When we were growing up, we didn't do a whole lot of outdoorsy things. But while the three youngest of us were in elementary school, we took a road trip to Colorado to go camping. Now our idea of camping was borrowing an extended cab pickup truck that had a camper shell on the back. Mom and Dad slept in the two bench seats in the cab and the we had the camper to ourselves. They had put a mattress in the bed of the truck and the three of us would sleep there and play while we were traveling. This was before mandatory seat belt laws.They would lock us in at night so no one could steal us.
We had many grand adventures, from exploring the ruins at Mesa Verde to staring into the depths of the Royal Gorge. One of the campgrounds we stayed in had a stocked trout pond. They were so thick you could almost walk across the surface of the pond on top of the writhing fish. It sure was fun throwing your hook in the water and having a fish latch onto it before it even got wet! The fish probably thought a frying pan was a step up in the world.
Wanting to preserve our trophies, we kept the fish heads and tails planning to dry them and take them home with us. Mom didn't want them inside the truck, our home on wheels, so we laid them on the rear bumper over night. Of course, they were nowhere to be found the next morning and we were devastated. I'm sure the raccoons thought we had intentionally left them a midnight snack.
Things were going very well until Dad decided that he needed to assess the condition of our intestinal health. He just assumed that when you traveled, you would become "irregular." Wanting to head off any possible problems, he had a very simple way to check how we were doing: he would have us stick out our tongues. If they looked "coated", we were on the verge of impaction. The solution? Immediate administration of a laxative.
On this particular evening, he diagnosed all of us to be in imminent danger. He gave us our medicine and locked us in the camper. We drifted happily off to sleep having no idea we were perched on the edge of doom.
In the middle of the night, disaster struck! The three of us awoke abruptly requiring instantaneous access to a restroom. Alas, we were locked in! We started yelling for help, but help did not come soon enough. Dad found the key to the camper and hurried around to let us out. But by the time we were freed, it was too late for two of us.
My poor mother was beside herself. Can you imagine her horror at being awakened by the screaming of her children to find them covered in unmentionable filth? Then there was all the bedding to deal with at a campground in the middle of the night! I thought she was going to wring Dad's neck.
After that, constipation was considered preferable since we had experienced the alternative.
My 9 year old little girl, my baby, asked for some kind of Bowie knife with a GUT HOOK for Christmas!! EEEKKK! How does she even know what a gut hook is? I mean, I know the answer to that question: It's all these people that live in this house! It's just wrong on so many levels!! What happened to dolls and tea sets???
Thankfully, the supervision required for the use of the above mentioned item falls not under my jurisdiction, but under Kregg's. In fact, anything in that general category, or remotely resembling it, immediately gets deferred to Daddy.
The kids have taken to shooting dove with their BB guns (during dove season, of course). I make them clean them outside because I don't want to even know it is going on. The other day I saw Ben walking through the kitchen with something in his hand. It was one of those "mom moments" and I just knew I should ask what he was doing. He had "parts"! I asked him why on earth he was carrying them around in the kitchen. He told me the hoses were frozen up outside and he had come inside to clean his latest victim in the bathroom sink!! I just about came unglued! New rule: No dove hunting when the hoses are frozen!!!! Silly me! After being a mom for 23 years, you would think I would have thought of that one. But, oddly enough, it had never come up before. Wonder what else I haven't thought of . . .
As mentioned in a previous post, after years of residing with revolting reptiles we finally got rid of every last one. I should have known it was too good to last. And then it happened. Elizabeth found a hatchling desert kingsnake by the back porch and here we go again.
She had been keeping it in a warm closet during the cold months (where I couldn't see it all the time). To my horror, she recently informed me that it has escaped. Yes, it is loose somewhere in my house at this very moment! What is wrong with these people??
To make matters worse, you should see the stuff they stick in my big freezer. There have been times when I just refused to open it because I knew what was inside. It's just not okay to look in the freezer to retrieve something for dinner and have something looking back at you! I have tried to make sure that certain shelves are reserved only for food, but that doesn't always work. Over the years they have stored everything from snakes (because they might want to perform an autopsy), to all shapes and sizes of "mousecicles" (for the snakes that were still alive), to an owl that had been hit by a car, to every possible part of deer, elk, birds, etc.
Because of all the kids' pets and projects, the Conderosa* has witnessed the demise of many a critter that are now laid to rest in the back yard. In the future, some archeological dig is going to uncover the remains and wonder what on earth happened here. We have buried barbados, lambs, goats, turkeys, dogs, cats, snakes, rabbits, chickens, turtles, lizards, and an owl. I'm sure I have left something off the list. My kids can put "grave digger" on their resumes.
To look at us, you would think we were just a normal, average family. And you would be wrong. We have lots of skeletons in our closet, I mean our yard.
And I wouldn't have it any other way!!
*For those of you who are too young, there was a western on television during my childhood called Bonanza. The ranch owned by the Cartwright's on the show was named the Ponderosa
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mjdRgBAY278&feature=related
Several years ago, my mother-in-law had a cousin die in Midland. She had asked us to find out when the family visitation was scheduled so that she could make her travel plans. There were some other fairly distant relatives living here and Kregg came home and asked me if I remembered their names. He knew their first names were Butch and Becky, but couldn't remember their last name. I instantly said, "It's Meyers. Butch and Becky Meyers."
He said, "That doesn't really sound right, Anne."
But I was convinced I was right. It popped into my head just like I had flipped to it in my address book. Where would that have come from if it wasn't right? How many "Butch's" could I possibly know. As far as I could remember, this was the one and only Butch on my mental "hard drive".
Kregg went back to the office for the afternoon. He still wasn't convinced the last name was Meyers, so he did some further checking. When he came home again, he said, "Anne, his name isn't Meyers, it's __________ ."
The light came on instantaneously. It was like the book was open in front of me and I started quoting verbatim from memory while Kregg stood and stared:
But the Wubble chap sent me away and he said,
"Your troubles are practically all at an end.
Just run down that hill and around the next bend
And you'll come to the Happy Way Bus Route, my friend.
The Happy Way Bus leaves at 4:42
And will take you directly to Solla Sollew
On the banks of the beautiful River Wah-Hoo,
Where they never have troubles. At least, very few."
Well . . .
the bus stop was there. And that part was just fine.
But tacked on a stick was a very small sign
Saying, "Notice to Passengers Using our Line:
We are sorry to say that our driver, Butch Meyers,
Ran over four nails and has punctured all tires.
So, until further notice, the 4:42
Cannot possibly take you to Solla Sollew . . .
"But I wish you a most pleasant journey by feet.
Signed
Bus Line President, Horace P. Sweet."
So I went on by feet, thanks to Horace P. Sweet.
And that Horace P. Sweet almost ruined my feet!
Upon the completion of my soliloquy, I stood there with my mouth hanging open as the realization washed over me that I had read Dr. Suess so many times over the course of the years to all of these children that his characters had become real!
Kregg just stood and stared at me, not fully understanding the import of this revelation.
Hopefully, If he ever asks me the last name of someone named Horace, I will remember that Horace P. Sweet isn't real either!
