Category — Life Stories

Yesterday I had some errands to do downtown. I decided to take my bike because (a) I had some time without children and (b) I really like the way it feels to do my errands using my own body to get me from place to place. I attached the bike trailer that is usually Beck’s chariot to use as a way to carry items I was picking up/purchasing on my outing.

I finished everything in record time, but it was approaching dusk as I climbed the steep hill to the State Capitol. It was such a good feeling to complete that climb because after that, it’s all downhill, literally, almost the rest of the way home. I stopped near a bus stop to take a long drink from my water bottle. In some place in my mind I noted that the only people in the immediate area were me and some guy that looked to be a college student waiting for the city bus.
I had a nervous feeling. Couldn’t explain it really, except to say that the air was charged with some kind of weird energy and it was making the hair on the back of my neck stand at attention.

As I readied myself for the ride home, I thought about how I’d be heading down Victory Road in the dwindling light that remained from the setting sun. It’s a narrow road with steady traffic, and I have this fear of getting hit by a car in such situations.

I decided to call for a ride. Kelly D. wasn’t home, so I began to dial my Dad’s number. By now, the college student had been picked up by the bus, and I was alone. Just as I finished dialing, a large black truck pulled up to the bus stop, but I couldn’t see the driver because the windows were tinted dark like a limo. That nervous feeling was now back with a vengeance so I hurried to shove my phone in my back pack and get my bike on the road. As I did this, the black truck lurched forward, closing the distance between us in less than a second. The passenger jumped out, pulled me off my bike and threw it in the back of the truck. My back pack was ripped off in the process, so I grabbed it up and clutched it to my chest. He grunted, and reached for it. I couldn’t give it up though, because it had everything in there. My phone, my wallet, money, a piece of my Grandma’s jewelry I was planning to repair… I couldn’t let him have it.

This is the point when I woke up covered in sweat.
(All day long, I can’t shake this freaked out feeling!)

Wednesday May 26th around noonish: I see Nelly skulking around the back yard with a dead bird hanging out of her grill. I take the bird away from her, feel that it is warm (aka:fresh kill), and dispose of the body.
Same day around noon-oh-five-ish: I can’t look at my sweet puppy in quite the same way. She has lost that air of innocence.
Same day around ten-past-noonish: I text Kelly D. “Nelly has blood lust.”

Ok, so the next day I am outside with her waiting for her to go potty, and I notice two robins hanging out on the fence and on my tomato cages. I think to myself, Man, these are a couple of bold robins. They are letting us get pretty close.

But, after Nelly finishes her business, one of the birds flies right at her. It buzzed past my head and dive-bombed right toward my dog. It scared both of us and we hurried inside the house. Weird.

Each and every subsequent outing into the back yard, the same thing would happen. I noticed these two robins hanging around, and whenever Nelly moved, one of them would swoop down and just barely miss flying right into her. Every time, without fail.

By this time, Nelly is becoming annoyed. Or, maybe she wants to play with them. Or maybe, I am right about the blood lust and since she has now tasted of the forbidden, she wants more…

But I’m starting to think that the rock dove that Nelly killed a few days ago is connected. And, like, the robins are the muscle of the bird world and they’ve come to teach her a lesson. Or get revenge. Or something.

Last night, we had dinner guests and as we ate outside on the back patio, we saw one of the robins with a worm in it’s mouth.

It waited for a few minutes, just sitting there with this worm, and then we saw it fly into one of our pine trees where it was greeted by three hungry, little open mouths.

They have made a nest in my tree and have just been trying to keep the black and white menace away from their babies.

Isn’t it just the sweetest thing?

(The protective birdy-parents part of the story, not my puppy killing a rock dove. That actually made me really sad.)

Yesterday, I went to the grocery store for a few things. Milk, sour cream, yogurt…lots of yogurt, carrots, bread and Diet Mountain Dew. As I was watching the cashier scan my purchases, a man behind me in line said, “Somebody’s on a diet.”
I pretended not to hear him because A) What a douche. and, B) I was not in the mood to have a conversation with a stranger.
This guy was persistent though. He repeated himself, “Somebody’s on a diet.” I looked at the guy and then said, “Uh, nope. Not really.” My tone and body language were screaming, SHUTTIE! I do not want to talk to you! But this man was not going to let it go. “Well you’re obviously trying to eat healthy.” So I said, “Since when is Diet Mountain Dew health food?”
At this point, I’m thinking, should I be offended? I am definitely annoyed that some guy is trying to read into and then comment about my grocery purchases. But, I’m feeling this progressing from annoyed to offended. We’re inching towards it with every passing second.
So, then he said, “Well, the diet part… you are obviously trying to watch your calorie intake. And look at all that yogurt!”
I had no interest in continuing this conversation anymore, so I said, “Yeah, well, we eat a lot of yogurt at my house.” Then, I paid for my groceries and just left.
I thought about it the whole way home. I couldn’t think of one thing to say to that guy except maybe, ‘Mind your own beeswax.’ But I really wish I could have been clever.

Is there a point to this? Yes. People are weird. Except me. And you of course. We are the only normal ones.

 
I bought a lovely, new patio pot to put in my garden beside a path. It’s a deep, emerald green, and it’s finish makes it appear wet. It gives a cool, refreshed feel to the otherwise dry flagstone of the path it lives by. I had big plans for this pot. It was to be a great focal point in it’s intended location. On a Saturday, I purchased all the plants I would need to fill it, and I couldn’t wait to get home to put it all together. I chose many succulents and some drought tolerant plants as well. Lately, I have been fascinated by the colors and textures that desert plants offer, and I have also been thinking a lot about working with the environment I live in rather than trying to transform it into something else, which leads me to a recent moment of clarity.

 
Green Santolina. This character was to be the height in my arrangement, and also a burst of color. I understood that it features little, yellow flowers which last from summer to frost. Perfect! I placed it in a prominent position, added the rest of the cast of characters and stood back to admire my creation.
All there was left to do was wait.
One day I wandered outside to find the beginnings of flowers. They looked like tiny, yellow sponge cakes. Much like the center of a daisy without it’s petals. I always get so excited when plants are in their beginning stages of bloom.
Oh! The possibilities! What will these beauties look like when they open up?
Well, I’ll tell you. They didn’t open up. They stayed that way until they were spent and dried up. When I removed them, more tiny, yellow sponge cakes arrived to take their place.
What did I do wrong? Not enough water? Too much? After a bit of trial and error, I decided that either my plant was defective, or I had done something to ruin it. Better luck next year.

 
Later in the month I rose early to to on a garden tour at a large public garden. I was admiring the variety and arrangement of their plantings, taking pictures, writing down ideas to take home when I stumbled upon a large mass of Green Santolina. They looked so beautiful all together in this garden; each of them covered in tiny, yellow sponge cake-like blooms.
There was a plaque in the front of the bed which read: “Southern France sub-shrub with aromatic foliage and yellow button flowers.”
What?
You mean, they are supposed to look like that? I took several photographs of them. As I looked through my lens at their beauty, I felt sorry for thinking of mine as defective. How could I? Just look at them… finger-like leaves holding up little offerings of sweetness to the sun.

 


 
Why didn’t I see it before? I should have appreciated them for exactly what they are instead of waiting for what I thought they should become.

Last Friday I arranged an evening out with my man.
Babysitter arrived at 5 pm. Five dollar pizza for the her and the kids and off we go.

 
We did ALL of our Christmas shopping in 1.5 hours. We had a fine meal at the O.G. aka: Olive Garden. (Kelly likes to call everything by it’s initials…it takes some getting used to.) I had the mushroom ravioli.
We then ventured to a sweet little store called Game Night. I really hope this store succeeds because what a fun place. Nothing but fun. We found a great game to play at our company Christmas party called Curses. (follow these links you guys! They are here to help!) It was the so much fun. Like, where your face hurts from smiling and you have to sit with your legs crossed to keep from peeing kind of fun. It was a great find, and I would like to take this opportunity to invite anyone reading this over to my house to play with us on New Year’s Eve. (you know I’m kidding, right?)

 
After we scored that game we headed over to the multiplex to see Twilight. That’s right. Kelly D. went with me to see Twilight. He didn’t think it sucked. That is his review. Oh, and Edward is dreamy. But I think he was saying that with heavy sarcasm.

 
On our way to the theater, we drove through our old ‘hood. The one surrounding our first apartment. We had a few laughs recalling some stories from when we lived there.
Like the time I was propositioned by some pervert while taking my dog outside for a potty break. (did I forget to mention we lived right next door to a motel known for housing prostitutes?)
Or the time when one of those very same prostitutes thought that when I pulled into my driveway that I was trying to pick her up.
She sauntered (sexy!) up to my window and said, “Hey there. (wink) You looking for some company?” And I stuttered, “Uh, no. I actually l-l-l-l-live here.”
Good times.
I recall sitting on our porch every Thursday evenings in summer. Sipping lemonade and watching the cops bust the customers. They had a sting every week and the same idiots would be circling the block waiting for the hookers to come our from their last job…..looking for love in all the wrong places.
But these are my memories, and I cherish them.

 
There is a 7-11 near our old apartment where our neighbors stopped to buy the sacrament bread on the way to church on Sunday mornings, and that is what we think about every time I see it.
We were going to stop there to pick up candy for the movie (yes, we sneak it in, and so do you.) but, we decided not to because we thought it would alter our fondness for the place.
You can’t go back, you know. Some things are better left untouched in our memories.
So we drove out of our way to a different gas station down the street. There were hookers there too, though.
The old neighborhood still has it’s charm.

14 years ago today I went on a road trip to St. George to visit my grandparents with my super-cute boyfriend named Kelly. We stayed with them for the weekend, but on the last day of our visit, we decided to leave early and drive to Las Vegas for the day just for fun.

 
The next part of the story is where that the facts are in dispute. He says it was my idea, but I say he talked me into it. Either way, this is the story of our wedding day. (for better or worse)

 
We ended up in the Treasure Island Casino/Hotel. Looking through the yellow pages to find a place where we could afford to get married. I even took a picture of Kelly doing this very thing. This is mere hours before we tied the knot!

We settled on the Silver Bell Wedding Chapel because they offered the wedding itself, witnesses if needed (and they were!), and free limo service to the court house for the marriage license, then to the chapel, and finally back to your hotel. All for the price of $80!

We had planned on attending church with my grandparents, so we had decent clothes to wear. Not your usual wedding attire, but it was better than shorts and t-shirts.

The ride to the chapel was full of laughter and chatter about how old and ugly the limo was. I guess you get what you pay for. When we arrived, we had to wait our turn. There were two couples in line ahead of us. We sat in the lobby in plastic lawn chairs. Top quality accommodations at the Silver Bell!
When it was our turn, they took Kelly to the front of the chapel to wait, while they escorted me to the back closet at the other end of the room. As I stood in this closet with our “wedding coordinator”, she was talking to me about what was going to happen next, telling me how fast to walk and so forth. I remember that her voice was raspy and deep, like a chain smoker. I wasn’t paying close attention to what she said, because I suddenly felt strange. I think I began to realize that what I was doing was real despite the obvious humor of the situation.
Inside the closet was a large stereo, and at the appropriate moment, she turned up the sound to a Celine Dion duet from the Sleepless In Seattle soundtrack, opened the sliding closet door, gave me a little push and said, “Now you go get your man.”
Touching, isn’t it?

 
So, I start walking toward Kelly, who is barely containing his laughter. When I saw his face, I couldn’t stop myself from cracking up. About halfway down the aisle, however, I again was struck by the fact that holy crap I am getting married!
So I started crying.
Which makes Kelly laugh harder, and that makes me start up again, only this time I’m laughing through tears and a runny nose. At the alter, the guy performing the ceremony says all the usual things…just like in the movies. We repeat our lines, all the while our limo driver, Owen, watches from the pews.
Did I forget to say that he was pulling double duty as our witness? Well he was. Now that I think about it, we probably should have tipped him better. Or at all.
We didn’t have rings to exchange, but the Silver Bell included these beauties… they’re adjustable!

The ride back to the hotel was quite a bit different from the ride to the chapel. It was pretty quiet. I can’t speak for Kelly, but I know I was thinking about how I’m married. Freaking married. And nobody was there to see. And, what do we do now?

On the drive home that day, I kept trying to convince Kelly that we could just go back to our normal lives, and just not tell anybody what we did. He wouldn’t go for it though. We arrived home late that night. He went to his house, and I went to mine. (I was living back at home at this point.) My parents were in bed watching TV when I told them. They didn’t seem upset, or even surprised for that matter. It took about a week or so for us to find an apartment to live in. My mom made us go have our picture taken so we could at least send out an announcement to the family.

So there it is. An fine example of what not to do. I never got to be a bride. Didn’t get to wear a pretty dress. I didn’t get to pick out flowers, or a cake or bridesmaid dresses.
But as far as grooms go, I really scored big. If I would have had a beautiful wedding too, then it would have been too much good fortune for one dumb, impulsive girl to manage.

Saturday morning I stopped at a flower shop on my way to the funeral. A guy I went to high school with owns the shop, so I said hello to him while I was there. He came out of the back room to greet me and said, “Hey Kelly! It’s been a while, what are you up to?”
I said, “Well, I’m on my way to my grandpa’s funeral this morning, hence the flowers.”
His face dropped, and I immediately realize that I am a social idiot because this is a weird thing to bring up in casual conversation.
I realize at this moment, that I am Debbie Downer.
If you don’t know who Debbie Downer is, please click on this link which I have so thoughtfully provided you with. You can’t appreciate the awkwardness of the rest of this story unless you know who she is.
Where was I? Oh, yes….awkward silence.
So my friend is staring at me and says, “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
Then, I blurt out, “Wah-Wah!” (like the sound effect from the SNL skit)
More staring. More silence.
He obviously doesn’t watch Saturday Night Live.
Then I say, “Oh, wow. That really isn’t something I should open up a conversation with is it? Man! My bad! I feel like that chick on that SNL skit Debbie Downer…have you seen it? It’s so funny. It’s about this woman who is always…..”
And this is the part where I launch into a lengthy and over-animated explanation. Meanwhile, my friend is just starting at me with this frozen smile and wide eyes.
If this moment was a scene in a movie, my chattering voice would have faded and we would have been listening to my old friend’s thoughts which would have been something like, Wow…this is really uncomfortable. How can I get out of this conversation? Maybe the phone will ring….Maybe I can will it to ring. Ring! Ring, phone! RING! RIIIIIIINNNNGGGG!

 
I was simply trying to let him know that I was aware of my faux pas, and that I am, in fact, NOT a freak. So I finished my story. We are left looking at each other for a few more awkward seconds, and then he says, “Well. You look great.” (which is a big, fat lie) And then he retreats to the safety of the back room of his flower shop.

 
As soon as I got into the car, I started belly laughing. I laughed the whole way to the mortuary. The boys kept saying, “Mom, what is so funny?” I told them they wouldn’t understand, but I kept laughing like a crazy person. Until we pulled into the mortuary’s parking lot, and I remember why we are here, and that I am nervous to talk, so I started to cry.
If you could have seen the looks on my boys faces. They looked at me, then at each other, then at me. I think The Fish even raised his eyebrows as he got out of the car.

 
When I told this story to Kelly, he laughed out loud, then hugged me and said, “Oh, my sweet wife.”
I’m not sure what that means, but it sounds a bit like pity.

When Kelly D. and I used to shoot wedding receptions together all the time, we would play a variety of games throughout the night to keep things interesting.
Most of them were childish, but oh-so-entertaining.
One of my favorites was the one where we had permission to slap each other across the face without warning. Please don’t think this was abusive in any way. It was actually hilarious. And, of course, we held back somewhat on the force behind the slap.
The element of surprise was the key to this game.
Have you ever actually slapped another person in the face? It can be strangely delightful.
The thing is, that for the instant right after I’d been slapped, I was just SO MAD! I would get this feeling in the pit of my stomach, a feeling like, like, like somebody just slapped me!
I would give Kelly D. the dirtiest look and just think, Oooooo. He is so gonna get it!
And he would see this play of emotion across my face and that would start him laughing. And then I would start laughing.
Next thing you know, it’s his turn. He’d be standing around people watching. Paying no attention to my whereabouts, and I would sneak up on him and SLAP! Or sometimes, I’d pretend like I needed to discuss something with him, and mid-sentence, I’d just pop him one.
Then he’d look at me with crazy-mad-guy face and I would crack up so hard.
And on it went.

I was sitting at the kitchen table feeding The Fish (known then as SugarBear) applesauce. He was 9 months old. He was wearing my favorite pajamas…blue with gray stripes and a little bear on the front.
My friend called me on the phone and said, “Are you watching the news?” She sounded upset. I told her no. She told me to go turn on the tv immediately.
I did.
I think I stayed frozen in front of the television for at least an hour. Mouth open, eyes wide, in utter disbelief.
As I put my baby down for a nap later that day I thought, Your world just changed and you don’t even know it.

I was shooting a wedding later that day. I kept thinking, Is the wedding still on? I mean, do people still get married on a day like this? The answer is yes. The mood was not the same, though. The guests’ conversations were not focused on the happy couple, but rather on tragedy. Everyone seemed to be trying very hard to celebrate, but there was a tangible weight on everyone’s shoulders that day.
As soon as I returned home, I was again, glued to the television. Over and over again, I watched the planes hit the World Trade Center.
I cried for the families that lost loved ones, for the sense of security that was lost, for the way the world would never be the same.

Yesterday, someone I love gave me the nicest compliment I think I’ve ever received. I’m not going to tell you that one, but I will tell you the WORST “compliment” someone has given me…
Once, when I was attending Dixie College, some guy came over with his friend to visit my room mate. After the introductions and pleasantries were out of the way, he said to me, “You know, you’d be really hot if you got yourself on a StairMaster.”
How is a person supposed to respond to that?

 
(I should probably add that I wasn’t over weight at this point in my life…so don’t feel sorry for me. Also, that guy was trying to hit on me. Pity me not.)

This morning The Fish and I headed up to Mueller Park Canyon for a hike. He had requested a “deathly” adventure, but I thought maybe he’d settle for a treasure hunt instead.


 
Have you heard of Letterboxing? I read about it on the internet about a year ago, and I thought it would be something the boys would totally dig.

 
Here…read this…it explains it better than I could:
Letterboxing is growing hobby that combines elements of hiking, treasure hunting and creative expression into an activity that the whole family can enjoy. Participants seek out hidden letterboxes by following clues that are posted on the Internet, and then record their discovery in their personal journal with the help of a rubber stamp that’s part of the letterbox. In addition, letterboxers have their own personal stamps which they use to stamp into the letterbox’s log book.

 
There are boxes hidden all over the country, and I knew there was one in Mueller Park, so I thought we’d try to find it today.

This was seriously great fun. It wasn’t too hard to find, and we were both thrilled when the clues led us to the right spot where the box was hidden within a rock wall.

The instructions on the internet told us not to examine the contents of the box at the same spot we found it, because the location needs to be kept secret from passers by.
We walked a short distance down the trail to check it out. Also, The Fish had to take a leak, so we found this spot to do both…

As we were sitting on a log looking inside the letterbox, Fish said, “Sounds like a lot of bees.” I said, “Yeah.” I noticed it too.
A couple of minutes later, I felt a bee sting my leg. “Ow!” I swatted it away, then I felt another one on my back, “What the?!?…Ow!”
I looked down at myself and on the front of my body are about 15 bees. So, I feel a bit panicked and start swatting them away…totally caught up in my own situation. Then I hear Fish start screaming…like freaking out screaming….and when I looked over at him, he had even more bees on him!
He’s flailing around swatting at his head, screaming at the top of his lungs, “Mom! Mom! Mom! Get them off!” So, I start slapping his chest, his face, his legs, his arms… They were everywhere!
I grabbed his hand and said, “Run! Let’s get out of here!”
So, we’re running down the trail, Fish is still screaming. And those freaking bees were chasing us! No kidding. They were mad bees! At one point I looked at Fishy’s face and he had like 8 bees on each cheek and even more on his arms, so we stopped running and I’m swatting at them, but they didn’t fly away! They kept coming back. So now I’m trying to kill them. Slapping poor little Fishy all over his body. Meanwhile, I’m getting stung on my legs and back and arms….
It was a nightmare.

 
Finally, it ended. We sat on the side of the trail and I tried to calm The Fish down. We both had several stings, but we were fine. He was understandably freaked out and, I noticed that he lost a shoe during our escape. We took deep breaths and I explained that we must have disturbed their home and that’s why they came after us. He didn’t care. He was ready to go home.
But come on! We just got started, and he did request a deathly adventure, did he not?
Doesn’t being attacked by angry bees count as deathly?
I say yes.

 
I talked him into toughing it out and finishing our hike. After hunting down his shoe, we stamped the book in the letterbox and looked at everyone else’s stamps that had found this box. Lot’s of people had visited this box. It was really cool to see the other stamps and names of strangers who’d had the same adventure. We picked a sun stamp to leave our mark behind with, and we included our names and a message…

I know I misspelled attacked. But cut me some slack…I was having an adrenaline rush from the bee incident.

 
As we continued up the trail, I had to laugh because Fish was swatting at the air around his head and flinching and twitching the whole way. Poor kid. He kept thinking he heard buzzing sounds.

The hike was beautiful. When we reached the top, we rested a bit and took some pictures…

He was pretty impatient with all the sitting around, though…”Why do we have to take all these pictures? If we don’t hurry, we might get stung by more bees!”

I really hope this doesn’t turn into a full-blown phobia.
But memories were made today. That is certain.

When I was in Jr. High, I used to hang out at the mall every Saturday. Do people still do that? Because, from what I’ve seen, they hang out at the local grocery store now. Every time I head in there on a Friday or Saturday night, there are crowds of teens gathered around the bakery and the RedBox. At least at the mall, there was a Dairy Queen. And back then they had those really fat french fries. Oh, so good.

 
Each time my mom dropped me off at the mall, I would buy two things. A goldfish (because they only lived about a week, and the fish bowl was a major part of my bedroom decor) and at least one 45 record. Yes, I know I am so old. Do you even know what a 45 is? It’s like a cd single, only it’s vinyl.

 
Today I found my whole collection of records, including all of those 45’s.
You guys. There is a musical treasure trove in my basement!
Such favorites as Poison’s Talk Dirty To Me (oh, boy…the 13 year old Kelly Anne used to dance around with this song cranked so loud! )
Living Color’s Cult of Personality(I yearn to play this baby on RockBand!), T’ Pao’s Heart and Soul (I still know all the words!), Madonna’s True Blue (even the record is blue…a collector’s item!).
And, in case you want to mellow it out with a little 80’s love ballad, I even have Reo Speedwagon’s In My Dreams. I tell you, I listened to that one over and over and over while crushing on that 13 year old super-stud Rodney W. And, does anyone remember this gem?

 
I so wanted to hear these songs today. I need to see if I can get a record player on ebay. Don’t tell me that I could just download them onto my iPod.
It’s just not the same!

Today a cute, young woman asked me when I knew I loved my husband.
“How do you know when you’re in love?” she said.
This gave me pause. Isn’t that a great question?

 
When Kelly and I met, I was already attached to a guy with a mullet. It was the early 90’s guys. We have to cut him some slack.
Kelly and I were working at a books/music/video store called Hastings. He was the music manager (oooooo!) and I was a lowly cashier.

 
My first impression of him was that he was kind of bossy. I thought he was handsome, in a non-mullet-having sort of way. But, he always wore these little ankle socks and tucked in his freshly pressed shirts. Cute, but not my type.

 
We used to go to concerts together with our fellow co-workers. Working at that store had lots of free perks like that. Concert tickets, backstage passes and the like. It was fun.
Even though we were going with a group of people, we always seemed to pair off.
No doubt, he wanted me.
Once, at a School of Fish concert, he took me up front to the mosh pit and when he reached back to pull me up to the front of the action, he accidentally hit my face with his hand. As a pure reflex, I hauled off and punched him in the head.
I am certain this is the moment he fell in love with me.

 
Shortly after that, I dumped the mullet and we began dating.
We used to sit in his car in the parking lot after work and talk for hours. About everything. I loved being with him because I wasn’t always the entertainer. It seemed then that was my role in most of my relationships, but with Kelly, it was different. He entertained me. We had such fun together.
That was the first thing.
The next thing was that he seemed to fit in my world. He was comfortable at my parents’ house. He liked my dog. He didn’t seem to mind just hanging out with me doing nothing in particular. More importantly, he didn’t mind that I am a little crazy.
You think I’m kidding, but ask someone that really knows me. It’s true.

 
But if I had to nail it down to one single moment. One moment when I thought, ‘Yes. This is the guy for me.‘…here it is.
We were at a restaurant eating lunch together. I ordered a club sandwich.
We were just sitting there eating and chatting when out of the blue he picked up his fork and started stabbing my club sandwich repeatedly. It was a massacre…food flying everywhere.
I was stunned.
I stared at the plate for a minute and then looked up at him, who was, by this time casually sipping his drink, and I swear…that was the moment I knew that he was the PERFECT match for me.

I grew up next to a little slice of kid-heaven. We called it “the hollow”. It’s a ravine right behind my parents house that is full of dense trees, rocks to climb, fallen trees as bridges over streams, and a pond to swim in.
I am forever telling The Fish about my adventures in The Hollow. On Sunday, we were visiting my parent’s house, and I decided to take him there to show him the place that holds so many of my favorite childhood memories.

When we got about halfway to the pond, we discovered that there was a fence twice as tall as I am blocking our way. I hesitated. “Fish, I don’ t know if we can get through here. I think we might have to turn back.” His face dropped.
Then he suggested we both squeeze through a small space underneath the fence. I explained about private property, and trespassing and such things.
Then he said, “Why are grown-ups not as…um…you know…discover-y…as kids are?”
You know what I said?
“Let’s do this.”
We found a way around the fence. It was thorny, and treacherous. And, I was bleeding by the end of it, but I will not sit back and let some punk 7 year old tell me I’m not discover-y anymore.
I’m Mrs. Discover. Evidence below…

magpie nest.

thorns, bark, duck tracks, cracked earth, patterns in nature, and tree shoots.
Discoveries abound. Hazah!
This next picture (look close!) is an old car that has become part of this river bed and has been there since I was a kid. We used to make up freaky stories about there being skeletons of dead bank robbers in it. These are the stories The Fish loves to hear. He eats it up.

This next one is a picture of an area that I used to think was magic. The trees were thick enough to get lost in and the ground was mushy. It felt like walking on a bed of thick marshmallows. I seriously used to think that fairies lived there. It was so quiet and even the air smelled different. It’s fun to tell these things to Fish because he is completely absorbed in what I’m telling him. I can see the wheels turning in his mind.

This log that he’s climbing on here is nearly covered with water during summer.

My friend and I used the high part as a diving board. Every day in the summer we’d go swimming in that pond. Seeing it in person again flooded my memory. I came home and wrote down as many of them as I could recall. So fun.
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The best part of the whole adventure though, was spending this time alone with The Fish. As I shared with him my stories, it was like he was discovering that I am an actual person. Not just a mom.
As we walked, we gave names to all the obstacles we conquered. (death trap, devil’s snare, the biggie, and pictured below is slip-slide-ride)

We balanced on logs above streams…

Chucked rocks in the pond…

Had a splash-making contest…

And raced home…

Today I was making an appointment at the groomer for Molly. Kelly, who was sitting next to me, poked me and whispered, “Hey, I’ll give you five bucks if you tell them her name is Queen Princess Molly Louise.”
So I did it. And the girl on the phone said, “Uh, okay…” Then I said, “But we call her Molly for short.”
This may not seem funny to you, but I had a hard time spitting out the words through my laughter. After I hung up, he was still laughing while he said, “Totally worth five dollars.”
This is normal in our relationship. I think sometimes Kelly D. treats me like the little brother he never had. (also the most irresistible female he’s ever met…yeah, baby!)
Do you do this too?
Once, we were camping with some friends. Our families were all sitting around the fire roasting marshmallows and cracking wise. Good fun. My marshmallow fell off my stick so I sat and watched the flames engulf it until it was nothing but a marshmallow shaped piece of ash.
Kelly sees this and says, “Hey, I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you eat that.”
Side note: I feel it necessary to pause here and tell you that Kelly is not the lord of the money at our house. But we do have a budget we stick to and this money that he’s offering up would be all extra cash that I don’t have to account for what I’ve spent it on. It’s butter. All MINE.
Anyway. I’m thinking, a hundred dollars??? Done!
So, I dig the ashy marshmallow out of the fire pit and pop it in my mouth. It is totally ash, by the way. No chewiness of marshmallow left at all. It’s just crumbly, disgusting ash. My boys are watching this whole scene wide-eyed and confused.
I think it was Tato that said, “Why is Mommy eating fire?”
This made me laugh, which caused me to suck in a breath of air, which caused me to inhale the ashy marshmallow, which caused me to cough. A lot.
Which caused me to throw up. In the fire pit.
Nobody felt sorry for me except the boys. Kelly was laughing SO hard. I can still see his face glowing red in the light of the fire, tears streaming down his face. He couldn’t talk for at least 5 minutes.
Guess what else? He didn’t pay up. He said that the deal was to eat the marshmallow. And eating includes swallowing and keeping it down. I guess we were playing Fear Factor rules.