Don't Drive Stupid

I got a text from the Drama Queen about 4:30 today. "…they’re having an awesome drunk driving demo in the Smith’s parking lot. You guys should come. There’ll be helicopters and everything." Well, who could resist a text like that? Not me…and apparently not Bossy either. We both pulled in at the same time. 

They were still setting up as we strolled across the parking lot. There were various police cars and a trailer with what looked like two carnival cars on it. They had a couple of tables with the proverbial literature and free pens. A woman in a Zero Fatalities shirt was handing out string backpacks and an occasional t-shirt (Princess got one!). I guess she looked like a prospective driver. (I can’t believe it’s only a few more months!) 

 As we rounded the tables I saw the cars. They were placed strategically in the parking lot so they looked like they were in an actual accident. Both were covered with broken glass as if they were simply waiting for a tow truck. We wandered around and the kids took their turn in the "carnival ride." It really simulated what a 5-mph crash would feel like. I think Scout and Taco were the most surprised as they jostled in the seats. 

 Back at the crash site they were preparing for the big event, and by the time we walked back over, the victims were in place. There were five real teenagers involved in the "accident." We happened to know one of them and that made it even more personal. One girl was lying on the ground, covered in fake blood. A boy appeared to have been thrown through the windshield. The driver of that car was sitting behind the wheel. She also had a passenger in the backseat. The boy in the other car was supposed to be stuck behind the wheel of his car. 

As we stood about 20 feet away, the sirens suddenly went off and the ambulance raced to the scene. A paramedic vehicle followed right behind. Curly was terrified and I pulled him up into my arms. Gamer reached for him and put him up on his shoulders. I placed a protective arm around Scout and reached for Sport’s hand. Bossy made similar moves with her kids. The paramedics jumped from their vehicles and began attending to the "victims." Cars along the road bunched up, with drivers craning their necks to see what was going on. Never in my life had I been so close to that kind of action! Even though I knew it was all pretend, tears crowded my eyes as they threw a sheet over the girl on the ground and then another one over the boy on the hood of the car. 

 A policeman pulled out the female driver and administered the sobriety test. She failed miserably and was eventually handcuffed and placed in a squad car. A couple of paramedics used the "jaws of life" to rip the doors off the car and extricate the driver of the second vehicle. Suddenly a woman ran from the crowd as if she were the mother of one of the victims. It was terrifying to watch her break down, realizing that this kind of accident could have involved my kids. 

Suddenly we heard the LifeFlight helicopter. It circled once and then landed right there in the parking lot. The wind threw small rocks at us because we were so close. We huddled with the kids until the blades stopped chopping. The paramedics loaded one of the victims onto a back-board, and wheeled him to the helicopter. The winds picked up again as it quickly took off. We just stood there, looking at each other. Some random grandma gave Sport a hug. I was stunned at my own reaction. It brought back imagined images of my own little Princess being loaded into a helicopter just like that one. It also brought up another image of Gym Rat who took a similar ride. I’ll tell you that story tomorrow. 

**Editor's Note:  Silly Mom, she wasn't even around when Princess was loaded onto LifeFlight. (Mom said: That doesn't mean I haven't seen that scene a thousand times in my head.) I remember it clearly.  As the helicopter landed it blew all the fresh snow from the rooftops and lawns onto the street.  A man-made blizzard.  I remember watching the perfect whiteness fall and knowing that everything was going to be okay.  And then the bright red helicopter jolted me back to reality and I saw tiny Princess looking like a doll on the adult-sized board.  Even knowing today was a staged training and demonstration I had a large lump in my throat watching that teen loaded into the helicopter.  I am glad I have several years before my boys learn to drive.

Thank you Smith's, local law enforcement, MADD, SLCO Health Department, Utah Highway Patrol, and the city council for putting on a great event! 

Bug Bites and Bee Stings

Sport got bit by a spider on Saturday. For most people, that would be no big deal. But I don’t know what it is with Sport. Every time he gets stung by anything, it’s a big huge hairy deal. Last summer he got stung by a hornet. He came running in, tears and snot streaming down his face. The area on his arm had already started to swell. I grabbed the box of baking soda, mixed it with a little water and slathered the paste on his wound. He was still screaming and bawling, something about never going in the backyard again. 

I scraped off the layer of paste and applied a second one. He would not be consoled. I blew on the paste to make it dry faster and then scraped and applied again. After about half an hour of this, he gradually calmed down. A red mark the size of a quarter was all that remained near his elbow. I sent him back out to play. After he showered and was ready for bed I checked it again and he was fine. 

By noon the next day, his arm started to swell. (I found out later that delayed reactions are common with hornet stings.) By the following morning the angry red hard skin stretched from his wrist nearly to his shoulder and almost all the way around. I called the doctor and made an appointment. She sent us straight up to Primary Children’s Medical Center. 

Sport's Arm

They checked us in and started IV antibiotics. They also informed us to get comfortable; we would be spending the night. PCMC has amazing food! Sport was so excited to order from room service because you can order anything and as much and as often as you like. We also asked them for craft items and we received a dozen different fun things for him to work on. He made a couple of beadie animals that he is very proud of. This was cool because my Girl Scout troop made little craft kits for PCMC as a service project the year before, that's why we knew they had them. (I’m not totally mean; I did let him watch a little TV.)  We were released the next day after the swelling was definitely beginning to shrink. He was given oral antibiotics, but it still took several days before he could use his arm normally. 

So this morning when I noticed the swelling on this new bite I was not happy. We went about our normal activities, attended church, threw a birthday party for one of the Gym Rat’s closest friends, and made a million chicken chimis and a huge German chocolate cake. Bossy and Gamer also rolled about 60 tamales. 

Tonight when things finally settled down, we looked at Sport’s arm again. It had grown to about six inches long and four inches across. He forced down the Benadryl and some ibuprofen. I’m not looking forward to another night at the hospital…I’ll keep you posted.

Guest Blog - The Bees Knees by The King (aka Sweetie)

Sand bees…those stupid sand bees. When I was a kid my family was the proud owner of the biggest sandbox in town. It was way cool, had a big cement pipe (affectionately called the Tunnel) and a couple of dump-trucks worth of sand. So when we built our home, a big sandbox was high on my list of desires. We got it, and thanks to a mistake by a contractor, we ended up with a huge one! Ten dump-trucks full! But with it came sand bees.

Every summer the kids come in crying, "There’s bees in the sand pile!" Over the years I have battled the bees many times. The biggest problem is that I don’t want to turn the sand into a toxic waste dump. Daily raking helps some, but not enough. So when I give up and resort to pesticides, it has to be as little as possible… anyway it all happened because of the bees. The bees had been reported, but I hadn’t jumped into action.

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon. I was lounging around the house in some comfortable baggy shorts. Then someone with true power, the queen bee, gave a royal decree that I slay those increasingly annoying bees. Oh and they were in the trampoline again so be sure and spray it too. So after kicking all the kids out of the backyard so I could spray, I started the attack. As I finished the sandbox, the wind started to pick up a bit, but I was determined to finish. When a royal decree has been issued you don’t want to be on the bad side of the queen. So I turned to the tramp… the bees like to crawl into the springs. It would be best to wait for evening, but maybe if I soaked the springs…(kids don’t tend to suck on the springs like they eat sand).

As I bent over to spray the springs, and the spray was mostly coming back in my face, I had a brilliant idea. If I tipped the tramp up on edge, I could spray the springs easily without fumigating myself in the process. While moving around to the far side so I had room for the spray to land on the grass and not in the garden, I almost stepped on some doggy doo-doo. Rats, my son had done a shoddy job of scooping once again…I stepped carefully over the pile. That would have to wait. Back to those stupid bees….

As I lifted the tramp I realized this might not be a one-person job, but maybe if I walked up the side I might get it by myself. As I moved from leg to leg of the tramp, forcing it higher and higher, the whole thing started to twist around with the wind. I stubbornly continued my quest. It was almost there and if I just jumped… I thought I could get it. And then it happened all at once but in that sort of slow motion that happens during car wrecks.

I jumped… I went up, but my baggy shorts and under garments went down! In shock over this turn of events, I lost my hold on the edge of the tramp and when the wind suddenly gusted, the tramp went into free fall. With my bare butt blowing in the wind… the only thing I could do was duck and cover. I tried to tuck under the falling trampoline. I managed to get out of the way of the metal, but the main pad slammed me to the ground…

Oh, safe and sound hidden under the tramp with only a bump on my head! Had anyone seen me? Were the backyard neighbors in their yard? Maybe I would just stay there for a few minutes. Pulling my pants back up, I became aware of a bad smell. Seems that my fall had been cushioned by some nice squishy dog doo-doo…

So you might think the moral of this story is don’t wear baggy shorts. OR don’t try and flip a tramp by yourself… No, the stupidest thing I did all that day was not keep my mouth shut. Once the story was out, it grew to be the family legend. Told to complete strangers just for a laugh, and now by royal decree of the queen bee it’s on the web… So here’s some advice. If you jump and you go up and your pants go down… just fix the problem and move on. Never tell anyone! Oh and the bees were back in a week. I think the spray I was using had been frozen and didn’t seem to work at all…stupid sand bees.

*Editor's Note: Comments were somehow disabled on yesterday's post. We want you to know it was not intentional. In fact, Dad would love some sympathy stories about ripping your pants in public. So please if you had a comment to share feel free to return to the page. We are sorry you caught us with our pants down.

Dogs (part 2)

Catch up on part one here.

We moved to our new house in 1994 (it’s not very new anymore and everything is breaking, but that’s another story…). I told my sweetie that there would be no more dogs…EVER! The Dog Walker was about 9 months old. I told you part of the Autism Story last week, and when he turned three, Grandma (my grandma, that is) told us he needed a dog. I have always tried to do exactly what Grandma says, but in this case, I really didn’t want to give in. 

We were struggling with his diagnosis, trying to take care of a new baby, and there were four older children that already needed our time and attention. My opinion has always been that we were commanded to multiply and replenish the earth…dogs and pets are optional. So after much soul-searching and pleading from all the other kids, I finally relented and we got a ratty looking little mutt who was ceremoniously christened "Klunky." And he was…klunky I mean. He was annoying and yappy and after a couple of months of us putting up with him and him putting up with our little guy, we sent him back to Grandma’s house. I guess she didn’t think much of him either because in less than a week he was running wild outside and got himself hit by a car. My kids were devastated even though the dog was no longer theirs. 

Not an actual picture.

So years passed and we had a couple of cats (that was a disaster!) and then I got this little whispering that my Dog Walker needed a dog. It wasn’t Grandma this time, is was just a tiny whispering in my ear that wouldn’t go away. I ignored it the best I could for a couple of weeks. My son was eleven and he was mostly able to communicate. He still had a rough time with responsibility and chores and maybe that’s why that little voice just wouldn’t go away. 

The first time I brought the subject up with my sweetie the conversation went something like this… "So our sweet autistic son needs to learn to be more responsible," I began. "Why? Because he never does his jobs and his room looks like a tornado hit it?" he chuckled. "No…I think maybe he needs a dog…" Diet Pepsi spurted from his nose as he choked on my answer. After a couple of minutes he finally composed himself. "You’re kidding, right?" He looked at me like I had daisies growing out of my ears. "No…really. A dog," the answer caused me several long moments of pain. This was so not what I wanted. 

My sweetie was all over it. He wanted to know what kind, how big, color, gender, everything. Suddenly I was very tired. The next morning I scoured the newspaper looking for a dog that felt right. I wanted a small moppy dog that didn’t poop very big. I finally found one. He was already potty-trained and the family was moving and looking for a nice, stable home. His "mom" brought him over and after inspecting our house and checking the fingernails of each child, she determined that we might be able to take care of her "baby." 

Not Toby, but definably his personality.

Toby moved in and took over the house! He didn’t like (and I use that term loosely) anybody but me. The kids were terrified of his sharp teeth. When he pinned my sweetie in the closet and wouldn’t let him out until I rescued him, I had to return Toby to his birth parents. We all breathed a sigh of relief. But that nagging little voice just wouldn’t go away…  Jump to part three.

Falling in Love: Wedding

I wanted to have the perfect small town wedding. We set our date for the following April, so I had plenty of time to prepare. My parents were somewhat less than thrilled and they weren’t afraid to say so. His family was wonderful! They were happy and helpful, welcoming me into the family with open arms. Graduation came and went and summer quarter began. We both had a few classes to finish before we could graduate with our Associates Degrees. Then he would head to the University for a year and I would go to BYU. We would marry the following spring and then I would transfer to the U with him. 

To understand the rivalry and my betrayal go here.

All was going according to plan until I found out that my dad had not processed any of my paperwork for school. That meant no grant money for housing and food. I was very upset! Even with my amazing scholarship, I didn’t have enough money saved up and my parents were not in a financial position to help me. That was the shove I needed to take charge of my own life. 

Our actual decorations.

I quickly filed paperwork for myself and received a scholarship to the U. We also moved our wedding date to September 10. That gave us only six weeks and we had not even started. It’s easy to get things done quickly when money is no object…it’s much harder when you are on a shoestring budget. Because of our change in plans we were forced to pay for our own wedding. My grandma had a friend who did weddings and she offered her backdrop and decorations, although we had to set them up by ourselves the night before. We rented my dress and we made all the bridesmaids’ dresses. I also did all the flowers myself. My brother-in-law took care of the photography and I had a neighbor make our cake. The night before the ceremony we spent a couple of hours setting up at the church and then we headed to the bowling alley for a late supper. 

We were both exhausted! My Lab Assistant flopped into a booth and began nervously playing with the salt shaker. Our food was taking forever. He obviously needed to talk. "What’s the matter?" I asked cautiously. "Nothing," he mumbled. I relaxed a little. It had been a hard day for both of us. He continued to twist the salt shaker in his hand. "Really?" I prodded again. He shifted restlessly in his seat. "I don’t know…" he began. Now it was my turn to be nervous. "This is such a big step…maybe we shouldn’t get married." This was not what I expected. "You’re telling me this the night before our wedding?" My voice was rising, I was not handling this well. He mumbled something incoherent as the server approached with plates full of burgers and fries. 

I don’t remember how the conversation went from there. I do know that when I showed up for the ceremony the next morning I wasn’t 100% sure that he would be there. But he was right on time and he looked amazing in his white tux. We held the reception at the church and we greeted friends and guests for almost three hours. My dad eventually gave up the fight and joined our party. I think he even enjoyed himself. It did take him a while to forgive me for the powder-blue tux…Visit again tomorrow for one last look at our honeymoon. It will be G-rated, I promise.

For some reason the fountain is a tradition in our small town.

Mother-of-the-Year

 Have you ever felt like the number one candidate for the Bad Parent of the Year award? I had a day like that yesterday.  My little five-year-old Scout and I both hate getting out of our nice warm beds.  She could sleep past noon any day of the week and be perfectly fine with it.  Usually this doesn't bother me that much, but sometimes...

So yesterday at about nine I called her down for breakfast. Preschool starts at ten and I wanted her to shower first. After the third call, I stomped my way up the stairs, turned on the water, and headed for the bed. I picked her up, stripped her down, and set her in the shower. She was NOT happy! After ten minutes of voicing her complaints rather loudly, I turned off the water and wrapped her in a towel. After telling her to get dressed, I headed back downstairs to find her coat and backpack. (I don’t know how her backpack gets lost every day.)

Fifteen minutes and plenty of reminders later, I finally got her downstairs. With Baby Doll not feeling well I was definitely more annoyed then usual so I continued to lecture her as I pulled on her clothes and boots. She sniffled and sobbed while I combed her hair. When her carpool arrived the tears were still flowing. Instead of running out on her own, I had to walk her to the car.  The whole time I complained about how the baby was getting cold and she didn’t care. I must confess I breathed a sigh of relief when she was finally strapped in and on her way. 

After school neither of us were much happier. She showed me her preschool work and I cussed her for not giving her tuition check to the teacher.  She complained about lunch and I got after her for not doing her job. She offered to hold the baby, but Baby Doll was almost as ornery as me so I refused. "You don’t need me!" she stormed at me. "You don’t even love me!" That one hurt. "Of course I need you…I need you to do your job!" This was not coming out right. "I’m just trying to teach you to be responsible and do the right thing!" Oh, the bad mom points were stacking up now. Why didn’t I just put my arms around her and tell her I loved her? At that moment I was just as stubborn as she was.

Later that night, things hadn’t gotten much better. The baby still had a tummy ache and I was out of patience. It was 12:30 and everyone was in bed, including me when she came into my room. "I’m scared and I want to sleep with you," she said. "You can’t sleep with me, you can sleep in the little racecar bed," I replied. So she climbed into the toddler bed we keep next to the crib for scared or sick little ones.

Thirty seconds later she asked, "Is the door locked?" I assured her it was. "Can robbers and kidnappers get in?" she questioned. I reassured her again. She climbed out of bed. "I want to sleep in your bed," she said. "No!" I was definitely not giving in on this point. "You can sleep on the bench," I said firmly. (We have a padded bench at the foot of our bed about three feet closer than the toddler bed.  She could reach out and touch my foot if she got scared.) "I want to sleep in your bed!" she insisted. "You can sleep on the floor by the side of my bed," I suggested. "No!" she wailed. This exchange went on for about 15 minutes. The more she whined, the more stubborn I became.

http://www.fanpop.com/spots/pon-zi/links/16397918

She finally made her way back to her room and climbed in bed with Crafty. I was riddled with guilt and regret. Was I just being mean?  The day had not gone well. It took me about two minutes to crawl back out of bed, find my bifocals, and head down the hall. I tripped over the dolls and toys strewn on the floor; she still hadn’t done her job.  Her eyes were closed and she appeared to be asleep.  I smoothed the hair back on that sweet little forehead. She didn’t look so stubborn now. I leaned in for a kiss and her eyes flickered open. "I love you, Honey," I whispered. "Goodnight." She sighed and rolled over. Maybe now we could both sleep.