145 Crazy Road

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2018-07-04T07:38:00.001-04:00

I sat at the bar by myself.

I hadn’t ever done it before. I was alone in the tavern, trying to look as if I was comfortable with my elbows awkwardly resting over the lip to the thick, sticky bar.

The bartender tossed his towel over his shoulder and leaned toward me.

“What can I get you?”

“Pinot Grigio.”

I always get Pinot Grigio.

He brought my glass without much fanfare and set it down.

“Anyone joining you?”

I laughed out loud in my mind, but instead I blurted, “My divorce was just finalized.”

As I said the words, a thousand thoughts raced through my head. I had wondered how the moment would feel, hoped there would be more relief than sadness, imagined being excited rather than dreading what my life would be like. I was a thirty year old, single mom. Holy shit.

I felt every feeling.

I must have been saying everything out loud without even realizing it, and when I snapped out of it, the poor bartender was just standing there looking at me, like he wanted to be sad for me but couldn’t help laughing.

What the hell had I told him?

Damned wine.

Whatever it was, I had blabbed more than I probably should have over glass number two.

I decided to finish up my very cliched, post divorce bar scene and thanked the “keep” for listening.

“You’re going to be fine.” He said. “You’re a funny girl.”

Hmph.

I hopped off the stool and headed out. I immediately tripped on the cobble stone street, but recovered before completely face planting. My life was mine to live. Decisions were mine to make.

I looked up and noticed the sign right away.

‘TATTOOS.’

...

This Comes As No Surprise

2013-06-22T10:22:00.000-04:00

What? You actually thought for a second that I was done? That crazy things stopped happening?

HA!

No way.

And yesterday was the perfect example of "a day in the life."

What IS interesting, is that what happened yesterday really didn't shock me. Nothing around here really does, anymore. I am starting to accept that there is just something a little, well, "different" about our life. MY life.

It started early yesterday morning, as I was getting the two little ones ready for a fishing trip with their "Bup." Over the bickering about matching socks, the dog barking at the dancing reflection on the wall from the swimming pool water, the phone ringing and the passing traffic, I heard the crying.

Like many moms, I believe I have bionic hearing. I hear the slightest sniffle in the middle of the night. I wake from a sound sleep the second my kids feet hit the floor early in the morning, no matter how quiet they are. I.hear.everything.

But this sound was loud, and constant, and sad.

This sound was coming from an animal that sounded like hurt and fear and everything bad.

I walked outside to try to figure out where it was coming from. In my pajamas and mismatched flip flops, I walked down to the road.

I live on a very busy road, and the traffic is loud and fast. Especially on weekday mornings. But I had to try to see what was making this horrible noise. I'm no stranger to rescuing wildlife...well, small wildlife, that is. And I KNOW that I often act without REALLY thinking about what I'm doing. I wasn't planning on saving any screaming forest creatures in my jammies, but I would do what I had to do and suffer the consequences.

I crossed the road and paced alongside the trees and the brush, trying to see the source of this crying.

You see, the view from my front window is "The Forest." If you look directly across the road it looks like the fricken willy-wacks. I never thought about how strange that is until yesterday.

I peered into the trees and the "puckah-brush."

I could hear it, but I could not for the life of me see it.

Passers-by must have concluded that I was some poor, crazy woman who had lost her way. In her pjs and flip flops, talking to herself, walking along a busy road early in the morning.

Who cares.

I was on a mission.

My dad came to pick up the kids and I asked him for help. He heard the noise, too. It really was alarming.

We both walked across the road and searched into the woods.

Was it in a tree? Was it a fox "mimicking" a cat?

A bird?

A plane?

He determined there was really nothing we could do.

He took the kids fishing.

I was not giving up.

I turned to my peeps on FACEBOOK. They NEVER fail to advise.

For it was FACEBOOK that gave me answers when a CHUKAR PARTRIDGE graced my backyard.

It was FACEBOOK when my beloved Casey passed away, that offered endless love and support. Look at FB how you want, but it really does bail you out in a pinch.

I told my little story about the noise across the road, and sure enough, the advice board lit up:

A Fox. Get inside. A fawn. Call the Police. Call the Wildlife Preserve. A porcupine? A beagle?

As much as I hated to call the police for a non-emergency, I had to start somewhere.

Apparently we have an animal control officer, but he deals with domestic animals, not wildlife, and at this point I was fairly certain this had to be wild.

My poor husband called.

This man had no idea that when he married me, he was marrying koo-koo.

Last week he got a text from me, "Bear in the Backyard."

Oh, did I forget to mention that a black bear showed up one morning a couple of weeks ago? OOps. Sorry.

Yes. A bear in the backyard while I was cleaning the pool.

No biggie.

Anyway, I was telling Chris about the noise, how LOUD it was, and I was feeling helpless.

He said he would call his friend who is a game warden.

A few minutes later, he called back.

"Are you dressed?"

"Nope."

"Well, you probably should get dressed because one of the wardens from "NorthWoods Law" is coming to the house."

"Shut up."

"I'm serious."

My husband, the jokester.

While I DID believe that someone from the Warden Service was coming, I DID NOT believe it was someone from a TV show.

I threw on my favorite old grey sweatshirt.

I found a matching flip flop.

I returned to my post on the side of the road.

That sound. It was so loud. I was relieved that it was still happening when the guy showed up. It would have been like going to the doctors for a pain in the ass, but when you get to your appointment the pain is gone...

When what to my wondering eyes should appear but a game warden's truck...and Kris MacCabe from NorthWoods Law.

Mother.

Are you kidding me?

Did I brush my teeth?

Not yet.

Shit.

Oh, well, such is my life of a wild-life rescuer.

For a second...I mean a SECOND I forgot about the struggling creature so desperately in need of help.

For one split minute, I tried to remember if I had a bra on or not.

Phew.

Ok. Back to business.

We both walked to the side of the road.

The noise seemed even louder.

"That's weird." He stated.

"Thank Goodness you think so."

He started down the brush covered bank.

"Will you come down and save me if I yell?" He joked.

"I'll have to go change my shoes."

("I'll have to go change my shoes?" THAT'S ALL I COULD COME UP WITH? I felt like Baby on Dirty Dancing when she said, "I carried the watermelon.")

I could still see him as he made his way into the woods.

In less than a minute, I heard him exclaim, "NO WAY!"

What the heck was it? Would he carry a fawn out? Was it a baby bear cub?

"It's a tiny kitten!"

And he emerged from the brush and sticks and rocks with the tiniest, cutest grey kitten.

THAT was making that noise?

We were both surprised.

REALLY surprised.

Of course then the troops came running out of the house to see the result of my frantic search.

A cat.

Now, let's get back to FACEBOOK for a minute. A few weeks ago, I put a status on that declared my dislike for cats. It was meant to be a private joke, but I quickly realized that it just came across as looking bitchy, and many of my friends and family are cat lovers.

I have never "loved" cats. I don't mind them. I love dogs. I don't love orange juice, either, but I would drink it if I was dying of thirst, you know?

So, back to the kitten.

He handed me the tiny thing and i have to admit. I felt an instant connection. I was the only one who heard this mini-lion. Do you think that he was in that spot, in front of Crazy Road, for a reason?

I do.

I needed a little lesson.

He needed my bionic ears, and everything that comes with them.

After chatting with the TV STAR, and having a few pictures with the kids and the cat and the cool Game Warden Truck, the excitement died down.

I needed to get back to work, AND figure out what to do with this tiny creature who had been through a horrific ordeal.

I wanted to keep him.

I couldn't keep him.

I could have brought him to a shelter.

I could NOT bring him to a shelter.

He happily drank some milk and ate some mushed up tuna.(Thank Goodness for Tom and Jerry, I had no idea what to feed a kitten)!

He fell asleep on Nick.

We fell in love.

Leo, our enormous Golden Retriever kind of liked him, too.

But with allergies and working and living next to the busy road, our busy lives and such, Crazy Road was not the best place for him.

I have a new friend that offered a home right away, and after working out a time and place, and promises of a long, love filled cat life, she became the owner of my rescu-ee.

He pooped on the backseat of my car on the way to deliver him, but I didn't even care.

Poop, shmoop.

He is going to have a great life with cat-lovers.

I was pretty drained last night, and admittedly, I missed the darned little thing.

But I knew I had done the right thing.

Today I am going to try to bury my head in the sand, and avoid any crazy what-so-ever.

Oh, who am I kidding.

I will again encounter some kind of mischief.

And it will come as no surprise.

Thanks for reading.

funny.crazy.love.

How Trash Bags Changed My Life

2013-03-02T09:49:00.001-05:00

It's not just me, you know.

Everyone has a little crazy in their life.

And my life would NEVER be as fun and crazy without my kids, my family and my friends.

This all started because I NEEDED TO BUY TRASH BAGS.

Remember the story "Not In The Cards?"

If you don't, feel free to read it..if you don't want to read it, here is a brief synopsis:

I do not usually buy greeting cards. The pressure to find the perfect card, like MY SISTER ALWAYS does, is almost unbearable. AND I like to think that I convey to my family and friends on a daily basis, exactly how much I love them, treasure them, and wish them days full of joy EVERY Day.

Not just on birthdays, Mother's, Father's, Grandparents, Cousin's, Sibling's Days, Because You Have The Sniffles, Valentine's, or You've Had An Ingrown Toenail Removed, You Are Trading In Your Vehicle, but everyday. You get my point? There are cards now for EVERYTHING. And my amazing sister will always find it. Not even because she is looking, per se. Just because she is the "Card Whisperer."

I love you, Katie.

An so as my Dad's birthday came upon us, I felt the pressure build once again.

It's not that I don't WANT to buy cards...although the asking price of $4.99( US) AND the added struggle to find the envelope that it fits into can literally put a frugal, fragile card-buying-phobe right over the freaking edge...it's just...well...overwhelming, looking up a the walls and walls of "What Is A..."

And of course, the fear of my usual reaction of having to urgently find a rest room mid-selection.

And so, the day before his birthday, I really wasn't even THINKING about a card when I entered the grocery store to buy trashbags.

Milk. Cereal. Bread. check. check. check. ( I mean, there WAS ANOTHER DOOMSDAY WEATHER FORECAST)..

And as I approached the last of the aisles, I happened to look up at the dangling announcement overhead..."SEASONAL, PAPER GOODS, GREETING CARDS."

Did I have to pee? Nope.

I had yet to break a sweat.

I turned my cart and forged my way down the aisle.

BIRTHDAY FOR HIM.

Here we go. Deep breath. One more pee check.

GO.

Now, what happened next was really nothing short of a miracle.

"What Age Does Girl Stop Needing Her Dad?"

I slowly picked the card from its slot.

Opened it...praying that the inside had the right answer, and not some crazy musical rendition of "Wind Beneath My Wings..."

Let's just say, it was perfect. AND the right envelope was actually behind it.

SCORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I did the cha-cha right there in Hannaford.

Oh, but now...I couldn't just get him one from me, My hubby and kids would want to be included, too.

I was feeling good.

I once again browsed up a few rows and once again...could it be?

YYYYYYEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSS!!!

One from "Both of Us."

It was perfect. Not sappy. And literally sounded like something I would tell my Dad. And it was pretty...but not in a rainbow and sunrise kind of way. It was simple and classy.

SHA-POW!!

And now one from the kids, always pretty easy, and I was off!

The streak was OVER.

I had found what I thought to have not just one...BUT THREE good, solid cards.

I crossed over to the wine aisle.

This would have to be celebrated!

Where didn't I go? To the trash bag aisle. That's where.

So really, why is this so significant? Read on...

I called my sister to tell her the news. I wanted her to be proud of me.

"Hello?"

"Katie, you will not believe what I did today!"

"What-Did-You-Do-Now?"

"I BOUGHT CARDS!!!!!!!" I sang and yelled.

We celebrated together!!!!! I KNEW she would be shocked and proud.

I breathlessly told her about the first card.

She was quiet.

"Kate?"

"Well," she started..."That is a good one, but I don't think any card is better than the one that I bought."

UGH.

I believed her.

"What does it say?" I asked, already defeated.

"It says, 'To one of us you're dad, To the other you are..."

"FATHER IN LAW!!!!!!!!" I finished with her.

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

It was the same card that I bought from Chris and me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I was screaming with joy!!!

She was in shock.

I had purchased the same card as the QUEEEEEENOFCARDBUYING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I had arrived.

Muthah!

Now this little competition is really all in fun. And honestly, it really isn't competition. It's just kind of like if I was an actress in a movie for the first time, and beat Meryl Streep for an Oscar. Or at the least, Tied.

I'm still not over it.

Moving on....

So on the day of my my Dad's actual birthday, we were supposed to meet for dinner.

I had a million little errands to run beforehand, and time was of the essence.

You see, in my excitement about finding the cards, I forgot trash bags at the store.

I know, mind boggling. But there is a lot of trash here at Crazy Road.

I also told my friend that I would stop by her house so that I could pick up this special shampoo that she picked up for me...(SHE is a hairdresser).

She is also one of those friends that when we start gabbing it is hard to stop. So today, I had to preface my visit by saying, " I absolutely cannot stay. I have to get to the store before dinner."

"Perfect," she said, "I am doing a perm so just come down and pick it up."

So a little later than I planned, I arrived at her house.

I walked in, and the house was unusually quiet.

"Helloooo?"

I went downstairs to where her salon is...

No one.

Hmmmm...

I went back upstairs and called out again.

And what happened next was crazy!!!

She came around the corner, pale, breathless...holding a bloody towel...

"My client....my cat....you have to come and help!!!"

What the @#$%?!

Had there been a murder? Had there been a cat/client/perm fiasco? Was I being asked to help clean up a crime scene? Was I going to make it to the store to buy trashbags?

She grabbed my hand and dragged me behind her...

"WHAT IS GOING ON?!"

"MY CAT IS HAVING KITTENS!"

My.Word.

I walked into her little girl's room to see her kids, a lady on her knees with her perm-rodded head wrapped in plastic, and a cat. And two teeny-tiny-baby-kitties.

Shut.Up.

"What do I do?" She was absolutely in shock.

"You didn't know she was PREGNANT?"

"Nope."

None of us knew what to do.

Except for her amazingly smart 4 Year old, who promptly fetched some plastic gloves for her mom.

We all just sat around Miley, the mom-cat. Wondering what would happen next.

"Oh my God, Look. She Is Going To Have Another One!" My friend said, and I have to rinse her!" (Referring to her client, as shocked and surprised as anyone.)

"How do you know?" I asked.

"Look at her eyes!"

I felt queasy. The room started to spin. I grabbed my friend, and the stranger perming next to me.

Now, I am not a "cat-person." I don't dislike them, but I am definitely a dog-person. I am definitely NOT a birth expert. Well, at least seeing it from the other end. Of anyone or anything.

And then, it happened.

The cat's eyes closed in pain, her belly started contracting...

Should I grab my shampoo and run?

And then she let out a noise, that in any language, cat, dog, or human, could only indicate the pain of child birth.

Then all by herself, with no doctors or meds or pacing partners...she delivered two more kittens.

It.Was.Amazing.

The three of us human moms all sat around her, encouraging her, amazed at this creature, feeling love and admiration for her and her babies. Life is so amazing.

I guess I do like cats.

Well, needless to say, I DID make it to the store, and to dinner, and then home to homework and showers and bedtime and everything routine...but my life had changed a little bit...

At the end of the night, I opened the box of trash bags.

They were the wrong ones.

Thanks For Reading.

funny.crazy.love.

No Eye Deer

2013-02-12T13:08:00.000-05:00

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

2011-12-07T08:53:00.001-05:00

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

2011-09-17T06:43:00.000-04:00

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

2011-06-21T08:00:00.001-04:00

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

2011-06-08T16:29:00.000-04:00

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!

2011-06-04T11:29:00.001-04:00

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

2011-05-19T21:11:00.001-04:00

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.

Crazy Road Constitution

2011-05-10T08:06:00.000-04:00

Here are the rules and regulations for all who reside at, or visit the residence of 145 Crazy Road:

I the Mama, In order to form a less crazy household,Establish Justice, Ensure domestic tranquility, Provide for the health and happiness, Promote the General Welfare, Secure the Potential for a few minutes of peace each day, For Ourselves and Our Guests, Do Ordain and Establish this Constitution, For The Family and Friends of Crazy Road.

1)You have the freedom of speech, but no naughty words, or "bathroom talk" is permitted. I'm not a fool, I know you try to whisper and call each other names, like "stupid meanie" "poophead" and other bits of random profanity heard and copied after certain moments of frustration, but upon hearing such language, however funny it may be, you will face consequences.(See #4).

2)You must seize all activity, or complete whatever direction(i.e:"get your pajamas on right now," "let her hair go!" "stop fighting," "get back here," "this mess better be picked up in 5-4-3..." upon hearing "the countdown."

3)You should not ever whine or complain to me before I have had at least one FULL cup of coffee.

4)A few drops of hot-sauce is NOT considered cruel or unusual punishment. Remember that the next time you feel like repeating "di@*head," or any other words you may have heard on the bus.

5)You should understand that sliding down the stairs on the futon mattress is permittable, but not before 6am. And Tyler, even though whispering in my sleepy ear, "But Mama, it's so fwiggin fun!" is hilarious, your right was initially denied. You did it anyway. Not okay.(but still, funny).

6)Laughter is ALWAYS permitted, even if you have a mouthfull of milk.

7)You have the right to be in "comfy clothes" at any point in the day. Especially in yucky weather.

8)Farts are considered funny here at Crazy Road. With the understanding that they are not acceptable everywhere.

9)Please help me keep this place clean. Sheesh!

10)Snow days are considered holidays, and celebrated as such. Except in April. Then I'm just pissed. See #3.

11)Manners. Here and everywhere. Thank You.

12)Hugs, kisses and poochies are available to you at all times. UNLESS the door is closed to the bathroom. Then, FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE, just give me a minute.

13)Be respectful of others. If you are "hanging out" in Nick's room(and I know, it's cool)You are ABSOLUTELY NOT allowed to steal his Easter candy and proceed to eat it in his bed when he isn't there. That is a NO-NO.

14)Brush your teeth before bed, but do not GARGLE. I know Bup taught you, but until Bup comes over every night to wipe up the un-GODLY mess of toothpaste and water all over the walls, mirror, sink and floor, stop doing it.

15)Eat your dinner.

16)Do NOT answer the phone if the caller i.d. says "unknown" or "800 Service."

17)FLUSH.

18)Do not try to get me to like frogs. Don't tease me with "Kermit," Don't try to convince me that they are cute. And understand that if I see a mouse or other rodent in and/or around our home, I will scream and run. You will be left to fend for yourselves.

19)Know that you are loved unconditionally, and that there is nothing in the world you can't talk about, ask or wonder aloud about...except how babies are made...I'm just not ready for that.

20)You will have Twinkle-Twinkle sung to you until you are 30(Kiki), if you wish. You may also select any Christmas Carol to be sung at bedtime(Tyler)to you, 365 days a year. You will be provided with "Fresh" water at bedtime as well. And Nick, as long as you live under this roof, I will come in and say "Goodnight," and straighten your covers. I will also kiss you on your forehead. I don't care how old or how tall you are. You are still my baby.

21)Understand that Life here at Crazy Road is just that: CRAZY. But I promise to make every day fun. To keep you healthy and happy. To read to you and help you with homework, if necessary. Except math. Then you're on your own.

This Bill of Rights will be ammended as needed. By me. Because I am the Mama. And because I said so.

Thanks for Reading

funny.crazy.love

You Want Fries With That Shake?

2011-05-05T20:43:00.000-04:00

"Good Morning.(cracklecracklecrackle)Welcome to Dunkin Donuts. Would you like to try a cheddar cheese, sesame glazed, bacon stuffed(crackle)bagel twist this morning?"

"No Thank You. I would like a medium coffee with just milk."

"Will that be hot or iced?"

"Hot, please."

"Would you like a flavor shot?"crackle.

"No. Just a plain coffee."

"Skim milk or regular?"

"Umm. Skim."

"No Sugar(crackle) or Splenda?"

"Nope."

"Would you like to add a muffin or donut this morning?"

"No Thanks." Sheesh.

"Would you like to try a chocolate frosted, coconut sprinkled, double toasted waffle-wich?"

"Nope. Just the java.

"Was that a medium hot coffee?"

"YES. A medium HOT coffee with just skim milk. NOTHING else."

"Please drive up."

"Really?" I felt like asking. "Mother May I? Can I just drive up and get my SIMPLE coffee?"

Today was FILLED with OPTIONS. Starting with my coffee.

Then while trying to order a birthday cake for Mackenzie.

"I need a marble cake for about ten people. I need it Tuesday morning if that is possible."

"Sure. What kind of frosting? Traditional or Whipped?"

"What's the difference?"

"Traditional is more dense...blahblahblah"
Is what I heard. It's FROSTING for goodness sake.

"Traditional is fine."

"How do you spell her name?"

Here we go...

"Macke..."

"Is that a big C or small?"

"Small."

Etcetera. Etcetera...

"Do you want a number 6 candle?"

"Sure."

"What color?"

"I don't know...green?"

"Do you want the lettering on the cake or on the border?"

"On the cake?"

"Would you like a double layer or sheet?"

And the questioning went on and on..

Then, later in the day, I decided to go and have my nails done. Kind of a Mother's Day treat for myself...

I was greeted by a young man wearing a surgical mask, as I know many nail techs do now. But I could barely understand him anyway, and the mask over his mouth was going to make for difficult communication. This happened once before and I wound up with a floral mural that resembled, um, "hooch" across my toes.

I sat in the chair he directed, and put my wallet and keys down.

In almost impossible to decipher English, I thought he asked, "pig alright?"

"Excuse me?"

"Pig ALRIGHT?"

"I don't understand."

He gestured to a plastic hand....

"OOOHHH! PINK AND WHITE?!"

I was so proud I finally understood.

"No thanks. Just a regular set."

"French manicure?"

"Nope. Color."

"Really? No French?" He seemed horrified.

"No. No FRENCH."

"You want design?"

What am I? Fourteen?

"No. No design." Here we go with the menu offerings...

"You want suncreen?"

Now I was being upsold, and I was no longer in the mood.

"No. I do not want ANY extras. Just color. JUST COLOR."

He hated me.

I was not too fond of him, either, but I was already wrist deep in Palmolive, and wasn't going anywhere.

All of these menu offerings have filtered into our life here at Crazy Road.

And it starts at 6:45 am every.single.morning.

"Mom. Do we have bagels?"

"I think so."

"Did you get regular cream cheese or did you get the 'light' stuff?"

"It's regular."

"Mama? Can I have waffles?"

"Yes, Tyler."

"Can I have the ones that are cut in strips? Not the round ones?

"I guess."

"Mama?"

"Hi, Mackenzie."

"Can I have cinnamon toast? But with more sugar than cinnamon. And can you cut off the crust?"

As I shuffle around the kitchen, I realize that I alone have created this "menu" mentality for my kids. They understand that there are always options. Lots of them.

Tyler will not eat pork chops. So as an "option" I offer chicken nuggets.
Mackenzie will not even entertain the idea of putting peppers into her mouth. As an "option," she can pick them out. And now I barely make anything with peppers. Or pork chops.
Nick barely likes any meat. But he's twelve. He can choke stuff down. I know he won't throw a fit. Thank GOD for Nick right now.

And they know they have options. They've been to McDonalds. They've been with me when going through the drive-thru. They see and hear millions of options and offerings...and guess what? They now expect options. Menu selections, if you will...I know. I know. MYFAULT.

I don't remember, as a child, being offered options. We ate what was put in front of us. No questions. No whining. We didn't KNOW back then that there were options. There was no menu at our house.

When we went to McDonalds, we got a burger and fries.
When they added Chicken Nuggets to the menu, It was National News. Now you can get gourmet salads, gourmet lattes...I don't even know if they still make cheeseburgers.

And at Dunkin Donuts, You could order coffee and a donut. That was about it. Now its like ordering an Olympic event.

"I'll have a half/caf/half hot/half cold/part skim/vanilla twist with a double shot of caramel and half packet of raw sugar..."

It's out.of.hand.

I know I sound old when I say, "It used to be so simple."

"Buy One Get One Free."
"Do you want whipped cream?"
"If you spend another $10 you get a free gift!"
"Do you want a girl toy or a boy toy?"
"Would you like a hot apple pie, today?"
"White or Wheat?"

humminahumminahummina.

So many options.

Let's keep it simple, people.

And No. I don't want a pig, ALRIGHT?

Alright.

Thanks for Reading.

funnycrazylove.

A Crazy Ride

2011-02-09T18:54:00.001-05:00

I turned 40 this week.

I know, I know.

Its just a number.

Its the end. Its the beginning. And over the last few weeks things have happened that have surprised me, made me cry, made me laugh, made me pause, made me crazy...

Life.

A crazy ride, isn't it?

I was with my mom one evening last week. Poor thing. She and my Dad have literally had to endure ALL of the craziness that my sister (yes, my sister has delivered crazy to their door, too) and I have brought to them over the years. I know, they wouldn't trade a second of it. But I am certain they might pay money to get a few of the sleepless nights back...

On the ride home that night last week, we were talking about these crazy times over the past 40 years...I was surprised at some of the things that my mom remembered...events I haven't thought about for some time now...but the story she remembers as the worst, craziest thing I ever pulled off, would be a perfect tie in to my "Crazy Ride" story.

Buckle up.

In 1993 I was a Senior in college.

I got a call one night from Julie~my level headed lifelong friend.

"Jess and I are driving to Florida for Spring Break. We want you to go too!"

Of course.

Of COURSE!!

I was sure I could make it happen. I can't remember the details of making it happen, I'm sure I was helped out by the Bank of DonandLinda, and I had some cash from my bar tending gig(heehee, that's right).

i.was.in.

Now, there couldn't have been 4 more different girls stuffed into Jess's little white Toyota Celica.

Julie~the relatively quiet-unless-you-know-her gal who likely preferred to stay closer to home than leave the state~

ME.

Jess~the model, actress, flamboyant, dramatic Syracuse co-ed who taught me how to over-pluck my eyebrows without even looking in a mirror~

And her friend~Julie and I still argue about what her name was...but she was never without a full face of make-up, had ruby red hair and lips and nails, and wouldn't let her keyboard or her hair spray leave her side. I'll call her Ruby for the sake of the story.

So Julie and I took a bus to meet up with Jess and Ruby in Connecticut. We were so excited, and feeling quite proud that we were saving so much cashola by driving. We were staying in Jess's parents time-share and were excited for a low-key, sunny vacation in Paradise. Cocoa Beach, to be exact.

We met up as planned, with Jess driving, Julie as passenger and me in the back with the keyboard-playing-not a hair-out-of-place-way-over-perfumed-girl-from-the-city.

The first thing out of the gate: Jess backed into another car in the McDonald's parking lot. Not just a tap. A crash. Oddly, there was no damage to either car...but there WAS damage to Jess's already over-caffienated nerves...I took over as driver of the first leg.

Keep in mind as the story goes on~Only Jess and I were able to drive "a stick."(thanks, Dad).

The trip down was fun. No major stories about that~we had a "TRIP TICK" from AAA. Remember those? We didn't have Google, or cell-phones, or GPS...and we made it safe and sound to Sunny Florida.

We had a decent time...it wasn't a BLAST, as other spring-breakers were likely having, but it was nice. Gorgeous weather, cheap crab-legs...some beers, but not too many...just a really good time with the girls.

Except for Lola~Ruby~Mona~Lisa, who would not let a speck of her white skin see a bit of the sun...she wrapped herself in robes and towels and practiced "opera" all day. She gave us plenty to roll our eyes about, but to each her own.

We were supposed to be there for 6 days, if I remember correctly, we were going to leave on Friday, and planned on being back in Maine by Sunday...

But on Thursday, the calls started coming in to our room..no cell phones, you know...our parents:

"HAVE YOU SEEN THE WEATHER FORECAST?"
"GET PACKED! MAYBE YOU CAN BEAT IT!!"
"ARE YOU ON THE ROAD?"

What the???

NO. We hadn't seen any forecast~we had been on the sunny beach by 9am and sleeping soundly by 10pm...we weren't watching the news!

But that Thursday we found the Weather Channel and sat side by side on the end of the bed and watched the MONSTROUS WHITE SWIRL move in its creepy, slow satellite graphic BLANKET the entire East Coast.

we.were.screwed.

If we waited, it would be another week before we would be able to leave Florida. Our money was just about gone..the time share would be ovah...we had to split.

Like a band of bank-robbers, we began throwing our stuff into bags. Bumping into each other and making a getaway plan...EXCEPT for Gina-Lola-Brigitta, who couldn't be bothered as she applied her stupid lipstick and yodeled or whatever...

We were literally trying to beat the storm of the century.

We loaded up our bags, and sprinted down to the lot, where we found dozens of other vacationers doing the same thing. Panicking...

We shoved everything into the hatch-back of the teeny white "Celley," still in our flip flops and cut-offs, our "TRIP TICK" in hand and we peeled out of the hotel lot and didn't look back...

Almost immediately we could see the massive dark storm clouds racing in the sky...we had only been driving for an hour and it started sleeting. The wind was already gusting, bending the palm trees that lined the highways right over sideways...We really didn't know what we were about to drive into.

By Friday evening, we hit Georgia...still driving in sleet and freezing rain, and then...SNOW.

In Georgia.

Now, being a true Mainer, I felt like a few inches of snow was easy to drive through...but in Georgia, a few inches of snow meant 10 car pile-ups, highways closing, detours and general pandemonium.

We were forced to take some off road that put us off of our plan, and we ended up somewhere in the middle of NoIdeaWhere, Georgia.

It was late, so we stopped at a gas station and one of us called home on a pay phone.

I can't remember which one of us, likely Jess...tried to calmly discuss the situation with parents who were already freaking out. The end of the discussion concluded with the notion that we should find a Holiday Inn somewhere and sleep a bit. Hopefully things would lighten up in the morning. Right?

Oh, this was just the beginning...

There were no Holiday Inns, Howard Jonson's or any other recognizable establishments within miles. It was now really hard to see. We were tired. And nervous. Our brazen, optimistic attitude had started to wither. We just wanted to go home.

After driving for hours, we found, ahem, a "motel."

As Julie describes it, "It was depressing and dark."

To say the very least.

We had no idea what time it was, what town we were in, or if we were even heading North.

The very cute, very tanned girls who left Florida less than a day before, were now hungry, tired and not really caring about tan lines.

We got a room.

None of us really slept. It was not a place where we dared to sleep.

We kept our eyes on the clock~we wanted to be on the road when the sun came up...

Thankfully we made it out of that "place." I'm certain that it does not even exist anymore.

At the break of dawn, we were shocked to look out the tiny, dirty window to see...WHITE.

The car was buried. The snow blocked the swinging door.

Sh*&.

We forged ahead.

We cleaned off the foot of snow, piled in, and headed North.

We figured as long as we were heading North, we would be fine.

We drove and drove. It was a complete white-out.

When I drove, Julie was co-pilot.

When Jess drove, her friend sat in front.

But we were not going North. We were going North West.

Welcome to West Virginia.

That's right. West frickin Virginia.

And West Virginia was seeing more snow than it had seen in decades. So were we.

We drove into nothing but white. We were essentially the only vehicle on the roads.
There were moments we weren't sure if we were even ON a road...we drove over massive snowbanks if we thought there was any sign of life on the other side of it.

I'm pretty sure this was when I started cussing.

Where the #$%^ were we?
How the $%^* were we going to get home?

!#$%.

I was fairly certain that Little Miss Broadway had never heard such profanity. Her somehow still eyelinered eyes bugged out and her already alabaster skin got even paler if that was possible.

We soon realized we were in some mountain range. We hit the gas to make it up steep hills, around sharp, curvy turns...it was then we really started to think we just might not make it...

It was so blinding white...I literally took my hands off the wheel...

I cussed.

Julie cried.

Madame Butterfly practiced her vowels:

"LAA-LEE-LII-LOOO-LUUU..."

Then Julie, my mild mannered friend, turned around and very calmly said something like, "if you don't shut the %^&* up, I'm going to take your stupid keyboard and your stupid lipstick and throw it right out the window."

And we didn't hear a word from her glossy lips again.

And we somehow made it off that mountain.

But we had no idea where we were.

We continued on...East this time...Virginia? Washington? No effing clue.

Everything was closed. Gas stations. Convenience stores...not that it mattered. We had almost no cash...

We FINALLY found an IRVING'S that was open. I think it was in Maryland.

I used a little money to call my folks, who were now tracking our journey with push pegs on a map of the United States...they were uneasy even as I tried to convince them that I was OKAY. I used a little more money to buy a bag of SMART FOOD...it was like a bag of pure gold to me...

I made my way out to the parking lot, when the gusty wind not only took me by surprise, but took my precious popcorn, too.

OH NO YOU DON'T!!

I ran after that bag and pathetically collected the kernels from the ground. I was not letting one piece get away.

Julie was crying again..."Where's Jess?" I asked.

Julie motioned to a parked 18 wheeler..."What the hell is she doing?"

Let's just say that there were no working rest rooms, and behind the big rig was going to have to do...

We collected our "dinners" of popcorn and Snapple and again, hit the road.

The trip tick had left the building, somewhere back in the mountains.

By the time we made it to New Jersey, we were warriors.

With no other traffic on the roads, we were fending for ourselves...

"ROAD CLOSED" signs meant NOTHING to us, as we drove over snowbanks and around detour signs...

The visibility was ZERO as we skidded onto the Garden State Parkway...ooohhh...guess what? There was a State Trooper! We hadn't seen a single rescue vehicle in the 48 hours that we had been driving.

We pulled up along side of him in our crusted over, ice-covered Celley.

He looked shocked~and we didn't even take a breath trying to explain our situation, where we had been, what we had driven through, and where we needed to go!

We needed 95 NORTH...

He told us that we couldn't get there, that the roads were all closed.

This storm, if you remember, was THE BLIZZARD OF '93. The entire East Coast was paralyzed.

Ya think?

We convinced him to "escort" us onto the closed road. We had to get home. And a couple of us had, well, started our...well, forget it. You don't need to know THAT.

And so we went...following the State Trooper, over the median and onto 95.

The snow and freezing rain was now making it impossible to see.

The windshield was covered in a thick sheet of ice...I rolled down the window and stuck my head out...I worked the clutch and wheel while Julie shifted...ice covered my face, but we cruised out of New Jersey and into yet another road block...

I think it was in Rhode Island?

All roads were closed...

We were frazzled to the point of psycho...

We FINALLY found this diner that was open...it looked like heaven!!Just to see lights!!

We slid our unrecognizable car into a random spot...we probably were parking on the highway for all we knew...roads could no longer be distinguished from parking lots or rivers, for that matter.

We fell over ourselves trying to get in that diner...we had to call our folks!! Maybe get some coffee!!

It was loud in that diner, we couldn't hear our worried parents on the old pay phone...I needed to get directions on HOWINHELLWEGETNORTH!!!!

We were filthy. Stinky. Tired. Cranky. No one would listen to us...

I took control.

I jumped up onto the diner counter and started yelling at the coffee drinking, over-easy-egg-eating, plaid-flannel-shirt-wearing truckers...

Julie loves to tell this part...

"CAN ANYONE TELL US HOW TO GET TO 95 NORTH??AND DON"T TELL ME WE CAN'T!!WE HAVE BEEN DRIVING FOR THREE GoDaMnEd DAYS...WE NEED TO GET NORTH!"

The drivers stopped talking. Looked up at the wild-haired-wild-eyed-no-longer-tan crazy person that was me, and then all at once, started shouting their directions at me.

"You've got to go here..."

"NO NO NO..." they argued..."If they go there, they're gonna hit so and such..."

There must have been 30 rusty trucker dudes trying to help...It brings a tear to my eye thinking about it...

After we left our new friends at that truck stop, somewhere on the East Coast, we finally found our way to Albany, New York. We rolled and bumped in on fumes. So effing relieved.

So happy.

We were almost home.

THATS where Julie and I were supposed to say Goodbye to Jess and her pal, and meet up with her boyfriend's brother(now her brother-in-law). But when Julie used her last quarter to call him to pick us up, she told him the wrong place, and we ended up waiting hours and hours for him to find us...

I barely remember that part...

The next leg of our "trip" was the bus to Portland.

I don't remember talking the entire bus ride...Julie didn't either...I think shock was starting to settle in...

What the hell had just happened?

Needless to say, we made it...

Needless to say, we scared our poor parents and half the community to death...

Now, almost 20 years later, we still tell the story...and when we tell it together, we laugh so hard we can barely breathe. When we tell the story, and we frequently do, my mother still goes berserk, my dad leaves the room, and Julie's mom still starts expressing her dismay in French...

That was a Crazy Ride...

Like life...

We never know what the next day, the next hour, the next minute will bring...

We have to be strong, and believe in ourselves.

Do what needs to be done.

Ask for help sometimes.

Hold onto your shit when the wind is gusting.

Rely on your instincts...

And ALWAYS find humor in your days.

Life is a Crazy, Wonderful Ride.

Bring on the next 40!

Love you Julie.

Mom and Dad~Thanks. Sorry for that. I love you.

Thanks For Reading.

funny.crazy.love.

Vehicle Violation

2011-02-02T08:09:00.000-05:00

Thought you might enjoy a quick story that has NOTHING to do with the weather...

Well, it has a little to do with the weather. And this will be quick...

Yesterday I was leaving a business meeting.

While I was in the meeting, it started to snow...not that much, but enough to dust the vehicles that were waiting patiently for their owners...

I had parked in the lot across the road and was quickly, but carefully...(did I mention I fell a couple of weeks ago and ended up in the e.r. with a concussion? I didn't? Well then, this might not be so quick)...

I approached my car and hit the "meepmeep" unlock button on my key chain...

Got to my office on wheels and clumsily loaded my bag and folders onto the passenger seat, my blackberry into the cup holder, kicked the snow from my boots and slipped into the driver's seat...

What the??

My seat was WAY out of position...Did I do that for some reason??

And I looked down and noticed the floor mats were different than I remembered, but...not surprising, I guess..

I reached for my bright green mittens...no mittens? Didn't I leave them on the seat??

And jeez...it looked much cleaner than I remember...

I turned around...I must have tossed my mittens into the back...

Nope.

No mittens.

ANDNOCARSEATS!!!

Holy %$^&
I was in someone.Else's.car.

I could picture alarms blaring and being surrounded by police if I didn't get my sh&* together fast...

I hustled to jump out with my bag, my phone, the stuff I had strewn over the front of this poor soul's unlocked car...I felt like I had committed the crime of the century...

So there I was, unzipped, un-mittened, un-calm...standing in the middle of this parking lot...hoping the owner didn't come out and try to get into his/her vehicle...I "adjusted" the seat to suit my vertically challenged self...and this person MUST have been tall...that seat had been WAAAAAY back...and in my haste to vacate, I didn't re-adjust...

With what must have been a look of sheer panic, I looked around for my car...

Where in the hell did I put it?

Was it stolen? I KNOW I had locked it...I am a bit OCD about locking it...

I started back toward the office building...looking...searching...

Ha.

HAHAHAHA!

There it was...

In another parking lot in another direction...

Hmmm...think I've got a lot on my brain?

I just about broke out into a skidding run toward my filthy, muddy, snowy, crusty vehicle.

meepmeep.

I opened the door.

AAAHHH. Thank goodness.

There were the dirty floor mats. There were my green mittens. The car seats were in place. The seat was perfectly close to the steering wheel.

I put the key into the ignition and started it up.

Homeward.

I drove by the car that I had victimized..it really did look just like mine...ugh. Should I go back and put the seat back?

Naaaah.

Is there a moral here?

Well, I guess...make sure you lock your cars.

There are crazy, preoccupied, short people like me out there wandering the parking lots...

So if you ever get into your car and notice your seat out of whack, or if you find a bright green mitten on the floor under the back seat...don't worry, it was probably me.

Sorry bout that. hehe.

Thanks For Reading.

funny.crazy.love.

Call Me Crazy

2011-01-13T16:37:00.001-05:00

Yesterday I was surprised by life once again.

You'd think that nothing much would surprise me after some of the things that have happened, things that I've experienced, events that I've been witness to...

But yesterday was kind of funny. And kind of not funny.

And it all has to do with the telephone.

So yesterday was an all-out, old-fashioned blizzard here in Maine. I had a feeling the night before that there would be no school...and like a kid, I was psyched.

I was up at 5:45 am~and hurray! There was coffee in the new red pot...I sat down and watched my beloved weather. Right away, I heard the Tinker-bellish tones...I HAD A TEXT MESSAGE! It still thrills me a little to get text messages...It was my hubby letting me know that schools in Augusta were cancelled...which meant that I didn't have to trek into my meeting..."aahhh." Sweet Relief.

So I watched the cancellations roll across the screen..."JAY SCHOOLS~CLOSED."

HURRAY!!

Even though I would be working from home, I was going to have the whole day with my babies cozied up together in the house.

I relished the quiet morning. The kids were sleeping~I made chocolate mini-muffins from scratch (well, scratch from a box...I added the eggs and water, though).

Then...the phone rang.

Piercing the silent house. It wasn't even 7am!

It showed up as a cell phone number...I didn't recognize it, but I didn't want the ringing to wake the kids...

"Hello?"

"Hello?"

There was a pause.

"Zack?" A male voice asked me.

"Uuuum. Nope. You must have the wrong number." I explained in most un-Zack-like voice.

"Is this 555-5555?" He asked.

"It is but there is nobody named Zack here."

"Well Amber gave me this number..."

"I don't know Amber and I don't know Zack." I said.

"Oh. I must have the wrong number."

As I hung up the phone I heard the toilet flushing, doors opening, footsteps coming down the hall...

"Happy Snow Day!" I said to the three of my kids. And they took the muffins and headed downstairs to plop in front of Spongebob. The day felt kind of like a holiday...why not?

My husband called to check in.

My mom called to see if I had to go anywhere.

US CELLULAR CALLED to remind me that I needed to pay the bill. Riight. "I'll get right on that." I thought saracstically.

It was barely 8am.

What would we do without phones?

riiing.
diiing.
tinkerbell.
the ding-dong letting me know I have email.
a blackberry message.
a voice mail.

I got to work emailing~It would have been fruitless to try to conduct sales over the phone, people were too pre-occupied with the snow, or businesses were closed all-together. (But I did get one sale, miraculous).

I was working downstairs when my first surprise hit.

My oldest son...

Whenever I see him lately, I'm surprised by how tall he is. He just turned 12. And when he speaks, I have to turn around to be sure that there isn't some strange man in the room...

"Mom?"

"Yes?"

"Is it okay if I give 'my girlfriend' our home phone number?"

SURPRISE!

"You have a....(choke, but try to hide the choke) girlfriend?"

"I do." He said with a huge smile.

oh.my.lord.

I chug-a-lugged my coffee.

"Wh-who is it?" I asked. Trying to stay calm, but wanting to pass out right over the side of the chair.

He told me the name of the young lady that was now "his girlfriend."

"Didn't you like her last year?" I wanted to talk to him, but found myself trying to remember exactly when he stopped being interested in Pokemon or Bakoogan or whatever used to have his attention.

"Yeah, but she broke up with me, remember? She asked me out again."

I actually saw a few of my own strands of hair turn grey. (I just cut my own bangs. You'd think I would have learned my lesson).

"Look, honey." I tried to be calm. "I understand that you like her, but I think you're kind of young to be 'boyfriend/girlfriend.' I really think seeing her at school is enough."

"Soooooo....No?" He looked horrified.

"Right. No. No for now. Okay?"

Now, my son is a gem. He has never, I mean NEVER given me attitude, or argued with me or disrespected me in any way. BUT... I know when the kid is disappointed.

He just stood there.

Looking at me.

"It's just talking on the phone, Mum."

"I know. But really, I think you are too young. I mean, you can't even cut your own meat! I still have to remind you to brush your teeth!!"

I wanted to scream..."You are still MY BABY!!!"

But I didn't. And he left the room. My heart was pounding. "Here we go." I thought.

The next call was a work call.
Then my husband again.
Then Julie.
And then...

"Private Number."

To me, that means either my husband calling from the station or a doctor's office.

"Hello?"

"Um...Hi....is...Mackenzie there?"

MACKENZIE? My FIVE year old?

"Ummm. Yes...can I ask who is calling?"

And the little voice gave her name "Mary."

"Sure. Hold on please."

I called for my daughter, playing dress-up in her room.

"Mackenzie! You have a phone call!!"

She came running down the stairs, hair bouncing around her shoulders, head to toe in "faux" baubles. Her favorite sparkly "guitar" shirt that she wears when she is pretending to be Taylor Swift...She took the phone like she had been expecting this call all along...

"Hello? Oh, Hi Mary! What are you doing?...Really?...Cool."

Now, Mackenzie has had this imaginary friend named Stacy for about a year, with whom she frequently converses via "cell phone." The conversations she has sound so real, I've said before...I swear there is really a girl named Stacy on the other end, wearing purple nail polish and picking her nose...

But this time, there was really a friend on the other line...

As I listened to her giggle with excitement, I swear my life fast forwarded ten years, when she would really BE fifteen...Not just SOUNDING like she was...

I shook off my reverie and listened as she was making plans for her friend to come over...

"WAAAAITTAAASSECOOND!!" I rushed to her, tripping over my leopard snuggie. (I love that thing).

"Honey, you can't make plans without asking me. I am working today, and there is seventeen feet of snow...I can't invite guests today." I whispered in a hushed panic.

"That's Okay, Mom, she just called to talk." She explained to me.

Of Course. Silly me.

Surprise.

Are kids really doing this at age 5??

And on went the ringing. ALL day.

So much for my quiet day at home. The phone literally kept me on the edge of my seat, or completely off of it, all damned day.

The last straw was this one...

RIIINGG..

Is it just me? Or my aging ears? But as the day begins to wind down, sounds get louder and louder.

I didn't even bother to look at caller i.d.

"Hello?"

Pause.

"Hello?" I asked, irritation tumbling out with the greeting.

"PLEASE HOLD FOR AN IMPORTANT MESSAGE FROM...."

Really? Someone is calling me and asking ME to hold? Are you effing serious? After my lovely snow day was marred by my son, (who, by-the-way, announced on Facebook that he is "IN A RELATIONSHIP")
who was disappointed and likely angry at me for putting the ka-bosh on the boyfriend-girlfriend-phone-thingy. By the realization that time really does fly by...that chocolate-chip-mini-muffins won't always thrill my babes...that Kiki will soon not want to be called Kiki, because she will be too grown up? And she will be chatting on the phone, making plans, without checking with me...

I may have vented all of this to the "important message" recording, I don't know.

So as my day wound to a close, and the kids were in bed, I sat down in my again quiet house.

The phone rang.

And as I jumped to answer it, so the ringing wouldn't wake the kids, I was surprised again.

I stepped right on one of Nick's Pokemon.

Thanks For Reading.

funny.crazy.love.

Merry Christmas

2010-12-24T08:42:00.000-05:00

Among the crazy piles of boxes
And the tape and wrap and bags
I thought about the woman
That I saw was dressed in rags
She was standing on the corner
Midst the traffic and the snow
Holding up a sign that said she had no place to go
And could I give a little
To help this holiday
The sign said she was homeless
And had no job that gave her pay
I doubt the change I gave to her
Helped her out too much
But doing so helped me to see
I had gotten out of touch~
The worry and the hustle
And the rush and all the baking
To pile up all the presents
For my kids as they are waking
On Christmas morning as my kids come flying down the stairs
I want them to remember
All the blessings that are theirs
And so I wrapped and prayed for all of those who are in need
And I promised not to forget
The reason for my deed~
So remember as the hustle and the bustle cloud the reason
To be grateful that we have enough to celebrate this season
Its not about the presents or the stress to which it lends
Its sharing in the spirit with our families and friends.

So Merry, Merry Christmas
To all of you and yours
And may the Beauty of This Season
Come flowing through your doors.

Thanks For Reading
funny.crazy.love.

Mourning Coffee

2010-12-16T20:35:00.001-05:00

It became a part of our family, sort of by accident a bit over 6 years ago.

When we got married, we got this gift certificate for a pretty large amount to a pretty swanky store, that we pretty much would never have stepped foot in, unless of course we had a pretty penny to spend on things we really didn't NEED. You know?

But we DID have this gift certificate. So we took a little trip to the big city.

Inside this store, we both, I mean, my husband and I, wandered around, looking for something on which we could spend this gift certificate. The things in the store were beautiful~don't get me wrong~but one thing that we both have in common is that we don't spend money on things that we don't NEED. (Well, at least I don't. My husband has been banned from "stopping to pick up milk" due to his recent "impulse" buys, like 12 boxes of light bulbs, or new "funnels" just in case they would ever come in handy, anyway...that's another story)...

So again, this particular store was filled with unnecessary items~pottery, massive candles, hand-crafted sculpture-like-things-that-you-put-on-your-mantle-if-you-have-one, things that I would not likely spend money on...except we had this "fun" money...

We walked slowly around the store...picking up one thing, shaking our heads, "No." Stopping in front of another thing. "How about this?"

"Uuummmm....not so much."

It really wasn't our kind of stuff.

"Can I help you find something?" The hippy-ish clerk asked.

Neither of us had any idea.

"Have you been upstairs? There is a whole other department up there..."

Coffee.

Rich people coffee. Java. Espresso machines. Cappuccino makers. Stirrers. Grinders. Beans. Mugs. Spoons. Mixers. Coffee books. Coffee magazines. Coffee experts in fancy coffee aprons...

Coffee pots.

Not just your average department store brand coffee makers. Not that there was anything wrong with average department store brand coffee makers... I mean, we had a perfectly good, well-functioning, Mr. Coffee at home...

We were happy.

We had coffee every morning.

It was fine coffee, too.

But these machines were different. They looked different. They were stainless steel trimmed, sleek black and sturdy. Stallions.

Guaranteed to brew the perfect cup o' joe.

We peered over the models.

They were spectacular.

And we had a gift certificate.

Did we need one of these beauties?

Nope.

Had we ever even discussed the notion of owning one of these masters of coffee makers?

Never.

They cost almost as much as two car payments for heaven's sake!!

But here we were...standing face to face with owning one of the best...

What the hell else were we going to buy? A forty pound beeswax candle? A miniature sculpture of "The Thinker?"

We had to spend it on SOMETHING!

So we did. AND we had enough left over to buy the "Burger Bible" cookbook.

This coffee pot had an instruction manual the size of the dictionary. We learned the basics, plugged it in, and pushed start.

And THAT was the beginning of our beautiful relationship with our coffee pot.

The coffee that it produced was better than any I had EVER had. DD, Starbucks, here, there...wherever. This was superior java.

If our guests had it, they all commented. It was GOOD. It was SO GOOD.

I looked forward to it every single morning. The best was when my hubby made it before he left for work and it was waiting for me when I padded into the kitchen, poured, and sat to watch the weather before the kids came trampling down the stairs. It was pre-perked heaven in a cup.

For 6 years.

Then, in the last couple of months, it started taking a little longer than usual to brew.

It would sigh and heave and gurgle sounds that it never made before.

Oh...it still tasted great, but it was certainly showing its signs of aging.

THANKSGIVING MORNING, 2010.

I was so excited to make my coffee and start the holiday traditions: cinnamon buns for the kids, coffee for me while I started baking...

I put the coffee in the filter. I poured the water in. I pushed "on."

Nothing.

I stood there and stared at it for a good 3 minutes.

Nothing.

I gave it a little "love tap."

Still Nothing.

Oh, no.

Oh, no.

Oh, Dear God, NO!!

I pushed the button to "off."

Unplugged it. Plugged it back in.

Nope...

I was in a state of complete panic.

My husband came in and saw my face.

"What's wrong?"

"ITSNOTCOMINGON!"

He came over and gave it a smack on the side.

"I know...it's been like this for a while." He said.

I gave it a smack. Then another.

Then, the life giving "HIIISSSSSSSSS" sound graced my ears as it started brewing.

A collective sigh of relief blended with the percolating sounds of our beloved machine.

But we knew it then.

Its days were numbered.

In the days that followed, we took turns smacking it, shaking it, cussing at it, plugging-UN-plugging-plugging it into different places around the kitchen, trying to set the timer, using hot water, colder water...cleaning it, praying in front of it, cleaning it again, standing in front of it with our ears next to the base of it...hoping for it to brew...

At first it would go after a couple of shakes and smacks...but as the days passed, we had to beat it longer and harder. Shake it to the point of crazy. The kids were waking up to one of us literally beating the crap out of the coffee maker. We knew it was not long before we would have to buy a...

dun-duh-dunnnn...

replacement.

So, we searched high and low...on-line, in stores, in the holiday fliers...for a respectable, yet practical, new maker.

We found one.

It looked like a beauty. Decent price.

Sturdy. Not too many options...12 cup...and RED. (I like that. It looks sharp).

My husband asked before he hit "send" on the order..."You SURE?"

"I'm sure."

"Really sure?"

"Ugh. I guess so."

SEND.

It was done.

I can't help but feel oddly sentimental about it.

It was, after all, a wedding gift. It was REALLY nice. It made excellent coffee every.single.day.

So for the past few days, we had waited for the new machine to arrive. And, of course, yesterday, our trusty old maker started brewing at the first push of the button...much like the day of a scheduled hair cut, you have a great hair day...anyway...it was almost like it knew...I know that sounds crazy. I 'm tearing up...

But this morning...OH!THIS!MORNING!

It would NOT start. I was trying to figure out how to make a DD run in my jammies...My husband was pacing in front of it...he had to leave for work...it was not gonna brew. it was over.

I unplugged it for the final time.

Then the doorbell rang...

It was our new coffee pot. (IT didn't ring the bell, the UPS guy did...)

I took it from him like it was a newborn.

I tore it out of the box and placed it on the counter, where I hope it will remain for many years.

I called my husband. "It's here."

When he got home this evening, we just stood looking at it. He filled it and set the timer.

"I feel like going to bed now, so morning will get here faster." He said. (Love him).

And so it goes. At least, I hope.

Thanks to my Uncle Jim for the inspiration for the title of this...Thanks to the friends-who gave us the gc in the first place-Thanks to the folks at KRUPP'S...It was a hell of a ride.

I love my coffee.

Oh, and we still have the "Burger Bible."

Books are forever, you know.

That is all.

thanks for reading.

funny.crazy.love

The First Day Of Crazy

2010-12-13T06:51:00.000-05:00

On The 1st Day of Crazy
The Good Gods sent to me
An Absolutely Flooded Basement...

A Whoopie Pie Debacle
Broken Coffee Pot
Nick Broke His Thumb
Splinters From The Wood
Smashing Christmas Tree
Papers Go To Print

FIVE PRESENTS FOUND(by Tyler, of course)

Forgot My Wallet at My House
Need to Order Oil
Of Course We're Outta Milk

AND A FOOT OF WATER IN THE BAAAAASE~MEEEEEENT!

Merry Christmas!!

funny.crazy.love

My Broken Funny Bone

2010-12-11T09:26:00.001-05:00

Oh.
Where do I begin?
With an apology? A thank-you? An excuse?

Buckle up, Crazy Road travelers...this might be a bumpy ride.

First, I will tell all of you that have been wondering if the crazy, funny, nutty situations that make life on Crazy Road so, well, crazy~ are still occurring, that~

YES. Indeed they are.

Its a bit of a long story as to what happened with me, and why I haven't written about our chaotic, hilarious life. But now, as I am writing, the words are piling up in my head and ready to explode right onto this blog...

The fact is, my funny bone broke. And it took the words of a complete stranger, as well as a new friend, to shake me out of my slump.

You see, back in July, I received an email unlike any other.

It was an email from someone that I had never met.

Inviting ME to compete in the Mrs. Maine Pageant.

My initial reaction was a giggle.

ME? In a pageant? Now THAT was hilarious to me. And to my close family and friends who know me all too well~hysterical! How would someone like ME compete with beautiful, smart, talented ladies who were likely familiar with very high heels and false eyelashes?

More giggles just picturing it.

ME in a bathing suit? ME in an evening gown? ME in a...crown?

And so days went by, and I couldn't get the thought out of my head. Being in the pageant would mean I could talk about Barbara Bush Children's Hospital and The Make-A-Wish foundation, and maybe, just maybe, help out these two charities that are very near and dear to my heart. so, why NOT me?

"PLUS," I thought...

I mean, this is something that is a once-in-a lifetime opportunity. The whole issue of the looming 40th birthday has been really getting me down...why not do this thing and really take this opportunity to GLAM up. I USED to be glam. I USED to know what was hip. I USED to read magazines and brush up on eyeliner and highlighting techniques...

NOW I pour over the articles on banishing belly fat and reducing stress and de-puffing under-eye-bags.

Blah.

So, with the encouragement of the same family and friends that giggled along with me at first, I took the plunge into the pageant world. I vowed I wouldn't stress about it. I promised I would have fun with it and not try to be someone that I was not...

Oops.

I didn't even realize what was happening.

I poured over pictures of bathing suits and gowns.

My hair has gone from blond to red to brown to red to brown again in an effort to look my best.

I purchased creams and lotions and eyebrow stuff...

I stopped seeing the humor in my days.

On Thanksgiving, for instance, my beloved coffee pot @#$% the proverbial bed. Because I am a fiend about my coffee, not just any coffee pot will do. Because its Christmas, my finances are tied up in Santa's sack(get your minds outta the gutter folks, I mean toys)...and the new pot will just have to wait. So, in the meantime, my husband and I take turns literally beating the broken KRUPP'S coffee pot until it brews my liquid lifeblood.

That's funny.

But I didn't write about it. I will, though. I have a lot of "ground" to make up...

Our Christmas tree came crashing down in the middle of our living room the other night. Among shattered ornaments and tangles lights, the real me would have laughed at the situation and written about the fact that I heard the tree creaking and thought there was a squirrel or mouse a la Clark Griswold, and my husband and I were staring at the tree waiting for it to jump out at us as the tree came smashing down...

Thats funny.

But all I could do was cry and think about all the work I put into that tree and the sentimental value it had...

My husband said..."Well, its gonna make a good story for your blog..." And I barely heard his words.

A couple of weeks ago, I was trying on gowns for the pageant. As I stood in front of the mirror, and the downright lovely lady fussed over the straps and the trains and the sparkles and the boobs...All I could think of was...my belly fat. My stress. My worry about being judged.

This was not funny.

Last week, I met with a couple of ladies to go over my "pageant stuff." My paperwork. My bathing suit. My plan for the interview.

I answered the questions in a way that I thought was "pageant" like...

And here is my first "THANK YOU:"

During the practice interview, she stopped me mid-sentence.

She said, "You are not that funny. Everyone told me that you were funny and I am just not seeing it."

I was so taken back by her statement! After all, the one word that I am pretty sure people think of when they think of me is: funny.

What had happened? Where had I gone wrong? Had I evolved into an un-funny person?

You know what?

I had.

Shame on me.

I think I convinced myself that to compete in a pageant like this, I had to become very dignified. Very serious.

Very Not Me.

So thank you, beautiful stranger. I hope to re-meet you soon so I can introduce you to someone I like very much...me.

The other night, as I was peering into my magnifying mirror looking at my wrinkles and zits and other deformities with my ever-critical eye, my husband came into the bathroom...

"Stop doing that!" He said..."You are beautiful."

"Easy for you to say. You don't have one-single-wrinkle or and you never get zits!"

He said, "Maybe you should stop layering all those products on and just use soap."

hmmmmm.....

And I looked at my side of the vanity and really saw what I had missed for months.

I have every anti-aging eye cream, scar-reducing serum, self-tanners, stuff to make my hair better, thicker, longer, lighter, darker, skin-primer, face luminator, Clearasil, line erasers, eye-lash plumpers, lip sticks, glosses, balms and tubes....you name it...if it is on a Rite-Aid shelf...I own it.

Ugh.

And I am pretty sure I look the same as I did before.

He was so right. Again.

Yesterday, my new friend Kayt said, "When are you gonna blog again? We miss your funny, crazy life!"

You know what, Kayt?

So do I.

And lucky me, it's been right here waiting for me. Right in front of my ridiculously eye-shadowed eyes.

Thank you, Kayt.

So...onto my apologies...

To my husband. I know I have been impossible.

To the followers of Crazy Road...

Sorry...temporarily lost my funny-mojo.

I am right here...

And so, I will be in the Mrs. Maine Pageant in February. I will do my best to represent all of the "MRS. MAINES" out there who are busy mothers, wives, workers, bill-paying, grocery getting, dinner-making, tear-wiping-bedtime-story-telling-appointment keepers-taxi driving-Christmas shopping-beautiful-talented-successful ladies out there.

I will proudly wear the heels and the gowns and the bathing suits(oh.yes.i.will) and the eyelashes. My hair will be shiny and big and my "girls" will likely be taped up to resemble the boobs(yes, I said boobs, because its funny)of days gone by...

But underneath it all, I PROMISE, will be crazy, funny me.

And THAT is perfectly fine.

I am thrilled that you are still reading this. I might have thought you would have given up on it. I forgot how much I love to write about my wonderful life...I admit...I almost forgot my password to get into my own website! But of course, it came to me. Its really my own description of the real me.

Thank goodness..

I am soon-to-be-forty.

I am proud of my life and my accomplishments.

I have laugh lines~From years of laughing so much and so hard at myself, with friends and family, at funny movies with my husband, at my kids, my sister, my friends, Lisa, Julie...

I have a belly that has made room for my three beautiful babies, and is a bit stretched out because of that. In light of what I have in my kids...I'll take the stretch.

I have stress about my job as an advertising executive, and ad deadlines, and sales numbers...but I have a great job~I work with fantastic people, I have a perfect schedule...I am so lucky.

I am blessed with healthy, happy kids. An amazing, supportive husband. A great family. Amazing friends.

And a healed funny bone.

Stay tuned...I am back, baby!!

Thanks for reading...

funny.crazy.love.

Real Runner

2010-10-08T08:12:00.002-04:00

People say I'm crazy.

I won't deny I have my moments of crazy. I embrace it now. I can't fight crazy any more than I can fight being short, or my fear of frogs.

What seems crazy to others, and what is crazy to me, are sometimes two different things.

Crazy to me was the thought of ever being a "runner." I've done my fair share of treadmills, and aerobics, and hundreds of different videos, ab crunchers and whatever was the new "it" gadget...but I never could get my arms (or legs) around RUNNING.

Here's another thing about me. I am naturally lazy.

Not so much in my life, as a mom, a wife, an advertising exec, grocery getter, tear wiper, dinner maker, bill payer, candy-land-ref, and all that...

But with excercise.

i no likey.

I know its a must. I have read every magazine, watched every TV show...I KNOW I have to exercise if I want to be fit and healthy.

I know.

I know.

I know.

So last year I started walking...every day, a little further, a little faster. I grew to look forward and actually liked my walks. I took Casey, my beloved Golden Retriever. And seeing the absolute joy he got from the walks made it all the better.

I even got some of those massive make-your-but-look-cute-if you-walk-in-these Sketchers. I have never had a pair of shoes that came with a DVD that shows you how to walk in them, but sure enough, in a few days I was walking on air and feeling better and better.

Miles and Miles later, at the end of the summer, I heard about a family in my town that have two young children, Brooke and Josh, who have been diagnosed with A-T. Brooke is in my daughters class, Josh is in third grade. There would be a 5K in October to raise money for research for this terrible disease that currently has no cure..What could I do to help?

I could run, that's what.

So I started running.

I hated it.

It hurt my legs. It hurt my hips. It hurt my back. It hurt my arms. It hurt my ta-tas. I think it hurt my ears. It hurt everywhere...at first.

But I did it. I set the goal that I would run that race without stopping. 3 Miles. I knew it would not kill me.

Right?

At times I felt like it would. I started 1/4 mile by 1/4 mile. Soon I was running that 3 miles...and I had my trusty little pedometer thinger to prove it. My heart pounded. I believe that I perspired more than I ever have.

But doggone it. I was running.

And so October arrived. I was ready to race.

The night before, I was nervous. I wasn't sure why, I knew I could do it. I wasn't out to win...I just wanted to finish. I didn't know the route of the race, but I was pretty sure it wouldn't be too hard...right?

That night, my belly was doing that thing...you know what I'm talking about...that "ohnopleaseletmemakeit" feeling that you get if you have...well...intestinal distress...the runs.

Ironic.

The morning of the race...I felt better. I was excited. Ready to go...

I popped some Imodium and hit the road.

I picked up my friends and drove down to the church parking lot...It was "brisk" to say the least, but the energy of the runners and huge turnout to support the family was utterly amazing. Music was blaring, people were laughing and warming up...I got my "number."

It was 40.

Ironic.

I told my friend not to worry about running with me. I knew she was a "real" runner, and her pace was sure to be faster, and I didn't want to worry about keeping up. I just wanted to run the whole race with no stopping.

Just about as quickly as we started, I lost her in the pack.

About a 1/2 mile into it, I found my pace, which was clearly slower than most. But I didn't care. I was doing this for so many other reasons. I was doing it for myself. I was doing it for Brooke and Josh. I had set a goal, and here I was...running.

I kept up for a while, but at the first turn, was the first "hill." Remember, I live in the "Western Mountains." Its pretty much ALL hills. I watched as the "real runners" went up and over, and lost them.

Thankfully, there were wonderful volunteers along the route to direct us...cheering us on...lights and sirens from the local Police who had all volunteered their time to direct the race...it was awesome.

But the effing hills.

I was huffing and puffing and sweating.

This was not the fun part.

Then, at about halfway...at the top of yet another hill, there was a mini water station...where Brooke and Josh were there handing out cups, and saying "thank you" to each runner...with tears in my eyes I picked up my pace. Would these kids ever run? They will if I can help it.

Down a hill and around a corner, there was a man walking, cheering and supporting the racers.

"It's All Down Hill From Hee-Yah!"

"It is??" I panted. "Thank GOD!!!" I almost turned around and kissed him.

Down hill I could do.

Another Corner...

The police officer directed me up another hill...

"Really?" I squeaked..."But a guy just said it was..."

Bastard!

Son of a...!

At the top of that hill, I realized I was alone.

Alone with my burning quads, my sore toe...my very un-lady-like sweat...and lost?

I had lost sight of my friend's swinging pony-tail, in a not-so-nice part of town...

I knew I had to be close to the end...but I was not sure. I think I was hallucinating. I was singing to myself.

On a road I knew would somehow get me to the end...

Where the $%#@ was I?
Where the $#%^ was everyone?

Only I could get lost in my own hometown and lose sight of 30 people running in a pack in bright, matching tee shirts...

Then I saw this person...not sure if it was a man or a woman...handing out little cups at a table on the side of the road...

"Yessssss." I was on the right trail!

I took a cup and drank it...feeling very marathony and athletic...

"Holy #$%^!" I thought out loud..."I hope that wasn't some sort of drug or something!"

This person could have been some LOONY passing out meth-juice or crack!

Was I going to die?

I kept running.

Then I saw another police car...blue lights twirling...at least I think they were....maybe I was swirling...

The sun was bright...The officers directing me...

"You're almost there!!!"

"I am? I am!"

Its a good thing. I had to pee.

Now I could see runners in front of me. Now I could hear a few behind me.

I caught a glimpse of the crowd at the end.

I could hear them cheering for runners as they finished.

I was going to be one of them.

Then I saw my three beautiful children cheering for me...beaming with pride..."Go MAMA!"

My parents were there cheering for me as I neared the finish...

My friends that had finished were cheering...

"Great Job!!"

I ran in holding the hands of my two little rascals...Someone snapped a picture...Someone yelled out my time of finish...people were patting me on the back...

I did it.

And I didn't poop my pants, or overdose on that cup of drugs...

I did it.

I became a runner.

I did it for those kids. I did it for my kids. I did it for crazy me.

"Beautiful are the feet that carry good news." The priest quoted before the race started.

That carried me through. And every day since that race. I have run.

I will continue to run, and have set new goals. Crazy goals? Maybe. But the thought of running at all used to be crazy...to me.

It still hurts.

I still don't love it. But I can do it and support causes that are near and dear to me. And that is the reason I run.

Hope with Every Step raised over $55,000 for research in A-T.

I am honored that I could help.

And really, really proud of myself.

Thanks For Reading.

funny.crazy.love.

The Name Game

2010-09-28T08:41:00.001-04:00

AAAAHHHH~

School is back in full session! That means crazy mornings, lunch packing, bus meetings, soccer practice pick-ups, Open-Houses, school picture reminders on the fridge, two-times-the-laundry, and lots and lots of stories!

This is Tylers first year of Pre-K, and, unlike Mackenzie, Tyler starts telling me the minute-by-minute details of his days the second he steps off the bus.

In his funny, animated way, he tells me the excitement of eating breakfast and lunch with his new friends, making play-dough, drinking from the watah fountain and his absolute favorite~RECESS!!

We've been asking about his friends, but until late last week, he really couldn't tell us any of the names of his new little buddies...

When we visited the school for the open-house, I noticed some of the cute names on the tags hanging on the cubbies...names have changed so much! Names I would never have thought of for my own children, but really interesting, unique names for both boys and girls. Some are whimsical, some are tough, some are spelled in letter combinations that may prove to be difficult to remember when addressing birthday invitations or valentine cards, but really, really different titles to the adorable little wee-ones that are just entering the world of learning.

So yesterday, as Ty was telling me of the drama that occurred in the line waiting, waiting for that precious water-from-da-fountain, I was stopped short when he started mentioning names...

"And so we were waiting in line, and "Mikey" got white in fwunt of VIPAH..."

"Wait. Who?"

"VIPAH....and den he hit huah on da showdah..."

"Ty. Hold up. VIPAH?"

"Yes. VIPAH."

"Is VIPAH a girl or a boy?"

"She's a guwal."

"VIP-ER?"

"Yes MAMA!"

"VIPER?"

"YESSSSS,"

By now he was frustrated with both me and my mother who could not control her laughter at this scene.

"Do you think there is really a child named Viper?" I asked...

"I don't know," she replied..."He is pretty sure."

"Tyler. Come back."

He had already started on his twain twacks.

"What?" He wanted nothing to do with this conversation anymore.

"Are you sure her name is VIPER?"

"Yes."

"And she is a girl?"

"Yes. Vip-Ah."

Then he came over to me, put both hands on my face and said,

"Say....VI..."

So I repeated, "VIIII,"

"PUH."

And I repeated back to his very serious face, "Puh."

"VIP-UH." He was certain. Absolutely sure.

I was trying not to be surprised. There ARE some really different names...maybe "Viper" is a family name? Or a nick-name?

The rest of the afternoon went on, dinner was chaotic, more laundry, forgot that library books had to be returned, ran out of milk, work report still had to be done...but I could not get the name out of my head.

When bedtime arrived, Ty was getting into bed...I asked again, "Tyler. Viper?"

And then Mackenzie appeared in the door. "Mom! It IS VIPER!"

"How do you know? Is she on the bus with you?"

"No. I just know." She explained. "I have been hearing you ask Tyler a hundredtwentymilliontimes!"

"Have you met her?"

"Mom. Her name is Viper. Believe me."

Really? Really? I had to find out.

I called my friend Julie...She didn't know...

I hopped on facebook and was DE-Lighted to see his teacher online...I couldn't resist asking...

"Do you have a girl in your class named "VIPER?"

Her response:

"LOL."

"No. Its not VIPER. But he is close."

I knew it.

Pheeew.

When I told Ty this morning that his friends name was _IPER, he laughed and laughed...He gave himself a "V-8" smack and said, "OOOHHHH. I thought it was VIPUH this whooooole time!"

I look forward to hearing all about his stories...his new friends...his water-fountain line dramas...his playground antics...everything...and if he ends up with friends named VIPER or Reptilly or Cobra, as long as they're good friends, that is fine with me.

God Bless the teachers. Hope you have a great year!

Thanks for Reading~

funny.crazy.love.

The Curse of Queen Frostine

2010-08-26T17:36:00.001-04:00

I had a nightmare the other night.

The cast of Crazy Road was engaged in Family Court.

"What brings this Family to my courtroom?" Asked the judge.

"Candy Land, Your Honor," I replied. "The game of Candy Land has forced our family into pieces. We fight. We yell. We burn parts of the game in the furnace...Our once close-knit, loving family has fallen to the Curse of Queen Frostine."

"I see." The judge commented, shaking his head in sadness. "I hate to see this happen to good families...but, it happens all too often...I have no choice but to...."

AND THEN I WOKE UP.

What would a judge have decided?

Okay. I really didn't have a dream. But let me tell you, I believe we have been cursed.

It all started last Christmas...

The kids got CandyLand and Chutes & Ladders.

These games have been around since I was a little kid, but man, they are re-vamped today! All glossy and bright and colorful...but the premise is the same. Designed to teach kids counting, colors, patience, good sportsmanship, and yaddah bladdah gaga, these games are likely in thousands of homes all over the world. I believe in teaching children all of the aforementioned skills. I REALLY do. I just don't think they are meant for the buggers here at Crazy Road.

The second that the kids opened Candy Land, my life changed. OUR lives changed. Because counting and colors did not register with my kids. The GUMDROP PASS and MR. MINT and hot little LOLLIE became the focus. Not only that, but the cards were everywhere, and the poor yellow game piece was constantly found stuffed into the cushions or between books because neither of the kids wanted him.

The anguished cries of the poor soul that landed on "sticky licorice"(so they lose a turn) or the loser who AAAAALMOST made it to King Kandy but at the last draw picks Gramma Nut made me more and more stressed. I took the game away and hid it in my closet. I thought they would forget about it, but they did not.

Day after day they would ask for it. Standing in my closet, peering up at it as if it were the only toy they owned and were being kept away from any shred of happiness or joy...the "joy" that only the Journey to CandyLand could bring them.

I folded. But with strict rules and guidelines: No Fighting. No fits. No cheating when "shoveling" the cards. Queen Frostine would be "shoveled" into the pile right along with the double "purps" and the single "stupid" greens. I would see to it, that her card would be drawn fair and square.

Well, lo-and-behold, they did not follow the rules. Fighting ensued, crying, kicking fits prevailed, and I ended up putting the entire game(except for the little gingerbread man game pieces) into the furnace.

Yes.I.Did.

Was that irrational? Probably. Was it detrimental to their development? Possibly. BUT...Did it buy me some peace and quiet for a while? OH YEAH BABY. No regrets.

But you know...Tyler asked about Candy Land almost every day...for a good 7 months. And you know something else?

I was FOOLED!

I bought Tyler ANOTHER brand-spanking-new Candy Land game for his birthday in August. August 9th, to be exact. I thought foolishly that the loss of the first game would remind him and Kiki that they need to play nicely together. That being a good sport and congratulating the winner, and being "happy" for whomever picked the glorious "Queen Frostine" card would be hugely beneficial to them.

uum. no.

In fact, it got worse.

Tyler would throw a fit(and I mean F.I.T.) if he didn't draw "a special person" card, meaning Frosty, NannaNuts, Minty or who-ever...he didn't even care that drawing the said cards resulted in him being sent backwards...The word "cwap" was uttered every time a "color" card was drawn. He simply does not get it yet.

Then Kiki was overheard "manipulating" the "shoveling" process and actually "counting cards" to ensure that she was the prize picker of special people cards...like a little "rain man."

It was so out of hand...

I have regulated Tyler to playing alone.

I have sent Keek to her room for "cheating." I mean, COME ON! Its freaking CANDY LAND!

So last night was the ultimate breakdown of every system I have tried to enforce.

Trying to overcome the stress of my workday and make dinner and mentally check off items from my to-do list...the screams kept coming from the living room...I squeaked my usual empty threats...eventually walking in to find my daughter strategically "placing" the Queen Frostine card in the pile.

"Kiki! Give me the cards. I will shuffle them." I demanded.

While they continued to bicker, I slid the QUEEN right out of the pile, calmly walked out of the room, opened the trash can and dropped her in.

"See You in Hell, Frosty." I (really) said.

It wasn't until after dinner that they realized the card was missing.

"MAMA! I can't find her! I know she is here..."

They both searched. I felt a tiny bit bad, but I smiled and said, "She left. She knew that she was causing you two to fight and cry and she felt it best to go."

Sinister. I know.

But they bought it for a few minutes!

Until Chris came in...

"Daddy! Daddy! Queen Frostine left!!!!We can't find her anywhere!!!"

Chris came around the corner where I was still grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

"They're freaking out trying to find that card." He said.

"I know. I threw it in the trash."

This is where things get ugly.

HE actually got mad at ME! I had envisioned a HIGH-FIVE or a "Nice Job" from him, but....

"You can't do that! That won't teach them anything!" And my wonderful husband opened the trash and started looking for the card, now buried under the hamburg package and taco trimmings.

"Are you kidding me?!>!"

We actually started yelling at each other a little. We NEVER yell. Really. We don't.

Then he proceeded into the living room, before I knew what he was going to do...he bellowed,
"You know what you made Mama do? You made her so mad she threw away Queen Frostine!"

Tears.

Questioning little faces.

My family was disintegrating right before my very onion-teary eyes.

I was Rockin' Mad.

Mad at Chris. Mad at the kids. Really pissed off at Milton Bradley. Chris was mad at me, Nick was just confused...Tyler still thought the Queen has left the building...

What was happening?

We had been cursed.

We barely got through dinner. Everyone was pouting. Our tacos were the only things making noise. Uncomfortable dinner silence. Nothing worse.

All of the kids went about their business after dinner. Tyler seemed to accept the loss of the beloved card, and saw that he could still play the game without her. Chris and I forgot our little spat and moved on...Poor Nick just went to his room to do whatever he does for hours in there...and Kiki? Well, she went to her room, too.

I was finishing up the dishes and she came around the corner.

"Look, Mama. Look what I made."

And she handed me a little picture, perfectly colored and framed...about the size of a...

"Who is this?" I asked. The picture was of a girl with crazy yellow hair...at first I thought it was a VOO-DOO picture of me.

"It's Queen Frostine! I made it so we can learn our lesson! Can you help me cut it out?"

Oh. Lord.

I knelt down to hug her, and Tyler came in, Over-The-Moon at his very creative big sisters offering.

She cut that hand-made-Candy-Land-Queen-Frostine out...

And they lived happily ever after.

Lessons were learned by all of us.

Am I sorry I acted in the heat of the moment? Nope.

But I promise, I won't burn another board game...

But don't make me play Monopoly. I might throw THAT one right into the street. But I still am the Connect Four Master.

THE END.

Thanks for reading.

funny.crazy.love.

Stacy and Joe: An Update

2010-08-11T22:18:00.001-04:00

Its been a while since I've written about Stacy and Joe.

If you missed some of the very first blogs, you might not know who Stacy and Joe are.

They are very important members of our family here at Crazy Road.

Stacy is Mackenzie's friend who stays with us frequently because her mother owns a restaurant and travels between here and California. She wears purple nail polish and picks her nose. She also has her ears "peeched." She and Kiki talk on the phone all of the time. Stacy left us for a while in July because she apparently told Kiki that I wasn't fun.

Anyway, Stacy has a sister...
Her name is Iffy.

Not Tiffany. Not Effy.

Iffy.

Iffy has been around quite a bit lately, too, and has introduced my 5 year old to the concept of World travel.

The other night, we were doing our whole crazy bedtime routine, when we heard Kiki clanging around in her messy, messy bedroom...

She showed up in the doorway to Tyler's room and announced that she had taken her money out of her piggy bank, and was ready to go to Paris.

"Paris?" Chris and I both questioned aloud in unison.

"Yes. Paris." Kiki declared, as if this were an everyday occurrence.

I had just gotten used to the idea of her traveling to her ballet school, which happens to be in California! Every day, she puts on her "high heels," grabs her purse and tromps down the driveway to "California." She will run around exclaiming how late she is going to be and how angry her ballet teacher will be if she shows up late!

So, back to her Paris trip...

She had on her "traveling shoes" which, again, thanks to my friend Julie, are those plastic dress up heels that come in Halloween-y costumes...her big purse, and her "Tiana" nightgown. And she had snuck my lip gloss.

"What are you going to Paris for?" I asked.

"OOHHH, ya know, I'm going to the zoo, and shopping for Tyler's school clothes."

"Do you have enough money?"

"Yes. I have a coin."

"A coin? Just one?"

"Yes."

"How are you going to eat? Where are you going to stay?"

"In the brick hotel. The one that Arack Obama stayed in."

"Right." I still can't believe she talks about the Obamas like they are our next door neighbors.

"I don't think you'll have enough money. Not with just one coin."

She looked at me like I was nuts.

"Its-A-Magic-Coin" she sing-songed.

"How are you going to get there?"

"Iffy is picking me up in her purple and pink boogie-car."

"Her what?"

"Her BOOGIE car."

"Oh."

"We are stopping in North Navornia to pick up Lola."

"North Where?"

"NA-VORN-YA." She was clearly getting frustrated with all of these questions on her itinerary..

"Who is Lo-?"

I then realized that the conversation had just sucked me in so far that I was asking questions as if all of this were really happening. And I am pretty sure I kept a straight face through the whole thing...

Then Tyler chimed in from under the covers.

"Joe got killed by a dragon today."

"Oh, no! He did?"

"Yup. And I saved him!"

"Wait. You saved him?"

"Yup."

And he jumped out of bed and started jumping around like he had a sword or a dragon slaying tool of some sort...and making these swooshing noises..."Like this!"

"Where did all this happen?"

"In the forest wight outside ow-ah yahd."

"So, is he okay?"

"Yes. But Beyontay got killed instead."

Beyontay. Beonte. bee-on-tay. Is Joe's older brother. Joe is Tyler's buddy. Beonte is somewhat of a bully, but he lives in New Jersey, so unless he is at camp, we don't see him around as much as we see Joe.

Joe has finally stopped stealing from Tyler's toy box, and all of them, Kiki, Stacy, Iffy, Tyler and Joe all get along swimmingly here. They eat breakfast together, they play "How to Train A Dragon" together, they have concerts...so much fun.

And in case you haven't figured this out...they are not even real..

Kiki isn't REALLY going to Paris in a Boogie Car.

Tyler isn't slaying dragons in the woods.

But their imaginations are so incredible, and the details are so, well, detailed, that I sometimes think that Iffy and Stacy and Joe and Beonte are really here.

I mean, just this morning I made extra pancakes for them...

Lately Kiki likes to have sleepovers in Tyler's room. She sleeps on the "Crouton"(the futon) and they laugh and talk about their adventures and sing crazy, made up songs about North Navornia and usually the word "poop" makes it in there and they both end up in a fit of giggles...its magical....

The kids will be starting school again soon...and sooner than I probably know, Stacy and Joe might not be around anymore...I'm gonna miss 'em.

Every moment is a moment.

Now I am going to see if North Navornia exists on a map somewhere. Maybe I'll just Google...

Thanks For Reading.

funny.crazy.love.

And The Mother of the Year Award Goes To...

2010-08-05T21:15:00.000-04:00

WELL...Certainly NOT ME!!

Oh, Yeah.

I'm back, baby. So sit back, and get ready for more from CRAZY ROAD~

This particular story is written per the encouragement of my wonderful son, Nick.

Not only is he smart, handsome, athletic, kind, funny, generous and understanding...he is also FORGIVING...because living with a crazy Mama like me can't be easy...

So I'll start by saying, I am not a big Hockey Fan...

However, it is the sport Nick has chosen as his "number one."

I did not grow up around hockey. Therefore, I do not understand it. I will go so far to say that I don't even like watching it.

But, Nick likes it, and along with other circumstances, Nick is INVOLVED in hockey.

It is a time consuming, expensive sport that requires lots of dedication, lots of travel, and LOTS of moo-lah.

That being said, I want to make sure that~

A) HE REALLY LIKES PLAYING. Not just likes his buddies that play, or the social part, or the cool uniform...

and

B)He plays to the best of his ability. I don't need him to be the star, but I want him to always do his best.

Which brings me to his game this week.

He has been playing for about 7 years now.

His dad is really an amazing player(I'll give him that), and has coached Nicks teams since he was a toddler. It really is a must, since it's tricky for me to travel out of town with the little ones, and try to get them to sit in a freezing cold rink in the middle of summer(or winter, for that matter, but that's just me...)

So I haven't been to too many summer hockey games.

I try to like it...I REAAAAALLLLLY do. But going to a hockey game when it is 90 degrees outside somehow feels...I don't know...OFF.

But his dad couldn't make this particular game, and I would never let it happen that at least one of us weren't there for him...I mean, hockey isn't my favorite sport, but my children, and their happiness, are my LIFE! So off we went...me, my mom, my niece and Nick...on a hot summer afternoon...to Augusta...to watch...hockey.

If you didn't know this already, ice rinks "steam" up in the dead of summer, making it almost impossible to see through the "boards." So, in order to watch the game, we had to go pretty high up on the bleachers, to see over the glass. (This will be a good part of my excuse for what you are about to read...)

The teams came out...our team was clearly out-manned. The other team looked like they might have been semi-pro...in fact, I think I saw their center driving the truck that passed me on the way in...not sure...

Anyway...

Like I said, the team came out...I noticed some really good skaters...and some really, unfortunately wobbly skaters...and some just looked like they were napping right there on the ice...

I pointed out Nick to my mom and niece...Hmmm, I thought...Was he feeling well? He looked tired, and SA-LOW.

I will NEVER be a screaming parent at sporting events. I will cheer encouragement. I just miiiight point out a bad call by a ref/ump/whatever. But I will never yell at my child during a game. You see, I am certainly not a participant of sports. I fear confrontation and the thought of losing a game, even Connect Four, makes me queasy. So I will never criticize an athlete.

UNLESS...

He plays like the kid that I watched PAINFULLY through the entire game.

What was he doing out there?

Our poor goaley was getting peppered...shot-after-shot...the score went from 3 to 5 to 8 to ZIP before they stopped counting goals. We had no defense!

Crap.

I was so frustrated watching my kid.

Years of practice. Schedule manipulating. Dinners at 4 or 8. Practices in snowstorms. MUNEEEEEEEEEE.
Parents arguing. And for WHAT?

A kid who clearly, even from an icy distance, did not want to be there. A kid that did not "show up" for his team.

After the game mercifully came to an end, the fans from our side tromped out to the lobby, to wait for our "Bears."

I even mentioned to another mom that I was frustrated that my son really didn't play well...he sure didn't give it his best.

Then Nick came out, smiling as usual.

"Jeez, Nick...do you feel sick or something?" I asked.

"No! I feel fine!"

"Well what the heck happened out there?"

"What do you mean? You don't think I played well?"

"Honestly? No! I don't! I watched you dope up and down the ice and let your goalie get slaughtered..."

I went on...

He was pissed.

He argued...

I should have stopped. But he argued that he thought he played well, considering the other team was so much more experienced...

Our conversation continued.

It really should have stopped. Given that I really am not an expert in the game, and the only time I ever tried to play was during a parent-player game...and let's just say I screamed like a baby the whole time I was on the ice. Nobody would skate near me...I was like a Ban-Shee with a pink hockey helmet.

I made a comment about watching number ** "zombie out" when Nick interrupted...

"Uh, Mum?"

"WHAT?"

"I'm number 12."

I slammed on the brakes.

"Huh?"

"I'm number 12. Not **."

I almost drove off the road.

You mean I watched the wrong KID?

THE ENTIRE GAME?!??$$?@?#???

Oh.My.God.

"I thought you were number **! You've ALWAYS been number **!"

"Not in summer hockey. You watched the wrong dude."

Not only had I just spent the better part of the afternoon watching a game I clearly don't understand, in a freezing, foggy ice arena...but I didn't even see my kid play!

"Do you still think I had a bad game?" He was actually laughing.

"I am soooooo sorrrrrrrrrrrrryyyy...."

My son is so forgiving of me. Thank Goodness.

It is a moment I'll never forget.

I know he won't forget either...at least until he gets that new DS game that I promised him...

So, I won't be getting the Mother of the Year Award yet again...But...I learned more valuable lessons on parenting.

Sometimes its tough balancing life...kids, work, school, sports...

Its okay to make some mistakes...We HAVE to! But find a laugh in it, learn a bit from it...and move on.

And remember to make sure you know what number your kid has on his sport jersey. You wouldn't want to miss anything...

Thanks For Reading...

funny.crazy.love.

Laughter Through Tears

2010-07-19T16:20:00.001-04:00

"Hey, Grampa."

I still talk to him, even though its been 6 years since he passed away.

I usually find myself talking to him when I see a Cardinal in my backyard. Or when I find myself turning the furnace down during the day, even during the coldest of days. Or when I'm at the Credit Union and I decide to withdraw ONLY what I need, not twenty bucks more. Or when I see the surplus of Anti-Freeze that is in our garage...

I talk to his picture and ask him for help...I think of him whenever I'm putting gas in my car, wondering if I had gone a couple of miles down the road, would it have been cheaper?

My Grandfather passed away very unexpectedly 6 years ago. He was getting ready for church, and just like that, he was gone.

I got the call that hot Saturday afternoon, and remember every second about the moments and days that followed.

It was chaotic~my parents were vacationing out west somewhere~My Grandmother and Uncle and Sister and Cousins and I were trying like mad to contact my Mom. Arrangements had to be made. I remember HATING the word "arrangements." Arrangements for the services. Arrangements for the luncheon. Flower arrangements.

Arrangements.

I think they are put in place so that people who would normally be falling apart are forced to think somewhat straight and focus on details, so as not to think about the loss.

I remember being at the florist and when the lady asked me what I wanted the ribbon to say, I replied:

"How about...'THIS SUCKS.'

That's what I felt. That is what I wanted on the ribbon.

She looked at me, confused and sad. I felt a little bad for her, but I felt worse for me.

I settled on some lovely message and moved on.

I am writing this with some very special people in mind, and because~

It has been on my mind, since every year at this time, my whole family remembers him.

AND, knowing many of my friends are experiencing loss right now, I wanted to share some funny moments that occurred during my own time of sadness. One of my favorite quotes is from the movie "Steel Magnolias~"

"Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion."

Like I mentioned, my Mom and Dad were away when my Grampa, Tony Luciano, passed away. No one saw it coming~and my Sis and Cousins and I were there to make necessary arrangements~

So obviously, we were all exhausted. It's the kind of exhaustion that you can't even really explain. Not really sleepy tired, but more like numb.

And I had a headache that got worse by the second. Stress does it to me every time.

So at one point, I finally found some Tylenol in someones house~my Mom's, Julie's, my Sister's...who knows? But I remember taking 3...or 4?

AAAAANNNNNYHOOOO...

My sister and I were driving to Augusta to find a dress for my Grammy~for the services.

I was driving...I didn't feel great...and I was feeling so incredibly tired~BUT...my headache was gone! Thank Goodness!

I suddenly realized that I was getting so sleepy! Like I could not keep my eyes open ANY longer. I said to my sister, "Kate...what is WRONG with me? I am so tired all of a sudden!"

We were both thinking, "it's just all catching up..."

"At least my headache is gone...I finally took some Tylenol..."

She got a strange look on her face..."WHAT Tylenol?"

"It was on the counter..."

"THAT WAS TYLENOL PM!!"

"Oh My God! I took, like, FOUR!"

I just about drove off the road. She was laughing...I felt like I had just sucked down 10 Margaritas...

That was one of those moments that we look back on now and laugh...

That afternoon, we FINALLY got in touch with my Mom and Dad, and ARRANGEMENTS were being made to fly them home, and pick them up from the airport.

The closest and quickest flight would only get them to Manchester, New Hampshire. About 3 hours away from us...and there were complications. I can't remember ALL of the complications, but they were there. Complications that complicated every complicated travel plan we came up with. They were with friends. Their cars were in Portland...We needed two vehicles to get to them...Their flight wasn't getting in until midnight...And so on...and so on...

So it was decided that I would drive down to Portland with my wonderful, down-to-earth cousin Bryan. We would pick up the car in Portland, and continue on to Manchester to pick up my parents and their 4 friends(or was it 6)?

Anyway...

Thank goodness for cell phones...Bryan and I actually had a good time talking and catching up, crying together, but laughing together, too. Grampa left us with so much to remember.

I stopped at Dunkin Donuts for the "Largest-Most-Caffeinated-Whatever" they had to counter the Tylenol PM that left me hungover but still headache-less..

But THAT caused ANOTHER problem...

Oh, yeah.

By the time we reached the state line, I had to PEE.

Not just a little.

A TON.

Damned coffee.

I called Bryan who was now following me in the other car.

"Bryan. I have GOT to STOP SOMEWHEEEEEEERE!!!!!"

But the highway stretched on forever. And we were on a schedule.

How we didn't get pulled over is beyond me...I guess Grampa had already started looking out for us.

I was sweating bullets by the time we flew through the toll booth in New Hampshire.

There was nothing I could do.

I pulled into the commuter lot, Dukes of Hazard style, with my poor, kind of shy cousin right behind me.

I peed my pants.

I could not have cared less. Bryan is still traumatized to this day.

My two different colored flip-flops were soaked.

WTF.

Thankfully, there was a blanket or something that I finagled a big diaper out of and went on my way.

That's how I showed up to pick up my parents at the airport.

In a diaper and two wet flip-flops. One blue. One orange. THAT I remember.

It was the best thing that could have happened.

It was funny.

And we all needed to laugh.

Another situation occurring at the very same time was the fact that I had just met Chris. I had only known him for two weeks at the time, but he was right there for me and my family. Through it all. I knew I was going to marry him when I finally broke down and cried, and he just held me and didn't say a word. He took my son and niece for walks around the block when "arrangements" were being made. He held my hand tight in church before I did a reading. I said yes right away when he asked me to marry him soon after~I knew Grampa would approve.

We still miss him. Tony Luciano.

But boy, he left his family with so much!

Wonderful, funny memories. An un-matched work-ethic. An eye for a "bargain." The importance of saving money. Patriotism. Love of Family.

In the days that followed we learned so much about him. About his childhood. About his love of baseball. About the War. His friends. His family. That he saved every pair of shoes he had ever owned and stuffed them in a hall closet. And so, so much more.

We already knew how much he loved us. We know he knew how much we loved him. And still do.

It's easier now to recall. It does get easier.

The beauty of it all is that we, as a family, grew even closer. We got back together with friends and family we hadn't seen in years. We realized how wonderful our friends and community were.

We learned again how important it is to say, "I love you." And show it.

So, if you ever question whether or not to buy in bulk...just do it. Do it because Tony would have.

Especially Anti-Freeze.

Look for the lowest gas prices.

Root for your home team.

Sing "The Star Spangled Banner" with your hand on your heart.

Save your shoes...you never know.

And laugh when something is funny. It's okay.

Love to you all that are grieving.

And Thanks, Grampa.

funny.crazy.love.