoia.  Distrust.  Fear.

I could talk about watching the marriages that battle back and win.
Forgiveness.  Hope.  Victory.  

I could talk about the things we do within our own marriage to guard against potential areas of attack.
Safeguards.  Boundaries.  Accountability.

I could talk about the things everyone already knows in how to stay connected with each other.
Dating.  Intimacy.  Communication. 

But here's the deal.  Only God knows the intricate details within a marriage.  There's no formula or blanket statements that apply to everyone as a whole and it's not for anyone on the outside to judge.  The only thing I do know is that each and every one of us will answer for our own actions and the ripple effects that those actions cause.

So for me personally, at the end of the day, it all boils down to this:
Am I going to do what I vowed to do 22 years ago?  Even when it's hard?  Or on days I'm not happy?  For better or for worse?  For richer, for poorer?  In sickness and in health?  Till death do us part? 

You're damn right I am. 

Ron,
Thank you for your unconditional love and please forgive me for all the areas where I fall short.  It's my honor to faithfully spend the rest of my life by your side.  Your best friend, your lover, your wife.

I love you.

'What God has joined together, let no one separate.'

Mark 10:9