Ticked Off

  You may have read in an earlier post, titled DUCK! And Cover, that we are in the midst of the hunting season making ducks fair game.  What you didn't read about is the young man in his mid-teens who eats, sleeps, and breathes hunting...and lives under my roof.  Yes, the clamor of duck calls regularly sounds off in my dining room, accompanied by a variety of camouflage paraphernalia everywhere the eye can rest.  Duck decoys arrive in the mail and are proudly displayed throughout...well, everywhere the eye can rest.  Thankfully those decoys took the loud hint and migrated to the hunter's bedroom.

It's time to go hunting!

  This past Saturday was a decent day for hunting.  I heard floorboards creaking rather early and knew my son was biding his time til he dared disturb his father's slumber.  This period of waiting has become a stressful ritual in our home.  Upon my husband's emergence from the bedroom, he is faced with non-stop references to the current hour and minute followed by intervals of hovering during breakfast.  The subliminal message permeating our mealtime is, "Who has time to eat?!?  There's hunting to be done!"  Thank heavens maturity and consistent working with our son has led to the message being subliminal...time has softened the full-on verbal barrage.

  The time had come and my husband put us all out of our misery by asking our son to load the vehicle, which of course had been done an hour ago.  A kiss from my husband, a forehead presented by my son for me to kiss, and out the door they went.  This was the perfect opportunity for me to grab my eleven year-old boy and head to our favorite trails at the Peninsula.  Yes, the same Peninsula the duck blinds are located on.


  We'd been walking about ten minutes when my younger son pointed to the road which leads back home and announced, "Hey, there goes our van!"  Perhaps the warning bells should have been going off in my head...yet, I've learned I'm never far enough, in cases of emergency, I can't be reached.  So, on we walked...even as the dreaded awaited call came ringing in.  "Yeees?  I said, trying to be as cheery as possible."  I don't wish to bore nor scandalize you with the tirade that exploded into my ear describing how they never even made it into the duck blind.  I won't fill you in on the unflattering and rather disrespectful picture, painted of my husband, with such hostile words.  My teen, who had been chomping at the bit for this highly anticipated moment, was more than frustrated with the hope that had gone dead in the water without firing a single shot.

I admit I did feel bad for the fowl-tempered fella and quickened my pace to get home...though not so much that I would catch the initial fall-out fireworks I imagined were going off.  I even texted a couple nephews looking for a stand-in hunting partner.  I automatically assumed my husband's back was causing him such pain that he bailed and needed to rest.  Therefore, I resigned myself to the rescuer's role and began to mentally prepare to wrap in a blankey and sit in the blind if imploring texts to my nephews didn't pan out.

  With the walk finally over, we headed to the car only to be let down by a deflated rear tire.  Great...what the heck kind of day is this??  I called my husband to ask if I should drive like that.  He said he'd fill the compressor and be right down.  As I write this I'm realizing everything happens for a reason...it's a very good thing he was home or my 11 year-old and I would have had a long, uphill, chilly walk home...after our long, chilly walk we just took.  I was briefly filled-in over the phone how our teen ignored requests to find a trail leading to the blind.  Instead, he stomped right into the tall grasses determined to find a quick route there.  There was something about ticks, which alerted me to my husband's rightful concern... Presque Isle, lovely as it is, is known to have a large deer tick population.  My husband had once been bit by a deer tick, confirmed to have Lyme's disease.  He was never at ease with spending much time at Presque Isle, let alone going off trail and into dense vegetation where they'd most likely be.


Deer ticks can cause Lyme disease

  After his arrival and quick fix of the tire, I offered to drive the van home while he'd take the car to the closest gas station and check the tire's air pressure.  That offer was quickly rescinded upon hearing that three large deer ticks had already been found crawling in the van.  Sure enough, our son had walked right into a hot spot for the buggers before his frustrated Dad demand they were going home due to lack of obedience.

Eeeew!

Once home, I was surprised by the calm I walked into.  I was certain there would  be arguing and pleading for me to fulfill my impatient hunter's plans for the day.  I was impressed to see his quiet resignation as he worked side by side with my husband to rid the van of these tiny, disease carrying, blood suckers.  I was relieved yet horrified that a total of eight ticks were discovered in our family's vehicle.  I listened to my 11 year-old ask, "Dad, what is the purpose of ticks in the world?" and wondered the same thing.  We didn't come up with much of an answer...likening them to mosquitoes and other insects that seem to do more harm than good.

  Perhaps, in that instance the tick's purpose was to provide a teachable moment.  Difficult as it was, there is more patience added to my young hunter's arsenal.  He has learned to pace the floors on Saturday mornings instead of bounding onto our bed...maybe he will listen to the voice that warns him to stay on the path and understand wisdom is born of experience.



Pumpkin "Bliss"

 "Mmmm, what is that smell?  Do you have yogurt in here?" 

  This is the "hello" I received as my two youngest hopped into the car to escape being dampened during the four foot walk from the school bus.  Normally, I just walk across the street to escort them home.  Normally, as in- not experiencing gales that broke my wet-weather confidence, flipped my hardy umbrella inside out, spanked us both and sent me scrambling back for car keys.  The odd and somewhat humiliating piece of this generous act of kindness on my part was the rapid deceleration of winds and the slowing of pelting rain to a gentle drizzle by the bus's arrival.  After deflating their excited expectation of going to a store or fast-food restaurant, the focus shifted back to the car's unfamiliar scent.

  "Why it's Pumpkin Bliss, of course!" I declared proudly.  Their unimpressed "oh" wasn't my desired response.  During my purchase of the orange packaged car freshener, displaying pumpkins, cinnamon, and colors of candy corn, I envisioned tv commercial actors deeply inhaling wafts of heart-warming, homemade Pumpkin Pies.  Yes, my reward for spending $3.99 +tax would be watching my children breathe in the likeness of those cinnamon fall treats followed by twinkles of delight, shining in their grateful eyes.  I must admit I did not notice any trace of pumpkin pie or harvest spices in the bought essence.  If I covered one nostril and sort of breathed out while half-breathing in I might have been able to justify the colors of candy corn...kind of.  But, for the purpose of pride, I declared once more with gusto, "It's Pumpkin Bliss!" and drove back around the bend to our house.

  An hour later I agreed to drive my oldest daughter to her friend's house.  "WHAT is that smell?!?" she asked, while lifting a genteel palm to her nose.  "It's Pumpkin Bliss!," came my triumphant, yet wavering response.  After all, it was her calling attention to the car's mild odor the day before which prompted my aquiring such Fall freshness.  Show me some love, I think as she blurts out, "It smells like yogurt."  I covered my waning hope with a smile, "That's funny!  That's what the kids said!," I weakly offered.  Her eyes slid sideways towards me as she added, "Rotten yogurt."  I began to think back to my attempts of choosing between the store's two offered scents.  Vanilla and Cream's scratch and sniff declared it NOT the winner.  And...wait a minute...that's funny...three Pumpkin Bliss in a row don't have a scratchy piece of plastic to test?  How odd, I think as I dig through the entire stock...not a one.  Hmmmm....perhaps I should be suspicious?  Well, it IS raining out and I really don't want to go to another store soooooo...we'll go with- you guessed it, Pumpkin Bliss.  Til I get in the car and realize it's more like Butterscotch Feet.  I guess I shouldn't be shocked by my children's underwhelmed reaction. 

  Another 15 minutes go by before my second eldest daughter chimes in during her ride home from school.  The dramatic question passes through lips curled in disgust, "What smells like SWEAT in here??"  Siiiiigh... by this point I can't even muster a jolly declaration so it comes out more like a question, "Pumpkin Bliss?"  "Eeeeew, it doesn't smell anything like pumpkins!," is her gauntlet tossed on my defeated purchasing prowess.  "Look here!, I begin my defense, "I saw pumpkins and candy corn and thought it would be festive with Thanksgiving coming up AND I paid for it so we are USING it!"  "Eeeew," seems to be her best come-back.  Then I just could not help myself and had to know, "So you really don't think it smells like butterscotch feet?"  Just as swiftly as the wind had died down, my white flag rose and the stink became casual conversation.  "Ummmm no, I think it smells more like sweat, but kinda like a vanilla-y sweat. But I get why the other kids smell yogurt."  I can't believe I'm nodding my head in agreement to this...siiiigh.

 It's been a solid week of  scent that never fails to "surprise" us each time the car doors are whipped open and the aroma wafts out.  It never gets old and doesn't seem to be ebbing in strength.  I've circled Thanksgiving's date on my calendar to count the number days I must be strong until a "certain purchase" goes missing on garbage day.  I already have it's replacement stashed deep in the cupboard to conceal my defeat.  It's  Frosted Pine.  Hey! Save your judgement...it had pictures of snow covered pine trees and a lovely holiday gold...right above a white convertible with it's...OH NO...how did I not see it's... top down???  In winter??? 

 Oh well, I already bought it...

   

Space Invaders

   Just a few nights ago I covered up my five-year old with a soft pink and white fuzzy blanket before piling on her queen-sized floral comforter.  I took one look at the smiling blue eyes peeking out from the mountain of ensured warmth and forgot the book waiting for me downstairs.  Prompted to spontaneity, I  threw back the covers, hopped in, and tossed the layers of comfort over both of us.  We lay nose to nose and stared in each others eyes before the inevitable giggling started... you know, the kind that is born of an awkward closeness while invading someone's space.  We were within breath-fogging proximity yet neither of us were shy in the nearness.  Truth be told I've most likely desensitized her to the need for personal space over the years with my constant nuzzling. 

  She caved first and slowly inched backwards...probably so she could see my whole head without going cross-eyed.  My youngest shares this large bed with her 14 year-old sister, a fact I hear about  frequently due to the youngest's tendency to thrash about and lob her teeny feet and legs into her sisters face nightly.  I was thinking about that discrepancy and asked my little one if she and her older sister sleep nose to nose.  "No," she responded then went on to act out her words of, "I like to try to SNUGGLE UP," she said, letting the words build in tempo.  She inched herself away from me while stretching her words, "Then I baaack away kinda slowly." Once again she wiggled close, quickening her words as she said,  "Then I try to SNUGGLE UP," before carefully scooching backwards while lowering her voice to say, "then I hafta baaaack away kinda slowly....  then I fall asleep."   She was letting me know her tactics to incrementally sneak into her sisters personal space to get warm and cozy without being noticed until she was tired enough to conk out in her own little zone.

  I then asked if she liked sharing a bed with her older sister and she nodded emphatically adding, "until I get my own bed."  Knowing her fondness of cozying up, I was surprised and asked, "Oh, do you want your own bed?  She looked at me earnestly and replied, "Yeah, maybe when I'm 11...or 18...or 39."

  The  mind of a five-year old holds delight and somewhat random thoughts...and ages.  That evening was a fine example of diving into a darling moment that would have been missed had I heeded the call for my own personal space.  I'm no longer 11...or 18...or even 39 for that matter.  It's a sweet delight to enter the mind of youth and perhaps even gain inspiration.  I wonder if my husband will notice my cold feet inching towards him this evening?

Stormy Changes

  Time to hunker down.

  Last night I was tucking my two youngest into bed, and by that I mean falling asleep smack dab in the middle, when all three of us were startled by a CRASH*Bang*thumpthumpthump.  My littlest woke from a sound sleep, eyes popping open to mutter, "what was that?"  Her older brother clutched me from behind and whimpered his complete undoing during the windstorm.  He's had a phobia of strong weather ever since he was caught on the lacrosse field during a brewing storm.  Lightening had appeared on the horizon and seemed to stretch it's finger to the ground amidst a deafening clap of thunder.  That particular squall had blown in on a tremendously strong wind.  My husband and six of the seven children were present during that traumatizing event.  Most of the kids were coaching or practicing while I was less than a mile down the street...in the gym.  I saw no issue in getting a good workout in while the kids were doing the same.  The youngest wanted to go to the gym's childcare and we had every intention of  catching the last few minutes of practice. 

  Well, I never did have to run over to the field to see them...they came to me...and had my name announced over the loud speaker.  One look at my husband's face while a hysterically crying, little boy clung to his leg silenced my, "Wow...the wind has really picked u..." unnecessary comment.  Some of the older kids were shooting rain-soaked daggers at my flushed face while others were trying to disappear into the carpet to escape questioning glances and outright stares of passing patrons.  My family's sopping exhibition was a sight to behold.  I wanted to join the crew seeking escape as my husband's "exasperated" tone rose while reminding me I had the van...they had to walk in the howling wind and listen to shrieks of terror from my son, whose eyes were still glazed with unadulterated fear.  The gym's receptionist had the grace to appear oblivious to the nine of us gathered a foot from her counter.  The cluster of cubicles that lined the opposite wall hustled into a flurry of fingers dialing suddenly urgent calls and shuffling papers that were in dire need of...shuffling.   Perhaps that day the staff gained insight into my jubilant smile and joyful "hello" each visit; in a family this size there is ALWAYS some issue needing to be worked out with a sweaty gusto.

  So there we lie, in the wake of the "crashbangthumping" all six eyes wide open...bed vibrating from my son's tremulous quaking.  "Hey Hon, I think your saw just fell down the porch steps" I call out to the living room.  Nothing. No reaction til one of the kids asked what he thought it was.  "Uuuumph," he utters from the effort of closing the recliner then, "ooooach," escapes his lips while pulling his poor, injured, and degenerating discs to an upright position.  I hear low mutters about probabilities of the drying rods holding their hunting clothes falling.  The little ones and I hear the curtains being slid, door opening and the silence that follows.  Finally there's "How is that even possible?!?" followed by shuffling, grunts and the solid thump, thump, thumping of what I can only guess is the saw being hoisted back up on the front deck and into our foyer...next to the sizable treadmill we recently had our muscled teenager carry up from the basement with intent to sell.  Yes, my family and our home ARE a sight to behold.  Most likely not your average sight.  However, it's what is not written most days is what defines us.  The tender smiles, giggles, and tickles before eyes begin to close at bedtime; these are the nectar of goodness.  The quiet prayers (and sometimes not so quiet) offered in thanksgiving for all our day held and asking for the grace to draw us closer to Him through it all: these are the channels to the staying power that holds us together no matter what typhoon comes our way.  The days Dad calls all to the garden to witness the miracle of growth from a seed to produce: these are the life lessons that will hopefully instill wonder and knowledge as our children grow into adults.  And of course the thousands of inconsequential moments that ARE life...it's in the living, that we learn.  The lessons seldom come from the moments we get it right the first time...but how we learn from those and do it better when offered a do-over. The best do-overs are the ones where patience, mercy, and attempted understanding take place.

  I've not left my family stranded on a field while I drive off to better myself again and the bulky saw got wheeled down to a safer storage space.  It now occupies the treadmill's former home.  The treadmill does still sit there in the foyer... awaiting offers (hint hint)-- great working condition I just have my reasons ;) *please see post titled Trail Vs. Treadmill. 

  That night's howling winds were a warning that the weather is changing...kinda like this family.  Bigger storms are coming, no doubt.  Definitely time to hunker down and prepare for those storms and changes...and stormy changes. 

  Time to embrace the sleepy time snugglers while they still love lullabies and bedtime stories.  Seek out moments with the pre-teen who has been letting more nights slip by without asking me to tuck him in but still whispers, "I love you Mom," as he heads upstairs for the night.  And while I do appreciate alone time it's so important to remember that there are teens hungering for some alone time with me- even if they don't realize it.  A simple, "Hey, I'm going to the store do you want to ride with me?" opens the door to chatting, laughs, and perhaps questions asked that wouldn't be broached at the dinner table.  And of course there's that college boy...already out on his own, though never too far for me to text "Good night, we love you, God bless you. <3." 

   A good reminder from a bedtime story shared throughout the years:  the big, bad wolf did try to huff and puff and blow the house down...it was the solid foundation that remained intact.

Life Is...Surprising

  It's raining outside.  I used to think I'd be listening to jazz, sitting on the window ledge of an upper studio apartment, looking down over the streets of New York City on a gray day like this.  I even pictured playing along on my own saxophone.

   Yeah...uhhhm no.  Let's just say my life holds no semblance to the existence I envisioned while in my teens. 

  I do have Michael Buble's station playing on Pandora...so I shouldn't say NO semblance right?  It is kinda jazzy.  But as for New York City- well,  I'm in the neighboring state of Pennsylvania sitting in my upper story (yet another semblance), wooden office, looking out over fallen leaves that have covered my husband's ladders.  Those tools sit next to the well-loved lacrosse portion of the yard which is the backdrop to our summer's shining star- the pool.   Of course there's the swingset with attatched platform/slide that has seen better days...and by that I mean it used to be the summer's shining star.  The kids are getting older and we have more pick-up football games than we do calls for Mommy to "come push me!"  We can't forget Millie's (our choc lab) kennel.  It's kitty-corner to the fire pit that Millie sneaks wood from to chew when she thinks we're not looking.  It's the same wood she sneaks within plain view, then takes off to the lax area to hide behind the net...it's a net Millie, we can see you!

  It's raining outside...perhaps the same condensation passed over NYC hours ago.  Crazy to think of a life so foreign to my current days.  I've never even held a saxophone to my lips.  I'll hint at my age and admit that fantasy's inspiration was influenced by Kenny G.  Who didn't love Silhouette?  flashback to Silhouette (you're welcome).  And yet, I am happy.  I am content.  I look at the leaves that cover the yard where my children's youth has played out.  I see the trees that were full of vibrant green buds just this past spring.  They have released their blooms that whispered in summer's breeze and stand disrobed, yet sturdy, guarding our lawn carpeted in the golden offerings from these sentinels.  I'm reminded of another childhood favorite that holds more meaning now then ever... Shel Silverstein's The Giving Tree.  No kidding, this book sits on the edge of my desk...next to the window I look out.  Perhaps it's been waiting for this rainy day to remind me how good I've got it.  And how life is not about the destination but the journey. 

  We parents once held the bud of youth in our dreams of how life would be.  We now have the opportunity to lay down our golden glory for our children to pile up and play in.  They can cover themselves and feel secure in our commitment to share this journey with them.  Perhaps they will provide us with their own little buds to bring rejuvenation in our golden years.  It comes full circle.  I wouldn't trade a single, crazy, hectic moment nor a neck hugging, sloppy kiss on the cheek embrace for a smooth jazz note lilting what could have been.  We make our own music here with broom stick air guitars and ladles for microphones. These are the days creating the memories of tomorrow. I imagine when I am an old woman I will look out at the trees and smile, remembering my children hanging from the branches and lobbing footballs under their leaves.
 
   Then again, I've been surprised before...perhaps I will be harnessed to my eldest, sharing a tandem skydive.  I wouldn't put it passed my second to have me deep sea fishing or my third to share her hotel amenities while she attends a medical conference on the Big Island.  My fourth just may get me to New York for a Broadway play the night after my fifth reserved a front row seat so I could watch the mad drumming skills he led the band with.  I will need some quiet time so I suppose I would prefer the box seat offered to watch my sixth in the Superbowl.  I will be tired so I will gladly return to my husband who kept the home fires burning at our sweet seventh's home-- where we will live.  ;)