The Contractor Conundrum

Well, spring has finally arrived in Canada.  Hallelujah!!  The rain that has plagued us for two months is finally abating.  I almost feel safe to put away my purple, high healed, wedgie rain booties.  What?

So, the time has come to tackle the biggest household repair project that I have ever been faced with.  The deck.  And by "biggest" I also mean ridiculously expensive.  We need to put new deck boards and railings onto our twelve hundred square foot, second level deck.  That's a lot of deck.  We also need to replace the eleven log support posts that hold up the deck and the balcony above it on the third floor.

The existing boards, which are rotten and gross, are all attached to the frame by brackets mounted underneath the deck and screwed in with about fifty thousand screws.  Each of those screws must be removed in order to pull up the boards and save the frame, which is the only part of the deck in good condition.  Aside from getting the new log posts, none of this project is rocket science.  Pull up old boards, put down new ones, add railing and ta da, margaritas on the deck!  However, this job is very time consuming, (did I mention the fifty thousand screws??), and, frankly, Mama's got shit to do.  I could write you out a list of my daily household chores, volunteer commitments and after school ferrying of children around, but there isn't enough space on the internet.

Now, usually I am a do it myself kinda gal.  I learned quick during my teenage years, that if I wished to do something I'd better learn how to do it myself.  Want clean clothes?  Figure out the washing machine.  Wanna eat?  Better learn how to cook. Things didn't change much after I met my husband and we started living together.  He is more of a talk about, maybe, one day, discuss getting around to it type of guy, than an actual doer.  Cupboard door broken?  Better get out the tools to fix it myself.  Need patio laid?  Better get out the stone saw and figure out how to use it myself?  Need drywall done?  Floors laid?  Painting done?  I have taught myself how to do it all.  I could easily re-do my deck myself.  But I don't want to.  It's hot, buggy, tedious work that would take up a lot of my time.  I have tackled large, time consuming project before.  Basically, my family lives off McDonald's and pizza, the house goes to hell, laundry doesn't get done and I look like a homeless person.  So, enter The Contractor.  Dun, dun, dunnnn!

I have learned something recently about contractors.  They are very busy people.  They are so busy in fact, that they don't really care if your job is worth twenty thousand dollars, because there is so much work out there, that they will happily pass on your child's four years worth of university tuition money, because Bob down the street has a job worth fifty thousand dollars.  So far I have had four contractors come out to give me quotes.  The first one was from a decking company.  He definitely knew what he was talking about.  Seemed very professional. Spent over an hour taking measurements and taking to us about what we wanted, blah, blah, blah.  Said he'd have a quote ready for us at the end of the weekend.  Never heard from him again.  Not so professional after all.

Second guy was a general contractor.  Same deal.  Very professional. Very knowledgeable.  Spent a lot of time measuring and such.  Said he'd have a quote for us by the weekend.  Never heard from him again either.  Seriously!  Do I have to beg you to take my money???  Perhaps he is still angry that my children banged their football off his brand new truck.  Thanks kids.

Third guy was an independent contractor.  Pretty cute in a middle aged surfer dude kinda way.  This guy however, was so in over his head it was ridiculous.  He had clearly never tackled a job of this size before and he worked alone.  Dude, I want to be using my deck by July, not October.  I could finish it myself faster than that!  He also quoted me over thirty three thousand dollars.  Sigh.

The last guy to come out said he wouldn't even start a project like ours until we had the support posts replaced, which has to be done by a log home specialist.  Fair enough.  Then he said that removing all the screws from the underside of the deck in order to save the frame would be more expensive in man hours that tearing down the entire deck and rebuilding it from scratch.  Seriously.  I didn't just fall off the turnip truck yesterday bud, that happened a long time ago.

The log home guy came out and is preparing a quote for us to replace the support posts.  Each one has to be cut and peeled by hand, cha-ching, and will cost between four and six hundred bucks.  I need eleven.  They are so busy, it will take up to two weeks just to get the quote.  Seriously people, get your kids into the trades!!  They'll never be unemployed and they'll be rolling in dough!

So, as usual, it's up to me.  This morning I got out my trusty power drill and started removing screws.  Gee.  Turns out it doesn't actually take that much manpower Mr. Contractor number four!!  One little ole me finished over a third of the deck in less that an hour.  Maybe "man power" is the problem.  If they hired women, maybe some shit would get done!  I've also removed ninety percent of the old railing.  It was so rotten it was gonna fall off and land on my car.  I had most of the old railing posts and panels removed and thrown down to the driveway in an hour and a half.  Then I went out to run some Mom errands and came back to find my sixty eight year old mother, with her bad hip and hernia, had stacked all the old railing and posts I had thrown down, into a nice, tidy pile at the side of the driveway!!  Unbelievable!!

I would expect, that by the time I get a quote, from an actual professional, I will have finished my deck by myself.  You will all be welcome to join me in sucking back a mojito or ten, while we sit back and enjoy the view.

Peace out!

Michy

Update:  The Great Septic System Debacle

So, I got a call last week that Steve would be coming back today to do the fall maintenance for our septic system.  Ha!  Not gonna get me this time Steve!  I have been an angel!  I have been the poster girl for septic system care!  I will not be humiliated again!

I planned my morning.  I would get the kiddos off to school, pretty myself up and await his arrival while I sipped my morning tea.  He was scheduled for 9:30am.

I did actually end up a bit behind schedule.  Hitting the snooze button 5 times will set a girl back a bit ya know.  I rolled out of bed and into the kitchen to start making the boys lunches for school.  I was still in my baggy, blue flannel pajamas.  There was dishes piled up to the ceiling and no-ones lunch box could be found.  While I was roaming the house looking for lunchboxes I heard the dogs start going crazy, barking like we were being invaded.  This is a strong indication that somebody is at the door. Since nobody in my family is capable of answering a phone or a door, I trudged up to get it myself.  So there I am, bleary eyed, in my jammies with, very obviously, no bra on and who should be standing at the door a full hour and a half early??!!

I opened the door exactly one centimeter and placed one crusty, bleary eye up to the crack.  Yep, it's Mr. Handsomepants.  Dammit.  Now, you may think that just cracking the door open a tiny bit would have preserved some of my modesty, dignity and pride, and it may have, if my front door wasn't a solid sheet of transparent plate glass!!!!!!  There was no hiding. Humiliation complete.

But apparently God hadn't had all his fun with me yet today.  After Steve left I went into the bathroom to get dressed, you know, just in case anyone else decided to stop by at the crack of freaking dawn, and this is what I saw in the mirror:

What the multiple fucks is wrong with my hair.?  I look like an electrocuted porcupine! God dang it!!!!!

Well, there's always spring maintenance. 

Michy

The Great Septic System Debacle!

I should just go ahead and make a tab for this blog called, "Humiliating Myself".  I am just so good at it!  I never seem to run out of opportunities to totally and completely embarrass myself on a grand scale.

So, I know it's been forever since my last post, so allow me to update: we moved!  We moved to my dream log cabin in the woods!  I must say country life agrees with me!  Fresh air, lots of trees, deer and bunnies running around everywhere.  Love it!  However, with country life come a few things we may not have really given much thought to.  The constant screeching chatter of red squirrels, the unbelievable volume of mating frogs in spring and the snakes that make my retaining wall home, just to name a few.  Oh yes, and we have kissed sweet, fluid, city plumbing goodbye in favor of a country style shit management system, The Septic System.

To be fair, I think we have the most high tech septic system this side of the space shuttle.  When I was a kid, you flushed, shit went down the tube and into the tank.  End of story.  Our new septic system has pumps, aerators, a control panel with blinky lights and alarms.  It's ridiculous!  So when those lights and alarms started going off one day I didn't even think of trying to MacGyver a repair, I just called the septic repair company listed on the control panel.

The next day, promptly at ten, there is a knock on my door.  It's "Steve" from the septic repair shop. Steve just happens to be incredibly good looking.  I would guess, late forties, but held up reeeeeeaaalll nice.  Great skin, short blond hair and beautiful blue eyes, nice and slim and all blue collar-ey in his all purpose coveralls.  He's just letting me know he'll be working on the system and that he'll come back later and let me know what the problem was.  I get all eye lash batty and let him know, that's just great and I'll be waiting.

So I go down to our computer desk to kill some time.  It just happens to sit beneath a huge picture window that looks out on the septic system, (not as unattractive as it sounds, I swear), and I just happen to catch Steve at work.  As I'm logging into Pinterest I see him pop the lid off the tank and pull out aerator, the source of our problems.  It's a motor with a big long stick on it that branches out into three little sticks at the bottom.

Haaza!  I found a picture!

The purpose of this gizmo is to stir your turds around or something.  And don't be fooled by it's sturdy looks.  This is one sensitive little dandy.  It doesn't like anything that might get in the way of it mixing up the perfect poop smoothie.

So anyway, Steve pulls out the aerator, takes one look and says, "I knew it"! (I kinda had the window open too).  There is a huge gob of disgusting-ness stuck to the bottom of the pole.  Steve starts pulling it all off with his big work gloved hands and dropping the yuckiness into his handy bucket.  I said to myself, "Ew!  Gross!", and went back to Pinterest.  I looked up a few minutes later to see poor Steve pull out a knife and start hacking away at whatever it was that was wrapped around the bottom of the pole.  Poor guy, I thought.  I wouldn't even ask my husband to do this gross job and this dude has to do it for strangers.  Oh well, I was paying him after all and I was in the middle of a really great pin about shoe organization.

About 15 minutes later, he done.  He knocks on the door to give me the lowdown and the receipt. Geeze, I'm so glad I did my hair and make-up this morning!  I open the door widely and flash my smiley-est smile.  Here is our conversation:

Me: Hey, everything go ok? (much eyelash batting going on)

Steve:  Yep, it's all cleaned out and I've done your maintenance checks.  You should be good now until the fall.

Me:  Great! So what was the problem?

Steve:  Well, you had a huge wad of old tampons wrapped around your aerator and that threw it out of whack.  You really can't flush things like that.  You also can't flush used condoms, hair, whomp, womp, murmurlem, muarnrk, smurgle . . . . . . 

Me: (Blink, Blink)

Steve:  (I'm sure he said a bunch of really important things about septic system care here, but I wasn't hearing any of it.  I was so embarrassed, I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole.  All I recall is ),  Here's your bill and I'll see you in the fall for your regular maintenance.

Me:  (Blink, blink)

I closed the door as I watched him walk away, went and threw myself on my bed and screamed into my pillow.

Now, I grew up in the sticks, so I am not unfamiliar with the rules of septic living, however years of spoiled city life had me thinking maybe I could get away with some things. Apparently not.  When I finally composed myself I vowed that come the fall I would make a much better impression than that first visit.  I mean, it couldn't get much worse right?

Stay tuned . . . 

Alex and I Have The Talk

So, Alex and I had The Talk last week.  I was soooo not prepared.  I mean, I should be, but I wasn't.  I mean he's ten right?  He was bound  to ask sooner or later.  I should have prepared what I was going to say, but instead I tripped all over my tongue and sounded like a boob.  It went something like this:

There I am, 9:00pm, peacefully doing crossword puzzles in bed, listening to my meditative "8 Hours of Rain on a Canvas Tent" MP3, when Alex comes strolling on in in his undies, climbs up on my bed, gets directly into my face and says,

"Mom.  Tell me the truth.  Is the Easter Bunny real, or is is just you?"

"Wh, wh, wh!  What do you mean?  Why do you ask?"

(It is two days until Easter!!!!  What do I say?)

"Seriously Mom.  Just tell me."

"Uuuhhh.  Well you've seen The Gaurdians and Hop.  You know . . . ."

(This had been my standard go to answer for questions about Santa for years. "Well guys, you've seen Elf."  I crossed my fingers that this would work.)

"Really Mom?"

(Not the happy excited "Really Mom"!, but the "Really Mom" that is dripping with sarcastic, don't treat me like a child" kind of attitude that all children develop around age 10.  Oh shit.  He ain't buyin' it! This conversation is not going to end. Gulp!)

"You know honey, the really important thing about Easter isn't the Easter Bunny, or the chocolate and stuff.  It's about the sacrifice that Jesus made for us.  All the rest of it is just for fun".

(Send out enough mental wattage to actually light a halo around my head).

"Now what's a 5 letter word for octopus"?

"Mom"!
(He actually grabbed my chin and made me look at him!!)
"Stop trying to change the subject"!

I can't take it anymore.  The pressure is so intense!  I slammed my Crosswords For Beginners shut and looked at my baby.

"Alex!, Mommy is just not ready to have this conversation with you yet!"
(Please just ask me what an orgasm is or something!  Anything!)
"You just turned 10, and you know I'm not handling that very well, and now you want to talk about this?  Now??!!"

"Mom, just tell me".
(He actually had pity in him eyes!")

Sigh, "close the door".

And thus I told him the truth.  That Mommies and Daddies are the Easter Bunny. That we want to give our children a special day to celebrate Jesus overcoming death and the coming all new life with spring.

"Awww"  he says.  And then his eyes get this devilish little gleam and his mouth ticks up at one corner.  "I knew it!" he yells.

Why you little shit.

"What do you mean you knew it?"  I asked.  "You knew this whole time and you still made me suffer through this conversation!!!"

"Ya, I knew that you are the Tooth Fairy (that's another story), and the Easter Bunny.  I just wanted you to tell me.  But I know Santa's real."

My eyes start darting in any direction but him.

"Gasp.  Santa's real right??"

"Uuuuhhhhhhh . . . "

"What!?" No way!"

And thus ... (insert above paragraph but change Easter Bunny to Santa and Jesus overcoming death to Jesus's birth).

"Wow".

I actually told him about all the times in the last couple of years when someone almost blew the whistle on Santa for him.  Last year grandma put gifts under the Christmas tree marked, "To: Alex, From: Santa", which is fine, except she put the under the tree on Christmas Eve!  A full 15 hours before Santa was due to arrive!

This year I started in on how St. Nicholas was a great man who died many, many years ago.  Duh!  That did not go unnoticed.  I got a tongue cramp trying to talk my way out of that one!

Quite possibly the worst was when the boys were watching tv and Buddy the Elf came on and tried to sell them beer.  "Mom!  Why is Buddy selling beer?"  How do I tell them Buddy is just an actor but Santa is real?

So, where did this leave us?  Alex was cool with it all.  I mean really, I couldn't keep it a secret forever could I.  He'd look pretty silly being the only kid in college who still believed in the Easter Bunny.  I did let him in on something else though.  I told him that now that he was a member of the "Knowers Club", that he had a sacred duty to always keep Easter and Christmas special for those of his friends and family who still believe.  His little brother and cousins were all still eagerly awaiting the arrival of the Easter Bunny and to ruin that for them would be unforgivable.  He actually kneeled on the bed and saluted me.  "Yes Sir, Mam, Sir!"

This Easter came and went and Alex told me it was the best Easter ever.  I think that was the truth too, because not only did he get to do an Easter egg hunt and get a huge basket of candy but he got to see the whole thing from our perspective.  He got such a kick out of watching his brother and cousin enjoy the magic of Easter.

I guess I shouldn't worry so much about him growing up so fast.  He seems to be doing a pretty darn good job of it.  Good luck to the rest of you!

Michy

The Silver Fox?

As is inevitable, time marches on.  My baby just turned seven.  This past year marked my tenth wedding anniversary.  I have not been asked for id at the liquor store in two years.  (Sigh).  And, although I still like to feel like I am in the prime of youth, my body regularly reminds me that I am hopelessly deluding myself.

Can't run the way I used to.  Nope, if my performance on my baseball team is any indication.  Every time I have to run the bases ankles twist and muscles scream.  There are 60 year olds on my team that could outrun me.  In fact, if I ever have to, "run for my life", I will be dead in 2 seconds.

Can't loose weight the way I used to.  Eat salad for a week, do some sit ups and I used to be on my way to a flat tummy.  Now, eat salad for a week, train 3 days a week, chase after dogs and children, run 50 errands, eat a cheeseburger.  No flat tummy.  Efing metabolism.

Can't even sleep the way I used to.  No more passing out and waking up refreshed 12 hours later.  Oh no!  Now, if I can even get to sleep, I will be woken up at least twice by the need to pee and will spend the rest of the night thrashing around in dreamland, only to wake up more exhausted than when I went to bed.

There are two things about me though, that have consistently held back the relentless march of time.  Two things that have never betrayed my true age and have kept me feeling young all these long years.  My face and my hair.  I am an Arbonne gal and it shows.   I have always taken care of my skin and hair, knowing, that when I really needed them, they would be there for me, tricking people into believing I was 30 forever. It now seems, however, that I have been betrayed.

This past week on my cottage vacation with friends, time caught up with me.  While me and my good gal pals sat around discussing the passage of time, the subject of gray hair came up.  I could see it here and there in my friends hair.  Little gray streaks shining out through the brown.  Tsk, tsk, better call the colourist I thought.  I may have chimed in with, " I don't have any gray hair yet.  Gee I'm so lucky".  When one friends cast a sideways glance at my head and said, "I see a gray hair.  Right there." (point, point).

(Me) "Shut up.  There is no gray hair on my head".

(Nadine) "Yes there is.  It's right there.  It's white".

(Me)  "You're full of crap.  If there was a white hair on my head, I think I'd know!"

(Nadine)  "Oooooookkaaaaaaayyyyyy".

(Me)  "I'm going to check".

I made some seriously quick time to the bathroom.  The ball team would have been proud.  I flicked on the lights and checked my hair VERY carefully.  Nothing.  Not one thing.  Whew!  I knew it couldn't be true.

(Me)  "Nadine, you're full of crap.  There are now gray hairs on my head."

(Nadine)  "Ok Michelle.  If that's what you want to believe, you go ahead".

(Me)  "If you see a gray hair on my head, prove it.  Pull it out".

(Nadine)  "Ok."

**Yoink**

(Me)  "Ow!  Gasp!  Oh my God!.

And there it was.  Not just gray, but snow white.  And coarse and wiry!  Oh God!  Hair, why have you betrayed me?????

(Nadine)  "And there's plenty more where that came from"! I think she was enjoying this just a little too much.

I put the offending hair into a zippy bag to keep for posterity.  I take it out once in a while and look at it and feel it.  (Is that creepy)?  My grandmother on my father's side had a full head of snow white hair.  Is that my future?  Not so bad I suppose.  Or is my future that of my grandmother on my mother's side.  Dark steel gray with lighter gray mixed in?  (Shiver).

Well, one thing I know for sure.  Those white hairs will soon be a gorgeous shade of dark brown and will not bee seen again until at least my late fifties.  There does come a time for all us ladies when you need to step away from the Clairol Box and  let nature take over.  If you're ninety five with pitch black hair, you're not fooling anybody.

Until that day I shall arm myself with the best.  I will continue my war against fine lines and wrinkles with Arbonne's RE9 Advanced skin care and, (this timing couldn't be better), Arbonne's new Pure Vibrance hair care line for colour treated hair.

No Silver Fox here.  No thank you Mam!  I'm calling the colourist now!

Michy

Another Camping Calamity!

Some of you may recall my post about the first camping trip of 2012.  The enormous spiders, the kamikaze June Bugs.  If not please check it out.  I really thought that that was a standout for, "Worst Camping Trip Ever".

Turns out I was wrong.

This year, on the same trip, to the same park, to the exact same site, it proved to be even wilder.

After the dock spiders in the bathroom last year I swore I was done with tent camping forever.  I refused to go camping this year without my own toilet inside my own camping trailer.  No more 15 minute inspection of the premises before peeing.  No more tip toes across cold wet grass with a dying flashlight at 4:30 in the morning. No more tripping over zippers that won't quite go all the way down.  NO!

Thus "Trail-y" was purchased.

"Trail-y"

My kitchen

The boys beds and (cue chorus of Angels), my bathroom

The layout (in case you're curious) (it's the bottom one)

To say that I love Trail-y would be the understatement of the century.  I. LOVE. THIS. TRAILER!  Camping is just so much more civilized this way.  Now, do I feel bad for not strapping on a 90 pound backpack and hiking through the wilderness to a campsite in the bush and cooking my dinner over a campfire I started myself by rubbing two sticks together?  You know, real camping?  F**k no!  Are you kidding?  I have freaking air conditioning people!!

I am ready to camp like a champ!  Oh my Gosh, I just made that up and I love it!  Camp like a champ.  That's just great. But I digress.

Friday evening we roll up to the campground feeling like kings.  First thing to do is fill up our water tanks.  Now, we are first time camper owners, so we don't exactly know what we're doing.  We pulled up to the filling station, (aka, the hose) and opened the cap labeled "water", and started filling.  We didn't quite know how long this should take or how we would know when the tank was full, so we just let it run for ten minutes and then stopped.  Job no. 1, complete!

Then we headed off to the group camping site.  Our first "set up" was not without problems.  We learned that it is best to level your camper before you put down the little stabilizing feet, because otherwise they will get bent horribly out of shape as the camper shifts and levels out.  Lesson learned.  Then we learned that we did not actually put any water into the tank, because we had the hose in the wrong place.  Oh well, I wasn't thirsty anyway.  We also learned that because we didn't have an electricity hookup, we also did not have any air conditioning.  The battery and propane will run everything in the camper, except for the air conditioner.  So, while all the rest of our group slept in cool, breezy tents, the Lambert's literally stewed in our own sweat all night.  The inside of the camper was about 43 degrees and we were parked in such a way that no breeze came in our windows.  Interestingly enough, when we complained about the sweat lodge conditions the next morning, not one person felt bad for us.  Not one!

Jake decided that one night of crappy non-sleep was his limit, and so, the next day he decided to slip into Canadian Tire are purchase a $1200.00 frickin generator.  Don't even get me started.  There is not enough room in the blog-o-sphere for me to argue about this purchase, but he was just a'beamin with joy as he plugged the camper in and fired up that air conditioner.

We also decided to fill our water tank for real.  Unfortunately this had to be done by hand, hauling big jugs of water to the little tiny hole at the back of the trailer and pouring them in one by one using a makeshift funnel cut out of an old pop bottle.

Now, by this point it was getting close to dinner time.  Some of the men were in the kitchen tent preparing dinner, but Jake and I were dealing with a water leak on the inside of the camper.  Water was trickling out of the freshly filled tank and running across the floor.  Hmmmm.  Not good.  While we tried to figure out this problem we stared to hear thunder.  It looked like everyone would be eating dinner under the big shelters our group had put up.

While the thunder got closer and louder and the rain started, the kids coloured at the table while Jake and I tried to stop the water leak.  There was a compartment we need to get into, but it was screwed shut, so despite the now heavy rain and thunder (and maybe a tiny bit of lightening), Jake dashed out into the weather to go procure a screwdriver from one of the other men.  Well, he was gone about 2 minutes when all hell broke loose.

I was coloring with the kids.  They were very nervous about the thunder and lightening which had become so loud it almost blasted the eardrums.  I was trying to shake it off and say, "Wasn't that loud?  Cool!"  to which my children replied that no, it was very not cool, and they didn't like it one bit, and where was Daddy, and how could you send him out in this storm?   I was just assuring them that Daddy was gonna be fine and so were we and hey, look at Bernie (the dog).  He was under the table, ("No he's not cowering in fear.  He's just vibrating.  All dogs do tha,t don't they)?  I tried not to let them see that Scrappy, (the other dog), was literally trying to climb into my clothes he was so scared.  Try to think about the loudest thunderstorm you've ever heard.  We were at the center of it.  Suddenly a massive gust of wind came wailing through our campsite, which is essentially a big field surrounded by tall trees.  There was an ear splitting crack and then a huge tree fell out of the forest, smashing into the ladies outhouse, breaking the roof and exploding chunks of wood everywhere.

Guess the ladies have to pee in the bush now!  The roof cracked in half!

Then it occurred to me.  Prior to our first camping trip of the season, it had been on my "to do list" to call the insurance guy and make sure our trailer was insured.  It occurred to me that I hadn't actually crossed that off my "to do list" just yet.

So, when trees started falling out of the forest not 20 feet from where my beloved Trail-y was parked, I suddenly joined the children in deciding that this storm was most definitely NOT cool!  I hugged my children tight, and while they prayed for our lives and for the life of their Daddy, (who had still not returned with the screwdriver), I prayed for Trail-y.  "Please, dear sweet Jesus don't let a tree fall on my camper.  Please!  Oh why didn't I call the insurance guy!"

The rain was so thick, the wind so fast and the thunder and lightning so loud we couldn't see or hear anything more that 20 feet from the camper.  We were all about to hide under the table when out of nowhere Jake comes barreling in the door.  We were happy to see him, but I stared hollerin.  "Are you crazy!!!??"  No joke, it was like being in the middle of a hurricane and he decided that it was a good time to go running across an open field in the middle of a lightening storm.  Sheesh, some guys!

"But I had to" he says.  "I got hit in the head with a tree!"

Apparently he didn't quite get to asking for a screwdriver when the storm blew up, so he took refuge under one of the shelters.  He was waiting there for things to blow over when he heard a huge crack and saw a tree starting to come crashing towards him.   As he bolted from the shelter he felt something hit the back of his head.  Sure enough the was a big bump and scratch on the back of his head.

Thunder, wind, lightening and rain raged for about ten more minutes before things started to calm down.  The kids were in hysterics, Jake was checking out his head and I was still praying nothing would hit my camper.   When the storm finally cleared we got to have a good look around.  People started crawling out of their cars to assess the damage.  It took me a few minutes to realize that our shelters were completely gone.  Yes, the ones Jake had been hiding under!  The kitchen tent was gone and two tents had been uprooted and thrown all the was across the field.

This tree came down directly between Bob's tent and car!  Lucky!

This tree fell out of the bush

This is the branch that hit Jake in the noggin!

This is the same branch.  Jake had been sitting right on the corner of that picnic table!

Right there!  One more centimeter and it would have cracked his skull!

This is hard to see but this is the tree Jake heard falling.  It is massive.  Like a freakin oak tree or something!

This is what is left of one of the shelters.  I don't know if we even found the other one.  This is the one Jake had been sitting under.

The beige and green tent was the kitchen tent.  Turns out that although the tent got blown over, dinner was still on the stove!  So, we moved dinner over to Trail-y and everyone ate there! Yeah Trail-y!

Everyone was saying how amazing it was that no one had been hurt.  We all must have said it about 50 times until Jake reminded us that, actually he did get hit in the head with a tree.  He got checked out at the local hospital and he's fine.  And so is Trail-y.  Whew!  We packed up and headed home that night.  We didn't get to use the $1200.00 generator, or the 80 gallons of water we manually filled the tanks with, which we had to dump on the ground.  But the kids were freakin, so home we went.  The kids still get mad if we even talk about thunder storms.

Well, I'm going to assume that we worked all the bugs out on this trip, and that the rest of the summer our camping days will be sunny during the day and cool at night.  Our camper will work perfectly and everything will run smoothly, and I swear, any day now I'm gonna get around to calling the insurance guy.

Happy camping!

Michy

The Great Pinata Fiasco

So, Alex's 9th birthday was this month.  Time to plan a party! 

I loved going to birthday parties when I was a kid.  Especially sleepover birthday parties.  I grew up out in the sticks, so sleepover parties were the norm.  If your parents had to drive any kind of distance to get you to the party, they were more than happy not to repeat the drive again until the next day.  And there was no Cosmic Adventures or Fun Haven either, oh no!  Birthday parties were something that happened at your friend's house. Now, all my friends lived on farms, so there was a lot of running room, (and a lot of mischief to get into), and they lived in big, old farm houses, so there was plenty of space.  There was no super strict activity schedule and "party hostesses"either, in fact, we barely even saw parents at all unless it was time to eat or open presents.

It was awesome!

The first time I took my son to a friends birthday party here in the city I was shocked.  The party was at one of those huge, bright, insanely noisy play places.  The parents paid $250 dollars for 10 kids to run around the play place like wild screaming banshees for and hour and a half, and then the whole lot of them were crammed into a, "party room", for half and hour to wolf down some sketchy pizza and rip open presents.  When I picked up my son at the end of the two hours, the birthday boys parents looked one bite short of zombification.  For that kind of money, shouldn't you be less stressed at the end?

So, for the last two years, we have gone back to basics for Alex's birthday parties.  He invited seven of his best buds (plus himself and his brother) to our house, for a pizza/movie/video game/sleepover.  Here is our MO;

• Party starts at 4:30pm.  Kids can play inside or outside doing whatever they want.
• Whenever we damn well feel like it, we eat.  This year we ordered pizza.  Last year I made spaghetti.  Kids aren't that hard to please.  After that we eat cake. Yum!
• Next is the highlight of the party, the pinata.  Oooooh, ahhhhhh!  We love pinatas!  This year it was a guitar pinata, in years past we have beaten the shit out of a burro, Optimus Prime, a soccer ball and Spongebob Squarepants.  Each kid has a paper bag with their name on it and when that pinata busts open they rush in and fill their bags with candy.  That is their "goody bag".  Parents these days go waaaaaaaaay overboard with the goody bags!  My kids have come home from birthday parties with goody bags that were worth more than the gift I bought!  It is craaaaaazy!  And really the only thing in it they want is the candy.  So there you go.  Each kid leaves my house with a big 'ol bag of candy.  If there's any left by the morning that is.  But more on the pinata later.
• Happily full children return to playing whatever they want until around whenever I feel like it, when we put on a movie of the birthday boys choosing.  Kids who wanna watch, watch and anyone who doesn't can do whatever they want.  (All of this is happening while I am sitting quietly, curled up with my cross stitch and a cup of tea).
• The kids all pass out around eleven pm.  They sleep in the basement with their sleeping bags and pillows talking about boy stuff until they pass out.  I am blissfully asleep two floors up in my soft, cozy bed.  I don't hear a thing until I wake up the next morning.  Usually the kids have been up since 4am playing video games.  No skin off my nose.  
• Then I make pancakes and ship a bunch of sleepy children with sugar hangovers back their parents.  You're welcome!

Now here's the good part.  

There was this one time, when maybe the beloved pinata didn't exactly work out as planned.  That's right, our beloved pinata plans when amiss in a way that I swear could only happen to me.

Will's third birthday.  For Will's third birthday we were going camping with a bunch of friends.  It was June.  The weather was lovely.  So we decided to have his party at one of our campsites and everyone would come and it would be a family and friends party.  His "theme" was Diego.  Will loved Diego.  So I bought and VERY carefully transported a beautifully decorated Diego Birthday Cake all the way to the campsite and, of course, we had a Diego pinata, stuffed full of candy for all the kids to enjoy.  

Diego Pinata

OMG, were the kids ever excited. And so were the parents.  I mean, what parent doesn't want to make their kid happy on his birthday.  

So the big day came and we went over to our friends campsite and started setting up for the party.  The table was laid, the cake was put out, the BBQ was fired up.  Then the men-folk started to hang the pinata.  The only place to really hang it from was one of the many trees that surrounded the site, so they grabbed a rope and got the job done.  When I turned around and saw it, I almost died.  

We had just strung a little brown boy up by his neck in a tree.

Dear.  Sweet. Jesus.

I was so embarrassed. And it wasn't like has was going anywhere any time soon.  The party hadn't even started and there was lots to do before pinata time.  Every time someone walked past the campsite I cringed.  What must they think of us?  I tired to ignore him, but I couldn't.  We chatted, barbecued and ate all while little Diego swung overhead.  I could hear him in my head, "Ayúdame! Ayúdame!"  Oh God!

Finally it was time to "do" the pinata.  Great.  Now we are gathered in a circle around poor Diego encouraging our small children to hit him with baseball bats and sticks.  "Get him Will.  Get him!  Knock his head right off!!"

Well, turns out Diego was rather fond of his head.  The kids smacked him around for a good half hour and no one could crack him open.  Then the Dads got involved. Man after man tried to separate Diego from his head.  I'm talking major league hitting here, but he stayed firmly in tact.  Finally we pulled him down and torn him to pieces to get at the candy.  It was awful.  It was like the "Passion of the Pinata".  I was waiting for a civil rights march to break out in the campground.  It was mortifying!

So, take this away with you.  Birthday parties can still be simple, fun, inexpensive affairs with minimal fuss and stress and never, ever, get a pinata in the shape of a person.

Michy

No TV, No Video Games . . . No Problem!

So, this past Sunday, the Lambert's unplugged.  After an entire Saturday of sitting on their behinds, playing Minecraft, you could practically see my boys mushy brains dripping out their ears.

Alex after too many video games

So, I decided that there would be no tv, no Wii or Wiiu, no iPods, no laptop, iPad or computer.  No nothing.

Did the boys freak?  No really.  They know me.  They knew there was no way they were gonna get to play video games for an entire day and not have to pay for that eventually.  They groaned a bit, but otherwise they understood.  In their defense, I could have told them to turn off the game, but they were getting along sooooooo nicely.  They were playing together, laughing, helping each other.  It was so nice just listening to them, I didn't want to wreck it.

So what to a 6 and an 8 year old do nowadays with no electronic stimulation?  Well apparently they don't get dressed.  The boys were running around in their undies all day.  They did however make it through playing Legos and Trios and Transformers, all before asking if they could please play Minecraft.  When I suggested I could get out their homework, they immediately found something else to do.  They played with the dogs, played Power Rangers, Furbies and chased each other around the house for a bit.  When they asked me again if they could please, please play some Minecraft, I suggested that if they were bored they could put away their laundry and make their beds.  They decided to do some crafts instead.

Now they day was not without a hitch.  There was a period of about an hour and a half, when I was upstairs working, that I noticed the kids were being awfully quiet.  I thought they were in the basement making forts out of the couch cushions.  I went down to take a peek and caught two boys red handed with Wii remotes in their hands.  They were smiling until they saw me.   Then they new they were screwed.  Each made a big production of how they had just forgot, (yeah, like I just fell off the turnip truck or something), and how sorry they were.  The good part was that they wasted at least an hour crying in their rooms, the bad part, they lost their electronics for Monday too!

So, after the toys and the tears have all been exhausted, and your little child brain has been without electronic stimulation for 9 hours, what do you do for fun?  Please try and picture this in your brain.

The boys come downstairs in Dad's boxer shorts, which they have stuffed full of stuffed animals.  They look like Kim Kardashian on butt steroids.  Then they proceed to bounce around the living room, shaking there booties to, "I Like To Move It, Move It".  By the time they were done, the floor was littered with stuffies and we were all busting a gut.  Swing over to my Facebook page to see the live video, (can't post it here because of all the pervs out there), or I can e-mail it to you.

So there you have it.  Two children in 2013 can survive a day, (and now 2) without electronics.  They played with toys, (you know, those things they begged you for at Christmas).  They made up some very creative dance numbers, and they got along together all day!  Life is good!

Give it a try.  I'd love to see what your kids come up with!  Maybe, one day, I'll be brave enough to try this with Jake.  I promise, if he stuffs his pants and dances around the living room, THAT video IS getting posted!!


Michy