Turn the Volume Down First. Trust Me.

If you've never gone to a "boy band" concert with a young girl who LOVES the band, you should. You really should. Take your daughter, your niece, your granddaughter or your friend's daughter. You won't regret it. I mean, you will regret it right then and there, when you're in the middle of it, but the memories will last a lifetime.

I recently took Zoe to the One Direction concert in Detroit. Joe and I got her tickets for Christmas last year and she's been waiting almost 8 months for the big day. A few months before, she starting talking about what we should wear to the concert. Really? All that came to mind for me was comfortable shoes and earplugs but she had something else in mind. She plotted out her entire outfit from the earrings to shoes. No kidding. Even decided, three weeks before, how to style her hair. Me? Not so much.

We went with Zoe's friend and her Mom and everyone (except me) decided that we should get there really early. So we arrived at 3:00 and the doors didn't open until 5:00. Concert to start at 7:00. First thing I needed to do was find a beer vendor, which I did. Seriously, screaming girls everywhere. Mobs of them. One Direction music pumping through the streets. Total counter culture.

The doors opened at 5:00 and again, I went searching for beer. The girls wanted to run right to our seats. And sit there for 2 HOURS. I vetoed and decided we should get something to eat. And more beer. The girls could barely stand it. Vibrating with the excitement of it all. We finally relented and went down to our seats (on the floor - thank you Amy!) to get situated. And we waited.

We were actually pretty close to the stage - the cat walk part of it - so the girls were already pretty fired up. After sitting there for an hour I decided to head up to the bathroom (you know, because of all the beer). No small task to hike all the way up there from the floor I might add. As I came out of the bathroom, a roar arose from the stadium. It was like a wall of sound that came up from the floor and rolled over the seats above. By the time it hit the bathroom exit I was frantically digging through my purse for my earplugs.

The shrieking of tween girls cannot be explained so much as experienced. It's a visceral reaction when you hear thousands of them at close range. As if an ice pick has been run in one ear and out the other. There is no escape. There is no turn of the head that will make it stop. You must just endure it.

And this roar? Was it because Harry, Liam, Niall, Louis and Zayne appeared on the stage? No. It was because they showed a COMMERCIAL featuring the boys. Dear God.

The video above is of when the boys hit the stage for their first song, Midnight Memories. To put it simply - Zoe. Lost. Her. Shit.   Mind BLOWN.

I will say this for the band. They were very polite and gracious. They thanked the fans repeatedly for their success and credited them for putting them where they are today. They took the time to smile, wave and wink at the girls. Niall (Zoe's favorite) actually pointed at her "I Love Niall" poster and smiled and waved RIGHT AT HER. She could have died right then and there a happy girl. Such a cool thing to have happen.

Now. Could the boys have put on some clean clothes and run a brush through their hair before the show? It certainly wouldn't hurt....

Stupid Fruit

Sometimes it just doesn’t pay to be friendly.  And yet, it’s who I am and it’s how I roll. I want everyone around me to feel comfortable and I want them to like me and think I'm nice. But sometimes I go too far and don't pull back when I should. Sometimes I just lunge into the abyss and FORCE myself on people until they simply can't take it anymore.

Such was the case during my last pedicure. I was introduced to a new nail tech at my very small salon. I kind of knew her "back story" (She is the owner's sister in law and not from here) a little bit and wanted to be friendly and welcoming to her. Total backfire.

We were just getting into the groove - had my polish picked out, kicking back in the chair, ready to roll. So I started with, "How long have you been in the country?"

She stopped what she was doing, looked up and replied, "Six years."

Oh.

"Where are you from originally?"

"Indonesia"

"It must be beautiful there?"

Again. Dead stop. "No. It's hot, muggy and full of volcanoes."

Oh. 

"So you don't go back much?"

"Once a year. To see my family."

 "Well that must be nice. It's on the ocean right? Do you get to spend time by the water?"

First of all, my geography skills suck. No idea where Indonesia is or what it looks like at all. Might have seen an "International House Hunters" episode about it once but that might have been somewhere else. Should have shut my mouth.

"No. I grew up in the middle of the island in the city. We never go to the ocean."

I was in a total nose dive at this point and should have stopped but I didn't. Because I never really know when to stop. It's a thing with me. 

"I bet they have wonderful fruit there." Totally flailing at this point. I'm thinking tropical fruit, straight out of some movie I once saw - South Pacific? Has to be beautiful, right? RIGHT?

"My daughter only eats strawberries and blueberries and they're $9.00 a pint there."

Aaaaannnnnd done. 

I "googled" a picture of the fruit. Yeah, I wouldn't eat that either. 

Sisters

Dad has this chair in his living room. It’s one of those all-in-one, recliner, massager, heater kind of things and he REALLY likes it or at least he DID like it.

Though the perpetrators are, as of yet unnamed, someone (meaning one of the grand kids) broke the chair. Naturally you would assume that it was Max but he has a pretty solid alibi so he might be off the hook just this once.

Anyway, Dad made a big point of telling all the grand kids that the chair had been broken and that he was upset about it so Kelly, Sue and I decided to get him a new one. And when I say new I mean new in a "Craigs list, new to us" kind of way.

We went to some house way out past Ypsi and pulled up to a garage to see the chair sitting there. The nice man told us that he and his wife bought the chair for the wife's mother a few months ago but that she died soon after. I think my face did an "Ew gross - she didn't die IN THE CHAIR, right?" thing because he offered up that "She died unexpectedly in the hospital". Phew.

So we took the chair for a test drive. Up. Down. Massager on. Massager off. Heat on. Heat off. All was well. Then we had to load it into the truck. Kelly's truck. The big, red truck that kind of smells like manure. We managed to get it up into the bed and then we were faced with working the tie straps. I hate those things. It's supposed to be SO easy to ratchet your stuff into place and keep it snug and secure but it never works that way. You end up having to re-thread the stupid thing and then re-thread it again the right way. By then, you're so pissed off that you don't care if it's done right or not. That's when you wrap it around the item and tie a big damn knot it in. So that's what we did. 

Susan was supposed to be watching the chair as we roared down the highway. At the on ramp she decided that the chair was, in fact, moving. So we pulled over, tied the knot tighter and moved on.

We were quite a sight - rolling through town in the big red truck, big 'ol recliner in the back, three laughing sisters, side by side.  I tried to convince Sue to ride in the recliner on the way home just for kicks (and partly to hold it down) but she wouldn't go for it. I guess, being the youngest, she finally figured out that she shouldn't do everything Kelly and I suggest. Damn. 

We happily pulled into Dad's house, honked the horn and presented him with his new chair. Which, after we brought it in the house, promptly broke in the "up" position. Dammit again. Stupid Craigs List.  

Small Town Neighbors

Sometimes I feel kind of sorry for my neighbors. They just never really know what they're going to have to deal with on any given day. Just the other day, for instance, my neighbor drove by the house and saw that the llama and all four goats were standing on the lawn. They were supposed to be in the pasture, of course, but the gate had opened and they just decided to head out for some greener pastures.

Luckily, this neighbor knows me and he knows my family. He went up to my sisters' house and said to her, "Your goats and llama are out." To which my smart ass sister replied, "I don't have a llama."

She then sighed and said, "I guess it's my sisters' animals." She then did what we do in our small town, tight knit family and she called my Dad. She explained the situation and he said he would go to my house and handle it. My neighbor even offered to help! When I got the call from my sister, I immediately called my Dad to hear this, "Dammit llama, what is your problem?" Lots of heavy breathing, shouting instructions I couldn't quite make out, a little swearing...

"DAD!!" I yelled into the phone.

"Oh, yeah, hi. I'm trying to get this stupid llama back into the pen. The goats were easy but this thing is not."

"Whatever you do, DON'T try to touch him," I said, "He hates that."

So my Dad and my neighbor spent the next 20 minutes chasing the llama. Did they have better things to do that day? I'm sure they did but when you live in Dexter and you see some loose farm animals in the yard, you stop and you put them in. My other neighbor told me about the time he had to stop and catch one of my sisters' cows and put it back in the fence. I've also had to round up horses, sheep and even a stray chicken every now and again. Last spring, one of my neighbors called me to ask if anyone in the area was raising pea hens because he had a few of them turn up at his place. I immediately recalled that the neighbor just around the corner from him had mentioned getting some not too long ago. Connection made.

And this is why I live here. This is why I stay here. This is why I make this my home. It truly does take a village.....

Have A Nice Trip....

I have never been a graceful person. Ever. I have always been prone to slipping, falling, crashing and tumbling everywhere I go. I had a friend who used to tell me “You’re not clumsy, you’re just athletic and therefore, unafraid to move your body." Whatever. I still land on my @ss a lot of the time.

Case in point. I went out with a friend last night for dinner. I had recently helped him with some child care issues and he offered to take me out to repay me for it. So I’m comfortable with this person but not so much that I’m ready to completely embarrass myself.

Anyway, it was raining really hard last night. Torrential downpours actually. He offered to drop me off at the door to the restaurant but I didn’t think that was necessary. There was a close parking spot and I said that we could just “make a break for it”. Except I was wearing cute sandals. Cute sandals that are not made for “Tough Mudder type” dashes through deep puddles of water.

He parked the car and we jumped out and started to run for the door. I might also mention that there were about four people standing under the awning outside the restaurant (wisely) waiting for the rain to stop before going to their cars. So, you know, witnesses.

I took about two steps before the first sandal came off. Went flying, actually. I turned to go after it and then the other sandal, now soaking wet, went sideways on me. My friend, being a gentleman, had also stopped in the middle of this downpour to see what was going on with me. He said “Just take off your shoes” and I said, “No, I’ve got this. No problem. Hold on.” I did not have this. Not at all. I continued to try to get my shoes back under me with limited success. Meanwhile, the people in front of the restaurant were now alternating between laughing out loud and yelling encouragement. “Take off the shoes!”, “Leave them behind!”, “Run for it!”

My face was beet red by the time we got to the front of the restaurant plus we were SOAKED. I must’ve looked like a drowned rat and my shoes were still a bit slippery. This is so “par for my course”. On my first date with my (now) ex-husband, I fell backwards over a cinderblock. In a skirt.

During my high school graduation I “walked out” of my shoe during the processional. The sweet guy I was walking with, Todd, had no idea why I was pulling away from him and running back through the oncoming graduates. He looks so incredibly confused in the video.

Maybe this is why I’m single….

Bad Weather and Smelly Bathrooms

When you live in a town that was actually HIT by a tornado before, you never really look at them the same again. When the sirens go off you tend to actually go to the basement like you’re supposed to. Unless you’re me. Don’t get me wrong, I meant to go to the basement, I planned to go to the basement, I wanted to go to the basement. Instead, based on my lousy timing, I was driving through the downtown area at the precise moment the tornado was predicted to be there. I must’ve looked like a complete maniac, driving while watching the skies for tornadoes, but since everyone else on the road was doing the same thing, I guess it didn’t matter.

The kids were all on “lock down” at the school, which makes me cry just thinking about it, and I was frantically trying to get to them. Except I couldn’t. “Lock down” actually does mean just that. No one gets in, no one gets out. So I had to scrap that idea and instead head for home to be with the animals.

I was obsessively calling the kids and texting them, trying to be sure that they were ok. I expected tears, confusion, fear, something. Instead I got “I’m hungry. What’s for dinner?” Seriously? I also got a description of how bad it smelled where they were (boys bathroom) and how dark it was.

So what’s a Mom to do? Order pizza. Happy ending for all.

Call 911!!!

Ah Spring. It's finally arrived in all of it's glory. The weekend was beautiful and it was so wonderful to be outside again and not trudging through 3 feet of snow.

The kids and I decided to take advantage of the warm spring day on Saturday and do some yard clean-up. We raked, picked up sticks, cleared out weeds and did some burning. Around lunch time, Zoe and I headed in to get some food. I told Max that he could burn the hillside area but that he needed to have the hose near him and he needed to stay ahead of the fire.

Twenty minutes later, Max came running up to the front door - covered in black soot from head to toe - and screamed through the screen door "CALL 911!!!"

I jumped up and went running outside, following Max. As I rounded the corner near the garage I saw the flames taking off across the dry and brittle field. I also fell flat on my ass when I hit a patch of mud. So I hit the mud, fell and swore. Loudly. I scrambled up and ran to the front edge of the fire to assess the situation.

Max was beyond help. He kept screaming that we needed to call 911 and I kept screaming back "You have to PAY $3000 when you set fire to something and the fire department has to come put it out. I am NOT paying $3000 for this"

I grabbed a shovel and positioned myself in front of the fire. I was throwing dirt on it and stomping it out wherever I could but it was not slowing down. I was yelling at the kids to get water but apparently I wasn't concise enough in my instructions. Max was running around trying to fill up a garbage can with water from a broken and leaking hose. A few minutes later, I looked up to see Zoe tip-toeing across the lawn with a soup bowl full of water in her hands. Walking very slowly so as not to spill it. She walked up to a patch of burning grass and tipped the bowl. Missed it completely.

This is when my swearing began in earnest. My lungs were burning, my face was on fire and I was losing the battle. I screamed at the kids to get as many hoses as they could find and hook them all together. I kept worrying that one of the neighbors would call it in so I was trying to look casual about it all while completely panicking on the inside.

Finally, I saw the kids getting the hoses hooked together and it looked like we'd have just enough to reach the front edge of the fire. Max was dragging the hose to the front and I was racing back to help him. I was trying to untangle a knot in it when he gave it a really hard tug. With my hand right in the middle of it. The pain was instant as was the swearing. Max looked back and started to come back to me but I waved him off and instructed him to fight the fire. Meanwhile I grabbed my hand, watching it swell and bruise and started cursing a blue streak. Truth be told, I might have sunk to the ground in a very dramatic fashion as well....

Once it was all under control, Max approached me. We were both covered in soot and reeked of smoke. His eyes were still pretty wide but he had calmed down a bit. I said to him, "Max, this is one of the worst ones yet." Implying that, of all the crazy crap he's done, this one is now topping the list. "I know Mom, I know" he said, lowering his head and looking ashamed. "This WAS really bad". I told him that, as punishment, he was going to stay out there and soak down the entire area. He was also going to clean up all the tools and hoses and put the yard back in order. He smartly replied with a "Yes Maam" while I went inside to shower.

When all was said and done, we were able to save the day. And the field. My finger still hurts though.