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

Pouty Lip!

I had THE best morning this morning.  I woke up early, (not normally a good thing).  As I was heading downstairs to make my breakfast I passed by Alex's room, (son, age 10 for those who don't know).  He was still asleep in bed.  Yeah!  I tiptoed into his room and crawled under his blanket to snuggle.  I LOVE snuggling!  It's the best!  I buried my nose in his hair and sniffed him in.  Ahhhh!  We snuggled for fifteen minutes or so before he wanted to get up.  I figured I'd go eat my breakfast now, except that I knew William, (son, age 7) was still sound asleep in his bed.  So I made a little detour and hopped in with Will and snuggled him awake.  Life does not get any better!  

It hit me as I was laying there though.  How long can this last?  My babies are getting older.  A mother crawling into bed with her fifteen year old in the morning is just creepy.  Alex will be hitting puberty in a few years!  There will be morning wood and wet dreams.  Ew!  Even I don't want to cuddle up with that!  So I know, in my brain, that my snuggling days are numbered.

I feel like there is a huge clock, ticking over my head, counting off the hours until my last morning snuggle.  Am I weird?  I am just not ready.  I think of all the time I wasted not snuggling and feel bad for not doing more, especially when they were little babies.  When I think about how much money we spent on Jolly Jumpers and Exersaucers, and bouncy chairs and swings, I think, what a waste.  Why put my precious baby in a bouncy chair instead of letting them fall asleep on my tummy.  I was only watching tv!  What a missed opportunity!  I want a do over!!!!

I try to take satisfaction in the reality that I am raising young men who will be independent and strong, who will be good to women and raise beautiful families of their own.  But it's not working.  I want my snuggles!

One day at a time I guess.  One day at a time.

Michy

I've Been Schooled

Bullying in school has become a very hot button issue of late.  Everyday on the news you hear about children suffering at the hands of their peers.  It nothing new mind you.  I remember that age.  I remember doing things I am very not proud of in order to maintain my social status and not become "That Kid".  The one that mercilessly endured whatever vitriol  every one else threw their way on a daily basis.  Bullying probably been going on since the day we crawled out of the swamps.  It just gets a lot more media attention now.

The only thing worse than being the victim of a bully or bullies is being the parent of a victim.   My children are not being bullied.  I'm pretty sure they are not bullying anyone either.  I don't think they have the constitution for it, but I'm sure every parent believes their children are incapable of such awful things.  I was once told that I was very chill about things that happen to my kids on the school yard.  I don't freak out over bumps and bruises.  If a child tells one of my sons that they suck one day, I wait and see, and in all likeliness they will be friends again by first recess the next day, so I guess that makes me "chill". But I informed this person that if my child was ever the victim of bullying at school, they would not like the Michelle that they would meet next.

I am a total split personality.  I am all funny and happy one day, but you mess with my babies, you are poking a stick at Mama Bear.  You do not F*^K with Mama Bear! As with most parents out there I will protect my children from harm.  I will not protect them from the consequences of their actions, but I will protect them from some little shit trying to make their life miserable at school.


The emotion involving harm to your children runs deep.  I'm talking Marianas Trench deep.  I've seen grown men engage in a fistfight one day, and a month later they are splitting beer and chicken wings like nothing ever happened.  I have never once met a parent who doesn't remember the name, age, hair and eye colour and shoe size of the kid who punched their baby in the face at school.  We don't forget and we don't forgive.  And here is where I got schooled by a seven year old.

In October my precious baby Will came home and told me that he and a friend had an altercation on the school yard.  This kid then proceeded to go around to their classmates at recess and ask them to "assassinate" my baby.  Watching a few to many video games, hmmmm?  Mama Bear was sitting up.  One of the other students took him up on his offer and pretended to stab my baby with an invisible knife.  Will was not hurt, but he was not happy.  Mama Bear, on the other hand, was PISSED.  I spent the next day gathering intel on this little jerk who would incite others to harm my baby.  I reigned in Mama Bear and proceeded to make sure the school and I were on the same page about this incident.  Turns out the office never got the whole story from the yard. Once they had the full story immediate action was taken.  I went home happy and filed that kids intel in the back of my brain for future reference.

A month later Will came home black an blue.  I have never seen so many humongous bruises on one person!  One whole side of his body was bruised from his eye to his ankle.  "What the heck happened?", I asked.  Apparently Will had given this same boy a "boost" to slide down one of the snowbanks at school, and this little miscreant retaliated by throwing my baby off the snowbank and onto the concrete below, resulting in the severe bruising.

Now, I am an objective person.  Who knows what Will, a seven year old considers a, "boost".  Did he give his classmate a boost, or did he push too hard and shove this kid down the snowbank?  It's had to tell.  Maybe his classmate wasn't too happy about being pushed.  Makes sense to me.  But the damage done to my child was way overboard.  Mama Bear was furious.  She was frustrated though, because each time Will was harmed at school, he put hands on first.  The first time he had tagged the boy too hard in Tag, and the second time he "boosted" him on the snowbank.  I decided I had to tackle this issue at home.

Will was under strict orders:  you do not play with that kid; you do not touch that kid; you do not even look at that kid.  If he comes around, just walk away.  This has been our status quo since November.  Problem solved.

Then, one day in January, Will asked me if this kid could come over for a sleepover.  "What?",  I said.  "No, of course not".

A week later he asked if the boy could come over for a play date.  "No", I said.  "I don't like that boy".

Every two weeks or so Will asked me if this kid could come over and play, and every time I said, "no".

Finally the other day Will asked me if this boy could come to his birthday sleepover this June, (he likes to plan his birthday well in advance).  I looked at him with genuine confusion.  "Will", I asked, "why would you want to invite him after what he did to you"?
"Mom!",  he said, somewhat exasperated, "that was ages ago!  We've been friends for months!  I don't care about that stuff any more.  Why do you?"

Why do I?

Shame crept over me like a blanket.  I had been holding a grudge against a child for months.  A seven year old.  A child, who my son had ultimately laid hands on first, who made a couple bad decisions.  No lasting harm was done.  The boys had put it behind them long ago.  I am always teaching my children about the power of forgiveness and I failed to heed my own lesson.  With a seven year old.

I was schooled by my son that day.  I hope I never forget that lesson.  I told him how proud I was of him and that I was ashamed of myself.  He was right and I was an idiot.

Now, this does not mean that Mama Bear will never make another appearance.  Every situation is different and has to be dealt with on its own.  She may be waaaayy back in her den, innocently licking her paws, but she'll be ready if she is ever needed again. I just hope that I can temper her temper with some compassion and patience.

Checkout this story from the book Zen Shorts by Jon J. Muth.  It's one of my favorite children's books.

 ""Zen shorts" are short meditation - ideas to puzzle over - tools wich hone our ability to act with intuition.  They have no goal, but they often challenge us to reexamine our habits,desires, concept, and fears".

                            -John J. Muth

                                            

A Heavy Load

Two traveling monks reached a town where there was a young woman waiting to step out of her sedan chair.  The rains had made deep puddles and she couldn't step across without spoiling her silken robes.  She stood there, looking very cross and impatient.  She was scolding her attendants. They had nowhere to place the packages they held for her, so they could not help her across the puddle.

The younger monk noticed the woman, said nothing, and walked by.  The older monk quickly picked her up and put her on his back, transported her across the water, and put her down on the other side.  She didn't thank the older monk, she just shoved him out of the way and departed.

As they continued on their way, the young monk was brooding and preoccupied.  After several hours, unable to hold his silence, he spoke out.  "That woman back there was very selfish and rude, but you picked her up on your back and carried her! Then she didn't even thank you!"

"I set that woman down hours ago," the older monk replied.  "Why are you still carrying her?"

Michy

Update

Well.  I guess I'm not the most consistent blogger in the world.  It's been how long since my last post??  Geeze, feels like Confession!

So what's been going on?  Well, I'm older, heavier and grayer.  I am happy, happy, happy, (except for those times when I am a psycho she-devil).  My oldest just turned 10.  We are nearing the end of the "Never Ending Winter".  I've got some wicked new tattoos (no, it's not a mid-life crisis).  It's the beginning of the month so I have yet another new plan for getting in shape.  Basically, things are swimming right along!

Alex just turned 10.  10!!!!!  The double digits!  As on every birthday, I had to pull out "The Album".  I remember the day he came home from the hospital.  He was so tiny, so sweet, and he couldn't talk back yet!

I do make good babies!

Time flies by so fast!  I asked Alex the other day if he realized that in the next 10 years he would become a "man".  That's right.  In the same amount of time that just passed he will be full grown.  Tall, hairy, probably with a girlfriend.  Sigh!  That's when 7 year old Will piped in with his comment, "I hope when my puberty sprout hits that it won't hurt.  I don't like growing pains"!  Hopefully they will continue to keep me in the loop on such matters.  I would hate for my boys to think that they couldn't discuss these types of personal issues with their mother.

I believe there is finally hope that winter is on the way out.  This has been, by far, the coldest and longest winter I can remember.  It. Sucked.  Spring is on the way and it has ushered in the annual poop count.  Yes, as the snow melts it reveals layer upon layer of little presents my dogs have left all winter long.  This years contribution has been somewhat astonishing.  Unfortunately my pooper scooper is still buried in the snow somewhere, so the exciting chore of clean up will have to wait a few days more.  I am already dreaming of warm summer days lounging in my hammock.  Ahhhhh!

And, I got some ink.  Yes, at the ripe old age of thirtysaaskflnje, I finally decided what I would like to endure the agonizing pain of the tattoo needle to have permanently emblazoned on my tender flesh.  

Exhibit "A" This is not just Eeyore, but Alex's Eeyore which many of you will know is his most beloved and cherished belonging.  Just like Alex's Eeyore this one is covered in bald patched and has no mane and his tail is held on with a safety pin.  The designs around him are the designs from William's "Big Blankie", his most beloved and cherished item.  When I look at the tattoo I am looking at my babies.  I love it!

This one is a quote from my favorite poem, Footprints in the Sand.  If you're not familiar with it, Google it!  This poem defines my relationship with God/Jesus.  I feel strengthened every time I look at it.

Now, somebody once told me that getting a tattoo feels sort of like an extended mosquito bite.  Well, I can tell you, that person was a LIAR!!!!!  It is so freaking painful!!  A more accurate description is to envision somebody carving up your arm with an Exacto knife.  For an hour.  I curled my toes up so much that they almost popped through the bottom of my boots! Now, if anyone is in the mood, my tattoo artist was the lovely and talented Tara Timoon at New Moon tattoo in Orleans.

Well.  That is all I have for now.  It's Birthday Party Day for Alex and I must go and tidy my house so the kids can tear it all apart today.  I promise to keep this blog more up to date.  Promise!

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