As I type this, I'm headed north on I95, and one of many passengers in a van that's transporting our youth group back to Jersey, after a week-long stay at the Wilds, a church camp in NC. I have a lot of time on my hands, to reflect on the week-- the preaching, the fun, and my evil deeds, involving a crock pot..
For months we thought we'd figured out how to go to the camp, and only eat real, organic food for our entire stay. But about a week before the trip, the Wilds said we weren't allowed to cook in our room, nor were we allowed to use a nice large kitchen which was located down the hall. Why? I do not know. It was at this point, I knew the dream was over, and I cancelled my healthy plans.
In the days that followed, I came up with a new plan, because there was NO WAY I was eating processed meat and other mysterious camp foods, for a week. Nor was I gonna sit up against big sweaty men on that non air conditioned dining porch, like happened last year. We decided we would drive 30-ish minutes, into the city of Brevard, when we needed food. And I thought it would be a great idea to pick up some NC pulled pork barbecue to keep in a cooler, in the room, so we could make delicious sandwiches. But we'd need to warm them somehow. So I decided I'd bring along a small, one quart slow cooker. Because technically, I'd be "heating" the sandwiches, not "cooking" in the room.
But as the days passed before our trip, I began to worry. NC pulled pork is doused in a delightful vinegar sauce, and I knew that during the heating process it would become very aromatic, and waft up and down the hallways. Maybe we'd get in big trouble! Or we'd have to gather in the hallway, with everyone else, and pretend to marvel about the mysterious luring aroma. I asked one of my friends, what she thought I should do, and she thought the crock pot sandwiches were a marvelous idea. She said I should plan to eat them early in the week, but have a backup plan with cold deli meats , in case our crock pot operation was shut down. But still, I was haunted by thoughts of the Wilds staff busting into our room, and confiscating my slow cooker. I mean, it's not that I'd be out a lot of money, because I got it years ago at a Walmart, on Black Friday, for just $4. And I have another one at home just like it. But come Thanksgiving, I would need that one for the gravy.
Soon we found ourselves back in the South, and we scarfed down fried chicken and pulled pork all the way across the great state of NC, and also in the upstate of SC. And one of the Jersey kids had to ask for some Tums. I anxiously proceeded with the wild plan to illegally smuggle a crock pot into the Wilds. And on our first full day of camp, I prepared two thick "barbecue" sandwiches, and wrapped them in foil. Then I removed the slow cooker from the bag we'd transported it in. I removed the lid, and much to my horror, there was a small spider inside!
God had put an arachnid in my crock pot.
I should mention at this point, that I have OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) and a tremendous fear of spiders. I threw away some good Tupperware once, because of an incident like this.
I took a deep breath.
"Steve, we have a big problem." I explained to him how I thought we could save the cooker, as long as he removed the spider without squishing it inside my pot. Drowning it in there was not an option either. (OCD is not logical) So he very carefully removed the spider, and proved to me that no squishing had taken place. But now I was gonna have to cleanse the pot somehow. I'd not even brought detergent or a dishcloth, because I was gonna use foil for cooking- I mean "heating."
We had soap, but we had already used it in the shower, so that was out. (OCD) So then Steve suggested shampoo. The shampoo had not been in any public showers before, so it was "okay." (OCD) I squirted some into the crock and swished it around with hot water, but I realized I was gonna need to also scrub it, to feel safe. (OCD) A wash cloth, provided by the Wilds, (think hotel washcloth) was not okay. (OCD) But because I'd remembered that the Wilds only gave us one washcloth to last for the whole week last year, I'd brought some of ours from home, and that would sort of be okay -just this once- since the food would actually be in foil, and was never actually going to touch the crock. (OCD)
So I scrubbed that crock with all of my might-- and my moisturizing shampoo for color treated hair. And then I finally had to accept that it was no longer tainted with terrifying spider germs. (OCD)
In the end, we had some amazing sandwiches, and I'd been reminded that rebellion is not the answer when a camp won't let you have anything decent to eat. It was in love, that God sent me a spider. Next year, my conscience might have been seared, and I'd have been lugging in my big, fancy toaster oven, fully intending to "cook" something.
Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.
*Disclaimer- I do not believe it's healthy to cook with aluminum foil, but I will do it in a traveling situation, if needed. I'm saying this so health foodies don't attack me. Because they scare me.
Monday, July 22, 2013
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
The Mooned Pie
Each year, when Summer vacation arrives, I find myself overwhelmed with a sense of dread and concern, not knowing if this will be the year my kids will actually kill each other, or if I will end up in jail, because of some stress-induced psychological breakdown, followed by a wild, outrageous crime spree. And people would be whispering, "I always knew something wasn't right with her."
Don't get me wrong, I adore the kids. But one can only endure so many episodes of "America's Funniest Home Videos," break up so many arguments, and rescue the cat so many times. And they eat all of our food.
Okay, so I'm exaggerating a little. It's not THAT bad. And this year, it's seemed strangely easier. It's been mostly quiet, and everyone's been getting along. I have been assuming it's the onset of maturity.
But then tonight happened.
It's well understood in our home, that I won't buy highly processed foods. So when junk food does happen to show up, there's a lot of excitement. The other day, Steve came home with a giant box of Moon Pies, because we were going on vacation, and that means the rules get bent.
Upon returning from a few days of camping, someone noticed that some of those delicious Moon Pies remained. I managed to hold everyone off, until after dinner, but then they just started grabbing the last marshmallowy pies, like a pack of ravenous animals. Steve had one, Noah had one, and Elizabeth hid one in her room so it would exist when the time came that she was ready for it. I was planning to hide one too, but the box was empty by the time it reached me. Those jerks. And I'm telling you, there is more food secretly concealed inside this house, than there are hidden bones in a happy dog's backyard. Not only do Elizabeth and I hide all of our snacks, I'm often asked to hide things for other people. I can't even keep it all straight!
Within minutes of the Moon Pie grabbings, Elizabeth, who is 16 years old, was walking around with a recently acquired stuffed animal. It is my understanding, that moments later, Noah wished to hold, touch, or take the stuffed animal. She refused, and even took the toy into the bathroom with her, so he couldn't lay one finger on it. It was at this time, that Noah slipped into her room, pulled her covers back, and victimized her sheets with a naked butt wiggle. And during this process, she emerged from the bathroom, and discovered the debacle that was taking place. Then there was running and screaming and violence, and whatnot.
It wasn't until she returned to her room to strip the sheets off the bed for a good laundering, that she made the startling, disappointing discovery-- the last moon pie, that she'd hidden in her bed, was now a sad part of the "butt imprint" that Noah had left behind. You can't undo that kind of damage. Though it was still inside the plastic, it was forever tainted by naked butt osmosis. She ran into the kitchen, where Steve and I sat, enjoying a peaceful conversation, and plopped the contaminated Moon Pie onto the middle of my kitchen table, and told of the tragic demise of the last remaining processed baked good.
It was then that Steve responded by simply saying, "Well.. now it's a legitimate MOON PIE."
Don't get me wrong, I adore the kids. But one can only endure so many episodes of "America's Funniest Home Videos," break up so many arguments, and rescue the cat so many times. And they eat all of our food.
Okay, so I'm exaggerating a little. It's not THAT bad. And this year, it's seemed strangely easier. It's been mostly quiet, and everyone's been getting along. I have been assuming it's the onset of maturity.
But then tonight happened.
It's well understood in our home, that I won't buy highly processed foods. So when junk food does happen to show up, there's a lot of excitement. The other day, Steve came home with a giant box of Moon Pies, because we were going on vacation, and that means the rules get bent.
Upon returning from a few days of camping, someone noticed that some of those delicious Moon Pies remained. I managed to hold everyone off, until after dinner, but then they just started grabbing the last marshmallowy pies, like a pack of ravenous animals. Steve had one, Noah had one, and Elizabeth hid one in her room so it would exist when the time came that she was ready for it. I was planning to hide one too, but the box was empty by the time it reached me. Those jerks. And I'm telling you, there is more food secretly concealed inside this house, than there are hidden bones in a happy dog's backyard. Not only do Elizabeth and I hide all of our snacks, I'm often asked to hide things for other people. I can't even keep it all straight!
Within minutes of the Moon Pie grabbings, Elizabeth, who is 16 years old, was walking around with a recently acquired stuffed animal. It is my understanding, that moments later, Noah wished to hold, touch, or take the stuffed animal. She refused, and even took the toy into the bathroom with her, so he couldn't lay one finger on it. It was at this time, that Noah slipped into her room, pulled her covers back, and victimized her sheets with a naked butt wiggle. And during this process, she emerged from the bathroom, and discovered the debacle that was taking place. Then there was running and screaming and violence, and whatnot.
It wasn't until she returned to her room to strip the sheets off the bed for a good laundering, that she made the startling, disappointing discovery-- the last moon pie, that she'd hidden in her bed, was now a sad part of the "butt imprint" that Noah had left behind. You can't undo that kind of damage. Though it was still inside the plastic, it was forever tainted by naked butt osmosis. She ran into the kitchen, where Steve and I sat, enjoying a peaceful conversation, and plopped the contaminated Moon Pie onto the middle of my kitchen table, and told of the tragic demise of the last remaining processed baked good.
It was then that Steve responded by simply saying, "Well.. now it's a legitimate MOON PIE."
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Ski Trip Calamities, and a Spinach and Artichoke Coincidence
About a week before we left to take our youth group on a ski trip to Okemo Mountain Resort in Ludlow, VT, some boots went on sale and my daughter was about to pass a cow. She was sure she wouldn't live if she couldn't have them, and receive them before we went on the trip. I totally sympathized with her crisis, knowing the deliciousness of a new pair of Uggs on your feet, especially when you're visiting a ski resort. I also felt that I was partly to blame, having recently acquired some sparkly ones myself. So after much delusional thought and consideration, I decided to strike up a deal with her. I ordered the boots, but I gained possession of a gift card of hers that I'd been coveting (which she volunteered). She'd also have to do the dishes for 2 weeks. I even clarified, this wasn't gonna be an occasional dishwasher loading experience. She would actually have to do "every dirty dish that happened." She was elated, and I knew my life was about to be hard.
A few days later, the excitement over the boots, which had not even arrived yet, began to diminish. Washing the dishes was gross, and not fun, and we began to sense a great deal of unhappiness. I thought she was tracking the shipment of the boots online, so when they arrived on Wednesday, we hid them, just to see how long it would be before she had some big panic attack because the tracking revealed that a delivery had been made and they were missing.
Because that's the kind of parents we are.
On Thursday, Steve and I had to do some shopping for the trip, so we could feed all those people, and we left our kids alone for a few hours. By now she'd really gotten behind on the dishes, so I said to be sure to get the dishwasher loaded. That night, we had to take my car, "Cherry Pie" out because Steve's truck was in the shop because New Jerseyans can't stop crashing into him. Steve had to load hundreds of bottled waters into little Cherry Pie, along with all the groceries we'd need for several days of feeding hungry teenagers. I think that's when I began to sense the impending misadventures, that like any trip with our family, awaited us.
When we returned home, I checked the dishwasher, and found that Elizabeth had only loaded it with 1 large colander, 1 large bowl, a large pot, and a couple pieces of flatware. Meanwhile, the sink remained full of dishes, the counters were loaded, and the table was covered. I wasn't even sure how we'd eat breakfast. I couldn't say she didn't load the dishwasher, because technically, it was mostly full. She was already in bed, sleeping soundly. After overcoming my initial desire to squish her, I went to her Facebook page and posted, "Nicely played."
The next morning, I carefully planned a breakfast that wouldn't require me to wash anything first. I wasn't gonna touch those dirty dishes, no matter what happened. I didn't care what kind of infestation developed right there in our frightful family kitchen, be it flies, roaches, locusts, or wild animals. Not that I wasn't afraid.
We were scheduled to leave for VT, bright and early on Sunday morning, and thankfully, by Saturday afternoon, she had all of the dishes sparkling, and even did some additional cleaning in the kitchen. She even admitted that on Thursday, during her lowest of lows, she'd considered pulling clean dishes out from the cabinets, and loading them into the dishwasher, to avoid touching dirty ones. In all fairness, her schedule was unusually busy-bees that week. Then Steve called for her to come into the family room to grab a box to place into the recycling. Moments later, we heard her pull at the unopened box of Uggs, pause, and say,
"You people are horrible."
We know. We didn't even mean to wait until the last minute to tell her they'd arrived. I just kept forgetting. So she was happy, finally.
By late Sunday afternoon, we arrived in our caravan of 4WD SUVs and truck pulling a UHaul full of skis and luggage, at the condo we'd rented for our group of 21 people. Or 20. Whatever. The first thing we noticed, is that the interior of that condo is an assault on the eyes. Bright coral paint and tacky wallpaper adorned the walls of the main living areas. It turns out, the "slope side" condo, isn't really slope side. And much to our dismay, the bedding had been stripped from all of the beds, and lay in a giant, germ infested pile at the top of the stairs. There were crumbs on the tables, and debris on the floors. No one had cleaned. I wondered if I would hyperventilate.
Then we sank into a deep depression, and even tried to see if we could get into the house we stayed at last year. But it was booked. We thought we might have to wash that gross bedding, or we'd have none, but I couldn't imagine touching that stuff to load it into the washer. There's a reason I've never been a housekeeper. My friend, Sara, was even bothered that her boot touched it when she walked by it. All seemed hopeless, when suddenly Steve found some extra bedding stashed in a closet somewhere. Then one of the boys made all the beds. Ethan was a hero!
Things began to look up. Then we noticed there was a bathroom practically inside the kitchen. We'd assumed it was a closet. Having accepted that we were gonna be staying there, we announced to the kids, "This bathroom is for urination and hand washing only. No BMs." Then we claimed another bathroom as "Adults only." Don't worry, that still left 2 whole bathrooms for teen number 2s..
Then we saw this:
Anyway, we'd planned to have pizza delivered that night, but we were so traumatized by the dirty condo that we decided to get out of there, and go out for pizza, in hopes that housekeeping , whom we'd now contacted, would show up and scrub that place down. Online, we found one place that was open, called "Outback Pizza". The peculiar thing about Ludlow, is that the whole place shuts down by mid-afternoon, except for bars and a gas station or two. It was now dark, and incidentally, only 11 freezing degrees outside.
On the way there, fully sensing the inescapable downward spiraling course of the evening, we began to speculate about what kind of place "Outback Pizza" might actually be.
"What if it's a bar??," someone jokingly asked.
"Hey, maybe they'll have karaoke!" I exclaimed.
It turns out, the karaoke was only on Thursdays, and this was Sunday, but still, we had the entire youth group of our conservative Baptist church sitting in a big 'ol bar type place with loud music, where we soon found ourselves asking for group rates because they were out of large pizzas, and the smalls were $13 each. And we wouldn't let anyone have anything to drink until we found out if they offered free refills. (Think that doesn't happen anywhere anymore? Visit Vermont.) So they gave us a deal and we just told everyone to eat fast and try not to soak in the atmosphere.. Steve seemed to develop an insatiable thirst from all the anxiety, leading the server to eventually just bring him a pitcher with a straw.
With a new day, came new hope, and all the skiers were soon out for an exciting day. I woke up pretty early because kids in ski boots sound like a houseful of rambunctious elephants. I prepared a couple of homemade soups in slow cookers and went upstairs to take a shower. I knew no one had been in the shower for quite some time, but I still barely had any hot water, which seemed to overshadow my concern about the pink hue on the shower curtain liner. From inside the shower, I did have a lovely view of the raging snow falling outside, even though I had the improperly-hung blinds completely closed.
By 10 am, housekeeping had arrived. They cleaned some stuff, but they didn't give us any toilet paper, which no one noticed until about 10 pm that night. In Ludlow, you can't just go out for a late night tp run. So we had to spare squares, here and there, and hold out until morning.
There's nothing more refreshing than a cold shower after a day of skiing in 13 degree temps. So on our 2nd evening in that freak condo, we enjoyed piping hot soup and a "soup bar," and called the homeowner, yet again, because of frigid water. We got no help from him, so then one of the teens found another hot water heater. It was turned off, so we turned it on. I was never sure if it made any difference.
Obviously, we are never staying in that jacked up condo again.
The four of us adults turn into a bunch of germaphobes when it comes to kids touching our food supply, particularly the younger ones. So when Steve asked me to announce instructions for the "soup bar" we'd set up for dinner that night. I said,
"Get in line HERE, at this kitchen-bathroom. Wash your hands. Use soap. Then line up here, and take a bowl. Ladle out whichever soup you want, and select the toppings of your choice. Then walk this direction, and pick up a grilled cheese. Touch only the one you're taking. Don't do ANYTHING gross." By the end of the week we had drilled that "if you touch it, it's yours" rule into these kids, but that can backfire easily when donuts show up and big hungry guys are like, "Mine, mine, mine, mine."
One interesting oddity about Okemo, is that they sale fresh Belgian waffles right on the slopes, from a little cabin. I was beyond fascinated by this because I love waffles and I couldn't comprehend how it was possible to eat a waffle on the slopes. I didn't get to ski this year because of health issues so Sara bought me a waffle, bagged it, skied down, caught TWO lifts, and skied to the condo just to give me a waffle! She's so awesome! And it was even still hot! The waffles have the syrup built in. And the sugar on the outside caramelizes a little. Remarkable.. She said storing the waffle inside her coat had kept her warm.
That night, we'd planned to eat dinner at the ski lodge. So at 5:00 we waltzed into the lodge, only to learn that the kitchen was closed. Steve had mistakenly been led to believe they stayed open late. So we were really nervous for a few minutes, realizing we'd pretty much eaten all of our food, since it was our last night. We weren't sure that anything besides a bar would be open. So we were driving through quaint little Ludlow, when we saw this place:
Perhaps its beauty is what drew us in, or that it was called, "Pot Belly," or simply that it was the only place we saw open. Of course we were terrified this would be another huge bar scene because then that would be even more unpleasant stories coming back to the parents. Believe me, when kids get home, the first thing out of their mouths when they see their adoring parents' faces is stuff like, "We ate junk the whole time!" "Pastor Steve took us to a bar!" "We stayed up all night!" (And only ONE of those things happened this time--except me and Sara staying up one night.) But it was actually quite nice inside the Pot Belly, and quiet. In fact we were the only ones there because apparently, Vermontians don't eat dinner. Then we realized the entrees were $30... After we had a heart attack, having brought a whole pile of short-funded teenagers in there, Steve noticed that on the back of the menu there were sandwiches for around $9. We all breathed a sigh of relief. We then told the kids they'd need to plan to leave a minimum of 15-20% tip, which we never imagined would cause such panic and hysteria. So then Steve and Dan spent some time at the kids' tables, giving math lessons, and explaining why it's extra important for Christians to give at least what's expected. I learned myself that night, that servers only make $2 an hour before tips. Tip your servers!
I was excited to learn there was a grass fed local Vermont beef burger on the menu. I normally won't touch ground meat in a restaurant, but that sounded safe, and I was ready to shove a big juicy burger into my face. So after devouring some delicious bruschetta with melted cheese and topped with a basil and arugula pesto, my burger was placed before me. I took my first bite, and immediately was troubled by a strange taste. Then another. Then I got creeped out and stopped eating it. So then I scarfed down the best fries I've ever eaten. But the funky burger did nothing lessen my love for "Pot Belly."
Later, back at the condo, I admitted to others that my burger tasted "too fresh." -like maybe it had been mooing earlier in the day. Steve thinks I'm a big nut bag and he gave up on that conversation. So I began to ask others if they'd experienced the same thing, but no one had really had the Vermont burger. Except for one apparently nonobservant person. Then Sara told me she totally understood what I was saying. She said, it's as if my cow was slaughtered that morning, and the beef spent some time at the farm, just sitting around, absorbing the farm animal smell, and then arrived on my plate soon after. She understands me so well! Her only regret, was that she didn't realize it at the time because she wished she had tasted my farmtasticly fresh burger. Sigh. If only we could turn back the hands of time. I could have had some support on this. Because I KNOW, her discerning taste buds would have noticed it too. Meanwhile, Steve still thinks I'm a loon. But we loved the Pot Belly, except they didn't give free refills which causes me to experience anxiety, because I have to make careful decisions about rationing out my beverage, but we're going back next year. We'll have the kids practice tipping beforehand.
Steve sat comfortably by the roaring fire each night, and preached on the life of Joseph, while wearing his flannel Steelers pajama pants. The kids and adults listened attentively, while the aches and pains of a day of sliding down the mountain, sometimes violently, set in. This was usually followed by a game of hide and seek that involved a lot of very loud screaming.
We were very thankful to return from the trip with NO injuries this year. Days later, when Steve suggested that we might not go back next year, the kids all went insane. So, we know we have to go back, or face an angry teenage mob. I'm already looking forward to it too. I have a complaint about Vermont though. They claim to have moose there. I've been twice and kept my eyes fixed on every field and woods, the whole time, and I've never once seen one of these alleged real moose. I'm convinced it's all a sham.
This year's catchphrase: "Happy, happy, happy!"
Last year's catchphrases: "It flipped!"
"Are you serious??"
A few days later, the excitement over the boots, which had not even arrived yet, began to diminish. Washing the dishes was gross, and not fun, and we began to sense a great deal of unhappiness. I thought she was tracking the shipment of the boots online, so when they arrived on Wednesday, we hid them, just to see how long it would be before she had some big panic attack because the tracking revealed that a delivery had been made and they were missing.
Because that's the kind of parents we are.
On Thursday, Steve and I had to do some shopping for the trip, so we could feed all those people, and we left our kids alone for a few hours. By now she'd really gotten behind on the dishes, so I said to be sure to get the dishwasher loaded. That night, we had to take my car, "Cherry Pie" out because Steve's truck was in the shop because New Jerseyans can't stop crashing into him. Steve had to load hundreds of bottled waters into little Cherry Pie, along with all the groceries we'd need for several days of feeding hungry teenagers. I think that's when I began to sense the impending misadventures, that like any trip with our family, awaited us.
When we returned home, I checked the dishwasher, and found that Elizabeth had only loaded it with 1 large colander, 1 large bowl, a large pot, and a couple pieces of flatware. Meanwhile, the sink remained full of dishes, the counters were loaded, and the table was covered. I wasn't even sure how we'd eat breakfast. I couldn't say she didn't load the dishwasher, because technically, it was mostly full. She was already in bed, sleeping soundly. After overcoming my initial desire to squish her, I went to her Facebook page and posted, "Nicely played."
The next morning, I carefully planned a breakfast that wouldn't require me to wash anything first. I wasn't gonna touch those dirty dishes, no matter what happened. I didn't care what kind of infestation developed right there in our frightful family kitchen, be it flies, roaches, locusts, or wild animals. Not that I wasn't afraid.
We were scheduled to leave for VT, bright and early on Sunday morning, and thankfully, by Saturday afternoon, she had all of the dishes sparkling, and even did some additional cleaning in the kitchen. She even admitted that on Thursday, during her lowest of lows, she'd considered pulling clean dishes out from the cabinets, and loading them into the dishwasher, to avoid touching dirty ones. In all fairness, her schedule was unusually busy-bees that week. Then Steve called for her to come into the family room to grab a box to place into the recycling. Moments later, we heard her pull at the unopened box of Uggs, pause, and say,
"You people are horrible."
We know. We didn't even mean to wait until the last minute to tell her they'd arrived. I just kept forgetting. So she was happy, finally.
By late Sunday afternoon, we arrived in our caravan of 4WD SUVs and truck pulling a UHaul full of skis and luggage, at the condo we'd rented for our group of 21 people. Or 20. Whatever. The first thing we noticed, is that the interior of that condo is an assault on the eyes. Bright coral paint and tacky wallpaper adorned the walls of the main living areas. It turns out, the "slope side" condo, isn't really slope side. And much to our dismay, the bedding had been stripped from all of the beds, and lay in a giant, germ infested pile at the top of the stairs. There were crumbs on the tables, and debris on the floors. No one had cleaned. I wondered if I would hyperventilate.
Then we sank into a deep depression, and even tried to see if we could get into the house we stayed at last year. But it was booked. We thought we might have to wash that gross bedding, or we'd have none, but I couldn't imagine touching that stuff to load it into the washer. There's a reason I've never been a housekeeper. My friend, Sara, was even bothered that her boot touched it when she walked by it. All seemed hopeless, when suddenly Steve found some extra bedding stashed in a closet somewhere. Then one of the boys made all the beds. Ethan was a hero!
Things began to look up. Then we noticed there was a bathroom practically inside the kitchen. We'd assumed it was a closet. Having accepted that we were gonna be staying there, we announced to the kids, "This bathroom is for urination and hand washing only. No BMs." Then we claimed another bathroom as "Adults only." Don't worry, that still left 2 whole bathrooms for teen number 2s..
Then we saw this:
 |
| About a week before the ski trip, Sara and I both just happened to be at the Cheesecake Factory at the same time, and were seated no where near each other. We were both wearing almost identical owl necklaces, and some Uggs. Out of a 20 something page menu, we both happened to order spinach and artichoke dip as our meal, and a slice of cheesecake. So at the condo, this luxurious shag carpet in the loft (boys' room) looked just like spinach and artichoke dip.. Coincidence? I think not.. |
Anyway, we'd planned to have pizza delivered that night, but we were so traumatized by the dirty condo that we decided to get out of there, and go out for pizza, in hopes that housekeeping , whom we'd now contacted, would show up and scrub that place down. Online, we found one place that was open, called "Outback Pizza". The peculiar thing about Ludlow, is that the whole place shuts down by mid-afternoon, except for bars and a gas station or two. It was now dark, and incidentally, only 11 freezing degrees outside.
On the way there, fully sensing the inescapable downward spiraling course of the evening, we began to speculate about what kind of place "Outback Pizza" might actually be.
"What if it's a bar??," someone jokingly asked.
"Hey, maybe they'll have karaoke!" I exclaimed.
It turns out, the karaoke was only on Thursdays, and this was Sunday, but still, we had the entire youth group of our conservative Baptist church sitting in a big 'ol bar type place with loud music, where we soon found ourselves asking for group rates because they were out of large pizzas, and the smalls were $13 each. And we wouldn't let anyone have anything to drink until we found out if they offered free refills. (Think that doesn't happen anywhere anymore? Visit Vermont.) So they gave us a deal and we just told everyone to eat fast and try not to soak in the atmosphere.. Steve seemed to develop an insatiable thirst from all the anxiety, leading the server to eventually just bring him a pitcher with a straw.
With a new day, came new hope, and all the skiers were soon out for an exciting day. I woke up pretty early because kids in ski boots sound like a houseful of rambunctious elephants. I prepared a couple of homemade soups in slow cookers and went upstairs to take a shower. I knew no one had been in the shower for quite some time, but I still barely had any hot water, which seemed to overshadow my concern about the pink hue on the shower curtain liner. From inside the shower, I did have a lovely view of the raging snow falling outside, even though I had the improperly-hung blinds completely closed.
By 10 am, housekeeping had arrived. They cleaned some stuff, but they didn't give us any toilet paper, which no one noticed until about 10 pm that night. In Ludlow, you can't just go out for a late night tp run. So we had to spare squares, here and there, and hold out until morning.
There's nothing more refreshing than a cold shower after a day of skiing in 13 degree temps. So on our 2nd evening in that freak condo, we enjoyed piping hot soup and a "soup bar," and called the homeowner, yet again, because of frigid water. We got no help from him, so then one of the teens found another hot water heater. It was turned off, so we turned it on. I was never sure if it made any difference.
Obviously, we are never staying in that jacked up condo again.
The four of us adults turn into a bunch of germaphobes when it comes to kids touching our food supply, particularly the younger ones. So when Steve asked me to announce instructions for the "soup bar" we'd set up for dinner that night. I said,
"Get in line HERE, at this kitchen-bathroom. Wash your hands. Use soap. Then line up here, and take a bowl. Ladle out whichever soup you want, and select the toppings of your choice. Then walk this direction, and pick up a grilled cheese. Touch only the one you're taking. Don't do ANYTHING gross." By the end of the week we had drilled that "if you touch it, it's yours" rule into these kids, but that can backfire easily when donuts show up and big hungry guys are like, "Mine, mine, mine, mine."
One interesting oddity about Okemo, is that they sale fresh Belgian waffles right on the slopes, from a little cabin. I was beyond fascinated by this because I love waffles and I couldn't comprehend how it was possible to eat a waffle on the slopes. I didn't get to ski this year because of health issues so Sara bought me a waffle, bagged it, skied down, caught TWO lifts, and skied to the condo just to give me a waffle! She's so awesome! And it was even still hot! The waffles have the syrup built in. And the sugar on the outside caramelizes a little. Remarkable.. She said storing the waffle inside her coat had kept her warm.
That night, we'd planned to eat dinner at the ski lodge. So at 5:00 we waltzed into the lodge, only to learn that the kitchen was closed. Steve had mistakenly been led to believe they stayed open late. So we were really nervous for a few minutes, realizing we'd pretty much eaten all of our food, since it was our last night. We weren't sure that anything besides a bar would be open. So we were driving through quaint little Ludlow, when we saw this place:
Perhaps its beauty is what drew us in, or that it was called, "Pot Belly," or simply that it was the only place we saw open. Of course we were terrified this would be another huge bar scene because then that would be even more unpleasant stories coming back to the parents. Believe me, when kids get home, the first thing out of their mouths when they see their adoring parents' faces is stuff like, "We ate junk the whole time!" "Pastor Steve took us to a bar!" "We stayed up all night!" (And only ONE of those things happened this time--except me and Sara staying up one night.) But it was actually quite nice inside the Pot Belly, and quiet. In fact we were the only ones there because apparently, Vermontians don't eat dinner. Then we realized the entrees were $30... After we had a heart attack, having brought a whole pile of short-funded teenagers in there, Steve noticed that on the back of the menu there were sandwiches for around $9. We all breathed a sigh of relief. We then told the kids they'd need to plan to leave a minimum of 15-20% tip, which we never imagined would cause such panic and hysteria. So then Steve and Dan spent some time at the kids' tables, giving math lessons, and explaining why it's extra important for Christians to give at least what's expected. I learned myself that night, that servers only make $2 an hour before tips. Tip your servers!
I was excited to learn there was a grass fed local Vermont beef burger on the menu. I normally won't touch ground meat in a restaurant, but that sounded safe, and I was ready to shove a big juicy burger into my face. So after devouring some delicious bruschetta with melted cheese and topped with a basil and arugula pesto, my burger was placed before me. I took my first bite, and immediately was troubled by a strange taste. Then another. Then I got creeped out and stopped eating it. So then I scarfed down the best fries I've ever eaten. But the funky burger did nothing lessen my love for "Pot Belly."
Later, back at the condo, I admitted to others that my burger tasted "too fresh." -like maybe it had been mooing earlier in the day. Steve thinks I'm a big nut bag and he gave up on that conversation. So I began to ask others if they'd experienced the same thing, but no one had really had the Vermont burger. Except for one apparently nonobservant person. Then Sara told me she totally understood what I was saying. She said, it's as if my cow was slaughtered that morning, and the beef spent some time at the farm, just sitting around, absorbing the farm animal smell, and then arrived on my plate soon after. She understands me so well! Her only regret, was that she didn't realize it at the time because she wished she had tasted my farmtasticly fresh burger. Sigh. If only we could turn back the hands of time. I could have had some support on this. Because I KNOW, her discerning taste buds would have noticed it too. Meanwhile, Steve still thinks I'm a loon. But we loved the Pot Belly, except they didn't give free refills which causes me to experience anxiety, because I have to make careful decisions about rationing out my beverage, but we're going back next year. We'll have the kids practice tipping beforehand.
Steve sat comfortably by the roaring fire each night, and preached on the life of Joseph, while wearing his flannel Steelers pajama pants. The kids and adults listened attentively, while the aches and pains of a day of sliding down the mountain, sometimes violently, set in. This was usually followed by a game of hide and seek that involved a lot of very loud screaming.
We were very thankful to return from the trip with NO injuries this year. Days later, when Steve suggested that we might not go back next year, the kids all went insane. So, we know we have to go back, or face an angry teenage mob. I'm already looking forward to it too. I have a complaint about Vermont though. They claim to have moose there. I've been twice and kept my eyes fixed on every field and woods, the whole time, and I've never once seen one of these alleged real moose. I'm convinced it's all a sham.
 |
| Here, Vermont pretends to have moose. |
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| More delusions.. |
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| Products aimed at promoting the deception.. |
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| Ethan- Teenager. Computer genius. Boy Scout who took charge of the bedding crisis! Known for saying, "When I was packing, I actually, LITERALLY, wrote on my list, to bring my swag." |
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| We've made some great friends in NJ. This is Dan and Sara. Not that you can see them. Known for saying: Dan: "These kids are soft, like butter in the desert." Sara: "I brought you a waffle." ♥ |
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| That's Elizabeth, in the middle. Known for posting this on facebook: "Just crashed into the waffle house...that's right folks....hit the waffle house, scared the poor waffle lady, and did a split and fell under the window... Thus concludes my skiing adventure..." " |
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| Little Noah and one of the junior high boys connecting over ipad games. |
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| Those tongs had just been in the fire. |
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| Evening Service. |
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| The dueling Keurigs. An annual tradition. |
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| I don't know... |
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| When I first saw this, I couldn't remember what it was called and I said, "Look, it's a snow scraping thing." Southerner problems. |
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| Steve and his favorite new toy- a GoPro camera. Several of these cameras, worn by Steve, Dan, and Derek, gave us countless hours of amazing video footage. |
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| Noah making a snow angel. |
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| It snowed like crazy! |
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| Noah sliding down a snowbank, face down. |
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| This is what it looked like the whole time we were there! |
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| Okemo Mountain Resort |
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| Here's something that's actually real in Vermont, unlike those fake moose.. Delicious, real Maple syrup! |
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| The also have maple popcorn. I wish I had more! |
This year's catchphrase: "Happy, happy, happy!"
Last year's catchphrases: "It flipped!"
"Are you serious??"
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Dark, the Halls. With Boughs of Faux Tree
The creepiest place our family ever visits, is our mini storage unit. We seem to always go at night, when there's not a soul around. The enormous facility is the biggest I've ever seen, and quite modern. The super long hallways are dark, and motion sensors turn lights on and off as you walk. A glance in either direction, as you pass by the multiple intersecting hallways, leaves you expecting to see a character from a horror movie, who knew you were coming and has been waiting. So last night, Steve and I were nearby, and we decided to stop in and pick up our Christmas tree. After stepping into the elevator, signs warned us that the lights were not working on the 2nd and 3rd floors, and we'd need a flashlight. We began to laugh hysterically, not knowing if we were really brave enough to continue on.
"Let us go die now, shall we?" I cackled.
The elevator dumped us off on floor #2, and I tried to hold the doors open for a few extra seconds, not wanting to give up the light. Once the doors slammed shut, we noticed an eerie glow nearby. They had suspended some kind of dim work light from the ceiling. While it did provide some light, it was mostly creepy. Then we began to walk. After a couple of turns, we realized there were no other lights provided. We had a cellphone flashlight that was gonna die any second, and expose us to the unknowns of the darkness. This atmosphere was a ghost's dream. The deafening sound of our lonely footsteps, rattling the metal flooring, was all that could be heard. After a very long walk, the faint white light from the cell phone barely revealed our mini storage number. Then it took Steve several agonizing minutes of searching to find the right key.
"Amy, Hold the light steady. I can't see what I'm doing!"
"Well, you told me to periodically shine the light in every direction!"
We couldn't see more than 3 feet in front of us, or behind us, or beside us. Soon we had our tree and I was saying, "Oh, I'll get the wreath! Grab that box of lights, too!" Then we speedily locked the unit back up and RAN as fast as we could with a big box of fake tree and other relevant decor.
Thankfully we survived our ill-lighted adventure. But if my beloved fuzzy, red cardinal ornament doesn't turn up, we'll be going back. I just hope Steve will store our stuff in the garage after Christmas, which is also very scary, but lit.
Psalm 119:105 "Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path." I am so glad that as we spin around on this crazy planet, we don't have to be overwhelmed by the darkness and uncertainty. God's Word lights our path and reveals to us all the right and wrong turns, dangers, bumps, and rocks in the road. It enables us to safely and successfully navigate the path He's made for us. It's a light that will not go out when you need it most. In fact, it is then, that it will glow brighter.
"Let us go die now, shall we?" I cackled.
The elevator dumped us off on floor #2, and I tried to hold the doors open for a few extra seconds, not wanting to give up the light. Once the doors slammed shut, we noticed an eerie glow nearby. They had suspended some kind of dim work light from the ceiling. While it did provide some light, it was mostly creepy. Then we began to walk. After a couple of turns, we realized there were no other lights provided. We had a cellphone flashlight that was gonna die any second, and expose us to the unknowns of the darkness. This atmosphere was a ghost's dream. The deafening sound of our lonely footsteps, rattling the metal flooring, was all that could be heard. After a very long walk, the faint white light from the cell phone barely revealed our mini storage number. Then it took Steve several agonizing minutes of searching to find the right key.
"Amy, Hold the light steady. I can't see what I'm doing!"
"Well, you told me to periodically shine the light in every direction!"
We couldn't see more than 3 feet in front of us, or behind us, or beside us. Soon we had our tree and I was saying, "Oh, I'll get the wreath! Grab that box of lights, too!" Then we speedily locked the unit back up and RAN as fast as we could with a big box of fake tree and other relevant decor.
Thankfully we survived our ill-lighted adventure. But if my beloved fuzzy, red cardinal ornament doesn't turn up, we'll be going back. I just hope Steve will store our stuff in the garage after Christmas, which is also very scary, but lit.
Psalm 119:105 "Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path." I am so glad that as we spin around on this crazy planet, we don't have to be overwhelmed by the darkness and uncertainty. God's Word lights our path and reveals to us all the right and wrong turns, dangers, bumps, and rocks in the road. It enables us to safely and successfully navigate the path He's made for us. It's a light that will not go out when you need it most. In fact, it is then, that it will glow brighter.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
A Late Night Visit to the Funny Pharm
**May this serve as a warning to anyone who's ever thought, "Hey, Sleeping pills sound like a great idea!"**
It all began a bunch of years ago, when my doctor starting thinking I was gonna die if I didn't start going to sleep. He was all, "Your blood pressure is going up," and bad things were beginning to happen. Then there was the other sleep disorder-- the one where I open my eyes in the middle of the night, and the spiders, and monsters, and other various and sundry things are coming for me. Or closet doors appear to open and close. And I start screaming, and fall out of bed, and then run, terrifying the entire household. (This is why I don't get to have my own gun.) Then sometimes real things would happen, like one of the kids would come in during the night, and I would think it wasn't real. I'm told it's a problem with my REM sleep. I suppose it puts us all in danger.
So then pills were prescribed.
That's when I met Ambien. My Dr warned me that eventually, this fun-filled sleepy goodness in a pill would create different problems, but he felt that we had no choice.
And then life was really good. They say you should take these pills, after you get safely into bed.. And miss the hilariousness? I don't think I ever did that, even one single time. I've heard of people being found, face-down in the garden, but no pills ever force me into sleep. They are no match for me. In fact, they actually improve my mood so much, I would wait until the ambien mellow arrived, to wash the dishes and get in a quick workout. Sure, sometimes I would accidentally walk into a wall or something, but for the most part, I found it to be a productive time. And soon, everyone noticed that I would agree to absolutely anything. The family loved it. Here's one example:
"Mom, I think we should breed bearded dragons."
"Oo0o0o that sounds like a great idea! Puffy is spayed, but we could buy NEW boy and girl lizards. We could breed them and then go to REPTILE SHOWS!"
"Yay! I'm so excited!"
"Me too! We will make lots of money..."
The next day:
"Ummm.. NO WAY. We are not bringing additional lizards into this house, or into the world." I mean, I love them and all, but people already think we're weird."
Clearly, the family took advantage of my drug induced agreeableness. On the plus side, when I'd go to bed, I'd sleep like a happy baby. I never tried to drive a car, or binge eat during the night like some ambi-maniacs do, though I do remember eating some raw meat one time. And dancing in the kitchen at 2 am... alone... with no music. But those were isolated incidents, and posed no risk to anyone. Except I could have contracted salmonella or E. Coli. Thankfully, that didn't happen.
And then I began to experience what my doctor had warned me would definitely happen-- sleeping pill dependency. Only when I describe it, I refer to it as "ambien addiction" because I think that's a little funny, but sometimes that is frowned upon by others. And then people think I have a "problem."
Well one night recently, there WAS a problem. It had been an enjoyable Friday night. Steve and I had gone to dinner, and then continued our exciting date night at the grocery store. Yes, we know how to live it up. Then on the way home, we stopped by the pharmacy to get more pills filled because I was completely out.
Then the pharmacist said, "This is a new drug, and we don't even have it in stock yet."
And I said, "OH NO! Did he prescribe the new sublingual ones?"
"Yes"
"But I don't even want those. I mean, we talked about it, but that's not the ones I meant for him to give me.. Ok, look, it's the weekend; my doctor won't be in until Monday. I've been on these pills for many years. I won't sleep for even one minute, the whole weekend, without them. Can you let me have 2 or 3 of the normal ambien, until my doctor can straighten this whole thing out on Monday?"
"No."
"Why?"
"It's a controlled substance."
"Yes, and I have a prescription for that controlled substance. Look at my info. I take these every day."
"Sorry, I can't even give you one."
-All because that little piece of paper said "sublinguals" and not "orals"... And by now, most CVS pharmacies were closed for the night. So I went home and panicked. And I called every 24 hour CVS within a 50 mile radius of our house. And they all said, "We don't have that drug yet." followed by "No, you can't have the other ambien."
Then I got THIS guy:
"Good evening, CVS Pharmacy."
"Yes, do you have the new sublingual ambien?"
"Yes."
"Really?! You do? Are you sure? Because I'm getting ready to drive there. And it's far."
"Yes, I'm looking at them right now."
"Ok. I have a prescription. Is there any way to get this process started now?"
"No. But it will only take a minute when you get here."
It was 1 a.m. now. And I promise this story gets better. I think.
We arrived, and I approached the pharmacy counter.
"Can I help you?"
"Yes, I'm here for some ambien."
He took the prescription and his slender fingers began to roll across his computer keyboard. With a dead expression, and his face locked on the screen he said, "I'm sorry. We don't have these in stock."
Now I knew immediately, there were 2 possibilities:
1. He was joking. OR
2. I was going to kill him.
I stared for a moment. Then he looked up and chuckled slightly. I calmly responded, "You have no idea what I've been through tonight. I could go insane in here, ya know."
"Well, we have pills for that too," he said.
So he was a FUNNY MAN.
And then I asked why no one would let me have the oral pills and how just a quick peak at my profile would make it clear to him that I didn't have a drug problem. I had a sleep problem. And "Couldn't a whole weekend of not sleeping kill me?" But again, all he or anyone could say was, "No, blah, blah, ..controlled substance, blah blah." CVS totally didn't care if I died. I decided not to mention that my sleep disorder was gonna bring scary space aliens into my bedroom in the middle of the night if these sublinguals didn't work. And it was gonna be his fault.
Suddenly, a loud shrilly voice filled the store, "EXCUSE ME, Are you two together?" Slowly, and nervously, I turned around, and just inches from my face was a wild-eyed woman with orange hued, bright clown lipstick covering her lips, her teeth, and half of her face. Now, if I'd already consumed my ambien, I probably wouldn't even have cared about such a display. But I was already stricken with frayed nerves. Then Steve, who is kind to all humans and creatures, sweetly and calmly answered, "Yes, we're together." Then, she lost her mind, (just like I would have if the pharmacist hadn't been joking earlier). She started yelling, "I WAS JUST ASKING! YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO ACT LIKE THAT!" And on and on the old bat (obligatory bird reference--if you normally read this blog, then you get it.) went. Steve handles nutty people so gracefully. I'm not sure how or when he developed that skill, though I have some idea. He was a senior pastor in a Baptist church for 8 1/2 years.
So then the funny pharmacist called us over to another window, in order to escape the psychotic ramblings of Clown Face, and in a low, monotone voice, sarcastically began to ramble, "Welcome to our pharmacy. As you can see, we have lots of fun here. It's like this every night, from about 2-4. Crazy people are everywhere. There's no where else for them to go. It's either here, or Wawa. And Wawa makes them leave. So then they just have HERE. We have a great time." Then he said to Steve, "I really wish you would stay. We could use a guy like you around here. We really need a bouncer. I know you could handle it." ... "Are you sure you have to leave?" "Oh, and your insurance isn't gonna pay for this Ambien. It's $20 a pill."...
So I bought 2 pills. I was surprised he considered us to be the normal people, since moments earlier I'd been all, "JUST GIVE ME THE DRUGS!!!"
On the way out of the pharmacy, I popped one of those dissolvable, sleep-promising babies under my tongue, and then quickly realized it was already disintegrating, and tasted horrible, and I wasn't gonna be able to talk. So I said, "Oh no, Steve! I can't talk now. I wanted to talk to you on the way home.. and sing." which came out all garbled. "That's ok, Amy. Just sleep now." And he reached over to close my eyes by wiping my face in a downward motion. Very funny, Steve. And then he got to enjoy boring silence for the whole ride home. I hated it.
Once we were home, the new ambien failed to work, and I stayed awake for most of the weekend anyway. So all of that happened for nothing.
I know some people don't really enjoy my prescription drug humor, with the "percs" references or sleeping pill amusements, but I'd rather laugh about fun side effects, than focus on the negative ones, or cry about the reason I need them. And my personality... it doesn't come from a pill. This is allllll me.
It all began a bunch of years ago, when my doctor starting thinking I was gonna die if I didn't start going to sleep. He was all, "Your blood pressure is going up," and bad things were beginning to happen. Then there was the other sleep disorder-- the one where I open my eyes in the middle of the night, and the spiders, and monsters, and other various and sundry things are coming for me. Or closet doors appear to open and close. And I start screaming, and fall out of bed, and then run, terrifying the entire household. (This is why I don't get to have my own gun.) Then sometimes real things would happen, like one of the kids would come in during the night, and I would think it wasn't real. I'm told it's a problem with my REM sleep. I suppose it puts us all in danger.
So then pills were prescribed.
That's when I met Ambien. My Dr warned me that eventually, this fun-filled sleepy goodness in a pill would create different problems, but he felt that we had no choice.
And then life was really good. They say you should take these pills, after you get safely into bed.. And miss the hilariousness? I don't think I ever did that, even one single time. I've heard of people being found, face-down in the garden, but no pills ever force me into sleep. They are no match for me. In fact, they actually improve my mood so much, I would wait until the ambien mellow arrived, to wash the dishes and get in a quick workout. Sure, sometimes I would accidentally walk into a wall or something, but for the most part, I found it to be a productive time. And soon, everyone noticed that I would agree to absolutely anything. The family loved it. Here's one example:
"Mom, I think we should breed bearded dragons."
"Oo0o0o that sounds like a great idea! Puffy is spayed, but we could buy NEW boy and girl lizards. We could breed them and then go to REPTILE SHOWS!"
"Yay! I'm so excited!"
"Me too! We will make lots of money..."
The next day:
"Ummm.. NO WAY. We are not bringing additional lizards into this house, or into the world." I mean, I love them and all, but people already think we're weird."
Clearly, the family took advantage of my drug induced agreeableness. On the plus side, when I'd go to bed, I'd sleep like a happy baby. I never tried to drive a car, or binge eat during the night like some ambi-maniacs do, though I do remember eating some raw meat one time. And dancing in the kitchen at 2 am... alone... with no music. But those were isolated incidents, and posed no risk to anyone. Except I could have contracted salmonella or E. Coli. Thankfully, that didn't happen.
And then I began to experience what my doctor had warned me would definitely happen-- sleeping pill dependency. Only when I describe it, I refer to it as "ambien addiction" because I think that's a little funny, but sometimes that is frowned upon by others. And then people think I have a "problem."
Well one night recently, there WAS a problem. It had been an enjoyable Friday night. Steve and I had gone to dinner, and then continued our exciting date night at the grocery store. Yes, we know how to live it up. Then on the way home, we stopped by the pharmacy to get more pills filled because I was completely out.
Then the pharmacist said, "This is a new drug, and we don't even have it in stock yet."
And I said, "OH NO! Did he prescribe the new sublingual ones?"
"Yes"
"But I don't even want those. I mean, we talked about it, but that's not the ones I meant for him to give me.. Ok, look, it's the weekend; my doctor won't be in until Monday. I've been on these pills for many years. I won't sleep for even one minute, the whole weekend, without them. Can you let me have 2 or 3 of the normal ambien, until my doctor can straighten this whole thing out on Monday?"
"No."
"Why?"
"It's a controlled substance."
"Yes, and I have a prescription for that controlled substance. Look at my info. I take these every day."
"Sorry, I can't even give you one."
-All because that little piece of paper said "sublinguals" and not "orals"... And by now, most CVS pharmacies were closed for the night. So I went home and panicked. And I called every 24 hour CVS within a 50 mile radius of our house. And they all said, "We don't have that drug yet." followed by "No, you can't have the other ambien."
Then I got THIS guy:
"Good evening, CVS Pharmacy."
"Yes, do you have the new sublingual ambien?"
"Yes."
"Really?! You do? Are you sure? Because I'm getting ready to drive there. And it's far."
"Yes, I'm looking at them right now."
"Ok. I have a prescription. Is there any way to get this process started now?"
"No. But it will only take a minute when you get here."
It was 1 a.m. now. And I promise this story gets better. I think.
We arrived, and I approached the pharmacy counter.
"Can I help you?"
"Yes, I'm here for some ambien."
He took the prescription and his slender fingers began to roll across his computer keyboard. With a dead expression, and his face locked on the screen he said, "I'm sorry. We don't have these in stock."
Now I knew immediately, there were 2 possibilities:
1. He was joking. OR
2. I was going to kill him.
I stared for a moment. Then he looked up and chuckled slightly. I calmly responded, "You have no idea what I've been through tonight. I could go insane in here, ya know."
"Well, we have pills for that too," he said.
So he was a FUNNY MAN.
And then I asked why no one would let me have the oral pills and how just a quick peak at my profile would make it clear to him that I didn't have a drug problem. I had a sleep problem. And "Couldn't a whole weekend of not sleeping kill me?" But again, all he or anyone could say was, "No, blah, blah, ..controlled substance, blah blah." CVS totally didn't care if I died. I decided not to mention that my sleep disorder was gonna bring scary space aliens into my bedroom in the middle of the night if these sublinguals didn't work. And it was gonna be his fault.
Suddenly, a loud shrilly voice filled the store, "EXCUSE ME, Are you two together?" Slowly, and nervously, I turned around, and just inches from my face was a wild-eyed woman with orange hued, bright clown lipstick covering her lips, her teeth, and half of her face. Now, if I'd already consumed my ambien, I probably wouldn't even have cared about such a display. But I was already stricken with frayed nerves. Then Steve, who is kind to all humans and creatures, sweetly and calmly answered, "Yes, we're together." Then, she lost her mind, (just like I would have if the pharmacist hadn't been joking earlier). She started yelling, "I WAS JUST ASKING! YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO ACT LIKE THAT!" And on and on the old bat (obligatory bird reference--if you normally read this blog, then you get it.) went. Steve handles nutty people so gracefully. I'm not sure how or when he developed that skill, though I have some idea. He was a senior pastor in a Baptist church for 8 1/2 years.
So then the funny pharmacist called us over to another window, in order to escape the psychotic ramblings of Clown Face, and in a low, monotone voice, sarcastically began to ramble, "Welcome to our pharmacy. As you can see, we have lots of fun here. It's like this every night, from about 2-4. Crazy people are everywhere. There's no where else for them to go. It's either here, or Wawa. And Wawa makes them leave. So then they just have HERE. We have a great time." Then he said to Steve, "I really wish you would stay. We could use a guy like you around here. We really need a bouncer. I know you could handle it." ... "Are you sure you have to leave?" "Oh, and your insurance isn't gonna pay for this Ambien. It's $20 a pill."...
So I bought 2 pills. I was surprised he considered us to be the normal people, since moments earlier I'd been all, "JUST GIVE ME THE DRUGS!!!"
On the way out of the pharmacy, I popped one of those dissolvable, sleep-promising babies under my tongue, and then quickly realized it was already disintegrating, and tasted horrible, and I wasn't gonna be able to talk. So I said, "Oh no, Steve! I can't talk now. I wanted to talk to you on the way home.. and sing." which came out all garbled. "That's ok, Amy. Just sleep now." And he reached over to close my eyes by wiping my face in a downward motion. Very funny, Steve. And then he got to enjoy boring silence for the whole ride home. I hated it.
Once we were home, the new ambien failed to work, and I stayed awake for most of the weekend anyway. So all of that happened for nothing.
I know some people don't really enjoy my prescription drug humor, with the "percs" references or sleeping pill amusements, but I'd rather laugh about fun side effects, than focus on the negative ones, or cry about the reason I need them. And my personality... it doesn't come from a pill. This is allllll me.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Shark Bait OOH-HA-HA and Other Tales from a Carolina Vacation
I wrote the following, months ago, but I didn't get it posted because my kids were home all day for the Summer. The weird cartoons blowing up my tv, fighting, and extreme noise made my brain stop working. So you're getting this now. And frankly, it's not my best work, but whatever.
In late June, we departed from Jersey, for a big, fat Carolina vacation. We visited family in eastern NC, and then the kids finally got to see their closest friends in SC, whom they'd not seen in a year.
Days later, we went to the Wilds Christian camp, which is tucked into the mountains of NC. NC mountains... pretty to look at, but kinda scary. Then we met up with the youth group from our church in Jersey, and we began our stay as sponsors for the week. I'd not stayed at the Wilds for about 10 years, so it was kind of exciting to be back. The only thing I really dreaded was meals, because I don't eat "camp" food or any kind of mysterious meat. And I've seen what a bunch of Baptists will do to save money. But I was strong and brave. And I showed up for dinner the first night.
I don't know when they started cramming 10 adults to one table on that warm, humid porch of the dining hall, but I sat there with my elbows tucked and my entire shoulder to elbow, touching the men on each side of me. Now, one of them was my husband so that was ok and all, but the other one was a total stranger. Then the power went out. At first I didn't think there was any reason to panic because it was daylight still, and I figured it would come back on in a minute. So the ceiling fans silently whirled a few final times, delivering their last fleeting moments of relief, and I sat there touching these men while trying to contort my arms in a way that would lead the last of my pizza towards my mouth without someone taking an elbow to the face. Once the meal was over I said, "I'm never going in there again. I'd rather starve."
So hours passed, and we endured the Summer heat, without power. We hadn't even brought a flashlight. We flopped onto the bed that we'd not put sheets on yet, and began to spiral into negative delusions, caused completely by the torturous heat. Here's a few statements/questions I can remember:
"I hate the Wilds."
"I hate this hard bed."
"I hate no power."
"I hate camp."
"I hate the dining hall."
"Why do they want us to suffer?"
"Even when the lights were on, I didn't like them. They were too bright."
"I hate the toilet paper."
Then I suggested that we put sheets on the bed while we could still see how to do it, but Steve said he didn't want to get up, so he'd just go outside later and turn the headlights on, and they'd shine into the room, providing a beacon of light over the bed, and then we'd make the bed. And then I laughed hysterically at his procrastination.
Meanwhile, over in the kids' dorms, we had no idea how the kids were doing, but later learned that some of the campers didn't have running water. Elizabeth's group had to bathe in the stream that night, and she was terrified because of her fear of sharks.. Yes, you just read that. My kids have always made fun of my weird phobias, not understanding that crazy is genetic. Now Elizabeth is getting a taste of her own genes.
The night grew dark on that isolated Carolina mountain, both literally and figuratively. When the power finally came back on, we were exceedingly happy! And our outlook changed completely, until we found out that the outage, involving 3 counties, was caused by a snake that slithered into a transformer, causing major damage, and another outage was expected for further repair. So we lived in fear after that, but thankfully they never had to shut it off again. The rest of the week was awesome, except for having to drive 40 minutes into town, every single day, to avoid starvation. I actually like the Wilds, but next year I will take a grill, slow cooker, cutting board, knife, toaster oven, and small refrigerator. And Steve's completely on board with this because he's slowly turning into me. He says I've ruined him.
So after a week of mountain fun, spiritual growth, and intense suffering, we were headed to Myrtle Beach. All the way from the mountains to the coast, the kids filled our heads with all of their wild stories of fun, misery, and one particular "psychotic" counselor. The heat wave that swept across the country was upon us, and I was ready to be neck deep in the ocean.
From the moment we arrived, Noah harrassed us about visiting Ripley's Aquarium for the 497th time. It's always the same, but he feels that it will offer him new excitement with each and every visit. And sure enough, the highlight of our entire trip happened at the aquarium. Elizabeth timidly stepped onto the moving sidewalk thing that takes you into the tunnel, underneath the massive tank of sharks. And then it happened. This is a story I wouldn't even tell if there had not been several witnesses. Midway through that jawsome sidewalk ride, one of the sharks slowly drifted by Elizabeth, then turned back, looked her square in the eye, and snapped it's mighty tooth-lined jaws at her! 3 times! I'm not saying it charged the glass or anything, but I think it wanted to scare her! Can sharks sense fear, through like a foot of acrylic? It was so epic! Needless to say, she was quite relieved when the sidewalk spit her out on the other end. Here's a few pics of her experience.
Later, in the ocean, some big fish bumped into my leg. It could've been a shark, but who knows? I screamed and attempted high speed underwater running/swimming/flailing, but it didn't scare me enough to get out. I still played in the waves, and watched the seagulls diving for fish all afternoon. I actually think sunscreen is far more dangerous than ocean life. It gives you a false sense of security and then you lay on the beach all day like an idiot, and leave looking like an angry lobster. It's hard to be a white girl.
And lest you think I'm crazy for suggesting that a shark could have touched me, check out this picture taken by my friend, Becky, in the exact same location, the day after we left. A few seconds later, the lifeguard cleared the people out of the water. I always miss out on all the cool stuff like this. *Cue the Jaws music*
On one of our last nights at the beach, I woke up around 4 am and listened to the soothing sound of a gentle rain coming down on the roof of our travel trailer. Then I heard thunder and began to worry. Perhaps you remember what happened last time we were at the beach? Our canopy and lights were still out, just like that fateful stormy night. I wondered if I should wake Steve. I grabbed my phone and got a weather update. "Myrtle Beach: Some Thunder in the area," which sounded like absolutely nothing, so I assumed everything would be fine. About 15 minutes later, lightning was flashing every single second, hard rain was pounding on the roof, the camper was shaking, and the awning was popping up. Steve woke up, flew out of bed (he remembered his shorts this time), and our entire family had to get up and deal with the storm. We went back to bed around 5. Thank you, phone weather people.
We made another overnight visit to my hometown, and my Mama had picked up some fresh Dixie Lee peas for me to take home. Hooray! That's my favorite vegetable in the whole world! Then we ate a lot of pulled pork ("BBQ" if you're a North Carolinian) before leaving for Jersey. It was not hard to return to our Jersey life of new friends, and where I can get an organic burger from Elevation Burger, or a real cheese steak from Tony Luke's in nearby Philly. Or just go hang out at the shore.
In late June, we departed from Jersey, for a big, fat Carolina vacation. We visited family in eastern NC, and then the kids finally got to see their closest friends in SC, whom they'd not seen in a year.
Days later, we went to the Wilds Christian camp, which is tucked into the mountains of NC. NC mountains... pretty to look at, but kinda scary. Then we met up with the youth group from our church in Jersey, and we began our stay as sponsors for the week. I'd not stayed at the Wilds for about 10 years, so it was kind of exciting to be back. The only thing I really dreaded was meals, because I don't eat "camp" food or any kind of mysterious meat. And I've seen what a bunch of Baptists will do to save money. But I was strong and brave. And I showed up for dinner the first night.
I don't know when they started cramming 10 adults to one table on that warm, humid porch of the dining hall, but I sat there with my elbows tucked and my entire shoulder to elbow, touching the men on each side of me. Now, one of them was my husband so that was ok and all, but the other one was a total stranger. Then the power went out. At first I didn't think there was any reason to panic because it was daylight still, and I figured it would come back on in a minute. So the ceiling fans silently whirled a few final times, delivering their last fleeting moments of relief, and I sat there touching these men while trying to contort my arms in a way that would lead the last of my pizza towards my mouth without someone taking an elbow to the face. Once the meal was over I said, "I'm never going in there again. I'd rather starve."
So hours passed, and we endured the Summer heat, without power. We hadn't even brought a flashlight. We flopped onto the bed that we'd not put sheets on yet, and began to spiral into negative delusions, caused completely by the torturous heat. Here's a few statements/questions I can remember:
"I hate the Wilds."
"I hate this hard bed."
"I hate no power."
"I hate camp."
"I hate the dining hall."
"Why do they want us to suffer?"
"Even when the lights were on, I didn't like them. They were too bright."
"I hate the toilet paper."
Then I suggested that we put sheets on the bed while we could still see how to do it, but Steve said he didn't want to get up, so he'd just go outside later and turn the headlights on, and they'd shine into the room, providing a beacon of light over the bed, and then we'd make the bed. And then I laughed hysterically at his procrastination.
Meanwhile, over in the kids' dorms, we had no idea how the kids were doing, but later learned that some of the campers didn't have running water. Elizabeth's group had to bathe in the stream that night, and she was terrified because of her fear of sharks.. Yes, you just read that. My kids have always made fun of my weird phobias, not understanding that crazy is genetic. Now Elizabeth is getting a taste of her own genes.
The night grew dark on that isolated Carolina mountain, both literally and figuratively. When the power finally came back on, we were exceedingly happy! And our outlook changed completely, until we found out that the outage, involving 3 counties, was caused by a snake that slithered into a transformer, causing major damage, and another outage was expected for further repair. So we lived in fear after that, but thankfully they never had to shut it off again. The rest of the week was awesome, except for having to drive 40 minutes into town, every single day, to avoid starvation. I actually like the Wilds, but next year I will take a grill, slow cooker, cutting board, knife, toaster oven, and small refrigerator. And Steve's completely on board with this because he's slowly turning into me. He says I've ruined him.
 |
| Elizabeth on the big horrifying swing. |
 |
| Noah, soaking wet. |
 |
| Think "Deliverance" |
So after a week of mountain fun, spiritual growth, and intense suffering, we were headed to Myrtle Beach. All the way from the mountains to the coast, the kids filled our heads with all of their wild stories of fun, misery, and one particular "psychotic" counselor. The heat wave that swept across the country was upon us, and I was ready to be neck deep in the ocean.
From the moment we arrived, Noah harrassed us about visiting Ripley's Aquarium for the 497th time. It's always the same, but he feels that it will offer him new excitement with each and every visit. And sure enough, the highlight of our entire trip happened at the aquarium. Elizabeth timidly stepped onto the moving sidewalk thing that takes you into the tunnel, underneath the massive tank of sharks. And then it happened. This is a story I wouldn't even tell if there had not been several witnesses. Midway through that jawsome sidewalk ride, one of the sharks slowly drifted by Elizabeth, then turned back, looked her square in the eye, and snapped it's mighty tooth-lined jaws at her! 3 times! I'm not saying it charged the glass or anything, but I think it wanted to scare her! Can sharks sense fear, through like a foot of acrylic? It was so epic! Needless to say, she was quite relieved when the sidewalk spit her out on the other end. Here's a few pics of her experience.
Later, in the ocean, some big fish bumped into my leg. It could've been a shark, but who knows? I screamed and attempted high speed underwater running/swimming/flailing, but it didn't scare me enough to get out. I still played in the waves, and watched the seagulls diving for fish all afternoon. I actually think sunscreen is far more dangerous than ocean life. It gives you a false sense of security and then you lay on the beach all day like an idiot, and leave looking like an angry lobster. It's hard to be a white girl.
And lest you think I'm crazy for suggesting that a shark could have touched me, check out this picture taken by my friend, Becky, in the exact same location, the day after we left. A few seconds later, the lifeguard cleared the people out of the water. I always miss out on all the cool stuff like this. *Cue the Jaws music*
On one of our last nights at the beach, I woke up around 4 am and listened to the soothing sound of a gentle rain coming down on the roof of our travel trailer. Then I heard thunder and began to worry. Perhaps you remember what happened last time we were at the beach? Our canopy and lights were still out, just like that fateful stormy night. I wondered if I should wake Steve. I grabbed my phone and got a weather update. "Myrtle Beach: Some Thunder in the area," which sounded like absolutely nothing, so I assumed everything would be fine. About 15 minutes later, lightning was flashing every single second, hard rain was pounding on the roof, the camper was shaking, and the awning was popping up. Steve woke up, flew out of bed (he remembered his shorts this time), and our entire family had to get up and deal with the storm. We went back to bed around 5. Thank you, phone weather people.
We made another overnight visit to my hometown, and my Mama had picked up some fresh Dixie Lee peas for me to take home. Hooray! That's my favorite vegetable in the whole world! Then we ate a lot of pulled pork ("BBQ" if you're a North Carolinian) before leaving for Jersey. It was not hard to return to our Jersey life of new friends, and where I can get an organic burger from Elevation Burger, or a real cheese steak from Tony Luke's in nearby Philly. Or just go hang out at the shore.
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| But I can't get this.. |
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