Once I Ran To You....Now I Run From You

While Q took a nap today, Reese and I decided to make the rounds and deliver some of her cookie filled broomsticks. One of our stops was to a friend's home with an incredibly STEEP driveway. Reese had been in n out of the car several times and this time, I decided to make it a quick stop and run the goodies to the door by myself. I left her in the car and skipped up to the door. (yes really. I skipped...delivering cookies makes me happy. Doesn't it have the same affect on you?)

I get to the door, ring the doorbell, then hear the most terrible noise coming from the driveway.
In my head this can only mean one thing...the brakes have died, and my van is sliding down the driveway...with my precious offspring trapped inside! I DROP the bag and RUN back toward the car and the horrid noise.

I skid to a stop halfway down the driveway.
The van is there. Right where I left it. Running. With a child inside. On a steep driveway.
The noise (that I had been convinced was the sound of my vehicle SCRAPING against the cement...scraping? It has tires. I don't know why, just go with it) is still there too....getting louder the closer I get.
Reese is in the (running) car where I left her. SCREAMING.

I start screaming. (again, I don't know why. shock?)
The noise stops and the neighbor pulls his lawnmower around from the back of the van. He looks at me, removes his earplugs and says, "Hey. Are You OK?"

A LAWNMOWER? I guess I'm not.

What kind of freak fears have made their way into my head? Reese was find once the lawnmower stopped (in our defense, it sounded like that noise an ironing board makes when you close it up).

I imagined much much worse in the 3 seconds it took me to run to the van. (seriously, what was I thinking I was going to do? Jump through the window I didn't leave open and put it back in park? Stop it with my bare hands? I'm no vampire...)
Back at the door, Krista is standing there, glancing back and forth between me and the hastily discarded bag of treats that lie on it's side, thrown up against her walkway.
I run back toward her, heart pounding and hands shaking (Why? I don't know...my kid almost went off a cliff in my head. That's why) to explain my disappearance.

She'd been thinking, "wow, if you were trying to doorbell ditch, you did a really LOUSY job. At least park farther away next time, and leave the treats by the door"

Sorry your cookies are all broken, Krista. At least they're cute.

Part II
We move on over to another house. I can never remember which house is theirs. I KNOW the house number, and I know what the house looks like, but for some reason I become an idiot as I drive down her street. About a month ago, I actually knocked on the door 2 lots up. Seriously. The neighbor answered and sent me in the right direction. SO. embarrassing. WHY does this kind of stuff happen to me? It MUST be for your reading pleasure.

I slow down in front of the wrong house, KNOWING full well it's the wrong house, but I don't want to miss the right one, and this house looks like one I may have stopped at before, so now must be a good time to slow down. The homeowner (guy on phone on front porch-what, your phone doesn't work inside? why do people talk in their yard...it's certainly not to watch the children...they are down the street running around in Carrie's yard, where they always are.)
waves to me with his non-phone-holding hand. I wave back, so he doesn't think I'm some kind of slow-driving creeper.
BAM.

His German Shepard runs into the side of my car.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
What the crap? are there more?
In my rear view mirror, I can see old Thunder chasing after my vehicle, with her big, ugly, tail (that MUST have a bone in it...do dog tails have bones?) SMACKing against my van. She's barking. Thunder's gaining speed.

(this is not Thunder...I should have googled "German Shepard/Evil Spawn" to get a more accurate picture)

Reese is (again) freaking out as Thunder runs along her side of the van barking at us. German Shepards are police dogs, and Thunder was out for the kill. ME. I sped up to get away, but I swear I was relenacting that scene from Jurassic Park where they are trying to outrun the T-Rex in that wimpy jeep, and all they can see are giant teeth in the side mirrors.
Thunder was gaining on us.

I pulled into (what I hope was) Carrie's driveway. The dog runs in wildly mad circles around her little girl owners, nearly knocking them down.
Guy On Phone walks to his own curb and gives me one of those waves as if to say,
"She's harmless, it's ok to get out of your car"

I try to calm Reese down and reach for my door handle, when THUNDER'S FREAKING FACE is RIGHT THERE, up in mine, barking madly up against my driver's side window! Crazy, Psycho, Attack Dog!

Oh YEAH. Like I believe you now, Phone Guy. She's harmless alright....just trying to eat me through the glass. The BAM, BAM, BAM of he tail has changed to the sound of paws thudding against my door, and canine claws (inevitably) scratching the paint.

She's barking.
She's drooling.
She thinks I have a kilo in my glove box and she is going to kill me.

Little girl#1 waves and beckons me out of my van, as if she lives here or something. Little girl is a little too comfortable inviting strangers over to the neighbors house.


"Hey. Little Girl. (I sound like Johnny Depp in Willy Wonka when I speak to her) Take your dog home, so I can get out of my car. My daughter (and me, but I'm an adult and too chicken to admit that I, too, am frightened of your Scary-a dog.) is afraid of her." (Her? Oh Yes. It's got to be a SHE. I've dealt with enough girl drama to be familiarized with all the typical characteristics of the "female dog". Thunder meets them all.)

Little girl just looks at me.
Dude. TAKE YOUR DOG HOME!
Seriously. In one ear and right out the other.

Guy On Phone is just staring at me. Ahhh. Like father, like daughter. Non responsive.
He too, wants the imaginary kilo.

I try again when Little Girl #1 comes back to my window to pull Thunder away from my door.

"Hey. Is this Bryn and Codi's house?"

Little Girl nods yes. (finally! a response!)

"Can you take your dog home? My daughter is very frightened" ...and you guys don't live here.

Little Girl grabs reluctant-to-leave-Thunder's collar and guides her back toward their house and Guy On Phone, who is now in the middle of the street with his hands in the air (phone wedged under the chin...I thought only women could do that) and giving ME the stink eye....for two reasons, I'm sure.
One, I didn't trust his "harmless people killer with a collar on it" and
Two, I'd sent his children back home for HIM to supervise. Without any drugs.

I am not a dog hater. I'm really not.
I just feel that every pet owner should sign some kind of contract that burns this understanding into their brain.
Not everyone is going to love your pet the way that you do.

Now if anyone hears the mysterious, loud noise coming from Carries street any time soon...don't come running.

It's not a lawnmower.
It's not a doorbell ditcher and a bag of cookies.
It's not my fan sliding down your driveway with a child in it.

It's the cage door, inside the local animal control van, slamming shut.
Guy, get off the phone and go put Thunder on a leash.

I Working in My Lab, Late One Night...

Aren't they cute?! We made Halloween Cookies tonight as a family.
Our favorite parts:

Aaron enjoyed sneaking bits of cookie dough and eating it raw....I think he ate 3 cookies worth. so. gross.

Meg enjoyed spanking him with the spatula every time he did this. Raw sugar cookie dough isn't even worth it. Chocolate chip on the other hand...

Reese enjoyed laughing every time Daddy was spanked. She was very serious about putting the sprinkles and stems on all the pumpkins.

Quincy enjoyed hunting for and eating all the sprinkles that Sister dropped.

It was a fun night. Can't wait to bag 'em up tomorrow, and put them in these!

Loose your broom?

Now the kids are off to bed...time to light a fire and snuggle up to a movie. Tonight's pick: Indiana Jones...the new one. I'm going to try not to get my hopes up.

"You're the Reason, Why-y-y-y the Opera is in Me"

A little shout out to my husband.
He's great. Really REALLY great.

Monday: he brings me home a big fat steak quesadilla, rice and beans, guac, and of course, chips and salsa from Maria's, for dinner. We all know the way to Meg's heart is through her stomach.
He loves me.
Yesterday: he walks in, kisses the kiddies, sends me out of the kitchen, and takes over dinner.

I know, awesome, right?
...um and who knew the man could make such a ROCKIN' grilled cheese?

Seriously, Baby....I've been making your grilled cheese sandwiches for the past 7 and a half years...all this time you had that hidden talent?! IT. WAS AWESOME. Thank you!
The soup wasn't bad either.
The secret ingredient? love :o) and butter...which represents the all the love.

I will never grill the cheese again.
It's all you.

You never cease to amaze me with your willingness to serve.
Hugs, Megs

"We Put the Bump to the Grind, Oh-Ho, I Don't Mind, We're On Top"

It's hard to tell from a photograph just how enormous that old toilet tank was... I had to drag it out of my house on a towel because it was too heavy to carry. I was not sorry when I "accidentally" cracked the bowl. Dorothy's spirit is nearly extinct. I'm sure she'll find a way back in...maybe through the smoke detector?

What a hottie.

"Please, Sir...May I Have Some More?"

I put together a little once a week coop preschool/playgroup. It's 3 hours, there are 7 kids total, and we take turns hosting at our homes each week...with a few field trips in between (that all the parents attend). It's great to have the one on one time with Q, and she still gets to join in on all the field trip fun with her big sis.

Following "D-week" at Brooke's house, I set up the field trip: a tour of Krispy Kreme. (Because D is for Donut. Hopefully, it will be years before they discover that D is also for Diet, Dentist, and Diabetes.)

Turn around, guys!
(that's Reese in the middle with the security-hood up)

Reese, Bryn, Phoebe (Alayna's lil' sis), Jackson, Codi, Alayna, and Drew. Not pictured: Brooke, Q, and Hannah (Jackson's lil' sis) (eventually, the hood came down and the paper hat went up)
Brian: our tour guide behind the glass, and into the magical land where deep fried happiness is born. He was very patient with the kids, and spoke to them like they were 25. He probably would have lost my attention too, had I not seen the "make your own" donut station waiting for us, like a light at the end of the very boring tunnel. I spent a good 15 minutes following this around:

Before the kids were allowed to make their own donuts, they first had to stare at a tray of sprinkles and HUGE pot of spinning melted chocolate and warm maple frosting for 10 minutes while they "listened" to Brian explain why it is so important to blah blah blah... The chocolate was at EYE level and 3 inches away from their hungry little faces. It took a whole lotta will-power to keep myself from just letting Quincy go ahead and dip herself into the icing... just so I could kiss her face and suck the chocolate off her yummy little chubby cheeks.
(but not before I rolled her in sprinkles too...
MMMM.... Kwincy-Kreme)


Ok I'm starting to sound like the old lady that lived in the gingerbread house...Don't worry, you have nothing to be concerned about, until I start naming my children Hansel and Gretel.


Anyway, the kids had a great time, and so did the moms. The only real down part would have to be when they told us how many DOZENS of Krispy Kreme donuts get thrown away each day, because they weren't sold within their 3 hour life span.

Huh?

Throw away a donut?

I covered Reese's ears as Brian told us the tragic fate of "misshapen", "improperly cooked", and "old" donuts.
How sad.How wasteful.
I lost a little faith in the Krispy Kreme.

This just goes to show how much profit is made off each individual donut, because they can still afford to throw away an average of 30 dozen donuts a day. Yes. THIRTY DOZEN less than perfect donuts are wasted EVERY SINGLE DAY at Krispy Kreme.


This calls for a comment about starving children in Africa.


Certainly, these donuts could be put to a better use. I mean, the salvation army is right down the street!

Then again, perhaps, "the poor don't want the stumps."

How should I know?

It's Getting Hot in Here...

For months, Quin has used the words "yucky" and "hot" interchangeably. Like, when her hands are dirty, she holds them out and says, "hot, mommy". When her food, or her car seat is hot, she says "yucky". I never understood why until it was raining and she asked to go for a walk outside. My response?

"Not today, baby, it's yucky outside." (referring to the cloudy skies)

A light went on. I thought back to August when it was also "yucky" outside. It was so muggy and humid that I repeatedly referred to the weather as "yucky". Yucky=Hot. For a moment I understand what goes on in Little One's Head.

Or maybe her vocabulary is just lousy.

Wee Willy Winkie Runs Through the Town...

....Upstairs, Downstairs, in his Nightgown.

Gather 'round folks, it's story time.
So, for the first 2 years we lived here the house right behind us was vacant, except for a month or so that there was a renter (an off shore oil rig worker/owner of talking exotic birds that kept my kid very entertained).

About a year ago, the house finally sold, and we met Marge and Ross...our sweet 90 year old neighbors (not to be confused with Carl and Barb...the 80 year old neighbors across the street), or Keith...the "no cars near my lawn" neighbor.
Marge and Ross are very sweet, and they probably say "hi" back to our girls about 100 times a day. (our back porches face each other).

About a month ago, the girls were playing on the back porch, when I heard a loud beeping.
"Reese! What is that? turn it off, it's annoying!"
"It's not me, mom! It's Ross and Marge. Their house is beeping!"

A beeping house? Oh no, that could only mean one thing.

Flashback to Aaron's birthday. Our kids were in bed, it was dark outside, and Aaron and I were about to curl up and watch a movie. Aaron hears a noise out in the backyard and presses his nose up against the sliding glass door to check it out. (you know, how when it's dark out, and the lights are on how you can't see anything outside? But they can see in? creeps me out)

Me: "what is it?"
A: "I think Ross is letting their dog out to pee. He usually has a flashlight though".
Me: "Oh. Come snuggle, the movie is starting."

And that was it...until the next morning I see Marge with a cast up to her armpit! She had fallen off the back porch onto the prickly holly bush, hit her hear, broken her arm, and couldn't get up! The noise we had heard was her calling in her little old lady voice, "Help me! Help me! Aaron? Anyone? Come help me!"

Turns out, she was stuck there, alone in the dark, cold and helpless for over TWO hours, until Ross woke up and noticed she was missing. The worse part? SHE SAW Aaron come to the window, called out to him, and cried when he didn't see her and come to her rescue. She could see him, but he couldn't see her! so so SAD!

Ok, so fast forward up to the beeping house. I'd already let Marge have one accident without coming to her aid...could I really let her house beep without checking it out? I left the girls on the porch and went over to see what was going on.

All the screen doors and windows were open, but locked. The garage? No car. Where are they? They never leave home without closing all the doors and windows up.

The Smoke Alarm continued to blare through the house, getting louder and louder as each moment passed on. What should I do? Break in? What if the stove was left on? I'd already left her all cut up with a head injury and broken arm, I couldn't let her house burn down too....they'd NEVER forgive me for that!

I go to the window in front of the kitchen sink to see if I can pry the screen loose and maybe shimmy myself up and through the window. I am prowling around when Marge appears out of nowhere.

"Help ME! I can't turn the {dang} thing off! Help me Meg!"

Marge is soaking wet and stark naked.

Marge is 90.
I am staring at the whole "upstairs".

The smoke alarm continued to blare on, like a siren coming to resuscitate my dying hope of having a recognizable female body in my old age.

"Marge, the front door is locked. I can help if you let me in"

"I'm coming, honey!" (she is clearly terrified)

"where is Ross? Do you know where all the smoke is coming from?"

She opens the door. YEP! Still naked, but she has done me the courtesy of grabbing a HAND towel to cover her self. Her upper self. The self I'd already seen.

I got the Downstairs view.
I am frightened for my future.

"Ross is gone...at the store. Will you help me?!"

"Sure, uh..." Look away, you idiot! You are burning your brain!
"Where's the fire, Marge?"
"Fire?!" she relaxes "Oh there's no fire...that {dang} thing only goes off when Ross isn't around to fix it! I can't turn it off! It interrupted my shower!"

Good grief, what was she doing in there? Boiling herself? The house was so thick with steam flooding from the bathroom, it could peel the tacky striped paper right off the walls.

"Is all this from your shower, Marge?!" I'm still shouting over the smoke alarm...which is mocking me at ear piercing volume, and not responding to the typical wave-your-hands-to-clear-the-air-below-it shut-it-off-quick-fix.

"Here honey, use this" She hands me her protective towel, then turns and heads down the hall to get another towel for herself. Hopefully a bigger one.

No. No. No. No. NO.
My eyes HATE me right now. Upstairs, Downstairs...and now the Back Door!
What. The. Heck. Marge? Your House is not on fire. Go get dressed please.
So there you go, the next time you hear a smoke alarm, proceed with caution.

I have seen my sweet little neighbor naked. Really naked. Old naked. Our relationship will never be the same.