Jennifer Aniston only thought Brad Pitt lacked a sensitivity chip…

When my husband was little he announced to his mother that he “had never had a perfect day.” Guaranteed that a perfect day would include beer and some form of fishing for him. This came up over breakfast on Sunday and I said, “What about our wedding day?”

He said, “It rained.”

I’ve always felt rain was lucky and was actually pretty happy that it rained even if we had an outdoor reception.

I said, “What about the day your daughter was born?”

He said, “Are you kidding me? That was a nightmare!!! And… it rained. ”

I suppose that I might be more upset if he had a perfect day that didn’t include me. Maybe I just have low standards where my version of perfection is concerned. Or maybe I am more of an optimist than I originally thought.

I think that any day that ends with a brand new, healthy, bundle of life in this world is perfect. I think that any day that ends with two people who are soulmates, together, in love, and incredibly happy (too many pictures or NOT Mr. Doran) is a perfect day.

But, then again, I’m strange… or my husband really is an assmonkey… or both, could be both.

Related Tags: wedding, reception, baby, birth, Jennifer Aniston, Brad Pitt

Look, I know that memes are not all that popular. Although secretly, I think that people enjoy reading them just like they enjoy looking at the tabloid magazine covers at the checkout stand and pretending not to.

Personally, I think that every once in a while you come across an interesting meme that actually tells you something about someone that you might not have learned in regular everyday posts.

So, here goes and thanks to Karen over at TrollBaby for this one!

1) When you were really little, what did you want your life to be like as an adult?

“Really little” I’m not sure what the definition of that is. I think I always knew that I wanted kids. I suppose that deep down the whole “white picket fence” fantasy was always there. I did go through a phase when I thought that the only thing I would be was career woman… living my life for “one single passion.” I’m glad I didn’t go that route, I’d have missed out on a lot.

2) What misconceptions did you have about sex?

Well, like it or not, I was raised with the belief that you only had sex if you were married and you only married your best friend. Now, I know that there IS such a thing as meaningless sex done purely for whatever reason (recreation, revenge, etc.) and that if you are LUCKY, the person you marry is both your spouse and your best friend. I’m fortunate enough to have married my best friend… and I can’t complain about the sex either.

3) What do you dream about?

Lately, really bizarre things, in vivid detail and graphic color. My favorite dreams are of my grandparents although my grandfather seems to take center stage (he was probably a more dominant, colorful personality in real life as well) and my grandmother seems to be a shadow in the background. My whole life I have only had a few dreams that I can recall vividly.

4) What’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do to someone you looked up to?

Say goodbye.

5) Describe each of your family members using only one word.

Maggie - hummingbird
Katie - firefly
Ethan - jackass
Mike - assmonkey

6) Name something you believed as a child, that you now know isn’t true.

Truth and “right” always prevails.

7) What interest would you like to pursue further?

Interior design

8) If you could take back one thing you regret, what would it be?

I have no regrets and I find that people who have had to learn the really tough lessons, never regret those
experiences… you are where you’ve come from.

On a lighter note… I am seriously thinking that we should have gone with tile down the hallway in front of the garage going into the family room in the new house… so I regret not doing that and wish I could take it back.

9) What are you most thankful for?

My kids, husband, and family.

10) Describe yourself in one word.

Different.

I’m not tagging anyone, but if you decide to do it, please drop me a comment so I can check out your answers! I’ll even be nice enough to update this post and link to your answers!

Related Tags: memes, childhood, family, dreams, rent my blog

Have no fear this will not be an ultra-mushy post. I just wanted to share with you what my very cool hubby bought me for my 30th birthday.

Is this the coolest or what? I am absolutely in love with it. The “real life” picture he bought me is actually 3-4 feet tall and a little over 2 feet wide with the frame and matting and everything. It looks so amazing!!!

It’s going in the dining room of the new house on a wall that is going to be painted a deep blue (a shade of dark blue in the picture).

I originally found this picture at a local shop here in town when I was out shopping with my mom on her birthday. I absolutely fell in love with it. We went in yesterday and I looked through the WHOLE store (all three levels) before finally finding it leaned up against a wall.

As it turns out my husband talked them down in price about $50 (because he can’t just BUY something… it has to be some sort of deal) and they were willing to come down because they had had it for so long. It’s still sitting at the shop back in their lay-away holding area until I pick it up next week.

Fortunately, my mother has been kind enough to donate a teeny-tiny amount of storage space in her garage to hold my precious new purchase until the new house is complete.

The artist is Michael Kungl (and not to misrepresent it here, this is obviously a framed print) but the funny thing is that after doing a search on his name I found that 90% of the different pictures and things that I have been looking at and picking out for the new house - have been done by him! Including several of the pictures that I had sent Ginger when we were attempting to decide a new look for this blog.

Speaking of the new house, we went out there today and… I have WINDOWS and… SLIDING GLASS DOORS! I am so giddily beside myself that it is almost embarrassing, no self-respecting 30 year old should behave this way.

Even though it is still all 2×4’s and cement floors and all very ugly inside… we HAD to walk through it. I walked Maggie inside and she looked around and said, “WOW… WOW… it’s ALL READY!” 2 year olds see things completely different than we do.

It already feels like the whole process is going quickly and completely SLOW all at once. Remember, we put a deposit down on our lot in September, picked out all of our tile, flooring, colors, cabinetry, etc. in October, they trenched in November and started framing in December. It’s supposed to be ready by the beginning of April. I can’t wait!

Related Tags: Michael Kungl, art deco, art, birthday, husbands, house decor, new home construction

Turns out that turning 30 is pretty cool.

The day started out much like any other only after I got home from taking the kids to school my cousin popped by with a very cool book and a birthday cake from a local bakery, personalized and everything! It was so pretty… now that I think of it, I wish I had taken pictures. Oh well…

Just as she was leaving the florist delivery truck pulled up and delivered a beautiful vase full of spring blooms from my dad and stepmom. Not long after that there was another knock at the door and another floral delivery a gorgeous bouquet of lilies, iris, carnations, roses and snapdragons… really gorgeous and all of my favorites, my husband is a true sweetheart!

Last night my pretty cool husband (today anyway) watched the kids while my mom took me out to dinner at a local private club. The club is on the 12th story of an office building here in town and the chef is a former chef from Hearst Castle. Windows surround the entire place and provide breathtaking views of the city… breathtaking at night anyway with all the lights twinkling. Although, I’m sure it looks nice during the day too.

The food was wonderful we started with a cheese platter that was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. We each ordered a grilled fresh fish entree. We finished up with coffee and molten lava cake… it made turning 30 really memorable. Although, I’m not sure which was better the food and atmosphere or the adult-only conversation, peace, quiet, and lack of high chairs. ;o)

Sunset on Moonstone Beach, Cambria, CA 1-21-06

I’m dedicating this pic to my blogbuddy Mergrl over at “An Extraordinary Ordinary Life” because she is always posting really cool pics over there.

So, do me a favor (since it is still my birthday week… around here we celebrate birthday WEEKS) and give my oh-so awesome new renter a big fat click for me, ok?

Except, I really don’t want to. Ok, maybe a little but certainly NOT because of my birthday.

The reason to cry? Well, once again I’ve managed to send a lovely tradition for this family right down the proverbial crapper. My grandmother, the most adored person in our family, died in 1984 when I was 8 years old. It sucked, she was my second mother and I worshipped her. My mother was her only daughter… so it became very important to my mom and I to do things that reminded us of her, often.

Let’s flashback to my wedding for a brief moment, please. Wait… maybe my mom’s wedding… forget it. When my mom got married she paused before she got to the alter to hand her mother a yellow rose. Beautiful, tear-jerker moment. When I got married, I made all the proper arrangements. My bouquet was a simple round of pink roses… and under the watchdog, eagle-eye of my mom. So I snuck a yellow rose complete with baby’s breath into the church and had my mom’s friend (who was acting as sort of the event coordinator) put it somewhere where she could hand it to me covertly as I entered the church. Fast forward to the event… I got to the top of the aisle and my mom’s friend was no where to be seen, in the chaos of the moment, she had forgotten the MOST IMPORTANT thing (aside from the ceremony) and that was the yellow rose. So, I had to give it to my mom AFTER the ceremony. First tradition down the tubes.

The day before my mom turned 30 her mother threw her a big party to celebrate the last day of her twenties. My mom wanted to do the same for me as well. My mom had planned to take me to a very nice restaurant for a “girls only” grown up evening to celebrate the last day of my twenties.

That would have been yesterday. Only, the night before Mike and I didn’t get any sleep because we were up with Maggie who was sick. I spent all yesterday morning at the doctor’s office and pharmacy. And, as any good mother knows, you just don’t leave your kid after she hasn’t slept for two nights, has swollen tonsils and is on antibiotics, at least not the first day she’s on antibiotics.

So there goes THAT tradition now… shot to hell. I seem to be very good at that sort of thing. I just hope that my mom realizes how important all of these traditions are to me and how much it meant even if they didn’t come to fruition as we would have liked for them to.

As for turning 30? See, I’ve spent the last 5 or 6 birthdays becoming horribly depressed and usually end up crying, ALL DAY. 29 was not so bad… and this year is even better. There are too many wonderful things going on in my life to waste time hung up on a silly number. Truth be told, I probably spent the past several birthdays grieving about 30 and now that it is here… voila` nothing more to grieve about.

Fact is, I am 30 years old. There I said it and nothing happened, the ground did not crack open and swallow me, the earth did not shake, I was not struck by lightening. I’ve got nothing but wonderful things to look forward to.

So there, big 3-0! Take that and kiss my ass! :o)

Yes, yes, I know, it’s not all that new now and a lot of my awesome regular readers have delivered plenty of compliments (thank you VERY much) and I’m certainly not fishing for anymore… because bad things happen when I fish.

Earlier this month as an “early birthday present” to myself I ordered a new blog design from Ginger Beck over at Baby Jane Blogs. This, of course, is the very same design you are enjoying now… isn’t it fabulous? I really wanted something that expressed a more personal side of me. I love old standards, big band, and just about everything from the 1940’s.

Kate Hepburn is (and always will be) my favorite actor, I even named my daughter, Kate, after her. I borrowed a title from one of her movies, “Woman of the Year” as the heading for the my profile section of my side bar there on the right. You might notice that all the headings are either titles to some of my favorite movies or songs, with the exception of the Rent My Blog space which is just a reference to movies in general. Anyway… I thought it might be fun to give a brief explanation for the new look and for the odd headings in the sidebar over there.

Typically, I don’t do these sorts of things… but after I took this little thing for fun and found out what the result was, well, it was just too funny to pass up.

You Are 30 Years Old

Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe. 13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what’s to come… love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You’ve had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You’ve been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

Related Tags: birthday, turning 30, 30th birthday, thirties, traditions, moms, weddings, party, grandmother

The story of how I broke my ankle isn’t nearly as interesting as the recovery period. That year marked the first Halloween that I didn’t Trick-or-Treat with my kids. Instead we watched scary movies and ate candy. We watched “The Blair Witch” project that year…

A week after my unfortunate accident at the lake I was wheeled into surgery where an orthopedic surgeon reconstructed my ankle. I ended up with a plate and six screws. Typically, this was the kind of surgery that kept you in a hospital for 2-3 days… I opted for some out-patient thing and was home recovering within an hour of coming out of surgery.

The next 48 hours was a complete blur. I had some strange reaction to the anesthesia which left me with the worst migraine headache I have ever experienced and puking every 20 - 30 minutes. Mike picked up my pain prescription where the pharmacist scared the hell out of him by telling him I would be in “excruciating pain” and that it was imperative to make sure that I had my pain pills on time (including waking up in the middle of the night) and to back up the pain pill with advil in between dosages. On top of that I was given an antibiotic for something or other…

In between upchucking constantly and a brain-bleeding headache my husband, petrified that I was going to come-to screaming my head off and writhing in pain, was cramming pills down my throat with all the punctuality of a swiss watch. He’d leave the room and I’d get the VCR version of my dosage… that’s where someone hit the rewind button in my stomach and the pills ended up in the bucket next to the bed.

Mike also took over the role of managing the household and children with a seriousness that he had not shown before (or since) which meant that he was bustling around the house, cleaning and cooking like a mad-man. Since I was in bed, leg elevated (leg inside cast itching like a you-know-what because of an allergic reaction to the medical tape they used) at the end of the house farthest from him, puking and wishing someone would either smother me or blow my head off, he left me with (I kid you not) a pot and pan…

To puke in? Hardly.

Nope, these were to bang together (with a migraine) to gain his attention so that he could come attend to whatever I needed. Which I did… and he still didn’t hear it. I think I might have ended up throwing them down the hall finally hoping to hit someone or something loud enough to get attention.

The flip-side to this is that I am a lousy patient. I put my mom and husband through hell for the next few weeks. I don’t like feeling useless or out of commission… I can’t stand being waited on, and I have NO patience to speak of.

Anytime this black time in our lives is brought up my husband breaks out in cold-sweats, screams “FRESH WATER….” and runs from the room.

He would dutifully put a glass of water on my nightstand while I slept, twenty minutes later I would wake up (having no concept of time because of the medication I was on) assume it was hours or even days later and insist on a “fresh” glass of water because the water tasted funny. He would swear to me that this was a new glass of water and I would proceed to say unladylike things at an eardrum splitting volume to him until he scurried from the room to bring me a new glass. I’m fairly certain that all he did was walk into the kitchen with the glass and turn around and come back with the SAME water… because it STILL tasted funny, damn it.

One of my good friends insisted on coming by to check on me, even though she was told it wasn’t such a hot idea. She brought me a book and walked into the bedroom as I was yakking my brains out for what felt like the hundredth time, I don’t think I actually saw anything other then her shoes from the side of the bed. If it weren’t for the new book on the nightstand I would have assumed that I dreamt her visit.

My poor mother showed up for the day shift while Mike was at work. She would make me breakfast (one morning she decided to change things up by adding pepper or something to my scrambled eggs… that didn’t work out so well) straighten up around my room and attempt to help me look somewhat presentable. My mom’s theory has always been that if you LOOK better you automatically FEEL better too.

My mom recently got my brother over the flu by telling him constantly how great he looked and making him get up and get dressed and do his hair, he’d walk into the room looking like warmed over death and she’d say, “Wow, Garett, you look REALLY good.” He’d say, “Really, because I don’t feel so great” and she’d go on to convince him how wonderful he looked. But, seriously, he looked like death. He probably got over it just to get away from her. I feel for the kid.

No amount of make-up and hairwashing would have made me feel better then. By that time a nasty post-anesthesia depression had set in and I was convinced that my life was over, I was permanently disabled, and worse yet, was completely disfigured because of the two 6 inch scars running up either side of my right ankle.

Somewhere along the line my mother roped my sister into “dealing” with me. She’d come over and help me take a shower or bath (with a cast). We got it pretty wet and Mike had to come home and drag out the air compressor to try and dry it out, it gave new meaning to the term, “bone chilling.”

I was still on crutches at Christmas time. Meg, my sister, came over to help me put up all the Christmas decorations because at that point Mike had had enough and was on strike.

To this day anytime we go out and do something active like hiking, fishing, camping, or even out for a walk, Mike picks at me almost constantly reminding that I’ve got a “$5,000.00″ ankle and he has no intention of paying anymore for it or another one.

I’m thinking it has less to do with the cost of the repair than it does the recovery period.

Related Tags: orthopedic surgery, anesthesia, recovery, broken bones, migraines, fishing

Is 10% Time and 90% Perception of Time.

We made reservations at a romantic inn over on the coast for the weekend. Just Mike and I, our first weekend getaway since the year I found out I was pregnant with Maggs… May 2003. A long, long time ago. That last trip we spent two nights in a tower room with a fireplace and big, brass bed in Solvang, CA. It was raining almost the entire time we were there and it was just gorgeous! The next night we spent on Moonstone Beach in Cambria, CA.

Moonstone Beach is where we headed this time as well. We stayed in the lovely Little Sur Inn, winter rates were in effect and we ended up with a king size bed, fireplace and full ocean view. This was a pre-anniversary/Amy’s Birthday trip. Our anniversary isn’t until May and my birthday isn’t until next week, but I wanted to spend my birthday weekend up in the snow with the kids.

We arrived in Cambria late Friday night and had a romantic fireside dinner at the wonderful Brambles restaurant. Cambria is a very relaxed coastal town just about 15 minutes from Hearst Castle in San Simeon. It’s full of little shops that sell items from local artists. There are no “chain” establishments in Cambria, with the exception of a few hotels, it’s strictly Mom & Pop shops from the famous Lin’s Fruit Bin Restaurant (featured on the Food Network) to the afore mentioned Brambles. It’s an easy place to escape for a weekend. In fact, you’d be hard-pressed to even find a cell phone signal.

Still, the weekend was not without an adventure and mishap or two. Much to my dismay, I soon found that this was to be a weekend of torture and one upmanship thinly disguised as a romantic weekend getaway.

Brambles was wonderful, I started with a martini, had a glass of sauvignon blanc during dinner, and a phenomenal dessert wine with, I kid you not, Chocolate Suicide Cake. The evening ended with a romantic walk on the boardwalk along Moonstone Beach and an even more romantic night with more wine by firelight in our room.

Saturday morning I woke up to the waves crashing on the shore right in time with the hangover crashing in my head and Mike not far behind me. We stumbled out of our room with sunglasses shielding our sensitive eyes and drove to Lin’s Fruit Bin for COFFEE (the most important part of the day) and breakfast.

While I cursed the clear, cloudless day with it’s glorious coastal sunshine, Mike was suddenly feeling much better and was all gung-ho and determined to get us on a whale watching tour in Morro Bay. Whale watching with a hang-over… what I husband I have. I’m one lucky gal.

Fortunately, we missed the boat. Unfortunately, he made reservations for 10:30am Sunday morning.

We drove back to Cambria where I got over my hangover exacting revenge on my husband by dragging him through shop… after shop… after shop. Then we went back to Moonstone Beach and had Bloody Marys (should have done that MUCH earlier) and lunch while watching the waves crash on the beach.

I realized I was in a very sick sort of tug-o-war with Mike when I found myself, freshly over a hangover, climbing down the rocks to the beach for a “short” walk through sand to see the seals (from only about 10 - 15 feet away) on the beach. Mike was practically skipping ahead of me like a young boy running through a field. There I was trudging along behind him, out of breath, cursing and begging him all at once to slow down and wait for me.

We watched the sunset and then climbed back up the cliff to the boardwalk. Still full from lunch we decided to drop in at a local hangout, “Camozzi’s Saloon” where a very cool band, Rough House, was playing. The drummer asked us where we were from and when we told him Bakersfield they dedicated every Merle Haggard song and “Streets of Bakersfield” to us. We had a few drinks and slipped out after the first set in search of a late dinner.

Saturday night in Cambria and everything shut down by 10pm. There are no drive-thrus or late night coffee shops, the town was completely dead with the exception of the locals still partying at Camozzi’s. We did what any two normal people who had had a few drinks would do, we stopped in at the only place open, a gas station. We picked up some snacks (bean dip, fritos, and a frozen burrito) and headed back to our room.

Anticipating a lovely breakfast on our last morning in Cambria, I nibbled the meager offerings from the gas station and drifted off to sleep. The next morning we crawled out of bed just before 10 only to realize that there was no time for breakfast because we needed to be on the dock in Morro Bay by 10:30, thanks to my thoughtful husband who reserved us spots on a whale watching tour.

Here’s where the weekend takes a turn for the worse. We climbed on to the boat (about the size of the boat from Jaws, remember? “I think you’re going to need a bigger boat”) and headed out of the bay. Ten minutes into this trip I was cold, wet and everything seemed to indicate that this would be the most awful three hours of my life.

Out on the open ocean the seemingly calm, sunny day turned choppy, with steep white-capping swells and people began making jokes about it only being a “three hour tour.” (Thank you, Gilligan, you freaking jackass). Twenty minutes into our three hour tour found people hanging over the sides of the boat yacking up everything from that morning’s breakfast to yesterday’s lunch. Mike and I were two of maybe 5 people (not counting the crew) who didn’t get sick.

The boat was tipping and bobbing through the waves and were it not for the rest of the guests aboard I would have been more certain of meeting my maker that very day. Then I took a good look around me and realized that there isn’t a God in existence who would let me die with people this stupid.

There was the group of three adults and nine kids (or more they seemed to multiply the longer we were out there) from some church group, the one mother told one of the dads that her husband didn’t go on the trip because, “Steve gets carsick if he doesn’t drive home from church.” She spent the rest of the three freaking hours asking Cameron (curled in the fetal position in a corner of the deck) and Pheobe (who alternated between turning green and giggling with girlfriends) if they were sick or if their “tummies hurt” almost as if she wanted them to start yacking. Poor Cameron finally poked his head out of his life jacket cocooned ball of self-preservation and snapped, “STOP ASKING ME!!!!!!!!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!!!!!”

With the exception of a few elderly people who hid in the galley, everyone else sitting out on the deck was soaked and chilled to the bone as the waves hit the sides of the boat spraying everyone with buckets of salty ocean water.

Did we see a whale?

Sure, ONE, from about a mile away. Not counting the imaginary whale some moron thought it would be hilarious to “spot” to “pull a good one” on everybody. No one laughed except for this moron who was laughing at such a high pitch for far too long that I was certain there was something very wrong with the man that had nothing to do with a lousy sense of humor.

By the time I was back on dry land and nearly dry myself I reached up to rub my nose and rubbed it raw almost instantly with the thin layer of salt that coated my face, hair, hands and clothes. We were starving and settled for a crappy lunch in Morro Bay, instead of driving into Pismo or Arroyo Grande for really good food.

In order to make Mike pay for his poor choice in activities I dragged him through the outlet stores in Pismo Beach… almost every, single one of them. He meekly followed me, holding my shopping bags, opening doors and putting up every appearance of enjoying looking at every knick-knack and white sale I paused to peruse. He was so well-behaved I almost felt bad. I even shared my chocolate, almond, caramel apple from Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory with him.

Still, even the outlet stores could not restore the weekend’s previous luster. Nearly the end of January there isn’t much left that holiday shoppers and post-holiday bargain hunters haven’t already raped and pillaged.

We quickly decided to cut our losses and get home.

I leave you with this… I finally broke down and got a Flickr account. I’ve uploaded current pics of the new house construction and more pictures from our snow day, if you have a moment, feel free to stop by and take a peek. I think I managed to get several good shots.

Related Tags: travel, Solvang, California, West Coast, Whale watching, Cambria, wine, hangovers, romantic getaway, weekend trips

There can be only one… anyone remember the “Highlander” series on USA? Adrian Paul… whoooo, now THERE is a supreme hottie! Oh my… I haven’t thought about that in years and now I’m having hot flashes.

;o) Anyway… TMI, I know, I know. Sorry.

Welcome to my very cool new renter Deliteful Delites. No doubt you will get a kick out of her. I’ve never read her blog before she put a bid in over at Rent My Blog, but I’m certainly glad she bid on my available space and that I had the opportunity to become acquainted with her through her very honest and humorous posts. Check her out she might just be your cup of coffee, tea, or whatever. ;o)

***

Just a little note here on the whole “Rent My Blog” thing:

I’ve read a few posts on various blogs written by bloggers who were a little disconcerted about results of their bids. Many had been denied far more times than they had been accepted. And, more than a few were wondering if they should take it personally. I know exactly how they feel because I have wondered whether or not to take it personally as I have only been accepted twice out of 8 bids.

My point, is that it just seems like there are a lot of people out there bidding for spots on blogs. I think this is a pretty cool deal that BE has going, but I always feel bad when I know that people are sent the deny notice after I have selected ONE out of MANY very good blogs out there.

I just want to say, that if you are reading this and you have been denied after bidding on a spot on this blog, that it is absolutely nothing personal. In less than 24 hours I had over 25 bids. That is a lot of denied notices being sent, at least more than I am comfortable with.

So, if you were not selected and you placed a bid, then thank you for bidding!

Everyone else… please visit my new renter and feel free to let her know who sent you!

:o)

Related Tags: Highlander, Adrian Paul, Blog Explosion, Rent My Blog, Deliteful Delites, blogging

Well, dear friends, the time has come to tell the tale. The tale of how I made fishing a contact sport. I’d like to regale you with my colorful adventure complete with pictures, but the place in which the event occurred is one that I have never ventured to since that fateful October Saturday in 2000. I might be able to drive by and snap a quick pic if I can keep my hands from shaking…

Or not. Probably not. Even if I do drive by it every day. Every stinking day.

The morning started out fabulously, as most mornings before a traumatic event often do. Mike had gone up the Kern River Canyon with a friend a couple of hours ahead of me. After sending the kids off with my mom I hopped in my blue Jeep Cherokee (I had only had it a year and was still madly in love with it, even if it was used with a gazillion miles on it) and started the drive up the canyon to meet Mike and our friend, Fed (no, not Kevin Federline… it’s Eric Federhoff and he’s WAY cooler than Britney’s gigilo will ever dream of being).

I was wearing my favorite pair of jeans, these jeans had been washed a gazillion times and were buttery soft and beginning to fade in a really awesome way. I was blaring something on the radio (I cannot recall what) and zipping up the canyon, it was a bright, clear autumn day and the weather was gorgeous.

I tell you all of this to impress upon you that just that morning I had been climbing over some leg breaking terrain near a river that is famous for white water rafting, Olympic kayakers (is that a term?) train here. We fished for a couple of hours (with no luck whatsoever) and then decided to head down to a local lake that is about a 5 minute drive from our house.

The water at the lake was smooth as glass, no one else was around and we quickly found the perfect bank under some trees to fish. Within a few casts I caught a small fish and tossed it back. It could not have been a more perfect fishing trip…

Until my next cast. My feet slipped out from under me and I slid down the bank (slid… about 2 feet) into the water. I remember thinking that something did not feel right as I looked at my legs sitting in the water. My left foot sat normally while my right foot hung to the right, limp and completely sideways. About that time the most excruciating pain I’ve ever experienced aside from natural childbirth set in. In short, what should have been a “ha ha” clumsy incident that you see on “America’s Funniest Home Videos” turned into a freak accident from hell.

Mike ran over to me certain that I had sprained my ankle and broken the fishing pole because he heard the “fishing pole” break as I fell. He quickly discovered that the fishing pole was intact, in near-perfect condition. It was my ankle and leg that he heard break as I fell.

Shuddering yet? I am just remembering it.

They dragged me out of the water, where I silently began willing my right foot to move… and it just wouldn’t.

Fifteen minutes later I was in the emergency room on a gurney while Mike sat out front filling out paperwork. I believe I was going in to shock at that point because I couldn’t stop crying. Not sobbing… just uncontrollable tears running down my face. It was very strange.

Even more strange was a small doctor, the asian version of Dr. Ruth, who came up to me to check on me. She had recognized me… she was my childhood pediatrician and was now Ethan, Kate (and eventually Maggie’s) pediatrician. She said (in her very thick accent), “Oh yes, that’s broken… I’m so sorry, you’ll be ok, they take very good care of you here.”

I began to fear that somehow my life was flashing before my eyes in a very real way.

Eventually they got me into a room and started giving me morphine. Morphine! They said that they were going to have to do a “reduction” on my leg and I had a distinct feeling that it didn’t mean using an ice pack to reduce the swelling.

Me: Uh, Mike, they are going to twist my foot back into place.

Mike: No, no way. They wouldn’t do that.

Me: I’m telling you… I’ve heard of this kind of thing. This is not going to be good.

Mike: No, don’t be silly. You’ll be fine.

Me: Uh-huh.

Sure enough a nurse and two very large guys came into the room. They mentioned that I looked “too alert” and that I should probably have more morphine. There went another injection… although I think at that point I had an IV. But, now I don’t remember for sure. Within minutes the room started to swim just a bit. The two guys proceeded to twist my foot back into place. It was the most surreal stretching feeling I had ever experienced. It’s not that it hurt… it just felt, unnatural.

Finally, assuming my best MOM voice I said, “Ok, that’s enough, you two are done now!!!” Oddly enough, this is something I have to say to Ethan and Katie at least twice a day, so I’m pretty good at asserting a tone of authority.

Apparently the two guys had a flashback to their own childhoods because they both stopped and jumped back as if they had been caught doing something very naughty. Fortunately for all of us, my foot was nearly back in place so they decided it could wait for… SURGERY.

Bastards.

Damn fish, damn lake, damn hospitals, damn x-rays, DAMN DOCTORS!!!!

Oh, and the oh-so-wonderful, awesomely faded, buttery-soft, favorite jeans?

They CUT them OFF me…

I begged, I tried to convince them that I would gladly risk injuring my leg more if we all just worked together to slide them off… but no… they cut my freaking favorite jeans off.

I’ve never had another pair that wonderful. I’m still not happy with my husband for not sticking up for me and helping me get my damn jeans off before the nurse whipped out the scissors.

This little adventure was nothing compared to the surgery and recovery that followed. Recalling all of this now I am keenly aware of the tragic comedy my life has become at times. But, that’s a post for another time because this post has become far… too… long.

Related Tags: fishing, accidents, lakes, broken bones, ankle, contact sports, jeans, emergency rooms, doctors, nurses

Last Sunday we took an hour drive out up into the mountains to play in the snow. We had so much fun that we went back the next day. We had the whole side of the mountain to ourselves, thanks to my husband, who grew up there and knew the best “off the beaten path” places to go.

This made it a fairly stress-free day for Mike and I because we didn’t have to hover over Maggie as much as we would had there been other people around. In her bright pink snow attire she stuck out like fireworks on the 4th of July. This was her first trip up to the snow and by Monday she was quite the pro. She was stomping through and playing in it much like you might play in the sand at the beach. Of course, I had her bundled up so well that she didn’t feel the slightest chill, nor did she get even slightly damp. It was pretty funny.

Until…

Katie came swooping down the hill on tube without warning… Maggie had wandered into the path and Katie hit her full force. Maggie flew up in the air, did a flip (and we are not talking “Crouching Toddler, Hidden Diaper” here) and landed on her side. Kate had hit her so hard it knocked her clear out of her boots.

From the top of the hill Ethan said all he could see was a little, pink, body flying up in the air. Mike and I were running towards her and it felt like it took hours to get to her, all the while she wasn’t moving at all. When Mike got to her she just looked up at him and wimpered a little. Once we realized she was ok we all started to laugh… it was like letting out the pressure. I was reminded of “A Christmas Story” when Randy (the little brother) falls down in the snow and the narrator says, “Randy laid there like a slug, it was his only defense.”

All day long everyone had teased me for having Maggie all bundled up. They kept quoting “A Christmas Story” saying, “I can’t put my arms down!”

I think everyone saw the obvious benefit of so many layers when Maggie came through what could have been a pretty traumatic accident without so much as a scratch. We put her boot back on her and she kept going… and going… and going. In fact, not long after she gave up her usual mode of travel while hiking in the snow:

And opted for the old-fashioned do-it-yourself method:

She loved going down the hills in the tubes with everybody. Long after we were all worn out she was still trying to drag us back up the hill.

Related Tags: snow, snow day, snowing, tubing, sledding, sliding, hiking, cold, family outings