The 5 I's

Dan and I went on a training date today.  Ya know, I hafta say… as much as I sometimes hate working Saturdays – I do very much love having a weekday off.  There’s ups and downs to it – I’m expected to use my days off for personal errands and such while Monday through Friday people use vacation/sick hours and keep their days off as days off; meanwhile I’m over here using my vacation hours for vacation – it’s a wash I guess.

Anywho…. I digress.  Today was a day of kayaking and biking.  Dan asked when I wanted to head out – I turned to him with a scowl, “when I’m finished with my 2nd cup of coffee – why’s everything gotta be [then I snapped my fingers right,left,right,left,right,left – frantically, raising them higher in the air with each snap and snapping harder].  Dan says, “ooooookaaaayyyyy I just wondered if you had a specific time in mind.” (it can’t be any fun to be married to me).

I walked into the kitchen for that 2nd cup of coffee and my eyes shot immediately to the paper towel in front of Abby – 2 halos (cuties? the small mandarin fruit thingys) and a banana; meanwhile Cal, Alex and I collided, knocking shit off the counter, all reaching for the last munchkin powdered donut (that’s actually not true but only because we didn’t have any).  Abby loves the healthy stuff – we’re pretty certain she ain’t ours.  I am convinced Satan is down below playing with this chubby, little redheaded girl… we got his.

We got the kids off to school, got dressed for our day, borrowed Annie and Barry’s trailer, loaded everything up and were on our way by 9:30am.  I immediately started bitching because we were getting such a late start…  how Dan didn’t shove an oar up my ass is a testament to his easy-going nature.

Getting back to the loading up of our kayaks and bikes…  we’ve borrowed the trailer a couple times (2? 3?) and every time – when it’s empty, awaiting kayaks and when it’s full, awaiting unloading – Dan drives right on past the shed which houses the stuff to be loaded or unloaded.  This morning – while irate about our late start – I said, “is there some reason you feel compelled to drive beyond the shed every.single.time?”  He just looked over at me, shrugged his shoulders and put it into reverse. [I’m sure I bring some positives to his life – just haven’t been able to nail down what exactly they might be…]

By the time we dropped off the kayaks, oars, life vests, etc at the launch site, then drove to and  parked the car/trailer at the end of the course then drove back to the kayaks – it was almost 11 o’clock – I was reaching peak Karenness.  But finally – we were on the water…..

Almost immediately the grunting and groaning started behind me.

“agh my arms – my pecs actually…”

“my left hand is asleep already”

“arrrggghhhh”

In an unprecedented show of sportsmanship I said, “you don’t have to stay behind me – I’ve left my ego on the shore, you can get out in front of me… I’ll be cool about it.”

“no way… I have to keep resting – between my hand falling asleep and being sore from lifting the other day… I’m just doing what I can.”

[Dan has recently joined some family members at the gym – these guys are seasoned, Dan is a neophyte and on top of it all – Dan’s got 20 or so years on these boys…]

“ugh”

“mmmmmmmm, oiy”

“I’ve never been this sore after lifting… is your back hurting?”

I was able to ignore him only by concentrating on our surroundings, the area we were kayaking was breathtaking… I turned my head to point out a particularly beautiful area…  no Dan.  I turned to the right… no Dan…

*panic sets in*

I steadied myself and turned from the waist – all I could see was the nose-end of a red kayak all but resting on the back of my kayak. “ARE YOU DRAFTING ME????”

“yeah…”

We finished our 3 miles.  Dan “docked” first (there’s not an actual dock just spots of minimal “shore”) – then said, “just get your nose in here, I’ll pull you up.”  Well, hell… I couldn’t allow that shit, he managed to get himself up, I could too.  And I did, too – with tremendous difficulty.  No lie… in this triathlon my most feared ‘event’ is getting my ass outta the kayak in a timely manner.  But, I got out dammit!  It was literally slicing away at Dan’s heart to have me drag my kayak up by myself.  “I could at least get your oars for you……………. but I know you want to do it yourself……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..how but I just get these oars for you.”  We are so different, not only would I not have helped him – I’d’a probably thrown his oars into the river….

Then onto the biking.  I think I may have mentioned my disdain for this activity… I was literally gasping for air before we got out of the parking lot.  We were cruising along at a decent clip when I started bitching (between the gulping for oxygen) about my awful biking prowess; Dan’s words of encouragement? “yeah… I guess I’ll jump into a higher gear otherwise this is like a casual outing with the kids.  That’s not a shot at you….”

You are a dickhead – that IS a shot at you.

My kids used to always preface shitty comments with ‘no offense’ – like, ‘no offense Abby… but I was able to do that math way before 4th grade…’

Just for the record people – starting with ‘no offense’ or ending with ‘that’s not a shot at you’ does not absolve you of being an asshole; it’s still offensive and you *are* actually taking a shot at someone. …probably best to just bypass the whole statement if you need to tell somebody how “not mean” it is.

No matter – Dan is a bicycling freak – I actually wasn’t that put out by his not-taking-a-shot-at-me, it actually made me chuckle.   At some point he dropped back and just when I’d convinced myself I’d worn him down… with no effort at all he came up next to me, “I was drafting you again… nah, that’s a lie; I was staring at your ass…”

not the time for it yo….. not.the.time.

The second half of the ride is much easier than the 1st half – but I, admittedly, began to struggle with about 2.7 miles to go.  I was pushing myself… pedaling with everything I had, sweat just dripping, doing my fair share of grunting, crouched as low as I could get to cut down on wind resistance…

I’m not gonna lie – it was at this point I started wondering a) if a person can force herself into cardiac arrest and b) could I muster the energy to do it… I looked way up ahead and there was Dan – out for a damned joy ride, taking in the fucking scenery… I swear I saw a robin land on his handlebars and heard them whistle a duet.  ‘No offense but the only reason I didn’t jam a large fucking stick into your sprocket is because I couldn’t catch up to you.’

Dan loaded up the bikes (I didn’t even attempt indignation – load them bitches up, I’ll be in the car….) then we set off to get the other car and head home.  To his credit, Dan stopped the trailer right in front of the shed this time…

Let me say this about all of that… I am so lucky for so many reasons.  Because we live in an area that is so beautiful – kayaking today was absolutely amazing.  Because I have the physical abilities to do this – albeit slowly and with lots of aches and pains.  Because I have the time to devote to this event – although my house is suffering and my hours of sleep are taking a hit.  Because it has brought my family closer – we’ve spent hours and hours biking and kayaking.  Not to mention, Alex just found out she is not eligible to play in a softball tournament the day of the event – she was thrilled, she so badly wants to watch me do this.

But mostly because I have a husband who is so incredibly supportive of my cockamamie ideas.  He makes it all possible; whether he’s taking my bike to the shop, helping me find the drop off points out in the middle of BFE, paddling with me even though his pecs are sore, carrying my oars… My husband is so much better than your husband… that’s not a shot at you…

 

What a great family day the 5 I’s had a week ago Saturday (don’t worry – it was a typical 5 I’s family day… hang in there – the swearing really picks up by the end).

We had a unicorn day – we’ve heard about days like these… we just never actually see them.  I was off, Dan was off and not a single kid had a single obligation.  If  you’re like us (and most people are….) do yourself a favor and find a way to have  a unicorn day.

So, we finally got the opportunity to sleep in a little… wouldn’t you know that bitch April the giraffe decided to have her baby on this very morning.  Long-legged, neck-bending asshole…  I’ve watched her and her dumbass non-progressing pregnancy for 7 weeks.  Every day for 50 plus days I pulled her up on Youtube by 6am… the ONE DAY I sleep in… she starts pushing that thing out.

I came downstairs to about 75 messages on my phone… ok… maybe not 75 – but I had some people blowing up my phone.  I pulled up Youtube just in time to see some hooves (hoofs?) and a baby giraffe head sticking out of April’s nether region… uhhhhhh no coffee, I’m good thanks….  Abby was already up  (and loudly conversing with whoever the hell it is that she talks to constantly… you think I’m kidding about her……) so Dan raced back upstairs to wake the other two.  It cracks me the hell up that they came running down….

The 5 of us sat huddled around my laptop watching for almost 2 hours – pushing, pushing, pushing, birth… holy hell… somebody should warn a person about that.  As a previous birth-specialist who only had C-sections, I gotta say – the stuff that followed that baby giraffe out was…… ghastly.  Why in God’s name would they show that?  Who decided that camera was a good idea????  yyyyuck.

Anyway, by 11:30 or so I’d had enough.  I asked Cal  (who mentioned -a few times- that as a pitcher, he needed to run at least once during the weekend ) to accompany me on a run.  He was not even remotely interested.  He was just slightly more interested after I suggested some cleaning in lieu of the running.  Dan chimed in with the idea of a family bike ride… asshole.

dear God I abhor biking.

Alas, my kids love it and Dan loves it and I needed to get some pedaling in so… off we went.

The trail is quite beautiful – serene and calming… or at least it might have been if we’d’ve left Abby at home.  Honestly, you’d think we keep our kids tethered to their beds by the way they acted on that trail.  I kept shouting, “you do realize you’re going downhill… seems all fun and games right now… til we hafta go UPHILL to the car.”  It was kinda heartwarming to watch them enjoying themselves so much (it was also a little satisfying knowing their asses were gonna get kicked when we turned around – all they had to do was respect my knowledge and experience….).

We went 1.5 miles downhill then turned and went 3 miles uphill… Alex was way ahead, Cal was behind her (looking like a fool on his too-small bike) Dan, was slightly in front of me and the Abbers.  Poor Abs – her bitchin’ Barbie bike was not really made for 3 solid miles of 1% grade… when she decided she’d had enough, Alex was not altogether unhappy and quite frankly, I’d put my bike in 21st gear for resistance so I certainly wasn’t trying to convince her to go further…

This was us – excited to be heading back downhill:

When we turned around the kids took off – Dan was laughing as he struggled to catch Abby and her Barbie bike… She was all hunched over the handle bars, swaying side-to-side, pedaling her little hiney off.

I waited a little bit to take off – partly because my legs were toast after biking uphill in the highest gear but mostly because I had a perfect view of my family, enjoying themselves and each other.  My entire life has been spent trying to win, trying to be out in front – but lately I find myself hanging back, putting myself in a position to watch my family – without question – it’s way better than winning. (ok, truth be told – I do, with all my heart and soul, love watching my family but I’m old, I’m chubby, I’m tired… my kids are kicking my ass all over the place, the ‘I love watching my family’ bit, while true, is also a great ego-saver).

After squandering part of the evening we started coloring eggs.  There’s so much to say about this endeavor…  First and foremost it needs to be said that my life with Dan Iseminger has been a 22-year saga of unfulfilled good intentions.  We have an entire cabinet dedicated to board games because Dan wants to be a game playing family; 15 years into having kids and we have yet to play a single board game… He goes ballistic when I suggest we donate the games.

I adore his optimism… wait… that’s not completely true… his inability to foresee the havoc that is about to be wreaked is fucking irritating as hell.  Three kids –  we’ve had 3 kids for a helluva long time – how does he not KNOW there is a potential asshole hidden inside each of them?  How does an intelligent man with 2 college degrees think it’s ok to get 3 different styles of egg coloring kit?

The arguing started almost immediately – because not only did Sir Moron get 3 different egg coloring kits but only 2 of them had an egg dipper included – 3 kids, 2 egg dippers – fuckin A man… fuckin A.

Oh, did I mention the brains behind the operation was the 10 year old?  She took all the instructions out of the boxes – she did not, however, keep the instructions together with the boxes or dyes – no, we had 4 sets of instructions (with only 3 kits… I don’t get it either) each different… each.different.  Think about that for a moment – 3 kits, 4 different sets of instructions??????  Spread out all over the table with no discernible sense of organization…

I get it – I’m a control freak… and nobody likes a control freak but dammit all – I keep things organized and controlled.  The oil-swirled eggs might not have been perfect with me in charge but son of a bitch… they would’ve at least picked up some color.  The 24K egg kit seemed fun.  After allowing the dye to dry we were to sponge the gold onto a WARM egg.  I’m sure, somewhere in the mess, was instructions for making the egg warm after dying but how the hell would I know.  Dan got some warm water (heated on the stove) and brought it out to us (incidentally – this was Dan’s entire contribution to the egg fun – that asshat sat back totally disengaged while I struggled – me… the one who didn’t even want to color fucking eggs).

Cal dipped his dyed egg into the warm water to prepare it for the gold overlay.  Between Dan and I we have 4 college degrees, 2 of which (1 each) are science based, yet we didn’t anticipate the warm water washing the egg clean…

I was tired, I didn’t want to dye eggs in the first place, Dan sat there with no intention of getting involved and things weren’t going well.  The arguing over egg dippers started it all..  I may or may not have dropped the F-bomb regarding the negligible cost of egg dippers and gosh darn it why would they only put one in each kit.  One kit had liquid dye; we cut the corner off (at the dotted line) and attempted to put 2 drops of dye into the included plastic baggies – it was like somebody dumped a gallon of paint in… who are these fucking kits made for?  With each consecutive bad egg – I was getting angrier and angrier.  I may or may not have said, “You gotta be Martha fucking Stewart to make this crap work… why can’t we just go back to food coloring and plastic spoons?”  my kids asked, “Who is Martha Stewart?”

30 eggs later… and I was so incredibly over Iseminger egg dying night… I knew the fun was over when Cal, using the wax crayon, made a blue egg that said, ‘I hate my life’…  Dan, you know… the guy who started all this fun… said, “I’m gonna go take a shower – just leave this mess, I’ll clean it up later.”  asshole.  He KNEW I wasn’t gonna leave it….

The kids showered and went to bed happy – worn out from biking, contented from egg coloring, knowing a chocolate booty was mere hours away.  Dan got back to his egg-coloring nap while I showered…  clearly my suggestion to start the basket process went unheeded (“I didn’t know what you wanted me to do” – not surprising, this is the same nimrod who thought it was a good idea to dip freshly dyed eggs into hot water).

We got the baskets set out, grass, jelly beans, candy, small gifts… the standard deal; then I said, “Where’d you put the chocolate bunnies?”

“What chocolate bunnies?”

“The bunnies I handed you at the store today; I put them in the bag and handed them to you because Abby was riding with me…”

“hmmmmm maybe still in the car.”

Chocolate bunnies, closed up in a car on an 81° day…

“I’m going back to the store – we might have more bunnies.”

“It’s 1:30 in the morning… let it go – they don’t need them, they have plenty.”

“It’s Easter, you can’t have Easter without a chocolate fucking bunny rabbit!”

guess what?  we had Easter without one chocolate fucking bunny rabbit…

It’s days like these that make me realize, I never want to quit my more-than-full-time job.  I’ve said for years: I love my kids… part time; twelve solid hours with these people is maddening.  They complain, they whine, they bitch, nothing is ever good enough… damn Iseminger blood.

I had slept off my disdain and was excited to wake them the next morning – still, after all these years, I’m excited to wake them every morning (5 minutes in, I’m looking for vodka but initially I’ve got all the feels); we made plans to kayak later in the day… another day of togetherness, another day of bickering, another day of ego-saving-family-watching hanging back… and all I could do was smile…….

I’ve started this entry 7 times… each lead in sucked more than the last.  I have the ending all sewn up but I don’t know how to start… so…. I’ll just say this – our dog died Wednesday.

Please don’t shed a single tear for me – I was the biggest asshole dog owner on Earth.  I was never hateful to her but I never LOVED her.  It’s my kids and Dan who deserve your compassion.  They were and are, absolutely heart broken…

Twelve years ago my parents asked if we wanted to ride along when they went to buy an AKC registered German Shepherd… I said (emphatically), “NO!”  I have a sixth sense about these things… Dan, on the other hand, is a sucker.  Hence… not only did we ride along… we returned home as dog owners.

My family always had dogs when I was growing up – it’s not that I hate animals; I just know they are a ton of work… When my parents invited us along for the ride we had an almost 3-year old daughter and 9 month old son and were actively working on more… every 6 weeks… when we had the energy.

So… no… I didn’t think a dog was a good idea.  Then that damned Shepherd puppy walked over and untied Alex’s shoe – criminy, my cynicism didn’t stand a chance.  I don’t know which of them was more ridiculous – Alex and her cute, damned face or Dan, pleading with his stupid ass blue eyes…..

We let Alex name her – she came up with Brownie; clearly her creative years were yet to come…  I don’t remember too much of Brownie’s early years, I was, quite simply, an asshole and didn’t involve myself with her.  One of Dan’s selling points was how useful she’d be as a protector for our kids… it was a good selling point, dammit.

I’m not sure who said it or when it was said, but somebody, at sometime told me, “…German Shepherds get maternal and protective at about 2 years…”  She turned 2 right after Abby was born – Brownie slept under Abby’s crib every night.

For the last 10 years, when I spoke of Brownie I cried because I was so incredibly thankful to her for spending all of those years keeping my babies safe…

This story unfolded about 18 months after we brought her home: I got home from work one evening; Annie was our nanny at the time (tell me how fun that is – Annie the nanny), she gave me the day’s report and asked if I wanted her to wait while I got changed into ‘play clothes’ – I told her nah we’d be fine; I had my clothes laid out and would only take a minute to change.  And I literally, took less than a minute to change and ran back outside…

Cal was gone

I ran all over the yard looking for him; we live on a pretty busy road so to say I was frantic – is quite an understatement.  Dan was working so I called my parents – my dad answered and I screamed into the phone, “Cal is missing.  He’s gone!!!”  As I was explaining the situation to Pop I looked  down the long alley behind our house and spotted my baby boy… and Brownie.  Cal was making a break for it, apparently (no blaming here…I’ve considered this plenty in the 12 years since) and there was Brownie – walking circles around him.  She was keeping pace with him while circling him – not stopping him, but by God – nobody was going to get near that boy…

As the years went on, the kids spent more and more time outside – without Dan and I; it got to the point the kids finished my sentence, “Yes… you can go outside but *take Brownie with you*”.  I never worried when she was outside with them… not that issues didn’t arise……

I was folding clothes one day and looked out the window – a car had stopped in our alley, the passengers talking to the kids.  It was not a car I recognized so I headed outside… As I walked out I saw the car pulling away – I assumed they saw me and hightailed it… The kids told me the people were asking for help finding their missing dog; right up until Brownie walked up.  I guess Brownie walked up growling a little… suddenly the car people weren’t concerned about their ‘missing dog’.

Dan and I are pretty lucky – we’ve spent our childrearing years comfortable in the knowledge we have 2 souls who’d lay down their life for our kids.  Brownie was undeniably committed to their safety; Pop, would often like to swipe them himself but certainly, without question, wouldn’t let anybody else harm them…  Brownie and Pop had a great relationship; I think they both knew and respected the depth of love each had for these kids.

One day Pop stopped by to pick up 1 or 3 kids… I can’t remember.  He told us later he must’ve startled Brownie because when Pop walked in and called out for the kids, Brownie came around the corner, ready….  “I’ve never  been afraid of dogs and certainly not afraid of Brownie… but she snarled and growled and bared her teeth and I’m telling you… well, let’s just say I don’t think we ever have to worry about anybody hurting our babies…”

Now… all bets are off.  My safety net is gone.  My ability to relax when the kids are outside… shot.  That beautiful, sweet, docile, dog is gone.

Abby sobbed and sobbed.  Cal was brokenhearted.  Alex was damn near inconsolable; Brownie has been her dog from the get go, we’ve always called her the dog whisperer…

Brownie was 2 years past her life-expectancy; we knew it was coming.  Hell, I’d even had a dream 2 weeks ago – all 5 of us and Brownie were out playing in a field(ish), meadow-type area… off to our right was a hill with no end… I saw my mom walking away, up the hill.  I remember so badly wanting to see her face, but she didn’t turn; just continued to walk up the hill – away from us… Brownie took off, she left us and went right to mom.  I could see my mom’s hand so clearly, reaching down to Brownie’s back… gently leading her up the hill….

Last night I walked into the room that housed her cage and bowls; I had my head down and was busy hating myself for not being better to her… out of nowhere I got an overwhelming smell of dog treats.  I stopped in my tracks and looked around for a box of treats or food – anything that would explain the smell… there was nothing, and as fast as the scent hit me – it went away… was she trying to tell me I wasn’t a total asshole owner?  I mean… when I walked into that room I was tearing up, admonishing myself… the guilt was breaking my heart – then the smell of dog treats…

damn it… I’ve spent so much fucking time convincing myself I didn’t love her…

 

As Isemingers, we’re generally prepared to get screwed at every turn… tax season is no exception.  Our refund was slashed significantly because this year, our store has more IOU’s than it did at the end of 2015, the IRS calls this “profit” – fuckers.  Anyway, no fighting it… I try not to get too fired up… (hahaha me “trying not to get too fired up” – what a crock….).

But the point of all this is… we didn’t get a ton of money back so instead of spending it frivolously – we decided to invest it.  Here’s a picture of our investment:

We are hoping to parlay our meager return into hours and hours of family bonding.  Yep… the 5I’s are hittin’ the open waters…  Well, we’re actually hitting a lake for the first few outings and then we’ll move on to the river but damn it – we’re gonna be a kayak-loving family come hell or high water…  ok, if there’s high water I’m not doin’ it but there’s nothing else that’ll keep me away… the bugs, the bugs might very well keep me away but that’s it – high water and bugs.

The decision to invest in kayaks was made swiftly and with conviction.  After 3 weeks of mulling it over we said, “meh, I guess we might as well get them.”  I verified our budget and we found kayaks at Dunhams that fit with relative ease.  This… should’ve been the first red flag….

Who knew paddles were not included??  This, to me, is akin to baggage charges on a flight – just give it to me and add the shit to the ticket price… stick it to me blindly.  Although there is something to be said for the challenge of trying to fit everything into a single carry-on bag…

Ok… so paddles weren’t outlandishly expensive; they didn’t exactly break the budget. That honor was saved for the life vests.  And it would’ve ended there… had we happened to own any sort of mode of transport whatsoever.

Three kids seemed like such a good idea at the time…

Even with 2 cars – carrying 3 kayaks on one vehicle is not an easy, common thing to do.  Enter a trailer.

You price trailers lately???  We did some very quick, preliminary research (no, our 3 weeks of mulling over the kayak purchase did NOT include “how the hell are we getting them where we’re going”) and decided we’d rent a trailer for the purchasing adventure and first outing (had to schedule tightly – 24 hour rental, ya know).

Dan took care of the trailer rental and once I finished up my work day the 5I’s loaded up and headed to Altoona to kill our tax return on potential family memories.

Because the price of the kayaks required a coupon that stated “one per customer” I did some coupon printing and some cash withdrawing – 5 people, 5 coupons, 5 wads of cash.  The trip to Altoona was spent handing out the coupons, handing out the money ($200.34 in exact change) and explaining our plan of attack because nothing in my life is ever as easy as just walking in and buying 5 separate kayaks.

I had a plan and Dan was on call at the hospital- we’d be home lickity split…

only….

we’re the Isemingers….

While Dan was taking care of the rental, he saw a fun kayak – not at Dunhams, not covered by any coupon, not part of the plan.  Here we go….. a simple plan foiled by Dan’s indecision – welcome to the last 22 years of my life.  A 10 minute trip turned into 65 while we (HE) compared models, prices, coupons, colors……………………………………………………………………

The kids tend to get restless during Dan’s bouts of indecision.  They started to bicker a little, then one of them was humming a different song than the store radio was playing, Abby wasn’t handling her paddle well… basically, I bided my time and saved my sanity by wandering over to the life vest section – inspecting the PFDs hoping to find hidden areas that would accommodate the weights I was planning to sew into them…

Decisions were made, life vests were sized, paddles were dropped… (Dan pulled one off the hanger and 7 followed – good thing we’re all fairly athletic – paddles were flailing about….) and then we hit the register.  I told Abby to lay her coupon on the counter and to have her money ready – the guy at the register (who’d had just about enough of the 5I’s) scanned the kayak skew and said, “hmmm, no coupon needed; they’re ringing up at $189.99 without it.”  This meant I had to round up the money I had handed out (and Dan… he had wandered off) – by this point I was irritated, sweating profusely and wishing I had followed Lorena Bobbitt’s lead – not to mention, the thought of investing the money in a kegerator seemed wholly more appealing than this cluster fuck.

The register guy was noticeably over it all by the time I handed him the cash then asked if I could use my ATM card for the rest…  his eyes said, “lady I don’t give 2 fucks how you pay for all of this… just do it already”.  We paid then headed out the door to pick up our trailer-full of family fun. Except… during our 75 minute (with check-out) “quick shopping excursion” the parking lot filled up and Dan, is a trailer-pulling novice.  He did a great job getting out of the tighter’n hell parking lot but not without schloads of anxiety and swearing (that was me… Dan was cool as a cucumber).

We found the loading dock, got the boats ratchet-strapped onto the trailer and set off for home.  Dan said, “the guy that took care of us seemed so irritated at first but he was really nice during that loading…  probably just glad we were gettin’ the hell outta his store…” I cocked my head and said, “could be, but I’d be more inclined to believe it was him being up on the dock and me standing down below with this shirt on…” then, with my eyes, I led his eyes to my low cut shirt… Dan decided I was probably on to something.

It’s now Sunday morning… 4I’s are at headed to church, I’m headed for a bike ride and the kayaks are waiting for us on the trailer.  The calm before the storm.  We are meeting my rowing trainer (Trish and her fiancé Wayne) at 1:00 at Shawnee – the rest of this story is but 3 and 1/2 hours away……

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Well, we’re all sitting here on the couch – exhausted and sun burned (ok… I’m the only one ‘got sun burned… what the hell is that????)

Since the kayaks were already hitched up – there was no stress on the ride to the lake – see how happy we were:

We took some pictures for posterity – yes, it’s irritating but at least I’m not taking pictures of my Thanksgiving spread or snow falling…

Look at us… excited, anxious, ready to paddle our asses off.

Trish went first, then me.  Alex then Abby were next.  At this point I was being pulled by my many different personalities – my competitive, driven personality wanted to get moving (I was there to train and had an entirely different schedule for the kayaking than the others); my maternal personality wanted to make sure all of my kids were ok; my menopausal, bitch personality wanted to stick around in the hopes of finding a reason to yell at Dan… Alas, maternal, nurturing Karen won out – I stayed put while Cal was being pushed in…

Let me preference this with a little reminder about Dan seeing a kayak at the trailer rental place…  He was hell bent on buying a boat from that place, just couldn’t get them all at Dunhams, couldn’t follow the plan (for all of you people out there who just KNOW I’m the pants-wearer… Dan wanted to buy a different kayak from a different place… so we bought a different kayak from a different place) my objections were quickly quashed (alliteration baby).  The different kayak was a ‘sit-on’ vs. a ‘sit-in’ (pretty self-explanatory).  Cal got the sit-on kayak…

Cal did not sit.on. the kayak for very long.

…dumped it almost immediately.

By the look on his face and the haste with which he got himself out of the water – I’d say that shit was frigid.  Dan suggested taking him home – my boy is tough, he changed his sweatshirt (and chose a different kayak) and got right back in the water.  Dan was stuck with his “better” kayak (btw, we returned it with the rented trailer).

I took off for some training while the other kayakers… well, hell, I have no idea what they were doing… I think they just basically followed me at a more leisurely pace.  After about a mile and a half of training we all met up…  We floated around and chatted and just basically enjoyed our time together.  A nice family outing…

except….

for the woman in the red shirt.  This woman, standing along the shoreline, was screaming, and I mean – guttural screaming at somebody and let me tell ya… she impressed both me and Trish.  Listen, Trish and I know some swear words and we certainly aren’t shy about dropping the F-bomb… but this woman…. this woman took it to a whole new level – 20 yards from an – obviously – popular playground.  We were 1/2 mile from her and could hear her…

My kids were dumbfounded.  Alex actually looked at me and said, “Wow mom, you get pretty mad but even you don’t act like that…”  A) nice…… and B) I have… actually acted like that – what can I say? Dan and I bring out the best in each other :/  Wayne and Dan enjoyed a chuckle as we women tried to explain how a man can bring you to this…  never in public though… never.in.public.  Grit your teeth, squeeze your fist til you bleed… whatever ya gotta do – keep it outta the public eye….

There is no description, no wording, no amount of blogging that will adequately portray the scene that unfolded with that woman in the red shirt… just know – it really capped off our family outing.

We paddled around, talked, sunned, relaxed and just enjoyed each other – it was a great day.

Poor Abs got tired – she’s strong as a damned ox but that’s a lot of paddling for little 10-year old arms.  We decided to call it a day (not to mention – our 24 hour rental period for the trailer was slowly fading away).  We headed back to the ramp.

For you non-kayakers – you kinda hafta build up momentum to push yourself up the ramp enough to be able to disembark without getting your feet wet…  Alex tore up that ramp like a champ then hopped out and started to pull her kayak out.  Cal followed her…

Dan was behind me, still on the water, when he said, “there goes Cal gettin’ a full head of steam, good lord he’s gonna completely take out that woman standing there….”  such an observant, involved dad… “uh, ‘that woman’ is your daughter.”  Alex pulled all of us out – my work here is done people… Alex is now in charge.

We got our 5 kayaks loaded and helped a little with Trish’s and Wayne’s kayaks and we called it a day.  A glorious, beautiful, wonderful day.

We’ve spent a lot of money, on a lot of stupid shit in our day (Ronco Rotisserie, anybody?) but I think… I hope… this was some well spent moola.

I love the exhaustion I’m feeling right now – from biking then rowing… hard; without sounding too asshole-ish, I’m proud of myself.  I loved hanging out with great friends, we never want for conversation and laughter with Trish and Wayne. I loved watching Alex and Abby float together.  I loved that Cal got right back in the water (we didn’t even have to talk him into it, he dried himself off as best he could and got right back at it).  And I love, love, loved being a family, today; we genuinely enjoy being together but we sometimes forget to make it happen…

I screw up a lot of shit as a mom but I’m pretty sure I nailed this one…

I have a feeling it’s going to be a long day…

Right now it’s 4:19am and I’m wide awake and more than a little embarrassed to tell you why.

It all started with our damned cat – BrettFavre.  You know how ridiculous it is to have a cat named BrettFavre?  “Hi, this is the veterinary clinic; BrettFavre is due for his feline leukemia shot.”  If Abby had been the boy I planned on… we wouldn’t be stuck in this pickle.  All my pre-motherhood life I imagined having a Cal and a Brett; never, during that time, did I think the one named Brett would require deworming.

Anyway – that damned BrettFavre (the cat, not the man) is suuuuuch an utter asshole… He likes to go out in the middle of the night.  Please don’t judge us for accommodating his wish.  This cat will stand outside our door and cry until we stumble downstairs and open the door.  If we don’t respond to the meowing – he scratches those needle-like claws down our door (you’re wincing right now, imagine being awakened from a deep sleep with this….).  If, by chance, we haven’t closed our door completely – he bats it open, it swings closed, he bats it open, it swings closed, he bats it open, it swings…

We have no choice but to set that asshole free to roam the neighborhood.  We’ve tried a squirt bottle by the door – he scurries, then comes back with a vengeance.  We’ve tried closing him in our sunroom, he gets out; that son of a bitch somehow gets out…  with no opposable thumb – it’s baffling – how the hell does he turn the doorknob??????

I try to be calm about it, and I promise you – I’ve never punted that cat (although the thought has crossed my mind on more than one occasion) but I may have nudged him with my toe a few…. dozen…. times.  Ok, stop it right now with your PETA bullshit – after you’ve spent 9 years dancing this dance – claws down your door at 2:15am, walk downstairs, open back door, have cat stand there deciding if he wants to go out or not (those 2° mornings are fun AF)… then you can judge me.

I’d guesstimate in those 9 years – this asshole has woken us at some point between 1:30a and 3:45a at least 1800 times.  Now… when I say “us” – you know I obviously mean “me”, right?  Of those 1800 middle-of-the-night excursions – Dan has taken care of the situation at least 3 times.  When I die – I want to come back as a husband.

I love how he says, “Just wake me up… it’s not my fault I don’t hear it.  Just wake me up and I’ll take care of it.”

uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-huh

Getting up and letting the little dickhead out is way less involved than trying to wake up the big dickhead next to me.  Who sleeps like that???  You’d think the 2 hours he napped on the couch before bed would make him a little more easily roused…  not so much.  I usually end up more pissed off when I try to wake him…  It starts with, “babe……. babe……” a gentle rubbing of the back, arm, leg – whatever I can reach easily (buncha weirdo pervs – yes, even THAT once or twice) and 3 minutes later ends with “DAN!” and a kick to the shin – then he yells, then I yell…

I will say this… if, against all odds, Dan does hear that asshole – he  jumps into action.  Well… there’s no jumping as he has to stretch his bitched up plantar fascia first (all the while the scratching, meowing, door batting continues); but then he’s swiftly and quietly on the move. Well… it’s not always quiet because of how he runs into the end of the bed most times and swears, but then he’s on his way to handle the problem so that I can go back to sleep.  Well… I don’t go right back to sleep because he always forgets that – since he DW40’d the door hinges – the door slams if you don’t slow it down once it’s been opened but he does handle it quickly and efficiently so I can fall back to sleep undisturbed.  Well… he doesn’t usually make quick work of it – there’s the bathroom break (“I figure I’m up… why not”) and he stops for a drink, checks his phone… all while I lie there listening for the scuffle I just know is coming – I mean, what else could be taking so damned long, obviously he foiled a burglar… but at least, once he does come back, he slides right back into bed unnoticed.  Well… there is the sighing and dropping onto the bed, oh! and that cute way he throws the covers back so that my warm, snuggled-up cocoon gets some of that refreshing frosty air and it does only take a minute or 2 for him to beat the hell out of his pillow and then throw his head at it a few times to get it worked over just right… But hey – I didn’t have to ruin my slumber, right?

This morning was a Dan morning and I have to admit – I have zero complaints regarding his handling of the matter.  He was on it immediately and took care of it as well, if not better than I do.  Kudos my love… kudos.  He did make some kinda comment about water as he was getting back in bed but surely it wasn’t anything important…

And here – finally – is why, on the one morning Dan took perfect care of the BrettFavre (the cat, not the man) situation and did so to my standards, I still find myself up and writing at 4:19…

I can’t even explain why… or how… or why… but… while Dan was downstairs I had an image pop into my head.  Outta nowhere, for no reason whatsoever I had the most clear image of a dog driving to work (necktie and all) with his coffee and foil-wrapped sandwich still on the roof – like he took off and forgot it was up there…

I told you it was embarrassing.

I just sorta laid there for a while after Dan got back in bed – wondering what in the hell would drive me to visualize this situation; then Dan struck up a conversation (he could tell I hadn’t fallen back to sleep).  All the sudden I started giggling.  I tried desperately to describe the image I had (it was no easy task – there were different points when I literally couldn’t breath, I mean… scared ’cause I couldn’t catch my breath); damn if Dan wasn’t right on board with it…  “Sorta like a cartoonish image but not a full cartoon.”

He soooooo gets me.

I couldn’t get myself straight.  Dan was laughing at my asinine laughter.  I finally just said, “I’m gonna go ahead and leave the area so you can get some sleep,” and then I came downstairs…  and googled ‘dog driving to work with coffee on roof’ – I came up blank and I gotta say… I really am surprised, I mean that damned image is SO CLEAR to me…

beagle-type dog, leaning forward – anxious to get to his [clearly] stressful job, long rounded ears, black necktie; with both ear and necktie flying out the window (because obviously, he would have the window down)…

When this image popped into my head I saw the dog in the driver’s seat first and then my “vision” sorta scanned up and that’s when I “saw” the coffee and sandwich on the roof…

I’ve been known to get so incredibly irritated with Dan when he laughs about stupid shit and I look him square in the eye and say, “…must be nice to be that fucking simple…”

well… I gotta tell ya, even though I know I’m gonna be exhausted later – it is, actually kinda nice, to be this fucking simple…

Now… I know I promised not to carry on about my triathlon training and I have to say, I’ve done pretty well to this point; but, alas – my rabid fans are begging… (ok, ok, ok… I have 1 mildly devout follower and he has not even mentioned it, I’m just trying to justify this entry).

To be completely honest, this story is such a perfect representation of the shit show I call my life, I just couldn’t let it go without sharing.  The upside is: the story involves little to no actual training…

As with all of my stories, this one requires a little bit of back story, bear with me.

About 4 weeks ago I texted my friend Gary to give him props; I was out jogging when I saw him doing the same – I was dressed for a trip up Everest and he was in a t-shirt.  After some back and forth I realized the conversation was going awry for 2 reasons: 1) while Gary was out running that day – he assured me, he had worn more than a t-shirt (I still have no idea what or who I saw…) and 2) by the end of our tête-à-tête I had agreed to enter the local triathlon.

…damn Gary.  He can sense a weakness like a hungry lion on the Serengeti.  Ya know… when you’re kinda down and suggesting bucket list items – a friend will suggest a day-long Rocky marathon or a trip overseas; not this guy – he gets me to sign up for a triathlon.

I figured it would blow over; go right on by with me (half-heartedly) lamenting, “I should’ve signed up… damn! Oh well…. it’s too late now.”  But the next day, there I was…. dropping my entry fee in the mail box, feeling like Rocky as he crested that mountain, triumphant arms in the air, shouting, “DRAAGOOOOOOOOO!”

Ironically (which, btw, should be the title of my autobiography), the days leading up to the mailing of my entry fee were uncharacteristically warm – February in Pennsylvania should not offer 62° days – since the moment my envelope hit that fucking mailbox we’ve spent every day challenging the record lows.  I am an early morning exerciser – pre-entry form saw 40° mornings, post-entry… 15°.  Did I mention the 12+ inches of snow we got last week?  Oh, and let’s not forget the time change… a lost hour of morning light has been exceptionally helpful.

I won’t even get into the personal struggles I face.  Wait! maybe I will…

I’ve spent thousands, I mean literally… thousands of dollars on support wear and I still have to layer it.  Boobs are dumb, plain and simple.  There was a time I wore 2 layers; right up until the day my (then) 66 year-old father nearly killed some dumbass for commenting on my “assets in motion”. I now wear 3 layers.

If poor Dan happens to be anywhere near me while I’m dressing for a run – he gets an earful, “…must be fucking nice to just throw on a t-shirt and shorts and hit the pavement.  I’m a sweaty fucking mess and I’m not even fully dressed yet…”

So, to say that motivation and determination have been the least of my troubles is an egregious understatement.  But, to my credit – I’ve been out there… even developed a shoveling technique to mimic a rowing motion (no swim in this tri – we kayak); I’m making the most of what I’ve been given.  I’m Rocky… in Russia… throwing boulders.

My story takes place last Tuesday morning but it really started the night before…

Monday evening here at the Iseminger home was a pretty good one on the athletics front.  Alex brought home her new VARSITY jersey.  I played softball at the college level and yet… I never wore a varsity jersey, here was my 9th grader holding up her #22; it was a big moment for me (I’m tearing up right now… God help me should that girl get a scholarship).  Cal brought home his junior high baseball hat – all signs are pointing to him getting a fair amount of playing time on 1st base and on the mound – not to mention, the cap fit his big, melon head… that is a miracle in and of itself (Dan frequently gives thanks for C-sections).  And Abby finally landed a standing back tuck – hasn’t been able to repeat it… but there was resounding cheering, jumping, clapping (and that was just me).

After an evening like that, I had no choice but to proffer my own athletic prowess… “I’m gonna hit the trail early tomorrow.  I’ll run then bike – just to get a feel for the transfer – it’s time to push this training to high gear…”

I was up at 4:45am and on the road by 6:20, my bike stowed in the back of the pharmacy car (my own car, you know… the one that can easily accommodate a bike rack… is outta commission); I had just about recovered from the sports bra(s) debacle when the bike stuffing debacle almost killed me.  The key word being almost…  Motivation/determination -one, shit show of a life – zero.

I got to the trail at 6:35, it was still dark but the sun was a mere whisper away.  I figured I had already lost 4 weeks to crap weather and late sunrises… I was hitting the trail (7 minutes) before sun up – trail rules be damned.  I took off with my headlamp blazing, my pepper spray ready and Nirvana making me feel invincible.  It was an exhilarating 45 seconds…

until….

I heard the big, mean dog and almost pissed my tights.  The I saw the big, mean dog – sans any hint of tethering whatsoever – and did what any self-respecting scaredy cat would do – screamed bloody murder.  I did have the presence of mind to stomp my foot and scream, “BACK!” which startled Cerberus just long enough for Satan to come out in her robe.

“YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE ON THE TRAIL BEFORE DAY LIGHT!”

She was right, of course.   However, with her wildebeest continuing to close in on me I would’ve appreciated it if she had put the scolding on the back burner and concentrated all of her efforts on getting that mammoth mother fucker under control.  She couldn’t handle that dog – please don’t own a dog you can’t handle… (that’s my PSA for the day).  Apparently her lack of control stemmed from my headlamp…

“CAN YOU PLEASE TURN OFF YOUR FLASHLIGHT SO I CAN CALM HIM DOWN!!!”

uhhhh… fuck no lady – I need to be prepared to beat feet (I did turn it to face me).

She finally got the dog to go in through the garage.  Which would’ve been really fucking fantastic had her front door not remained wide open from when she first came out to rescue scold me.

Cujo was nothing if not determined…

I sat in my car for 17 minutes (nervously giggling over the mental image of HER realizing she hadn’t shut the front door and hauling ass, in her robe, through the house).  I think I would’ve just gone home if she hadn’t scolded me – twice.  I just couldn’t let her win (even though she was right).  I had to show her I had every right to that trail (now that the sun was up).

I finally mustered all my courage and restarted my run…  damn if Zoltan, Hound of Dracula wasn’t still outside.  I’m pretty sure it was tied, but we’ll never know ’cause I turned right the hell around and jumped in my car; official loser of the trail war.

Once home I told Dan I was going for a short run through town.  Would’ve worked, too – if I hadn’t strained my calf muscle during the (almost) dog attack.  As I was hobbling home a one in a million timing situation caused me to scramble down into a ditch to avoid being hit by a tractor trailer…  I figured between the dog and tractor trailer – my heart had pumped about as much as it does during a workout.

I was hobbling, shaky from nerves and teary-eyed when the guy flipped me off because he had to take a sharper angle because I was standing on the side of the road at a turn…

full blown tears when I walked in the house.

The pity in my kids’ eyes was enough to push me over the edge…

I got a hug from each of them and headed for the shower.  I did nothing to my hair, wore no makeup and carried the weight of a thrashing on my shoulders as I walked out the door for work.  Dan rubbed my cheek and said, “awww you’re so pretty babe…” (he’s Shallow Hal for chrissakes).

I got in my car and the tears flowed –  for so many reasons: taking my life for granted, wondering if I’m up to this, because the multiple surges of adrenaline had not only drained me but had stepped aside to make room for the fear to finally hit me full force… I spent my entire drive to work crying, all 90 seconds of it – son.of.a.bitch. I can’t even wallow in self pity like a regular person………..

(PS for those questioning my driving such a short distance – there are a number of factors that play into my walk vs. drive decision every day – I felt I’d gotten enough of an ass kicking Tuesday, I’d earned the ride)

(PPS I can’t stand the thought of ending on a down note – I had a pretty good training day yesterday – I’m still questioning my capabilities but at least I didn’t have a dog dangling from my leg….)

 

 

 

 

well… I just sent off my signed waiver and check, officially making me a triathlete-in-training.  Yeah… a triathlon, you read that right.  It’s a “sprint” version (versus Olympic distances) – which basically means not only is there a good chance I won’t die, but I might actually cross the finish line.

Why a triathlon Karen, why?

Well… since you asked…

I have a few reasons.  First: I sat and watched the DirecTV logo bounce around my tv screen for a good 10 minutes the other day because the thought of getting up for the remote was too much for me (who THE FUCK puts the remote ON the tv shelf??????  sorta defeats the purpose, dontcha think???  buncha asshats).  Eventually, I spotted another remote slightly closer – it required some stretching but I finally got 2 fingers on it enough to sorta flick it closer until I could pull it in – I sat there, more than a little winded, thinking, “I clearly need to fix my life…”.  (ironically, I continued to watch that logo for a little while longer – I don’t consider myself OCD – but the way I feel when that logo smacks exactly into a corner… cigarette anybody?)

Second, the last time my scale hit the numbers it’s hitting now – I had a free-loader hangin’ out in my uterus; the elastic panel in the front of my pants seemed somehow more acceptable then.  I’m sick of my eyes bulging and my face turning red  when I bend over to tie my shoes.  I’m tired of sweating more during the dressing phase of my run than during the run itself (when I actually run – every 3 weeks).  My life is in a downward spiral (physically) and the only way to get myself under control is to set a deadline – the best way to do that: sign up for an event.

And lastly, this gives me a chance to do something for ME.

Listen, I’m selfish.  I’m not that mother who gets up early to pack her kids a healthy lunch; hell I don’t even go to the grocery store so they can pack a healthy lunch (they’ll eventually crack and take the sardines, I’m sure of it).  And I certainly do not ever push myself to make my husband’s life better or easier.  Basically I’m an asshole who has convinced these people they are lucky to have me without ever actually doing anything for them.

But at the end of the day – even a selfish, asshole mom loses her identity, gets lost in the endless cycle of homework and games and fundraisers and dirty toilets…

Every day, for the next 11 weeks, I will be forced to carve out some time for me; Dan will make sure I get the time, too as the alternative is me blowing a heart chamber on the course… ain’t no way he takes any chances with being left alone with these 3 kids and my dad for the rest of his life.

Don’t worry – I won’t be one of those dicks who posts accomplishments every day, holy hell those people are complete assholes.  As I see it, there are 3 kinds of people in this world:

those who exercise.

those who don’t exercise, don’t care to exercise and don’t give 2 fucks how much I exercise.

and those who’d love to be doing what I’m doing but don’t have the time, health, motivation, energy, wherewithal, (fill-in-the-blank) to do it.  I’ve been there… plenty.

The last 2 groups of people hate the exercise-poster – I do not want to alienate 66% of the population.  And to all of you exercisers sitting there saying, “excuses… everybody can do it if they want to…” I say to you – shut the fuck up.  Time in a day is finite – it’s not money, you can’t just make more when you need it.  Hold on.. the Secret Service is calling….

People have lives – busy lives.  Sometimes people use up every ounce of their everything just to get through the day – telling them, “if you really wanted to exercise, you’d find a way” is not helpful – shut your dumb mouth and quit posting your “run maps” and pictures of your flat abs.  Ugh… for the love of God people – make a private group and spread your calorie-burning cheer amongst people who give a shit.

Anyway, I guess I’m kinda being one of those people by blogging about my plan… I do promise to keep it to a minimum, though and more importantly, I promise to keep my abs (or lack thereof) under wraps.

Unfortunately, Dan won’t be joining me in the fun(?) – he has a bum plantar fascia; this is the kind of thing we enjoy doing together so there will undoubtedly be something missing.  As it is the sort of thing we enjoy doing together, I asked him if he’s ok with me participating when he can’t – he gave me his blessing without so much as a pause… I bet he thinks I’m fat, too…. that sonuvabitch.

 

 

 

Finally… I can tell you about the mini-vacation Santa gave the 5I’s for Christmas; Dan forbids me from “checking in” on Facebook while we’re gone.  I mean… god forbid either of my followers see that we’re gone and decide to chance incarceration (not to mention wading through the squalor that is our home) for a shot at my 0.003 carat pave diamond ring from Penney’s. (For the record – he is sooooo not the boss of me… I listen only because I’d sooner eat shit than say, “you were right”).

Any who… Santa pulled off a pretty nifty gift for us 5 I’s (and yes… yes I know there should be no apostrophe between the I and the s but 5 Is looks stupid).  On Christmas morning we awoke to a note telling us to be packed for 4 days of fun and frolic and in the car at 7pm on January 4th.  He also gave us suggestions for what to pack.  Lemme just say this about that – Santa is badass – everything rhymed…  11 poems in all (including one to Abby’s teacher – which was exceptionally well received but deemed inappropriate for requesting an excused absence… typical).

Santa had a tough time sleeping on the morning of the 24th – fear of the font of said poems being difficult to read made Santa’s eyes pop open at 5am.  Santa searched for better fonts but couldn’t find anything better, a few hours later Santa’s head elf said, “that font is perfect… don’t change it, it’ll be fine.”

Santa’s head elf is an asshole.

As anticipated, the reading of the initial poem was… a wreck.  Nobody knew what was going on.  Santa wanted to punch his “it’ll be fine” head elf in the throat.  Luckily I was there to sorta… clear things up.  We had packing suggestions, poems for teachers (just Abby’s… Santa kicked around forcing the older 2 to take poems to their teachers….) and an address in Roanoke – that was it.

Naturally… the week before our departure our car got sick… and so did I.  The car was easy to remedy – we borrowed my mom’s Escalade – ha! from a Kia to a Cadillac…. poor us….  either way – I still felt like shit.

No matter… at 7pm on January 4th I was in the car as instructed (sick yet selfless… that’s me).  I punched the address into google maps (as Santa suggested) and off we went.  Four hours later we pulled into Shirley’s Bed and Breakfast in Roanoke.  We told Cheryl the inn keeper Santa had sent us and she didn’t bat an eye… she expected us!  Even told us Santa had left a package under her tree for the 5 I’s (she mentioned how difficult to read the font was but she figured out the package was for us…  Cheryl… funny lady).  I tried to upload a picture of the box – fuck this…  I hate technology.

Here’s the gist – Santa left a box with 4 boxes inside – a box for each day of our vacation.  The boxes were dated, inside each was a poem and envelope(s).  The daily poem gave us a vague idea of how our day was to play out; the envelopes provided an address and time to report to the address (sometimes we found tickets inside, sometimes we found preloaded credit cards, sometimes… Santa screwed us and made us pay for shit ourselves).

I’m not going to lie – this gift… well… Santa did work.  I’m also not going to lie about the fact I was hoping our first envelope had the address of an urgent care center on the outside and an insurance card on the inside.

no luck

I was awake during the ride from Roanoke to Pigeon Forge, Tennessee for periods only long enough to cry myself back to sleep.  So much effort to make things perfect and I was clearly going to die before we got there.

[Here’s a shameless plug for Shirley’s Bed and Breakfast in Roanoke – this place is amazing.  Cheryl had a room that accommodated all 5 of us!  Breakfast was spectacular and we felt like we were leaving old friends as we drove away – if you need a place to stay in Roanoke… I promise you won’t be disappointed at Shirley’s!]

Our first stop once in Pigeon Forge, was the Titanic museum.  Very cool.  We each got a passenger card upon arrival – the card gave a brief bio of a passenger aboard Titanic and encouraged the card holder to discover the passenger’s fate at the end of the tour.  We all lived (I can’t imagine they give out cards of people who died but who the hell knows).  We were all tickled to learn about our person – except Dan… his was a 62 year old guy; seems benign enough until you learn the average life expectancy at that time was 48 years. “There was my guy – shoving women and children out of the way to save himself – 14 years past his fucking prime…  his life was over for chrissake… great… I’m even an asshole on the Titanic.  Who doesn’t just say, ‘I’m 62… there’s nothing left for me – take my seat’?”  (my 67-year old father particularly enjoyed this story).

After umpteen mini-panic attacks (dip your hand into 28° water sometime…) we got back in the car and read our 2nd envelope which guided us to the cabin rental place.  As we were walking into the rental office I felt a little odd saying, “uhmmmm Santa sent us… sooooo….. I’m kinda at a loss as to what I’m supposed to be doing…”  A barely perceptible smile from the woman behind the counter then she leaned to look past me, “…are you Abby?”  Abby’s eyes got HUGE, “yes”.  “Well honey… Santa said you were comin’ – he’s got y’all a really nice cabin.”

until you’ve witnessed something like this – you haven’t lived.  Abigail was completely beside herself.

[Here’s a shameless plug for Heritage Cabin Rentals in Pigeon Forge: from start to finish this process was perfection.  The cabin was awesome and every person I spoke to was ridiculously kind and outlandishly accommodating.  If you are planning a trip to Pigeon Forge – consider this organization for cabin rental]

We found our cabin, staked claim to our rooms (Dan called the same room as me…. sonuvabitch) then envelope 3 – dinner (Santa even gave us a preloaded Visa to pay for it).  Our evening rounded out with some time in the hot tub and a few games of pool – yeah… Santa hooked our asses up.

The next day was the aquarium.  Standard water animal type stuff but there was the Penguin Encounter…

you ever see $120 so well spent?  They did get to pet him (her?) and that brought grins but… mostly it was 30 minutes of  :/

After a couple hours of watching fish swim by and 30 minutes explaining why nobody needs a $45 pop up book about the history of clams we stopped off at the Mellow Mushroom pizza place for dinner – they had beer… I was happy.  Then off to the Comedy Barn.

Santa got us seats in the front row – center.  One of the comedians mentioned lock-jaw and asked Dan if he’d ever experienced it… Dan ran through 46 scenarios in his head in half a millisecond before he said, “yeah… uh sure…”  He was known as ‘the liar’ for the rest of the show; the kids ate it up that their dad was “famous”.  We left the Comedy Barn and found ourselves in a snow storm.

yes… of course… why not… a place that gets 8.9 inches of snow ANNUALLY would obviously be due for 6 inches of white bullshit in one night during our stay.  This wouldn’t have been a real issue had Santa suggested we get some snacks at some point.  We woke up Saturday morning completely snowed in and not a single morsel of food in the cabin.  Cal and I were shooting a game of pool and the conversation rounded out with: “…we’ll be fine dude.  Abby is small and will be weakened from lack of food.”  “I’m not sure I could resort to cannibalism mom…” “Please… I’m calling it now – if we ain’t outta here by 12:30 you’ll have Abby up by the hot tub with a stick of butter in one hand and the pepper shaker in the other…”

Dan got us out at 12:13 – Abby was never the wiser.  Although this picture came out of the experience:

We ate, checked out the Wonderworks museum (very, VERY cool hands on/interactive science-ish experience) and played a game of laser tag.  I don’t mind telling you… I came in 2nd (Cal’s a cheater).  As we stood there getting our instructions the guy says, “under NO circumstances are you to point the laser or shoot the laser at anybody’s head or face…”  It was not quite 17 seconds into our game that I found myself looking into the business end of a laser gun… the other participants were 14, 12, 10 and 45 years old – I’ll give you one guess as to which nimrod aimed for my retina…

A dinner theater, a 5D theater and a stroll through Ripley’s Odditorium later and we were ready to head back to the cabin.  Did I mention it was -2° while we ambled through Gatlinburg?

Gatlinburg was burning as Santa planned this trip, I was delirious from sickness for most of the trip, we got 2/3 of the annual snowfall in one evening and the day before we got there and the day after we left the temperature was in the mid 50’s but below zero during our stay… why do I even try?

The next morning we were headed home.  Dan, my awesome, amazing, thoughtful, selfless husband Dan got up at 6:30 to start the packing up – my Packers were playing at 4:40 and he knew I wanted to be home for kickoff.  It woulda worked too… if he had woken even 1 other person.  The rest of us were up and moving by 8 but I held us up – I grabbed a “quick” shower; which I did only because Dan had showered (yes… this is how deeply my sick competitive gene runs)

We made it home pretty uneventfully – just in time for me to find out my attempt at recording the game was unsuccessful – talk about serendipity… the Packers sucked right up until I tuned in. I’m kinda glad the DVR didn’t work.

We were back to the grind on Monday…  Santa mentioned his plan was to give us family time because we’re so busy (he looks at our schedule and it makes his head dizzy… killer poems I’m tellin’ ya… killer poems).  He got what he wanted – lots of togetherness, lots of 5 I-ness, lots of bickering, lots of mumbling as we left a room…   hopefully next year Santa sends Pop with the kids….

For all of you parents who are just like us – overwhelmed with STUFF and just wishing you had time with your kids… might I suggest you follow our lead.  I’m pretty sure this will be Abby’s last year of believing in Santa – I wanted to make it memorable and (without sounding like a complete DB) I think I hit this one out of the park – with some help from some very, very lovely people along the way.  I will say this – take beer, wine… whatever soothes your soul – because you will need it; togetherness is great… for a while.

Oh! and get snacks, too….

A few months ago Cal was telling us about a special needs girl falling at school.  He was telling us about the the teacher saying, “Hey somebody go help her up,”  when he started to chuckle… My God did my blood start to boil, “why in the hell are you laughing and why did you need to be asked to help this girl up?????”

Anybody who knows Cal… well, you probably have an idea of how this played out.

“Mom…  she’s a really good friend of mine; I was already helping her by the time the teacher even said anything.  She was giggling while I helped her up.  I’m laughing just thinking about her giggling.”

Schwew… I thought I raised an asshole.

About 2 weeks or so later he came home from school and said he had a girlfriend; then he named this special needs girl.  He said, “She always walks down the hall with me and another friend of mine and we eat lunch together.  So we told her we are both her boyfriend…”

heart

melting

We did have a talk about how this girl doesn’t really understand and that Cal needs to be especially careful with her.  He looked at me like I was the dumbest mofo on the face of the Earth.  “Mom, I know.  She’s a good friend of mine – I won’t do anything to hurt her or upset her, I promise.”

Today, we spent many hours traversing 2 Christmas tree farms – listen… a Christmas tree is not to be taken lightly, it’s serious stuff!  We walked for about an hour at the first farm (Dan’s severe case of plantar fasciitis was not particularly fond of my discerning eye this afternoon…); the trees at this place were magnificent but they just weren’t big enough (when asked what size tree we were looking for Dan got a gleam in his eye and said, “ohhhhh about 8 feet high and just a tad wider than that…”).

I said  to the kids, “Just be quiet as we’re leaving, let me do the talking.  I’m going to tell them your dad got called into work and that’s why we’re leaving empty handed…”  Dan laughed at me, saying it wasn’t really necessary to make an excuse but gosh dern it, I didn’t wanna hurt their feelings.

A google search (while still at the 1st tree farm… I felt so dirty) led us to a tree farm kinda out in the middle of nowhere.  This farm is owned by a family we sorta know – Alex played ball with the oldest daughter for a season.  During that season we didn’t have much interaction with this family so it took us the better part of an hour to piece together who they are and how we know them.  Our acquaintance being so minimal – we didn’t even realize Cal’s friend from school is a member of this family until Alex noticed her coming out of the house.

I told Cal we saw the girl and he got a huge grin, “Really?  that’s cool!”

The girls and I stood on the family porch chatting with the mom and older daughter while the men took care of securing the tree to the car; they joined us on the porch once it was strapped and ready to go.

I asked Cal if he’d like to say ‘hi’ to his friend; the girl’s mom had a look of bewilderment when Cal said, “Sure, yeah!”  He was stinkin’ cute – took his hat of quick and messed with his hair…

And then this beautiful soul came out to say hi to her friend Calvin.

She was difficult to understand (her mom later asked Cal if he was able to understand her as he spent more time with her, he shook his head with confidence, “I always know what she’s saying to me”); but even with my lack of experience I knew that she was absolutely beside herself because her pal was standing at her front door.

She grabbed each of her family members and pointed to my boy, “it’s my Cal… it’s my Cal!”  Her excitement and happiness was infectious – it was a great way to end our tree hunt.

Having said our ‘goodbyes’ and ‘Merry Christmases’ we walked to the car and I was overcome by 2 very different feelings.

Sadness… sadness that any mother would ever have such a look of amazement on her face simply because a kid was nice to her child.  This woman was completely bewildered over the fact that a boy like Cal would be so genuinely kind to her baby girl… no mother should ever have to question whether their child is being treated well or has friends.

And, of course, the other emotion was absolute love for my own kid.  Obviously we have taught our kids to be nice to everybody but Cal’s connection to this girl goes way beyond anything Dan or I have taught him… this is just a little boy who has the most beautiful heart I’ve ever known.

We were almost to the car, the tree farm family was talking with other customers and I was chatting up Cal a little when he said, “Oh.. hold on a sec mom,” then he turned and called out the girl’s name, she looked over and he waved, “I’ll see ya at school tomorrow!”

That little girl gave Cal the sweetest, purest smile…  Cal looked up at me and smiled kinda sheepishly and I’ve never been more in love in my whole life….

 

So…. Buddy the asshole made his appearance yesterday.  Don’t panic – I’m not going to post daily updates of Buddy’s escapades – that shit would break Mother Teresa…

Incidentally – I’m pretty sure it was Dan who thought it imperative for our kids to share in the Elf on the Shelf frivolity… I’ll give you one guess as to how much effort DAN puts into Buddy and his antics (hint: it’s the same amount of effort he puts into wrapping the kids’ gifts).

Anyway, Buddy – being fresh from the North Pole – caused quite a stir with one Abigail Iseminger yesterday; so much so, she wrote him a letter…

 

…then requested a response.

After a semi-long day at work, an even longer evening chasing Iseminger kids all over Bedford county and a couple of hours penning another blog post (it’s still in the planning stages – watch for it in the next few days) – I considered sleeping on the stairs rather than trying to muster the energy to climb them.

And then I remembered…

Buddy…

and that blasted letter from Abby.

Oh shit… oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, hell, damn, ass, piss, fuck, cockwaffles…  I had to write a response from that sonuvabitchin elf…

I sat down with the letter from Abby (it was absolutely delightful by the way) and responded to each of her questions.  I wanted to half-ass it but just kept thinking back to Abby’s utter joy when she saw that asshole yesterday… She’s our last true “believer” and there is something magical about it all.  So, there I sat for about 40 minutes – writing a letter back – making extra sure it didn’t sound like I wrote the damned thing.

I printed it out, signed Buddy’s name (in unrecognizable print) and looked all over for the perfect place to put that hateful shithead.

There I was… about 50 minutes after I had initially started my ascent to our bed; finally reaching the promise land.  First I shamed myself for being such a turd about staying up late to do this for my baby girl; then I fell asleep with a smile, imagining Abby’s reaction to her note from Buddy…

As predicted – she was thrilled when she saw the note from Buddy.  She sat down to read it and I asked what Buddy had to say.  She looked at me, lips pursed, irritated, “ugh I don’t know mom… this is so hard to read – why does Buddy have to write so danged much???”