The Legend of the Traveling Turd Pants

Ok, so I wrote this first part days ago.  Because that's totally not even where I am right now.  Not that it matters.
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As we head South on I-85, the sun is shining and it's a really beautiful, sweltering hot day in the glorious Carolinas.  In fact, we're about to pass the water tower which our family affectionately refers to as the "peach butt," as I type.  I feel a flood of mixed emotions as we get closer to the place we called home for almost 9 years.

Our daughter's gonna visit some friends for a few days, and I'm gonna stop at a roadside stand and buy some fresh, juicy SC peaches. Then we're headed to the Wilds.. which made me start thinking about the infamous brown pants I wrote about last year, which sadly have mysteriously disappeared since..  Some of my friends will remember having read this before, but this is the first time this story has appeared on my blog.  It's an old favorite of mine.  Enjoy...
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The Legend of the Traveling Turd Pants

Well, it's that time of year again. Elizabeth says her annual trip to The Wilds Christian camp is how she survives in this world. It's her vacation from us. She comes home refreshed, and ready to face another hard year in the Wise household. Without it, she believes her mental state would deteriorate. For us, it's another thing entirely.

It all started one year, when Elizabeth didn't have the clothing she needed for camp. She had outgrown her summer attire from the previous year, so a shopping trip became necessary. The Wilds requires that kids wear knee length shorts that are reasonably loose fitting. So we drove to the mall, and a I knew the night would be long. Teen stores, like American Eagle and Hollister, and junior departments would not be the place to find this Wilds-appropriate apparel. I suggested the misses dept at Belk. From there, things would only go quickly downhill.

"Ok, Elizabeth, there are racks and racks of long shorts and capri pants. Have at it." ...... But she was all, "These clothes look like vomit." And I was all, "They do not. There's some perfectly good stuff here." And she was all, "I hate everything. It looks like old people." and blah, blah. I said, "Well I shop in this dept..." Soon the hideous clothing was hanging in the dressing room and the trying on was underway. She actually liked one thing, which seemed to make the ugly purchases go a little smoother.

So the next day, she began to assemble outfits, and pointed out the extreme horribleness of one particular pair of brown pants. Now there was nothing at all wrong with these pants, but in her mind, they were well below her standards for appropriate style. Now, if she had been more cooperative the night before, and even once suggested that I'm a great mom, and I'd found the perfect camp clothes, but perhaps this one pair of pants just wasn't right for her, then I wouldn't have bought what would soon become known as the "turd pants." But now, they're here, camp is only days away, the tags were already removed, so she owned the pants.

Now, I wasn't born yesterday, so I knew the likely fate of these pants. She would pack them, they would visit the Wilds, but they would never actually see the light of day. She would just double up on something else, and go around dirty for a day. In fact, there was a great chance she would wear the ONE pair she liked, every single day.

So in the days that followed, there would be many wise cracks about the turd pants, and their insane awfulness, and I began to sense that I had completely wasted money on turd pants. So, we declared that the required outfit for day one of camp, would be the turd pants. It was the only way we could be sure we would get our money's worth out of these pants. She would wear them in the car, we would drop her off, and she would wear them for at least 5 minutes at the Wilds. She thought this would be a totally embarrassing way to begin a week of camp and meeting people, but we had to be sure that the turd pants were used, so, this was the way it had to be.

I still remember the green shirt that was paired with the turd pants. She looked amazing. So we dropped her off, screamed, "WE LOVE YOU, ELIZABETH!!!!" and gave her many dramatic hugs as the others looked on. And that was how the tradition of the traveling turd pants began. From that day forth, we have forced her to wear the turd pants for the ride there, and drop off, which brings us to today.

Today, the packing and preparing for her annual pilgrimage to the Wilds, her camp of sanity, began. And the turd pants were brought out, dusted off, and prepared for the trip. I suggested she try on all the pants/shorts to make sure they still fit. Moments later, she emerged from her room, all decked out in turd pants. She walked by and these pants looked terrible. They were WAY too small. "Oh... you've finally outgrown the faithful turd pants." But something didn't seem right. There was a twinkle in her eye... a mischievous smile on her face. Suddenly Steve says, "Lift the bottom of your shirt." She nearly died laughing and revealed that she'd hiked them up to her ribs and cinched them tightly with a belt. The reality was, the turd pants still fit. The tradition will live on. I just can't decide if Sunday should be the day of the turd pants, or Monday, when they'll actually arrive at camp...

The Turd Pants

Fire On the Poop Deck!

"I feel like we live in a mansion." -Elizabeth


It's been almost a year since we sold our beautiful home in SC, and moved to a small condo in NJ.  A couple of weeks ago, we began the move to a house, in another town.  We're super excited because it's really hard to find a house for rent in NJ, for under $2,000 a month, that's not gross, and allows you to have pets.  And we're just not ready to buy anything up here yet.  I was afraid the kids wouldn't like the new place, because they actually had huge bedrooms at the condo, but even they appreciate the roomy kitchen and extra living space.  And we have a fenced backyard now, so I can shove the dogs or kids outside and say, "Get some fresh air!"


Which is what I should have done before THIS happened:


The kids were running through the house, shooting each other with Nerf guns, when suddenly, there was a great commotion. Now, I don't ask a lot of questions about what goes on around here, because frankly, I don't want to know everything. But I was soon given some information about a Nerf dart floating hopelessly in the toilet.  I asked, "Who shot it into the toilet?"  And a quick confession flowed freely from Elizabeth's mouth.  So my response was, "She who shot it, gets it out," which I thought was gonna be the end of things, but then I heard there were further negotiations going on down the hall, which I was later told, went like this:  "Noah, you are gonna HAVE to get it out somehow, because there's NO WAY I'm putting my hands in your poop." (She's never gotten over accidentally grabbing one of his poops when they were in the bathtub, when they were little)  So the presence of poop was a detail I was unaware of.  She'd shot him while he was on the pot.  Who shoots a person mid-poo?  And if his little behind was covering the hole, how did it even get in there?  They explained that it happened during some process of ducking to escape the heavy rapid Nerf fire.  I know how terrifying foam can be.


Soon Elizabeth walked away, and all was quiet.  Noah went in for the dart.  I began to listen carefully, because  I know this child, and I knew to be ready for what would happen next.  One might would assume that once the dart was retrieved, that it went straight into the trash.  If you know Noah, you know that didn't happen.  Noah's not gonna throw a cheap toy away, just because it was swimming in feces. So then I was all, "Noah, throw the dart in the trash."  And he was all, "But why??  I washed it when I washed my hands." At least he thought to wash his hands.  With much effort, we finally got it into the trash, but I can't be certain that it didn't find it's way out, and back into the Nerf supply.  Elizabeth.. play at your own risk.


So the house is a 1969 ranch style home, which thankfully has been completely updated inside, though there's nothing I love more than a nice retro feel.  There is one wall that still has brown panelling on it.  I'm shocked by this, given how that's the only outdated thing here.  We may change that very soon but I'm gonna be sure and ask the owner first, because I've known some people who were very much attached to their faux wood wall products, as bizarre as that may seem.  And it would appear that there are no restrictions in this community because one of the neighbors doesn't like to cut their grass, and another still has Christmas lights up, so everyday we are in the Christmas spirit. "Why are you living this way, Amy?" you might ask. This is Jersey, baby!  We've actually talked about buying it, if the owner decides to sell, because we really like it! And you have no idea how much thought I've given to having a few strategically placed plastic pink flamingos on the front lawn.  The possibilities of how to decorate with them, throughout each season, are endless.  Imagine this:  Christmas comes, and I have pink flamingos in Santa hats, pulling a sleigh full of toys.  Or next to a lovely nativity scene. Also, they could hang out with Pedro the turkey, for Thanksgiving...  Guard nests of Easter eggs in the Spring...  And can't you just see them standing proudly next to a snowman in the Winter, wearing their little knitted hats and scarves?  They'd be that perfect pop of color on an otherwise rather monochromatic snowy day. It'd be like a tropical Alaska.  And I'm not joking.  If I find some, this will happen.  I've spent too many years living in stuffy, snotty-pot neighborhoods with tons of ridiculous rules.  Now I'm free to have trailer park plastic birds, and out of season decorations, and I intend to make the most of it.  And fourth of July is coming... how about flamingos with bunting strung from beak to beak??  Recently, I heard on the news that you can defend yourself with a plastic flamingo, by attempting to impale a bad guy with it's wiry legs.  At least that's what somebody tried. I can't imagine this need arising, but it does seem nice that these birds pull double duty as decor, and a weapon.


Before we could move in, we were forced to paint, mainly because Noah's room was hot pink, with flowers.  So he chose a lovely shade of green, which he matched up to his stuffed alligator "Bob's" eyeball color, but our friend Dan realized it was also exactly the color of the Grinch.  So now we call it the Grinch room, which doesn't make Noah really happy but that's what happens when you insist on a freakishly green room.  And Noah kinda IS a grinch.. Then Steve told me he wanted our room to be brown, so I excitedly chose brown paint, and then they painted, and then I found out that brown was NOT what he wanted, but after seeing it on the wall, he liked it.  So I was all, "Wait... You said you WANTED it brown!  You're the reason it's brown."  And he was all, "I meant brown like we had in SC." .... "You mean, a medium tan???"  But now we both really love the brown, and I think it's also important to mention, the shade was called "Wild turkey."  Clearly, it was meant to be. It looks like really dark chocolate milk, and you can't go wrong with that. And with the wall being brown, and the duvet cover being black and ivory, I decided I should bring in some color-- which I knew could be accomplished using bright pillows and PAPER LANTERNS.

Steve should probably learn to describe colors the way I do, as in these recent descriptions I gave to others about rooms in the house:

"Our bathroom is a muted limish sagey color."

"For the kitchen I chose a very soft 1950s seafoam green, because I like it, and because I thought it might remind me of the ocean, though it may be a little green for that. But it's very  soothing.  The lemon yellow that was there made my eyes and brain hurt."

"E's room is now a very dark plum, grapish color.  Her zebra and pinks will pop beautifully."

"The garage is the scariest green I have ever seen."

See, I bet you can totally visualize all of those colors.

 
So anyway, we got everything painted already, except for the garage.  I just won't go in there for now. And since I sold my dining room furniture to some morons before we left SC, we're gonna put our black-light foosball table in the dining room, because that's how awesome we are.  I have the rest of my life to get new furniture, but my kids will only be young for a little while longer.

I used the worst camera ever to take these, but notice the neutral... neutral... neutral, then BAM! Red on the ceiling!  I'm still working on finding some pillows.

And here you can see the green one too.  And they're not actually made of paper.  It's some kind of material. I'm gonna put flameless candles with timers inside them.  Genius.  You're welcome, Steve.

Dude, Where's My Pants?? And Other Reasons You'd Never Want To Travel With Our Family

Years ago, it was determined that when a vent cover on top of our travel trailer needs replacing, that it was my job to do it because I weigh less.  They seem to last a couple of years, and then one day, one of the three will just blow off while going down the highway.  So the night before our Spring break trip, as our camper sat illegally parked outside of our condo, a mere few hours before we were to leave for glorious Myrtle Beach, SC, Steve realized that one had blown off.  We didn't have a replacement cover, nor did we have a camping supply store in our area, and there was rain in the overnight forecast.  It was late.  It was cold.  We were tired.  So then we were gonna duct tape some plastic over it, but we couldn't even seem to round up a measly roll of stinkin' tape.  So I just went inside and covered the bunk beds beneath the hole with vinyl table cloths and said, "Let's forget it and go to bed."


And the next morning, we were off. We think we pulled out before the blonde shrew, who stomps around clutching a clipboard, monitoring everyone's activity in our condo community, was any the wiser.  Of course it rained all the way to the South, because that's what happens when you have an open hole on top of your camper, with bedding protected by vinyl tablecloths that you didn't even secure.  But it didn't matter, because soon, we'd be surrounded by warm sand and salty air.  Six or seven hours later we stopped in my hometown, Wilson, NC, for some delicious food from Parker's Barbecue, and had a short visit with family.  I ate an obscene amout of corn sticks, FRIED CHICKEN, and pulled pork, all while sucking down the best sweet tea in America.  A short while later, we were at Myrtle Beach!

The next morning, I found myself on top of the camper, trying to install the wrong vent cover, which Steve had just purchased.  Eternity passed, and then Steve finally believed me that it wasn't gonna work, and he hopped into the golf car, and was headed back to the RV supply place to get the right one-- something he'd have to do a couple more times!  I just stayed up there and took a few pictures in between attempts to attach incorrect vent covers.  It was actually a lot of fun!  And people stared a me like I was some crazy person who hangs out on top of trailers, but I didn't care because it was the most beautiful day ever.

Then Steve and our daughter thought it would be a good idea to let her drive the golf car, eventhough she is unlicensed and underage.  I was opposed, as was Noah.  For me it was because I'm not into breaking the law. For Noah, it's more about seeing to it that his sister is never happy. So we were riding around and then an Ocean Lakes security lady jumped out at us from no where, doing a random license check.  So of course we got in big trouble, fined, and almost lost our driving priviledges for the rest of the week.  I tried to at least look like I didn't know the rules, but Steve, as always, was all, "Yes, we knew we weren't supposed to."  Kinda like when he was pulled months ago and he responded, "Yes officer, I was speeding so I could get to breakfast before they stopped serving."


The next day, the need to leave the campground was forced upon us when my dippy dogs ran out of food.  So as we were leaving the pool, Steve said he wanted to go take a quick shower before we left, and that turned out to be the best decision in the history of evers.  A few minutes later, I'm sitting inside the camper, complaining about some flu-like symptoms, and then I heard, "BOOM!"  We looked outside and saw our dining canopy, which had been staked into the ground, had lifted up, hit our camper, and our son was out there holding tightly onto one leg of it.  So Steve immediately ran outside without realizing that the only thing between him and the rest of Ocean Lakes Family Campground was a thin pair of charcoal gray boxer briefs.  I guess it wasn't a really big deal considering it was the beach, where there is often a sighting of old men in speedos and women in unfortunate swimsuit choices.  Moments later, the door swings open and he says, "I NEED PANTS," and he quickly jumped into some shorts.  And then shouted something like, "All hands on deck!"  And I'm annoyed at this point because I'm convinced he hates me because I feel like flu and he's making me go outside to help with a stupid dining canopy. So I grumbled something and made my way over to the door and then realized I couldn't open the door!  The wind was pushing it closed.  So I finally got out there and that's when I found out we were experiencing a crisis.  The sun was shining, there was hardly a cloud in the sky, but we were having some sort of freak wind event.  Now it was lifting our awning, which is bad news because if the wind flips it over, it's destroyed.  So Elizabeth was hanging onto it for dear life, and it lifted her off the ground.  I'm telling you, she was flapping in the breeze like a pair of frilly bloomers hung out on the line on a sunny afternoon!  Strangers ran over to help us, including a man who was just passing by on a bicycle. Then the wind actually blew me backwards a few feet! Finally Steve had the now warped, and slightly torn awning rolled up and safe from further damage. So we finished working on the dining canopy, removing broken lights from it, and got it all put away. We had broken glass everywhere, and Elizabeth and I had some cuts on our hands so we were all, "I'M BLEEDING!  AAAAAGGGGHHHH!"  Luckily, we had some Spongebob band aids on hand.  We started taking a first aid kit on vacations, years ago, after Noah entered our lives.


My new awning lights that I'd asked for, for Christmas, were on the ground and the 60 watt bulbs inside each globe were broken.  But I was happy that the fixture and globes had all survived.  I didn't know at the time that the dining canopy had crashed into them, causing them to fall to the ground.  We were blessed that our damage wasn't any worse, because many of our neighbors did lose their awnings and dining tents.  One even flew over top of the campers.  Also the kids had begged us to inflate "Pedro" the Thanksgiving turkey, because they'd missed him and thought the comedic value of a 6 foot illuminated Thanksgiving turkey on our campsite for Spring break would bring them much joy.  So all I could think about that night was how glad I was that we'd not gotten around to setting him up yet because I'm sure he would have gone airborne and campers would have been shouting, "Look!  It's a bird, it's a plane, ...it IS a bird!" just before it took out some children or something.  There are probably few things more terrifying than seeing a giant gobbler, wearing a pilgrim hat, coming straight at your face, from the sky.  And possibly we would have never seen him again, even if he'd survived.


And the new vent cover was now laying on the ground..

The next day we sat on the beach and observed children playing and swimming in a drainage pool which was surrounded by signs that read, "Do not swim. Dangerous Bacteria."  But they were having a great time collecting all the zillions of dead jellyfish that had washed up that night, which Noah had claimed to spot when he was swimming in the ocean the day before, but we just assumed he was crazy. So these unruly kids were dumping them into the drainage pool so that as the afternoon passed, more children would come along, jump into that filthy water, and stand on jellyfish.  I wanted to hit the nonchalant parents.

That night, Steve put the awning back out, hung the newly-bulbed lights, and we grilled out-- NY Strip, shrimp, grilled onions and peppers, and sweet potatoes.  Everything was delicious. He asked what I'd prefer he do about leaving the awning out overnight and I said, "Oh Steve, please leave it out!  I like to see the pretty, colorful lights while I'm sleeping.  Later on, I'll check the weather forecast for overnight."


Around 3 am, we were awakened by a sudden, loud clash of lightning.  I heard Steve express some unhappiness as he sprang out of bed, and out the door... in his underwear.. again...  What we have now, my friends, is a HABIT.  I just lay there thinking about how this could lead to us joining a weird colony of people who sell off all their clothing and live life covered only by simple undergarments. I guess it's a good thing I still have a gift card to that underwear store in the mall.  I've been holding out for the next semi-annual sale. Soon the lights were snatched down, the awning rolled up, and a rain-saturated husband returned.  I pretended to be asleep, hoping to avoid the subject of how I'd promised to check the weather forecast.


The next day, we plopped down in the sand near some people who were enjoying some 70s tunes.  There's a song, "If You Leave Me Now" by Chicago, which for reasons that are not entirely understood by us, is REALLY annoying to Elizabeth.  So now, Steve and I are known to start singing it, "Ooooooo no, baby please don't go!"♫  I guess we go a little off-key on the oooooos and become major embarrassments.  I really don't even know what started it all, as this is not our typical genre.  So anyway, it was playing on the beach, and this free spirited, full-figured, older woman, who was apparently concerned about developing tan lines, started dancing and singing, obviously reliving some 1970s happy moments.  Also, half of the humans sprawled out along the sandy shore joined in.  Sadly, Elizabeth wasn't with us, which was really a crying shame.  When we filled her in on the epic beach moment she shouted, "Thank you, Jesus, I wasn't there!"  I really think she overreacts.  You can't beat a bright, sunny day with crashing waves, soaring seagulls, deteriorating jellyfish, colorful kites and beach umbrellas, and confident, overweight people who unexpectedly break into song and dance.  I was exactly where I wanted to be.

The next day we went to my favorite zoo, "Alligator Adventures." Reptiles are hilarious to me, and I especially love the giant galapogos tortoises. Sometimes they will come to you and reach towards you and let you pet them. But they were horribly rude that day. I was all, "Hey you tortoises!  Come see me."  They just stood there, motionless, and looked at me. I even went back to them later, hoping they'd had a change of heart, but then one of them just walked away, and went inside. It's been my dream, for years, to own one. I would put it in the backyard and name him "Teeny Tortellini." I would build TT a house and you can even paint their shell, which I already know, would be bubblegum pink with glued on faux jewels. And he wouldn't even care that he's sparkly and has girl colors because he's a tortoise. I'd have to make him a big salad everyday, but I already do that for our pet lizard. Then Elizabeth and I touched a giant crocodile named, "Utan," that you're not supposed to touch but we found a way to do it anyway.  I'm not scared of him because I've been visiting him for years, and he never does anything at all.  He's pretty lazy and boring, really.  Then they do a show and you get to touch alligators and snakes.  So we got to pet a constrictor named, "Victoria."


One night, we planned to go to dinner with our friends, Tommy and Christy, whom we'd not seen in over a year!  They were 2 campgrounds down from us.  So we met at Broadway at the Beach and spent a couple of hours talking, laughing, and stuffing our faces at a restaurant, and then spent a couple more hours lingering outside.  They have little kids who are amazing because they were so good and were happily entertained all night by the fun of balloon animals.  My kids, at that age, would have been prostrate on the floor, consumed by delusions of horror.  We were so happy to spend time together.  But eventually Steve said we had to leave because he wanted some ice cream.  The only way to separate Christy and me, is to physically pull us apart, and walk us in opposite directions.  And that's basically what happened.

The tall one is mine.

We were sad to leave the beach, but on Saturday we were back in Wilson, eating delicious barbecue one last time, and we attended a memorial service for my Uncle Johnny.  I miss him. He was one of the funniest people I ever knew.

Here are a few pics from our trip.  Mostly birds, because birds are so awesome.

Elizabeth and the balloon hat.

Cruising at the campground.

And now I leave you with this, dedicated to our daughter, Elizabeth.

The Weekend We Went Zen

Sometimes I think I live to make my husband crazy.

On February 4th, we celebrated 17 years of wedded bliss.  I can only imagine what an eternity this must seem like to Steve, given my ways and all.  And for some reason, he gave me free reign in planning a little anniversary weekend getaway.  For some time now, I've had a great curiousity concerning Bed & Breakfasts.  I thought going to a stranger's home, and staying there, along with other strangers, sounded like a wonderfully horrific idea.  So a week or so before the anniversary, I was googling B&Bs, looking for a good place to visit.  Every single picture I saw online, totally freaked me out.  From hideous wallpaper, to rooms filled with teddy bears, and lace, and doilies, and dolls, ... and GHOSTS, they all looked like my worst nightmare.  Seriously, google haunted B&Bs.  There's a whole website dedicated to it.  Many of them proudly advertise their hauntedness.

Then I came across a place in the Poconos that was modern, beautiful, and non-ghost infested.  They had a whole New Age/Zen vibe, and offered yoga, health-food breakfasts, and organic sheets.  Now, if you don't know my husband, let me just say, Steve and some of the things I just mentioned go together about as well as chainsaws and tree huggers.  But it looked awesome, so I booked it.  And over the next several days, I would slowly break it to him how there was no tv in the rooms, no shoes allowed, breakfast at the same table with strangers, and a special departure ritual of some sort.  But, it was within a stone's throw of a ski resort, so that's why he didn't kill me. Then 2 days before we left, Steve came down with some weird virus that covers you in hives.  I might have been suspicious of this sudden onset of illness, but everybody knows you can't fake hives.  (FYI- That was a joke.  I would NEVER EVER question someone who says they're sick.) He said we could still go if I wanted to, but I really didn't want to take an itchy man to the Poconos. 


The trouble was, we'd already given them our credit card info, and cancellations were not allowed within 10 days of the reservation.  But I sent them this email:  "We are scheduled to arrive on Friday, but my husband has come down with a contagious virus that causes your whole body to be covered in itchy, painful hives.  I need to know what you want us to do.  If we still have to pay, we're still coming."  Within 5 minutes the lady called and said, "Don't come. You can have your money."  So we rescheduled.

We decided to go to the Melting Pot for our anniversary, which was in downtown Philly.  And Steve, of course, said we were taking my car, "Cherry Pie" because he doesn't like for his truck, "The Black Pearl" to go into the city because he remembers what happened on 4th of July when people were throwing icies at our car, and beer bottles were flying by our heads.  He says it's just because traffic is bad and lanes are narrow. So it was $5 to cross the bridge, $30 to park, the meal, and the terror of downtown Philly.  And let me just say, if I'd been driving in the traffic we encountered, I would have pulled over and started crying.  If I'd been alone, I would have also called 9-1-1.

Once inside the restaurant, I wasn't happy with our table, and asked if we could have one of the "cozy tables" and they said you have to request the cozy tables when you make your reservation, but I didn't even know there were icky tables and cozy tables, until we were there.  I explained how in Greenville, SC, all of the tables were cozy, so we'd never had to specify which one when making our reservation. So they did some checking, and managed to get us in to one of the good tables.  Then they brought us some champagne, and we said we don't drink, so then they brought us sparkling apple juice, in a champagne flute, garnished with a strawberry, which looked exactly the same as the champagne, so I laughed about how people who love to spread rumors about our family missed the photo op of a lifetime.  We'd been there 5 minutes, and had already been extremely high maintenance.  They were super nice though, and when I didn't like the mushrooms inside the raviolis, they brought me some different ones.  And I didn't even say I don't like gross mushrooms, but they sensed it.  Steve says I make faces sometimes when I don't even realize I'm making faces.

So finally, last weekend, we made it to the Poconos.  I think we drove straight up a mountain to get to the B&B, in darkness and rain, and once inside, we couldn't find any other human beings.  So we just stood there, sock-footed, and waited for something to happen.  And Steve chose that day to wear mismatched socks.. It was one of those eery moments where you think everyone's been killed, or all the humans of earth have disappeared or something. Finally a lady came out and showed us to our room. And then she was gone, and where she was now, was a mystery.  Hours later I got thirsty and started wandering down the hall, to an upstairs fridge she'd told us about. I couldn't find any lights and I felt like a creep as I was standing right outside of someone's room, in total darkness.  If they had opened their door, I'm sure I would have dropped dead.  I could hear voices, and this was the first clue that there was other life inside the house.  I looked inside the fridge, but there was no water, only soda.  So then I told Steve I needed some bottled water from the truck, but I was too scared to go get it.  So he had to get out of bed, put those mismatched socks back on, go downstairs, put on shoes, get the water, then remove his shoes once he was back inside.  He happily did it because he's amazing.

Hours later, the sun was coming up over the mountain and I noticed you could see for miles down into the valley, and the Delaware River, from the large arched window. Some funny blue birds were frolicking in the trees, just outside. We got dressed as we nervously anticipated our breakfast with total strangers.  It was something we had feared.  We were sure, somehow, it would be very awkward.

So we quietly eased down the stairs and peeked around the corner, into the dining room.  That morning, the conservative Baptist preacher and his crazy wife, sat down next to a male couple from NY, and had a lovely breakfast of puff pancakes with real maple syrup, mixed fruit, yogurt, and granola.  No, the fruit wasn't on the pancakes.  It was served in a glass with the yogurt and granola- sort of a parfait thing.  And I think the B&B lady forced me to eat a second puff pancake.  She was really a high pressure puff pancake-pusher.

And then I told Steve about the Labyrinth.  The labyrinth was some stone formation that you walk through.  It goes on in circles, nearly forever, until you reach the center.  I think it's suppose to calm you, but I didn't find it very calming.  I think it's because we made fun of it, and Steve wanted to cheat by crossing the lines the whole time.  He said it was nothing more than "glorified pacing," which I have to agree is a pretty accurate assessment. We also had difficulty saying "labyrinth" so we made up a new name for it, which I'll just keep to myself.  Sometimes when something bad happens, or if I'm very unusually nervous about something, I like to pace- while praying, or just totally freaking out.  So an at-home labyrinth would be useful when that happens, but I think people would find it strange or think we have crop circles or something.  And then we'd attract weird alien abduction people.

And this was the reward for completing the labyrinth.  You could sit on this bench.

And then everyone left the B&B, and I started snooping through the house. I thought I was just opening a door in the yoga studio, but once I'd opened it, I realized it was a guest room.  Terrified, I closed the door and ran down some stairs!  But then it occurred to me that since no one yelled at me, it must have been a vacant room.  So then I went back up and opened the door a little.  "Hello?," I timidly spoke into the silence.  Again, no one yelled so I waltzed right in. It was beautiful, and WAY better than our room.  It even had an old fashion tub in the bedroom, for those who enjoy relaxing in a pool of tepid water, surrounded by their own floating filth. I'm totally asking for that one next time.

We brought our skiis, but it was almost 60 degrees that day, and rainy. So we drove down to the river, and went on a little hike instead.  There were signs about not feeding the bears so then I was really scared that bears were coming.  I was noticing dry ears of corn that had been nibbled on, next to a cornfield.  Then we saw a fresh poo.  We couldn't help but wonder what had pooped on the trail just minutes earlier.  And I picked up some corn for a free souvenir.

That night I wanted to go to a Thai restaurant that I'd read glowing reviews about.  We'd never had Thai food because we'd never had a good place to go.  The people at the B&B highly recommended this place.  So we went, and when they opened at 5:30 for dinner, people were lined up at the door, and cars started whipping into the parking lot, and we almost didn't get a table!  So we sat down and they brought some multicolored styrofoam looking things to the table and we weren't sure what they were for but then we heard people crunching so we realized it was edible.  I think maybe they were some kind of blown up rice, but whatever it was, it was not tasty.  Then Steve seemed to develop some anxiety, which I thought maybe was because he didn't do the Labyrinth right, but then, like an unskilled ventriloquist, he quietly said, "mmmnoook ooor yyrrr lt shurrdr."  "What??" "Look over your left shoulder."  Casually and slowly, I turned my head, pretending that I was admiring the artwork on the wall.  And then it happened..  Now, I've heard of the "crack of dawn" but this was the "crack of I-just-lost-my-appetite."  I'm not talking about pants that had slipped just a little below the equator. Inside that dimly lit Thai restaurant, there was a full moon shining brightly.  This man, who's jeans had apparently lost an epic battle with gravity when he lowered himself into a seated position, was exposing his entire gluteus region to the whole room. And then we started quietly "cracking" jokes. So many questions came to my mind, "Doesn't he own a belt?", "Doesn't he feel a draft?", "Are we gonna be able to eat?"  Because in the words of the late Whitney Houston, "Crack is whack." 

After we left the Thai restaurant, Steve drove to a McDonald's  drive thru for a double cheeseburger- a meat far more mysterious than anything he could have eaten at the Thai place.

 That night we watched a movie in our room, because they had these big screen dvd players and movies you could bring into your room.  Well they were actually tvs with built-in dvd players, but they just called them "dvd players" because I think maybe tvs were frowned upon. We snacked on cheesy popcorn and fudge we'd purchased that afternoon at a place called "Popcorn Buddha."  I don't know what popcorn has to do with Buddha, but this seemed to be a recurring theme in this small, rural, mountain town. Steve couldn't believe I'd ordered popcorn coated in a greasy, orange, processed cheese powdery substance, but sometimes cravings just come out of nowhere.  We were probably annoying, as we sampled nearly every fudge they had on display, except for the red velvet one, which looked delicious, but ever since I heard that red food dye is often made from bugs, I avoid it.  I'm not kidding.  Look it up.

Does this seem odd to anyone else?

So we had a good time in the Poconos.  What I liked most about the B&B is it didn't have that skeevy, germy feeling that you get at a hotel, and I could see the moon from my pillow. I liked their dog. Also, they decided to not make eggs, since I don't like them. What I disliked the most was the no shoe rule, shortage of washcloths, and the thermostat that controlled our room was located in the cold-natured guys' room down the hall.  We slept with the windows open. I look forward to going back someday, and staying in the way better room I found while snooping.  And hopefully we'll be able to skip out on the departure ritual, just like we did this time, since we had to leave very early.  Because frankly, that sounded weird.

The B&B

I sat at the yellow plate.  Not that it matters to anyone.

Window in our room.

All Because I Needed to Melt Some Chocolate

Days before Valentine's Day, I went into our local Wegman's grocery store to pick up some things and get an early start on finding the kind of chocolate I needed to make super delicious chocolate-dipped strawberries.  Wegman's is, without a doubt, the largest grocery store I've ever visited.  But it seems that since I moved up here I can never find some things because apparently grocers' ideas about where food should be positioned in a store is somehow altered if they're north of the Mason-Dixon line or something. Like garlic, though in the onion family, is sometimes with the tomatoes, and I just stand there, perplexed, in a sea of onions, wondering where on earth the garlic is.  Pine nuts are on the canned vegetable aisle- not with nuts.  The madness goes on and on.  So I checked in the strawberry section... no chocolate, except for some fondue, but it was all wrong.  For strawberry divineness, you must have the chips that you melt, and submerge the strawberry into, and then they solidify minutes later.  This is what makes the magic.  A bite into one of those juicy, chocolatey strawberries creates a taste bud explosion that is unmatched.  It's the pop of the chocolate, then the rush of sweet juiciness. I'm not sure why, but to me, Valentine's Day is synonymous with this whole pop and rush of strawberry.  It's like showing love to my mouth. ♥


So I wandered aimlessly around the store, as I often do, and never found it.  I began to worry that NJ didn't even know about this stuff, kinda like the Mount Olive sweet pickle relish crisis I experienced a while back.  So when I was checking out, I asked the cashier about the chocolate in question.  She knew exactly what I was talking about, and had just bought some in there recently.  It turns out, it's in the bulk candy section.  She told me she had no idea why they only put it there, and agreed that it should be next to the strawberries, for convenience for all the strawberry dippers out there.  I decided since I was already paying for the stuff she'd rung up, I'd just pick it up in a couple of days.  

It's important for you to know, that I'd never purchased anything in the bulk candy section of any store before. I can't stress this enough.  So please keep that in mind as this story continues to unfold.

Two days later, I was back.  We'd just come from church, and I was wearing high heels and needed to pick up a million things, it seemed.  I headed over to bulk candy, where I located the proper chocolates, and I was super stoked to realize they were available in dark chocolate, milk chocolate, and white chocolate, which they say isn't even really chocolate, but whatevs.  I bought some of each.  Having the freedom to scoop out the exact amount I wanted of each one made me feel as though I now possessed some great power. Then I bought other bulk candy items to give the kids for Valentine's Day, and some nuts, and some sprinkles, and some non pariels.  I didn't even know what a nonpareil was, but those sprinkle coated chocolates were about to complicate my life.


Soon I was in the checkout line, and things were moving so smoothly, until the 10 or so bags of bulk candy/nuts/pretzels had made their way down the conveyor belt.  Then there was mass confusion, and the speedy scanning came to a screeching halt.  There was a lot of weighing, then guessing going on.  And at one point, this poor incompetent guy asked if $2.00 was ok for the last 3 bags, total.  I agreed, but as we were walking out, I realized I'd been charged the nonpareil price, for the plain chocolates, which I remembered was a $3 difference per pound.  But before I said anything, I wanted to go back and confirm this was true, so as not to look like a big buffoon at the customer service counter.  Little did I know that ship had already sailed. So Steve loaded up the car, while I walked, or hobbled back to the candy section to pursue the big candy investigation.  My feet were screaming at me to just let it go and go home and convince Steve to give me a foot rub.   But I knew that I'd never know true peace until the chocolate/nonpareil mix up was resolved.


Moments later, I'm standing in customer service with bags and bags of candy, and I explained the whole hoopla about the candy-guessing at the register.  The receipt was such a mess, the guy couldn't even figure it out, so he refunded all the candy, and just started over.  Now, I knew what could happen..  It may turn out that I owe MORE.  And I did all of this just to have to fork out more money, but I didn't care.  I just wanted it to be right.  After 20 minutes of unringing up, and re-ringing up candies, another employee running to check a price, and all the refiguring, they owed me $10.25.  I felt it was well worth my effort to have a smart person fix it.  So I felt that I'd learned a valuable lesson about the bulk candy department-- write down the codes and attach to each product.. or just avoid those tempting, colorful bins of sugar-laden products altogether.

So then Valentine's Day was wonderful, and we ate a million strawberries.

Here's a couple of them that I was snacking on later.

A few days ago, I was back at Wegman's because I needed a bunch of stuff and Noah was begging for more yogurt dipped pretzels from bulk candies, which gave me anxiety.  So I'm shopping and feeling like a genius for easily locating some health food stuff I'd never bought before.  And then I returned to bulk candy..  While I was shoveling some sliced almonds into a bag, I happened to look up and saw a lady doing what appeared to be weighing stuff and punching numbers on a keypad.  What??  I'd not noticed this scale last time. As soon as she was gone, I eased over to it, hoping I'd just totally imagined the last couple of minutes, and sure enough, it's there so you can weigh your food, enter the item number, and it prints out a label to attach to your bag... Then I felt the stupid wash over me like a giant ocean wave on a summer day at the beach- only it wasn't refreshing and wonderful, and didn't leave me afraid that a crab would pinch my toe..

So here are the excuses I've made for myself, to make me feel less dumb:

1.  Steve was with me that night and he didn't notice either.  This is a big deal.  Steve is smarter than me, and has a freakishly creeptastic power of observation thing going on that most people don't even know about.  He's like that guy on that show "The Mentalist."  I jokingly call him a "mind reader," a term he probably doesn't enjoy. I should devote an entire blog post to this.  Though he mostly just uses this totally weird skill for predicting human behavior, he still pretty much knows what's going on around him. And Steve once worked in a grocery store, but they didn't have fancy shmancy contraptions like this.. 

2.  I'm still coming off of over 8 years of living in the backwoods of SC.  You can't just drop a country girl into the Philadelphia/South Jersey area and expect me to understand the intricasies of modern grocery shopping.  And if you live in SC, don't contact me and say, "Bilo and Ingles have those scales too!"  Just let me have this.

3.  Like I said before, I've never been in the bulk candy section before, of any store.  I can't emphasize this enough. And the one at Wegman's is big.  It would be easy to not notice a scale... or 2 scales...

You think it's SO noticeable?

Well what if you were standing HERE?  I see no scale.

But the real question here is, why didn't the cashier or the customer service people just say something like, "You know, moron, if you'd use the scale and print out a label, this wouldn't happen."??  Why aren't there signs on the candy bins that say, "Take your candy to the scale to avoid serious problems." ?

But through all of this, I discovered that I love buying from those bulk bins.  It's not just candy.  You can also buy many other foods- healthy foods.  It enables you to buy the amount you want and avoid the cost of packaging.  I will buy rice, nuts, grains, and whatever else this way from now on.

I hope everyone had a great Valentine's Day. We've been eating strawberries ever since that day, as we seem to turn the entire month of February into some kind of strawberry dipping free-for-all.  Because eventhough Valentine's Day passes, I still wake up and go to sleep every day with strawberries happily floating through my mind. 

Slip 'n Slide and the Magic Carpet Rides

Just a few days ago, I realized I was insane.  It was the day before we were leaving to take the church youth group, and high school kids in our Christian school, to Okemo Mountain Resort, in Vermont, for a few days of Winter fun, fellowship, and nightly Bible time.  I'd been packing feverishly when I realized I still needed to grab the Hershey's cocoa so I could make my super amazingly delicious, somewhat famous, hot cocoa.  I became frustrated when I couldn't find it.  Ever since we moved to Jersey, and into what I call "The Wonder Condo," we seem to be short on space and things get lost in the makeshift pantry, which was intended to be a coat closet.  So now we just drape our coats over the furniture or on the dogs or something.  Soon I was taking everything out, and the floor was covered with canned goods and boxed pasta.  The missing cocoa was a baffling mystery... until I looked up, and saw it sitting in the very front of the 2nd shelf, where it had been the whole time.  Sure, I was happy to finally find it, but now I knew I was facing some serious mental slippage.  And I don't think that's the kind of thing that gets better with time. I took a moment to mourn the loss of my mind, and then I had some coffee.  My new coffee addiction was only a few days old.  30+ years of drinking coffee about twice a year had suddenly become 3 or 4 times a day.  Maybe that was the problem.


So the next day we all piled into a 15 passenger van and headed north.  Another couple from church, Dan and Sarah, drove a truck, and U-haul trailer full of skis and luggage. I'd always wanted to visit Vermont, but never imagined I actually would.  I was so excited!  As soon as we crossed the state line, I began to hum the opening music from that old show, "Newhart."  And then I started quoting, "Hi, I'm Larry, this is my brother Daryll, and that's my other brother, Daryll..." Here's a little clip I found:

The house we rented was the most freakish house I've ever visited.  It was perfect!  There were narrow, winding stairs hidden behind a door, and there were twisty, turny stairs built into the bricks above the fireplace.  I wondered if a trip up those stairs would be hot on the feet! The girls chose the basement level, the boys were given the top floor, and the adults had the middle floor, which we figured would create some kind of impassable barrier betwixt the two.  I'd brought enough food to feed an army!  And it's a good thing, because Ludlow, VT has only one grocery store, and it was closed for the week, for renovations.  Then I realized that Sarah and I had both brought our Keurigs and a massive supply of Green Mountain coffees.  Some of Sarah's hair is purple, and some of mine is still pink, so more and more I'm thinking we were separated at birth or something... except she's young and super thin, and I'm not either one of those things.

Here's the house.  It looks deceptively normal from the outside.

The next day, after the slopes closed for the day, at 4 pm, Steve and I headed down the mountain because I needed some garlic, which no one really seemed to think was a big deal, but what kind of spaghetti sauce has no garlic in it? This was the day we realized that all of Ludlow shuts down by mid-afternoon, even during peak ski season.  So with the town's only grocery store closed and no one else selling garlic, we were soon headed back, when I saw the Green Mountain Sugar House, which I'd been hoping to visit.  They were still open! I was all excited and Steve said we'd stop.  We went in, right at the edge of dark. 


So I was in the sugar house getting all worked up about maple syrup that's fresh from the tree, and learning about the different grades of syrup, and stressing over which grade was right for us.  The lady working there even let me taste some!  Now, I've never liked maple syrup in my life, which might make one wonder why on earth I was so stoked about visiting the sugar house.  Well, it's like this- if there was ever a time in my life, when I might like maple syrup, this was it.  This was the real deal.  And guess what?  I loved it. ♥ So we purchased a jug of syrup, cute maple leaf jars of syrup, and maple fudge. Then I started noticing lots of Green Mountain coffee in their gift shop.  And this was Green Mountain Sugar House.  And then I saw "Vermont Blend." And I was all "Wait... what??"  I didn't even know that Green Mountain coffee was made in the Green Mountains of Vermont.  It was like some strange, powerful coffee force had reached down to Jersey, hooked me with it's delicious caffeinated amazingness, and then pulled me to its frigid mountain home.  I thought it to be a rather bizarre coincidence.

When we came out of the sugar house, I noticed how slippery the steps were.  It had been rainy all day, but I still didn't realize we were now experiencing freezing rain. Then we climbed into the van and headed up the mountain.  Then we got stuck.  We just kept sliding up and down a hill.  Then we were sideways and I was sure we were gonna die.  Then we went back down and stopped at a gas station.  While we waited on our friend, Dan, to come get us, we decided to pick up some bottled waters.  And the whole ground was one solid sheet of ice, and I kept saying, "Steeeeeve!  I can't waaaalk on thiiiis," with a super whiny Southern drawl.  I watched as a brawny looking woman effortlessly walked right by me, carrying a large case of beer, which she hoisted into the back of her 4WD pickup truck. I don't know if her shoes had better traction, or if the locals are just better ice-walkers.  That's when I wished I'd asked for snow boots for Christmas.  I could feel everyone looking at me like I was a fish out of water.  At the register, the cashier informed us that their beer is cheaper than their water, but we said we'd just spring for the more expensive, water.


Soon we were headed back up the mountain, and got stuck again.  Dan attached the front of the van to the back of his Ford Ranger, with some kind of big rope thing, and pulled us up.  I can't believe a small truck can pull a 15 passenger van up an icy mountain, all by itself!  It was one of the scariest things I have ever experienced.  We were just swishing all over the road as we were towed.  And when he would stop, WE COULDN'T.  There was a lot of praying going on, and many stops along the way.  Dan got out one time, and he looked like he was on a moving sidewalk.  He never took a step, but slid from his door, all the way down to Steve's, without ever losing his footing.  I'm pretty sure that hour took years off my life.  I should have had my eyes closed the whole time, but terror forced them wide open.  I'm glad no kids were with us.  And I can't begin to tell you how many times in my life, I've been in a church van, and scared on an icy mountain!  We need a new plan!  But God was good to us, and we, and the vehicles made it back to the house safely.

 One night, we went ice skating, in an open rink, outside.  I felt so happy as I gracefully (ok, sort of) glided around the rink.  For me, skating around on that rough, ungroomed ice, with the wind in my face, felt so freeing. I was so elated, exept a few times when they played gross oldies music, which makes me die a little inside.  Then I skated over to Steve, who was leaning on the wall, on the outside, and he decided to kiss me. Then I said, "Hold on, Steve," and I snatched one glove off my hand, so I could wipe snot off my nose.  Then I said, "Ok, Steve..."  "Nice, Amy...," he replied.  He didn't have snot because he was just standing there.  If he'd been zipping around a rink in 20 degree weather, he would have had the snots too. 


Noah learned to ski.  I really never thought he'd like it.  On the first day, he laid in the snow and cried, then "walked down the mountain."  But on the second day, he got a lesson, and practiced using the "carpet."  The carpet is a lift that you stand on, and it takes you up a small hill, then you ski down.  It's pretty nifty-doodles, really. The kids were all calling it the "magic carpet ride thing." 

Noah

The nighttime shenanigans were no different from what we've seen in the past.  There was scaring, plastic wrap on toilet seats, creepy music sent down the stairs via a phone hidden inside a shoe, toilet paper strung in the wee morning hours, lipstick on mirrors, and spooky games of hide and seek in that creeptastic house.  And for those who know me... no, I seriously was not involved in any of it.  The kids complained about the tapping noises the house makes, which I'd noticed myself one morning, when I was all alone. It speeds up, then slows down, and finally stops. I dramatically suggested that the house was "semi-haunted," with the intention of planting fear in their hearts, but Steve reassured everyone that it was just a LEPRECHAUN running through the house in the night, and when the tapping slowed, it was just him slowing as he reached the last bedroom, and then staring closely at people while they slept...


On the last day, while everyone was finishing up their last hour or so of skiing, Steve and I snuck back into the town of Ludlow, to soak up some culture.  Upon arrival, we discovered a restaurant called "The Hatchery," with a singing baby chick on the sign, so naturally I had to go there.  Once inside, we had a view of the distant slopes, and a menu of yums to choose from.  The food was wonderful, but they didn't give free refills ($2.50 each!) "WHAT KIND OF PLACE DOES THAT?? WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE??," I asked, probably a little too loudly, as we laughed hysterically.  Then we found out they only accept cash payments, so Steve had to walk next door to the bank while I finished up my toasted turkey and apple sandwich, with chunky cranberry mayo, and Vermont cheddar cheese.  We left, shortly before they closed... at 2pm.  Walking down the slush-covered sidewalks was enjoyable, and the views of the ski slopes, which provided a breathtaking backdrop for the quaint town, could be seen from almost anywhere you stood.  A nearby river barely flowed, as it was largely frozen.  Feet of snow covered everything.  Overall, beautiful Ludlow made me feel as though I'd stepped back in time- to a better time maybe.

Here's the restaurant.  It's a singing bird!  Notice the wreath on the door.  There were still Christmas decorations everywhere in Ludlow!

My only complaint about our visit to Vermont, is that I didn't get to see a single stinkin' moose.  What a disappointment! But we had an amazing time and I can't wait to go back.  I hope we can take the youth group again next year, so I can make hundreds of grilled cheeses again, because apparently my grilled cheeses rock.  Praise God there were no serious injuries- just a couple of fractured wrists, which we learned about from this phone call from Noah:  "Hey Dad.  Guess what?  I rode the big lift and skied down the BIG hill!  It was great! ... Oh, and Zack's in the First Aid.."

I thought I'd share my recipe for hot cocoa, to keep everyone warm on these cold Winter days.  I wrote this recipe, but every member of my family on my Mom's side, has their own version of this.  Some use regular milk instead of evaporated, but I like the flavor of the evaporated.  You can use whichever you like, or a combination of both.  This has been my most requested recipe over the years, and I've never really given it out, because I didn't know the measurements.  So for all the people who've wanted it, I finally measured stuff, and here it is.

Super Amazingly Delicious,
 Almost Famous, Hot Cocoa... or Whatever.

1/4 cup cocoa powder

1 cup sugar

3 cans evaporated milk, plus one can of water

1/2 teaspoon vanilla flavoring

Desired toppings

Mix the cocoa powder and sugar in a large saucepan.  Add one can of milk.  Heat until sugar and cocoa are disolved and it starts to boil up.  Quickly add the remaining cans of milk, plus 1 can of water.  Once hot, remove from heat and add vanilla.  If it's still too sweet for your taste, just add a little milk or water. Pour into cups and top with whipped cream or marshmallows, or if you can't decide which, add both, like my son does.  At Christmastime I serve this with a candy cane.  Sometimes I shave chocolate over it too. 

And for those who like to see people fall, I leave you with this.  Watch Kary terrorize both the bunny slope, and the "magic carpet."  Her first victim:  Noah.  Then:  Everyone else.  Funniest starts around 1:40.  Videoed by one of the teens, Amanda.