No Eye Deer

Its the punchline to one of my favorite jokes.

I'll get to that later.

Well, it has been over a year since I last wrote...and in the last few months it seems to have been missed.

"When are you going to blog again?"

I have been asked in the grocery store. At weddings. At funerals. At work. Crazy, huh?

And though my usual response was, "soon," really, in my head I was really thinking..."I have no idea."

Its not that funny,crazy, bloggable events haven't occurred here in the past year, but I have just been so busy! Busy with work, with schedules, Words With Friends, oh... and those darned kids!!

No Eye Deer.

I heard this joke again.

It suddenly came to me...

Things I had no idea about...

I guess the biggest change has come with the growth of my children.

Especially Nick.

Nick turned 14 last month.

Nick has grown taller and more handsome with every minute. I mean, have you seen the kid? He is playing hockey for the Portland Junior Pirates. He is an honor student in the eighth grade. He has a...hmpf...girlfriend.

In the months leading up to Christmas, Nick started asking about wearing contact lenses. "It really makes sense, Mom, all my friends have them."

Oh, great. The "ALL MY FRIENDS" reasoning...I am very familiar with this tactic. It wasn't too long ago that I used it...

(Remember SUN-IN? Yeah, ALL MY FRIENDS WERE DOING IT)...

But I did some checking, and, sure enough...many of his friends DO have contact lenses.

Ugh. REALLY? I for one cannot touch, talk about, look into, or even read news articles about...EYEBALLS.

I cannot "pull down your eyelid" to see if there is an eyelash. Mine or Yours.

I will suffer with any foreign object in my eye before I let anyone near it. I will let it stay in there forever. I will. I can look at brains, guts and broken bones.

But I don't handle eyeball related issues.

PLUS, this is a child, I mean, young man, who I still have to remind to brush his teeth! (Sorry Nick. I know you read this, but it is true).

I can't be responsible for lost lenses, reaching into his head to retrieve one..or...two...I mean, I've heard horror stories.

I can't help him put them in or take them out.

Sissy? ABSOLUTLEY. But just like I will never go camping, drink an "Irish Car Bomb," or dye my hair red again, I know what I will do, and what I WILL NEVER DO.

But alas, Between Nick and EVERY man in his life, I was swayed to make him an appointment. Of course I would be the one taking him...

I could not stress to him enough that he had to be 100 Percent responsible for the maintenence of contact lenses, and he accepted the challenge.

We went to the eye doctor, and before I knew it, the assistant was beckoning me to have me watch him "practice."

Holy.Sh$*.

He was sitting at a mirror with the lenses. The lady was telling him to "pull down your lids like this..."

I felt my knees start to buckle.

The room started to spin.

Hot.Flash.

I had to sit down.

Nick started laughing.

The lady looked worried.

I figured, since Nick was so much like me in other ways, he would surely pass out when he had to touch his own eyeball..

Nope.

He got them in like a champ.

Crap.

"Now practice taking them out."

AHA! Here we go. This will turn the tide...

AAAAAND, they were out.

He was so proud.

I had no idea he would be able to do it.

No idea.

And so we had contacts.

He looked different without his glasses. He looked so...grown.up.

BLahhha.

The height, The deep voice. The texting with his "girlfriend." I had no idea what being a mom to a teenage boy would feel like.

I mean, wasn't it just last week he was in OshKosh coveralls and mini workboots?

Wasn't it just yesterday that he was in the tub and asked me what his, ahem, private parts were and I told him..."marbles?"


So he came downstairs the day after he got the contacts, and stood at the bottom of the stairs.
A head taller than me now.

I looked at him and noticed he had something on his face around his mouth.

HEE!HEE! "See?" I thought. "He IS still my baby!"

"Nick, go wash your face. You have something on your mouth."

"No I don't." He argued in his man voice.

'Yes, you DO!"

"NO I DON..."

"GO WASH!"

He came back down and said, "Mom. I don't have anything on my face."

"For Crying Out Loud!" I walked over and licked my thumb...like my grandparents used to do...to wipe off what I thought was wipable...

Upon closer observation, I got right up under his nose...

It wasn't dirt. Or chocolate.

it was...

A MUSTACHE!!!!!!!!!

Dear God.

I staggered backwards and almost fell over the dog.

"Mom, it's been there for a while." He said calmly. And HE PATTED ME ON THE HEAD.

Are you kidding me?

When did THIS happen?

I am so not ready!!

But he sure is. And what an amazing kid he has become. He has made me so proud. I had no idea how proud I could be.

We are all doing well. My children still make me laugh every day. I still witness crazy things in my work travels, and with some new ventures as well. I will let you know...

So many things have happened...and now that I am back to writing, I will keep you all posted..

But for now, I just want to say, Thanks. I had no idea how many of you really enjoyed reading this.

I had no idea how much I missed it...

What do you call a deer with no eyes?
No Eye Deer.
What do you call a deer with no eyes and no legs?
Still No Eye Deer.

Tyler would call that "UnAppropiate."

I call it funny.

Thanks For Reading.

funny.crazy.love.



.

World War Flu

It hit without warning
From nowhere it came
Into our life
Some "bug" with no name
It first struck poor Tyler
From the backseat I heard,
"Mom, I've a tummy ache!"
And then, not a word.
I tried to hurry, really I did!
But he couldn't make it.
My poor, poor sick kid.
All over the backseat.
The window. The door.
We hurried him inside.
On the stairs. On the floor.
Disgusting. Gross. Oh, What a mess!
My poor little baby boy.
In Gastric Distress.
Hour by hour.
Up all night.
We were defenseless.
No strength to fight
The next day he seemed
like he felt a bit better,
But Mama and Daddy were
under the Weather
While Tyler slept away the day
The "bug" decided to have it's way
With Daddy, the tough guy, never sick, you see~
"Ugh. Now MY stomach is bothering me!"
As I looked at his face, a pale shade of green,
I knew it was over.
You know what I mean?
I raced to get towels. A bucket or can.
Something to help out my now sick, sick man.
He would never make it
Up two flights of stairs
Then I heard what sounded like fighting grizzly bears.
I came 'round the corner, ready to gag,
To find my poor husband
Wretching into a DOG FOOD BAG.
"Oh, My Goodness! Honey! Oh, My!"
Then I laughed so hard I started to cry.
A Dog Food Bag!
"Its the first thing I saw." He said as he~
Explained how he had tried to spare me
The gruesome, yucky task of cleaning
The effects of this "bug" that wasn't weaning.
When he crawled back into bed, I knew.
We were in for
WORLD.WAR.FLU.
The next day it hit Ty again.
He wouldn't eat or play~
The doctor said he would be fine
In another day
And so he was, but then that night
I knew MY belly wasn't right
"Oh, no. Oh, Please."
But prayers don't work
To keep away this buggy jerk.
So I camped out on the bathroom floor
With chills and aches down to the core.
"Mommy, Mommy! You okay?"
"Nope. I'm not. Sorry to say."
Then all day I laid in bed,
No work, No food, just full of dread.
For there is just too much to do!
I don't have TIME
for WORLD.WAR.FLU.
So Mr. Gastric-Ent-Whatever,
I'm done with all your tricks:
Just get on in your MAC TRUCK,
and take your ton-of-bricks~
That you used to take us down
4 whole days ago,
I'm using everything I've got
To fight you off, you know.
Lysol. Bleach. and 409.
My house will sparkle clean.
And you are SURE not welcome back,
You are awful, nasty and mean.
Now we are a little tired,
A little achey still
But World War Flu is over
And It didn't break our will!
So sorry if this grossed you out,
But this is part of life,
And now I hope that my wonderful
husband
can FORGIVE his giggling wife!

LOVE YOU HONEY! SORRY FOR LAUGHING!

Thanks For Reading!
funny.crazy.love.

The Pass, The Grass, The Stranger With Class

Danielle Peart~This one's for you!

It's time to buckle up again, Crazy Road Travelers. This one gets a little twisty.
So, just yesterday, I got a note from a very special young lady, Danielle, reprimanding me, in a sense, for not updating the blog. And it does bother me, when I don't have anything REALLY good to write about. I mean, crazy things are always happening, but it's really just more of the same:

-My hilarious kids and the things they say...
-Encounters with wild(and not so wild)life on a daily basis...i.e. a head-on collision with mating dragon flies with my brand new car, coming across a dead chicken in the middle of the road while I was running, baby frogs, etc...
-The fruitcakes I run into in local retail establishments

etc, etc, etc...

I even asked my son if he could think of something funny that I could write about. He is always laughing at something I've done...

But even HE shook his head no, and went back to his nano-pod-dsd-esp thing.

So what happened today hit me like a TON OF BRICKS.

This story really starts last May.

I was on my way home from Farmington on Route 133.

Of course, I found myself in back of this little jerk-car, going no faster than 20 mph.

Not that I was in a major rush, but after traveling halfway home in back of her, and a line of cars in back of me, I had pretty much had it. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, I pulled around to pass.

And I NEVER pass cars unless it is absolutely crucial.

Well of course, In a complete "just-my-luck" moment, the little bee-atch sped up, forcing me to speed up to get by her. Going down hill. As the speed limit changed.

asthejaycopwascomingintheotherdirection.

The blue lights came on.

Me.

I watched in my mirror as he spun around.

(I am not going to say what I really want to say about this, and some of you reading this can already assume what I really want to say about this, but I'm not going to say it. I'm going to think it REALLY hard).

I mean, come on. A soccer mom in an SUV, and he turned on me like he had just spotted one of the ten most wanted. (I had to say that). I had already properly pulled over.

So, being a cop's wife, I remembered all of the stories he has told me about the mouthy, disrespectful people that he has dealt with. As pissed as I was, I knew not to say anything. Not to try to plead my case. Just be polite, and him my license, registration and insurance, and wait. And wait. And f&*^%ing wait.

When he came back to my window, he actually sounded a bit sorry, as he explained he was aware I was making a safe pass, and that we were on a decline, and that my record was squeaky clean. Then handed me a ticket. Something to the tune of $215.

Really?

I was shaking mad. Now I had to go home and explain to my husband how I got nailed with a ticket. But I planned on fighting it. I had my ducks in a row for this one.

I'll skip the part about telling my husband...it wasn't pretty...and not because he was mad at me...and some of you reading this know why he was especially mad. But anyway...

Shortly after I got home, Chris had left to run some errands...the phone rang.

On the caller i.d: JAY POLICE DEPARTMENT.

Great.

I answered and here is what I heard:

"This is (insert officers name here). I just issued you a summons for..."

Yes. I remember. It was fifteen minutes ago....

"Well," he continued, "the gentleman who was in back of you today came into the station and filled out a statement. He said that the vehicle you were attempting to pass was going well under the speed limit and..."

And he basically stated word for word what had happened.

"Who was it?" I asked, absolutely stunned.

"It was some Fed-Ex driver. So go ahead and rip up that ticket." He told me.

"Are you kidding me? Are you serious?" This kind of thing happens in insurance commercials, or on "Touched by an Angel" re-runs. NOT to this kid.

A stranger doing something completely unwarranted for the good of someone else.

Wow.

Now, I could have blogged about this, I guess, back when it happened. But life got in the way, and as months passed, I really didn't think about it too much, except for when I see people flying by my house at ridiculous rates of speed, or when I see people driving like maniacs and passing 7 cars at a time on a turn, and wonder...

If I actually saw what this mysterious Fed-Ex driver saw, would I go way out of my way to find the local Police Station and fill out a statement?

You know what? I just might.

Now, fast forward, Wayne's World style to the present day.

This morning I had a meeting in Farmington, Maine.

Just minutes from my home, I traveled Route 133 to my destination.

A new HYDROPONICS store.

I know, I know. But they really do show people how to grow indoor gardens!

It's the wave of the future!

So ironically, my first appointment with this new business was originally scheduled for Wednesday, but was re-scheduled for today...

At 11am, I had just started learning about cloning female plants and flood and drain systems, when the door opened.

"I have some stuff here out front...you want it in or out?" The Fed-Ex guy asked.

He started chatting with the owner of the store for a minute...and I flashed back to that day in May..."some Fed-Ex guy came in and filled out a statement..." What were the chances....?

"Excuse me," I interrupted..."Is Farmington your usual territory?"

He looked at me and turned totally red. (Awwww).
"Ah, well, actually, no. I only work here one Friday every month."

"Oh." I said.

"I know this sounds crazy, but are you familiar with Route 133?" I pressed.

"Yeah? I'm from Auburn, so I take it back from here to Jay..." He looked like he was starting to put together the pieces.

I think he realized it before I even asked.

"Are you the Fed-Ex guy that went to the Jay Police Station and gave a state..."

"I AM!!!I AM!" He cried.

"I AM THE PERSON THAT GOT PULLED OOOOVVVVEEEERRRRRR!!!!!"

Now we were both practically dancing around this poor growers business, like we were the ones who just, well, took part of the harvest!

The store owner was even excited.

This was such an unbelievable meeting! Never in a million years did I expect to EVER meet the person who went out of his way to help me, a perfect stranger.

He went on to say he always wondered what happened, if I got a ticket, if his random act of kindness helped at all...

It did, I assured him. It SO did!

We chatted for a few more minutes, re-telling to the now sleepy hydroponics dude the minute by minute account of "The Pass," feeling like we were old war buddies reunited.

What were the chances that I would be in the hydroponics store, at the exact time the good Samaritan delivered to a business that wasn't even his usual area?

"It's cosmic." My boss said when I finished telling him this story.

It absolutely is.

Just this week I watched the movie, "The Adjustment Bureau." (A great movie, BTW).

In a nutshell, it's all about how we are all on a plan, and everything we encounter, everything that happens, every person we meet, is for a reason.

Today just re-affirmed what an amazingly small world it is. And no matter where we are in the universe, it is where we are supposed to be.

I got his name and address.

He's got a gift certificate and a thank you note coming from Crazy Road.

(But no thank-you card. I just won't do that).

So...If you ever think about doing something that just might make a positive difference in someones life, do it.

You never know where it could lead you.

Thanks for Reading.

funny.crazy.love.

Not In The Cards

Cardophobia~n. the absolute fear and dislike of greeting cards and/or the selection of these cards. adj~cardophobic: having cardophobia.

I am a cardophobe.

Welcome to my admission...My rant, if you will, about my feelings on the GREETING CARD.

I am blessed to have an amazing, loving, affectionate family. I also have thoughtful, caring friends. These people in my life have an amazing ability to present, on-time, even, the perfect greeting card for every.single.occasion.

These lovely folded notes of love and gratitude find their way into my home, my mailbox, my fireplace mantle, and are lined up almost on a weekly basis, depending on who's birthday it is, who in my family is being celebrated, who might be feeling under the weather, who had their haircut, who needed a "hug across the miles."

My mom and sister are the true culprits for my illness.

My amazing mother has ALWAYS been a card giver. She usually pre-plans her month and has a stack of cards on her shelf in the kitchen, all filled out, some in envelopes, already addressed and stamped, ready to go to the recipient. (Don't even get me started on her uncanny gift-wrapping ability, that just might send me to the e.r.)

Then there is my sister, who can find the MOST perfectly worded, humorous card, sometimes "just for fun," or because "she couldn't resist," and sends it days before the actual event. The pressure that I feel to live up to the card-giving-bar is sometimes insurmountable.

This pressure had led me to, at times, forgoing the card giving altogether. And that led to what my mother says, has ruined the card-buying/giving experience for her. Well, at least when she tries to buy cards for me.

I tried for years to find the perfect cards for my parents, grandparents, sister and friends. On Mother's Day, Father's Day, birthdays, anniversaries, you name it...

After years of buying cards that started...

"For my Mother, On her Birthday..."

"Today and every day..."

YuggaYuggaYugga.

So not what I would really say, face to face, to tell the people that I love that...well...I love them! And I appreciate them!

But I would stand in front of the imposing card walls, going cross-eyed from reading hundreds of cards, getting lame from reaching up and bending down, getting more and more frustrated as I would finally find a decent card, but no envelope to fit. Or I realize I bought the same card the year before...Or my sister probably had...And inevitably I would have to pee, or worse, and I am left racing out of the store, irritated, sweating, and...cardless.

I'm not so mushy that I want to represent my feelings with gold, scrolled lettering with a picture of a stream in the forest at sunset...

But not so "insensitive" that I would select a card that tells someone else that THEY are the lucky ones for knowing me, or having me for a child/sister, or tell them that "although I WANTED to give them the perfect gift...blahblahblah...Here's your [bleeping] card..."

???

Really?

People buy these?

And yet, I have stood in mobs of people, on the Saturday before Mother or Father's Day, doing the dance of card selection, almost getting into rumbles with people who go for the same card that I want, watching some people pass through the crowd and reach over, and without even opening the thing, pluck their greeting from the millions of greetings and go on their merry way. You stand in the line of strangers, quietly reading, replacing, reading, replacing...some people sniffing with emotion, others chuckling, moving wordlessly, without direction from anyone, from section to section...feeling the pressure as the person beside you finds "the one," and proudly leaves the group of forlorn searchers...the card-dance

I mean, the whole industry is really quite a racket.

Now there are cards with music that plays when you open them.

I heard Willie Nelson.

I heard the Wiggles.

I heard bodily functions blurting upon opening some.

Some are mushy.

Some are religious.

Some are kind of funny.

None say "BUP" or "NANNY," but some say, "POPPA" or "GAGGA." If you don't call your grandmother one of these terms of endearment, you're SOL and have to settle for "Grandmother...You're The Best!" Or you have to re-design the front with a sharpie to ensure proper address...

And let's chat about the prices...

At 5 or 6 bucks a pop, If you are lucky enough to be surrounded by Mom's, Dad's and Grad's, you had better start an account to save for greeting cards alone!

This past Father's Day was one for the books...

My sister sent the.funniest.card. She sent it two weeks in advance. It would be impossible to match.

With this little gem, that had been proudly displayed for days before the actual holiday, in the back of my mind, I started on my quest for a card.

Now, anyone who knows me knows how much my dad means to me..to my whole family. I could go on and on about how much we love him. How much he does for us. Helps us. Brings happiness to us. How much we admire him...

He knows it, too.

Why?

Because I tell him so.

I tried to find a card in the grocery store.

No luck.

I knew I had to do it, and there was just one more option...

walmart.

I hate to even say it out loud.

But I went in like I was going into battle.

I could feel the pressure mounting. I could hear the crowd humming like a swarm of bees around the corner..

There they were.

I promptly turned around and headed for the rest room.

Like a child forced to "pee before you go," I knew that without extra pressure, I may be able to quickly find the perfect card.

I was facing my phobia head-on.

The crowd had thinned a bit, and although the rows and rows and rows and rows were disheveled, with just a few stragglers, I felt my odds were decent...

"For My Father, With Love...Today and Always..."

Nope.

"You'll Always Be My Hero..."

True, but played "Wind Beneath My Wings..."when I opened it.

Nah.

"From Both of Us..."

Maybe...but that one was like, seven dollars! Plus, it had rainbows or something on it...

This was insane.

I thought about calling him and reading a few over the phone.

I finally found one, that was nice. It wasn't funny, like my sister's. It wasn't too mushy.

It had a picture of a fly-fisherman on it.

Done.

I was exhausted.

I am not out to destroy Hallmark.

I am not wishing to ruin the experience for all of you "perfect card finders."

I am simply stating my phobia.

I admire people that promptly pick and send the perfect messages.

It's not that I wouldn't spend ten dollars if I found, by chance, the perfect card.

But I have yet to find one.

What I will promise is that I will continue to tell people in my life how much I love them. How much I admire them, appreciate them. Wish them well on new jobs, wish them health. I will pick up the phone and congratulate new parents.

I am not banning the greeting card ritual, per say.

Just taking a break for a while.

Mom, Dad, Kate, Grammy and Chris~I love you. You really all are "The Wind Beneath My Wings."

My name is Kristen, and I am a cardophobe.



Thanks For Reading.

funny.crazy.love.

Ladies: Check Your Girls

Two things:

1) This is not that funny. In fact, aside from a couple of slightly chucklish moments, this won't be the typical wacky story that you will usually find here. But I am writing it for a very, very important reason.

2) I am actually starting the story with the end of the story, so you know it has a relatively happy ending.

At around 11:30 a.m. this morning, the phone finally rang. The caller i.d. was the one I had been waiting for.

Franklin Memorial Hospital.

I had literally been sitting beside the phone since 6a.m.

This call was going to change my life. No matter what the person on the other end had to tell me.

"Your ultrasound and mammogram look normal." She said.

The feeling of relief was indescribable. I hadn't been able to breathe for the last 48 hours.

"THANK YOU!THANK YOU!THANK YOU!" I am pretty sure I was crying and laughing at the same time.

Shorty after the nurse from my doctor's office called to explain that I still needed to consult with her and decide what I wanted to do about this "normal cyst."

A normal cyst.

These are words I never really thought about. Words I never thought would make me so happy that I have the life that I get the privilege to live. Words that will allow me to sleep tonight. Words that reminded me that every single day is a gift.

Words that thousands of others were praying to hear.

And they didn't hear them.

They heard words like "abnormal."

"Mass."

"Tumor."

"Treatment."

It's all about early detection, folks.

On Monday night, I was doing a relatively random self breast exam.

I've always done them. Not exactly monthly, but every once in a while I do a quick check. I've never felt anything out of the ordinary until two days ago.

A lump.

I checked again.

Yup.

Again...

Yes.

Shit.

I started shaking. I broke out into a cold sweat. I went into the bedroom and asked my husband to see if he could feel it.

His face said it all.

He could feel it, too.

"I'll call my doctor in the morning." I said as calmly as I could.

He finally fell asleep.

My mind drifted to the worst case scenario. Then to the lighter side of things and I started imagining that maybe my hair will grow in straight and blond and I could end up with nice, big, perky implants after all was said and done. (That was one of the funny moments, people...of course I wouldn't get big ones...)

I barely slept.

Tuesday morning I paced in front of the phone until I knew the doctor's office was open. I always hate to think I am the first caller lighting up the phones, but this time I could not have cared less. Someone needed to feel my boob. I was not taking no for an answer.

Thankfully, the fantastic staff a Pine Tree Women's Care in Farmington, made it possible for me to be seen that morning.

I jokingly told the receptionist that I was hopeful that the doctor would tell me that when "you lost your final marble it just landed in your ta-ta." I thought it was pretty clever in the face of sheer terror.

She laughed, too.

As I waited for my doc to come in, I started thinking of my prior visits:

A couple of strep throats.
A kidney stone.
Migraines.
Routine "lady" visits. (AKA: Paps).

Nothing compared to this.

She came in and got right to it.

I watched her face as she felt the prominent lump, too.

She checked both breasts. The other one was fine.

She left the room so I could dress, and I lost it.

I just sat there and cried.

When she came in, she cried a bit, too. She explained that I could have a mammogram and ultrasound as early as yesterday afternoon. Could I do it, schedule wise? Abso-f*&^ing-lutely.

Mom and Dad to the rescue again as Nick and Kiki were both home from school with crappy colds, it was lunchtime...My dad picked up the kids and my mom hurried so she could come with me.

Soon I was preparing for my first mammogram.

At age forty, I know they are necessary.

I was hoping to put it off as long as humanly possible.

I was shaking.

Now.

I am not going to mention any names, but the amazing person that was going to perform the mammogram is a person that I have known most of my life. She asked me if I minded if she did it? Or would I prefer someone else?

I told her without question I wanted it to be her. A friendly face and "chit-chat" was exactly what I needed to get through the procedure. If you are reading this, TCF~"Thank you from the bottom of my...ahem...heart."

Ladies, the mammogram is a piece of cake. Get it done. If you are of the age...and have not had one...GET ON IT.

On to the ultra-sound, where at this point, I was so emotionally exhausted I could hardly stand.

Again, a friendly face talked to me as she took pictures of this "lump."

"Has anyone ever told you have very dense breasts?"

heehee.

"Why, yes. Yes, in fact..."

just.kidding.

We looked together at the images, and although she couldn't say for sure, her tone indicated that she thought it looked like the "good" kind of lump.

I burned that image into my brain and googled all night.

I knew that I would have the answer. In my gut I felt that it would not be bad news. But there was that possibility.

I called my sister.

I told Julie.

My husband could barely speak.

Waiting.

Googling.

Praying.

Willing that phone to ring.

Whatever they say, I vowed to live the best I can.

Love my children. My husband. My family. My friends.

Be the best person I can.

Exercise.

Help.

Eat well.

Quit dieting so friggin much.

Live like there is no tomorrow.

Fix the goddammed swimming pool.

RIING.

"Is this Kristen?"

"It is."

"Your mammogram and ultrasound are both normal."

And here I am.

The thing is, I found that lump during a self-breast exam.

I NEVER expected to feel anything.

But if it had been cancer, it would have been early enough to treat.

If it had been cancer, I would have fought with every fiber of my being.

I have been inspired by people who have survived. I will pray for those same people even harder today.

Ladies:

Check your girls. Do it tonight, this morning, whenever you get done reading this.

It's all about early detection.

Now I'm gonna have some CAKE!!

Thanks For Reading.

funny.crazy.love.

chukar chukar chukar chukar....cooo coooo!

I mean, really.

The National Bird Of Pakistan strolling about the grounds of Crazy Road?

My ONEHUNDREDTEN pound dog vomiting all over my vehicle on the hottest day of the year?

My daughter belting out "Crocodile Rock" in the midst of the most hilarious case of hiccups I have ever heard?

My husband returning from a "quick run to the grocery store" with his "treasures?"

I just had to sit down and re-cap what was a classically crazy week.

I guess I'll quickly start off by mentioning my weekend last weekend, an annual girls trip to Ogunquit, Maine, where I realized that a huge part of my crazy life are the friends that I have. My friend Lisa, who, whenever we spend time together, makes me laugh until I literally cry...And Rick Dolliver...a dear friend from college who now owns the amazing restaurant "PRIME," who is a blatantly hilarious storyteller, and to this day makes me blush with some of his outlandish comments...(by the way, if you are ever in the Ogunquit area, PRIME has possibly the best food I have ever had, and great drinks). My friends share in my craziness, accept it, understand it, and even promote it. It was a fun filled, funny weekend, and so started the craziest week in a while...

Monday: After the local parade, I happily packed up the kids for a sunny afternoon at my parents. When my dad brought out Coronas, it was the perfect refreshing accent to a warm afternoon by the pool. When we finished our bottles, my Dad asked if we (my mom, grandmother((yes, my amazing grandmother drinks Coronas, too)) and I) wanted another...My mother said, regrettable, there were no more.

So I offered to, in great Jay, Maine style, make a "beer run." And without thinking, I threw a tank-top over my bathing suit, jumped in my truck, and headed down to "FOOD CITY." I hustled in my flip-flops to the beer section, picked up a case and stood in line with the other mid-day-tank-top-wearing-case-of-beer-buying folks from the tri-town area. I had to laugh...just because...

Tuesday: I was HHHHOOOTTT! Not that I mind. I love summer. Nick had a baseball game and after a crazy day of work, I was looking forward to watching him play. On my way back from work, I decided to stop and pick up Casey. He had been inside all day and figured he would love to go and socialize at the game. I grabbed his leash and he jumped into the back of the 4-Runner. I admit, I was in a bit of a hurry, and Casey has never like to ride. The road is pretty curvy, but a short trip to the school. We pulled into the parking lot, and I heard it...

Dog-gagging.

For any of you who own dogs, there is really no questioning when they are going to...well...puke.

The heaving.

The gaggling.

The yacking.

And when your dog is as big as mine, it's.not.pretty.

Of course, when he was finished projectile vomiting all over, he was happy as a clam! Tail wagging, he jumped right out and was ready to party!

So now, in between trying to figure out how to partially clean this mess, and finding his leash, I realize that HE DID NOT HAVE HIS COLLAR!!

Now what?!?!

Now I had to finagle his leash around his neck, and force him to believe that he was really secure on the leash. He trotted toward the crowd as I helplessly tried to control him, leaving my yoooook-filled vehicle open in the hot sun.

Now I was sweating and stressed as I tried to get him back to the vehicle without a leash.

I explained to my parents that I had to back home to at least get the truck cleaned out a little bit, and deliver the collarless dog.

Thankfully, he jumped right into the back again, but un-thankfully, laid right in the huge puddle of goo.

I had to ask...

Why Me?

I also had to ask..."Where the hell was his collar? Who took it off?"

Now faced with hosing him off as well, the day took a turn for the worst.

Without the help of his collar or leash to DRAG him to the hose...I had to body wrestle him across the lawn to get him near the garden hose. He thought we were playing. I was beyond pissed. I'm sure anyone passing by thought it looked hilarious. He is such a huge animal.

Now, REALLY hot, REALLY sweaty, and covered in DOG HAIR, I cleaned what I could from the truck, and raced back to the school to catch some of the game.

Gross.

Wednesday: Tornado warnings? That's right...tornado warnings in the town of Jay, Maine. Imagine my horror as Chief Meteorologist Charlie Lopresti was instructing us to get to our basement, cover our heads with pillows and stay tuned to WGME for complete coverage...JEESH!!

Nick was at a baseball game, and his Dad had just texted me that the game had now been cancelled.

Ya think?

I texted him to get Nick home ASAP has the tornado was about to hit!

As they pulled into the driveway, it had started to hail...I hurried Nick into the basement, and really had no choice but to instruct my ex-husband to hit the basement as well.

So, there we were...

Me, my three children, my dog, and my ex-husband, all clutching pillows riding out the storm.

Whatever.

Thankfully, we never experienced the tornado, but let me tell you. It was scary to think that it could happen, and my heart goes out to all of those who have recently been through the real thing.

Thursday: Another crazy day at work, but I was looking forward to an evening of doing nothing. No-one had games, or practice, or meetings...Chris was working, so it was going to be a casual, no clean up dinner and Alvin and the Chipmunks.

Just after dinner, Nick came running downstairs.

"Mom! You have GOT to come and see this bird!!"

People. Come on. If you have been following this blog, you could probably guess my reaction.

"What now?"

We have had so many creatures cross the yard, take a swim, come up to the door, if an elephant showed up for dinner, I wouldn't be surprised.

But this bird was unlike any I had ever seen!

It was big, like a duck.

It was tannish, but had black and white stripes under his wings.

It had a distinct black mask that looked like it hooked under his chin.

It had an orange beak and orange legs and feet, and some orange around his eyes.

I know this because I followed him around for a half an hour taking pictures and video.

He let me walk right up to him, and didn't seem to mind. He was leisurely exploring the surroundings of Crazy Road.

I had yet to see anything like that bird.

After hours of googling, posting on Face book, taking advice from local "experts," we got every answer from quail, to a cross-bred duck/puffin to "coot." But nothing looked like a match.

Until this morning: Acting on a FACE BOOK TIP, I looked up Chukar Partridge.

YES!!!!

It WAS a CHUKAR PARTRIDGE!!! THE NATIONAL BIRD OF PAKISTAN!!

Of Course.

Its only natural for a fowl that is native to that continent would find its way to my backyard.

I know, I know, there is probably a logical explanation. Likely escaped from a local farm....but Jeez Loise!

Pakistan?

So last night, after a crazy filled week of work, kids, dogs, Pre-K after parties, taco-eating, crocodile rock singing, hiccuping, laughing, exotic bird watching chaos, it was my husband who put the icing on the coo-coo cake:

He went to the grocery store for eggs and hot dogs.

As usual, he took way longer than necessary, and I wondered what "treasures" he would return with. I've probably mentioned that I rarely concede to him running to the store...unless it is an emergency...because he, bless his impulsive heart, never sticks to a list.

So he finally returned, with his usual proud grin, and presents in grand style...

A long, narrow, package of....sticks!

"what the hell is THAT?" I ask, as I always do when viewing what he believes is the treasure of the century.

"It's a S'MORES KIT!" He excitedly tells me. "And it has marshmallows and chocolate right in the box!!"

"Nice!" I tell him as I look at the bag that should only have hot dogs in it.

"And....you know what else I got?" he asked.

"I can hardly stand the suspense." I replied, wondering if he even bought hot dogs for dinner.

"A COCONUT!!"

"A coconut? What the *&^% is that for?"

No matter.

He's upstairs right now banging it with a hammer.

Because, well, we needed a coconut.

Who knows what today will bring.

I hope this made you laugh a little.

It's a crazy life. And I'm so lucky to have it.

PS. He did remember the hot dogs.

Thanks for Reading!

funny.crazy.love.








On the show "America's Funniest Home Videos," there is a segment called, "Name That Sound." On Thursday night,

Mama Magic

Once upon a time, an amazing magician(Scot Grassette)mystified and entertained a gaggle of 7 year olds and their parents at my son's birthday party. The "tricks" were really amazing, and left everyone wondering how in the world he pulled them off.

After everyone was gone, and the last of the cake crumbs were swept up, Scot was finished packing up, and was on his way out.

I had to know...

"Okay. Let's have it...how do you do it?"

"You really want to know?" He asked, as he walked toward me.

"Yes?" Did I? I started to get a little freaked out.

He came right up close(by the way, Scot is a dear friend of ours)and said, You REEEEEAALLLY want to know?"

"yes." I whispered. And waited for his answer.

"It's magic." he whispered back as he pulled a coin right the heck out of my ear.

I'll never forget that moment, that son-of-a-gun magician, and I think about it from time to time, when life gets so crazy, I wonder if there must be some sort of magic in order to pull off the millions of things we do in a day.

Like how I somehow "transport" myself around the house, well before 6am, get the little monsters fed, dressed, de-snotted, brushed, wiped-down, signed off, lunches wrapped and bagged and out the door. Then do the same for myself, somehow manage to apply eyeliner AND earrings(well, sometimes)AND shoes(except for once, I actually forgot shoes and didn't realize it until I was halfway to work)and still make it to work on time.

It must be magic.

MAMA MAGIC.

We all do it...we all at some point in the week wonder, "how am I going to fit it all in?"

School events.
Meetings.
Sports.
Work.
Kids.
Groceries.
Bills.

Not necessarily in that order.

But it always gets done.

Mama Magic.

My mom has it. My grandmother must have it...and now I think I must have it.

I have the ability to see and hear things that go on in my house that no-one else EVER hears...I hear the lightest of coughing in the middle of the night...the faintest of footsteps when one of them needs a drink of water...when Tyler is sneaking in the kitchen looking for hidden snacks, I can hear, almost bionically, his every move. No matter where I am in the house.

"How did you know I was in hee-yah?" He asked yesterday.

"Mama Magic, Tyler."

I can sense things, too..

"How did you know I always wanted Corn Pops?" He asked today as I was unloading groceries.

"Guess." I said, as I tried to hide the Oreos.

"Magic?" He asked.

"Yup. Mama Magic. Mamas always know."

"KIIIIKIIIIII...Mom has magic powers!!!" He went running and singing and yelling to his sister.

When I spy them teasing each other in the back seat, using my "special forces" rear-view mirror, I tell them its because of my magic powers that I can see them.

They totally buy it.

How else do we seamlessly pull of holidays? Not only do we manage to fulfil the hopes and dreams of talking doll-houses and impossible to find "Pokemon" games, but that darned Santa gets it wrapped and rolled under the tree every fricken year, and with minutes to spare! The Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, Leprechauns...all the result of what has to be "Mama Magic."

I wish I had the idea for this little rant a couple of weeks ago, around Mother's Day. But that particular day I was busy cleaning Mackenzie's carpet after she "frowed up" and trying to get Tyler to stay still for ten seconds so he would stop coughing. I wish my powers could magically clean yuckiness.

Today I had to be at work, at school, at a baseball game, grocery store and home for dinner, laundry, homework, and more work. Did I make it?

You Betcha.

Mackenzie, after one of her many "weepy" moments asked me how I always can make her tears go away so fast...

"It's Mama Magic." I told her.

"You're magic?" She sniffled.

"Yup. I have Mama Magic."

She just stared at me for a minute, and I waited for her to say something epic...

"I THOUGHT there was something about you that was weird."

awesome.

So the next time someone wonders aloud at you, asking, "how do you do it all?"

You can tell them the truth, like the immortal words of Scot Grassette,

And say,

"It's magic."


Thanks For Reading.

funny.crazy.love.