Why I Don't Get Bored

Even if I knew what boredom was, there never seems to be a place for it in my life.  When I decided not to home school my kids this year, two people asked me, "Won't you get bored?"  My response bordered somewhere between a "HA!" and a "Ptthhhbbb!" (That's me laughing while trying not to laugh.)

If Boredom and I ever happen to meet, I let you know.  I'll shake it's hand and say, "Let's be friends," and invite it over to stay for a while.  Then, some of the stuff like what happened in my life during the past few weeks will stomp on its head and squish it out of existence.

Conclusion?  It is never boring around here.



Wednesday the 14th:
My 3-year-old brother, Teegan, throws up large amounts of blood and ends up at the local hospital.  He loses so much blood that he has to have a transfusion, IV fluids, and as he puts it, "Too many doctors!"  Our city is so po-dunk that we don't have a single pediatric gastroenterologist.  This means, in order to find out what's wrong with him, they have to put an endoscope down his throat, but there's no one qualified to do it. ("Huh?? Just get a smaller scope!" I think quietly many times over.)

I pack up my kids and spend the evening at my parent's house taking care of Tobi and Tabi while Mom and Dad are at the hospital.  Noodle spills her noodles all over the kitchen floor, Hopers spills her noodles on top of Noodle while Noodle is cleaning them up, and Tabi refuses to do her homework.  Tobi exclaims, "This is the best birthday ever!" while eating her noodles because, a., it actually is her birthday that day, and b., she is excited to have her "nieces" sleep over.

Thursday the 15th:
I get a call from Seth in the morning.  He forgot to bring his dress boots to work and there's a "thing" today so could I please please drive across town and bring them to him?  Sure, I say.  Oh, and can you bring me breakfast too?  Sure.

From the firestation, I head to the hospital to bring Mom some food, shampoo, and reinforcements (me) so that she can take a shower while I watch Teegan lay in the hospital bed watching Bob the Builder.

The hospital finally gets it together and decides to transport Teegan by ambulance to Jacksonville (where there is, apparently, a smaller scope and a doctor).

I gather my siblings again, this time to bring them to my house to stay.



Friday the 16th:
Today is Mom's birthday.  I was going to take her to lunch.  Instead she gets to spend it draped in over various pieces of furniture in Teegan's hospital room in Jacksonville while worrying about him.  Docs find two very unpleasant uclers in Teegan's stomach, cauterize them, and test them for bacteria.

I juggle getting four kids back and forth between two different elementary schools and also help out with Noodle's class (sorting papers) as I usually do on Fridays.

We spend the weekend going to approximately 36 birthday parties (because September is birthday crazy).  Mom, Dad, and Teegan come home from the hospital by Sunday afternoon.



Monday the 19th:
I realize I haven't run in forever and hit the Miccosukee Greenway trail with Poppy.  I attach my car key to the leash.  I discover, somewhere in between mile one and three that my key is no longer attached and I have to scour the trail for it.

I find it and decide that my sports bra is a much safer place to put it.



Tues the 20th:
I awake in bed this morning with a stinging, yet sore sensation on my pinkie toe.  There is a large bump.  A call to my sister and a few pictures from my cell confirm it:  I have a spider bite.

It hurts.

I limp.

I'd show you a picture of it, but I don't want to traumatize you.



Wednesday the 21st:
We finally, FINALLY put the rest of the painted doors back on the kitchen cabinets. Ahhh... it's so nice to have an almost finished kitchen.  At least there are no more doors laying around the house.

Seth's mother arrives from driving across the country from Idaho.  (Ah, now you see why the doors finally got finished!)

Thursday the 22nd:

My mother-in-law brings out the gifts.  Mine?  A Shark.  Sweet.  I will steam my floors into submission.

Noodle receives a snake.  It belonged to Seth's mom, but she decided to give it to Noodle to replace dear Sophie who (accidentally) left us to explore new lands when we moved.

Friday the 23rd:

Hopers falls asleep on the bus coming home from school.  Noodle gets off at the stop.  Hopers doesn't.  Seth has to chase the bus down to the next stop with the van and have the bus driver wake her up.  Hopers is a little traumatized, but otherwise survives.

Today:
I sit for a moment at my computer with my foot up on a pillow (horrible spider bite, remember?) and type this all out.  I take a deep breath. I will dive back into the chaos momentarily.

I think I'll type "momentarily" again, just to draw out the moment of peace.

Mo.....mennnnn...........tarrrrrrrr.....ily.



Oh.  There it goes.  Sorry, boredom, you can't come over to play at my house.

Greetings, Meetings and Beatings

Hi. How are you?

I'm fine, thanks.

Good...

If I were to run into you at church or Walmart, this would probably be our conversation. At least to start. Then it would depend on you to be a good conversationalist to get things going, because I would likely stare at you dumbly for a moment before running away. I'm not the best at small talk, okay?

But don't you find it interesting how we don't often tell how we really are? I mean come on, how well does "fine" describe you at the moment? How well does "good" describe your week? Is the other person even wanting to know how you are? If so, the conversation would be more like this:

Oh hi, Friend! How are you?

Ah, well, it's been a very interesting day. Would you like to sit here on this bench with me and I'll tell you all about it?

Sure! Let me just move my grocery cart out of the checkout line.




Hmm...
I think we do want to know how people are doing. Just on our own time. In the comfort of our own homes.

And that's why God invented Blogging.


Yep. I wandered all the way through that thought process just to tell you how my week was. Thanks for asking. It's a crazy world inside my head, people, just go with it. And, incidentally, my world outside my head has been a little crazy, too.


On Sunday, we came home from a weekend of wedding mania. Seth's brother (one of many so don't worry too much about keeping track) got married in Melbourne. His dad was the officiator. Um, the guy that did the marryin'. I spent much of my time taking pictures and edging warily away from drunk people.

On Monday, Seth was still suffering from endless dizziness--a problem that had been going on for more than a week without knowing why, and is still going on. He went to work anyway, spinning like a drunk man at a wedding. Added to that, he began to develop boils on his head, neck and hip. I'm sure that's not the scientific name, but what do you call painful, red lumps the size of Texas and of unknown origin? (And don't you just love hearing about my husband's many strange and unexplained medical problems? He never fails to provide blog material.)

On Tuesday, well, not much of interest happened that I recall. We did our school work. Noodle had a friend over. Went to gymnastics. Blah, blah, blah.

On Wednesday, Noodle was playing out in the front yard. Hopers was inside watching a DVD. I was cleaning the kitchen. (Wait, that's where I always am!) Suddenly, I hear bloody-murder screaming coming from the front yard in Noodle's voice, "Help!! Help me!! Helllllllpppp!!" I run to the door, throw it open, and there is my seven-year-old with a pit bull attacking her. The dog stops and looks at me and I shout, "Get in here, Noodle!" She bolts into the house, the dog runs off, and I begin to attend my crying and shaking daughter. I get her into the shower, because she's covered in dirt. The dog (it was the next door neighbor's) had bit her in the shoulder and the shoe and had scratched up her chest so that she had bloodblisters and bruises. I called animal control, but the neighbor came home and hid in her house with the dog when they came. (I'm so glad I'm moving.)

On Thursday, I got up out of bed and went to the kitchen. The girls were already awake and vying for my attention. Hopers, wearing little plastic dress-up shoes, ran to hug my legs like she always does. Three-year-olds can be so sweet. They act like they haven't seen you in days rather than just overnight. As she stepped away from the hug, her dress-up shoes (which have zero traction on the bottoms) caused her to slip, and at the same time, she tripped over my feet. Hopers went down like a wooden plank, somehow unable to get her hands out in time, smacking her forehead on the tile floor. She cried one enormous, lusty cry as I picked her up, but then was silent. I thought for a moment that she was gathering up breath for another one (you know how little kids do), until the next one didn't come. She went stiff in my arms and then limp, with her head hanging back and her eyes rolled back. I, of course, freaked and started screaming for Seth (who was in the bedroom). But by the time I made it to the living room couch with her, she came to, and was crying heartily. Now, if I'd been home alone, I probably would have rushed her off to the emergency room. But I had my husband there, who is an emergency worker, to tell me that she was fine, and don't worry, people get knocked out all the time, and gee, she definitely won't be in the UFC when she grows up because she gets knocked out too easily. On the upside, she didn't even get a lump on her forehead.

On Friday, we met again with our realtors who brought out yet another counter-offer from the buyers to our counter-offer to their counter-offer to our.... um, did I mention we've been trying to sell our house? We've been negotiating a contract for weeks now, but Friday was the day when I think I saw a light at the end of the tunnel. And there were people actually buying our house in that light. Oh, and Seth went to the doctor and had a boil lanced. EWWW. And Obama got the Nobel Prize. Huh??

On Saturday, I stayed in bed and wrote this blog post. But now it's 9:40 and I have to peek my head out into the world to see what awaits me. Pray for me!!

Have a nice day.

Not the Best Beach Day of the Summer

There comes a point in every Summer when the beaches here in North Florida reach a kind of apex... Don't worry you're not getting senile. I've mentioned this apex thingy before. Only now I have to tell about what happens when one takes her chances after the apex.

August 7, 2009. St. George Island.

Instead of finding the refreshing tidepools where the children had played, we were met with this:

We had to walk very far down the beach to get past the cesspool, the children dropping like flies all along the way. (Life is so tough when you only weigh 35 pounds and have to carry an empty bucket across miles of endless desert.)

Lunch was first on the agenda. Apparently it was the only thing on someone else's agenda:

The seagulls stared at us with their beady little eyes as we began to sit down. Every time I glanced at them, there seemed to be another bird added to their army. At the first POP! of a Lunchable and the smell of turkey and cheese wafted in the air, there was a sudden scramble of wings and beaks and feathers all flying around us in utter turmoil. The rats with wings began swooping in, trying to steal the food out of our fingers. Tabitha was bitten first. Then Noodle. There was a lot of crying and screaming in concert from the girls--shouts and arm waving from Mom and me. Oddly, none of our tactics seemed to work. These birds were undeterred! Any other creature with a brain would see a group of females in such hysterics and run the other way, but not these seagulls. Nope, they were having lunch.

After twenty minutes of convincing everyone that the birds didn't want to eat them (only their crackers), and the adults standing over the children while they hesitantly took one last bite of lunch before abandoning it for the safety of the water, we figured out a little trick:

Seagulls don't like sticks.

So yes, it was not quite the best beach day ever. It was hot, with little breeze, and when the seagulls weren't biting, the yellow flies were. However, one can always make lemons out of lemonade. Or chinese food out of seagulls.

One of my all-time favorite activities at the beach is making Drip Castles. Have you ever made one? This is a Drip Castle:

My mother taught me to make these when I was a little girl. Find a spot where the waves don't quite reach but keep the sand as wet as can be. Scoop up a big handful and let it drizzle out from one end of a loosely held fist. If a big wave happens to come along--yipee! you get to begin again! Half entertainment, half therapy. This has also been a big hit with Noodle and Tobianna (Hopers and Tabitha just wanted to play Smash the Drip Castle).

The water was also very enjoyable. The waves were manageable, the temperature somewhere along the lines of bathwater. While some might find warm water objectionable, I happen to like it a lot. Being a true Floridian, I only bother to swim in temperatures above 80 degrees. Because I have that luxury. Na na naboo boo.

I also brought my fun little waterproof camera to the beach for the first time. What's awesome is that I can take pictures while swimming (see Tabby and Mom above) and not have to worry about a drop of water ruining my day/week/life. So cool. I think everyone should have one. I do wish I had taken more pictures this day, but, thinking back, pictures of children crying while being attacked by bloodthirsty flying things wouldn't have looked that great in my scrapbook.

Thieves

I can now check off "burglary & theft" from my "Bad Things That Could Happen to You" list. No, I haven't unintentionally started a career as a cat burglar. I mean that someone has now done this to me, my family, and my home. Breaking and Entering. Robbery. Piracy. Plundering. Looting. Making a Big Mess.

It happened on Friday. Seth was at work. The girls and I had decided to go with some friends to Maclay Gardens for some fun and exercise at the lake. We left early that morning, about 8:45, to meet at another friend's house for carpooling. I had felt a little rushed, not wanting to be late, but still took the time to lock all the doors and turn out all the lights. I pulled the car out of the garage, pressed the "close" button on my visor remote, and zipped down the street.

We had a great time at the lake. The kids played on the playground while the moms exercised. Afterwards, we all relaxed in the cool, shallow water of Lake Hall. By the time we left, it was past lunch, edging toward naptime.

As I always do upon returning home, I opened the garage with the remote and pulled the car into it. Only, something was strange: the door leading into the house was hanging wide open.

"That's odd," I muttered. "I'm pretty sure I closed the door." While not very likely, it wasn't beyond me to forget the door. Perhaps Noodle had gone back inside and forgotten to close it. I did my best to mentally explore all of the non-scary options, trying to squelch the spreading uneasiness in my gut.

"What's the matter, Mama?" Noodle asked, unbuckling her seatbelt. "Is there someone in our house?"

"Just stay in the car for a second, guys. Let me just look..." I left Hopers buckled in her carseat, and Noodle, who has not listened to me, opens her car door to get out. Stepping up toward the open door of the house, I realize that the components to our family tent are dumped out and scattered on the top step in front of the doorway. Where is the bag? Maybe Seth was here?

I slowly pass through the doorway and into the kitchen. All of my cabinets are open. Hmm...if Seth was here, he sure was in a hurry to find something. My gaze scans through the opening in the far wall that reveals the living room and back door. It is also open. The feeling in my gut becomes a stabbing feeling, and I quickly glance at the spot by the television where I'd been keeping my digital camera and video camera handy. The spot is empty.

I can no longer explore any non-scary options in my mind. This has really happened. Someone has been in my house! But wait, what if they're still in my house? I grab the phone off the charger in the kitchen and dive into the garage with it.

"Okay," I say in my most matter-of-fact voice. "We are going to get back in the car now." Inside, my heart is pounding its hardest against my ribs. Outside, I am as collected as possible.

Noodle, who is no dummy, immediately begins to freak out. "Oh no!! Is there someone in our house? Did they take all my toys? Oh no!! Whatdowedoooo?! I don't wanna die!"

While trying to calm Noodle down (and Hopers, who is starting to cry because her sister is crying) by reassuring her that robbers don't steal stuffed animals, I pull the car out into the driveway, call Seth, then 911, then my friend who's husband is a police officer.

There were a lot of emotions to go through once the police arrived and the investigation began.
I was SAD over the loss of so many of my belongings at once. The thieves took all of the electronics they could carry--digital camera & video camera, the Wii and all of it's games and components, the Wii Fit (oh no! now the the world will know how much I weigh!). They took all of my jewelry, including my engagement ring and two family heirloom rings that I was saving for the girls. They stole miscellaneous items like the girls' nightlight. (What kind of sick-o steals a little girl's nightlight??) Oh yeah, and the bag to the tent? It was gone too, used as a means of carrying all of my stuff away. Wondering what they didn't steal? My computer. My laptop (it was hiding). The TV (a piece of junk--I couldn't have paid them to take it). The DVD player (??). The guns (it's really hard to steal a 5 foot tall, locked gun safe).

I was ANGRY and DISGUSTED that some punks had been in my home and gone through my things. They destroyed our back door--the point of entry. It had been ripped open with a crowbar, breaking the frame and bending the metal door. They ransacked the house, opening cabinets, spilling the contents, looking for drugs (ha ha! we don't have any!). The couch cushions were tossed. The bed mattress was moved (I never keep anything there anyway), and the contents of my closet were dumped all over my bedroom.

I was GRATEFUL that we weren't home when someone decided to do this. The Lord protected us from something that could have been much worse. I'm grateful for friends who came to our aid immediately, so that we had a new door by the end of the day (and a cheesecake). I'm glad we have homeowners' insurance. I'm grateful I had just downloaded all of my pictures and videos off of my cameras, so none of those memories are lost. I'm glad the punks were dumb and left finger prints and shoe prints all over my house, and even spoke to my neighbor, leaving us with a physical description of them and their car.

But all in all, it's just a terrible thing. I think the word of the day would have to be "violated" because that is the most overwhelming emotion. At one point, I remember Noodle asking me why somebody would do this, and I replied, "Because they don't have Jesus in their hearts, so they only know how to do bad things. We should pray for them." And it's true. The world is a place full of evil, but there is a day coming when the scales of justice will be weighed. I have had this song stuck in my head for days now:

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
Your perfect love is casting out fear
And even when I’m caught in the middle of the storms of this life
I won’t turn back
I know You are near

And I will fear no evil
For my God is with me
And if my God is with me
Whom then shall I fear?
Whom then shall I fear?

Chorus:
Oh no, You never let go
Through the calm and through the storm
Oh no, You never let go
In every high and every low
Oh no, You never let go
Lord, You never let go of me

And I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on
A glorious light beyond all compare
And there will be an end to these troubles
But until that day comes
We’ll live to know You here on the earth

Chorus:
Yes, I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on
And there will be an end to these troubles
But until that day comes
Still I will praise You, still I will praise You

All in the Name of Summer Fun

We had been planning for weeks to make this trip to the Marianna Caverns. Actually, I had been tossing the idea around in my head since last year. Visiting these underground caves seemed like the perfect summertime outing: beat the heat with a fun event that doesn't involve going swimming (again). If you have lived in the Big Bend any length of time, you know exactly the place I'm talking about. Like many of us, my last visit was likely an elementary school field trip, so the details were a little fuzzy. However, I was really excited to bring my children and husband, who had never been. And on top of that, my dear friend Elaine and her son Jeremy came too.

The drive was not bad. It only takes a little more than an hour to get to Marianna and the directions were very simple. We had clear skies, good conversation, and happy children who were being entertained by various modern devices. (My, how things change... my two-year-old could watch a movie on a cell phone.)

We arrived at the state park around 10:00 am. There were a few other vehicles scattered around the mostly silent parking lot. The welcome center was tucked into a hill covered in thick green trees and vegetation. The shady air smelled fresh and inviting. I inhaled it deeply as we piled out of the car.

These peaceful feelings stopped short when I spied a yellow blob coming up the road. Two more yellow blobs followed it, and behind that, a long line of smaller, darker blobs. I squinted at them.

"School buses!" I yelled at Elaine and Seth. "RUN!"

They immediately knew what I meant, and the six of us sprinted for the tour center, hoping to get ahead of the giant crowds of ill-monitored children that we knew were coming. I was all too familiar with the effects of these kinds of groups. Just the day before, our fun swimming time at Maclay Gardens was curbed by truckloads of kids from a local day camp who filled every square inch of the lake, stepped all over our towels and lunches on the beach, and generally made a nuisance of themselves while being watched by four or five "adults." (sigh)

"They didn't tell you at the gate?" the man at the register asked as we skidded to a stop before him. Obviously, no one had delivered any message to us at the gate. The man had simply taken our four dollars and waved us through. "Well, ma'am, all the tours are booked up this mornin'. We've got a hundred and fifty kids comin'. You'll have to come back at one-thirty to take the tour."

My jaw dropped. What in the world were we going to do for four hours? Driving home and back was just not an option. We were here, and we vowed to make the best of it. At the suggestion of another family, we decided to drive over to a nearby state park called Falling Waters to eat our lunches and burn some time. We shuffled the confused children back to the car, telling them we were going to see a "neat waterfall" before we go to the caves. This consoled them for the time being.

After driving another thirty minutes (I'm sorry, did someone say this place was "nearby"?), we reached our latest destination. The brochure showed a beautiful, misty waterfall, claiming it is the highest in all of Florida. The thought was rather inviting, considering the temperature had already climbed well past the ninety degree mark.

What we actually got was this: a big ole' hole in the ground with four drips of water. Someone forgot to mention that the waterfall is not really a waterfall at all during a drought, and well, we've been under a drought for years.

So now the kids were begining to whine. We (the adults) had already been whining long before this moment. But we couldn't help but laugh at the rediculousness of it all. I felt like I was the main character in the Berenstain Bears Go On a Picnic book where they keep trying to find the right spot, but each one is infested with mosquitoes or they get garbage dumped on their heads. Finally, they end up picnicing at the very top of a tall rock and Father Bear gets struck by lightning...

Well once again, we try to make the best of things. We took a short hike to see a little more of the park. The kids did their best to act like they enjoyed sweating and counting sinkholes. We stopped at the playground, ate lunch and checked our watches.

We arrived back at caverns in plenty of time, but there was one more bit of fun to add to our adventure. Just as the call came over the loudspeakers for the 1:30 tour to meet outside, the skies opened up and the rain came apourin' down. We got nice and drenched while following our tour guide along the forest path to the entrance of the cave. (sigh)

The tour itself was great. After all of our trials in getting there, it was a welcome change. The kids were fascinated with the sights after their initial fears of the strange dark place. The guides urged us all to take lots of pictures and leave no fingerprints, though I'm pretty sure Hopers left more than one no matter how hard we tried. (She was starting to get a little loopy from no nap.)

There is one place that visitors are allowed to touch a stalagmite, and the park guide used Noodle as his example. She was thrilled to be the first one to get to do it.

By the time the tour was over, we were happy with the way things turned out, but glad to be going home. It had been a long day and everyone was very tired.

Frankly, I was just happy no one had gotten struck by lightning. :)

The "I Should Have Stayed At Home" Fishing Trip

Today was one of those days where nothing goes right and every person around you seems to have an agenda against things ever being right again. At least, that's how it felt. Maybe I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Maybe I just succumbed to the multitude of pressures and difficulties this past week. Maybe my husband really is a pain in the butt. Maybe I just need to eat a bunch of chocolate and start over tomorrow.

The highlight of the day (or is it the low-light?) was our family fishing trip. Seth decided it would be a good idea to take the girls fishing at a park where he'd previously seen "tons of bass" in the lake. I immediately told him to have fun, and I'd see them when they got back.

Now, let me explain myself. I like fishing. Put me on a quiet, shady lake or in a boat on the open water, I'll eat it up. Seth and I used to go fishing all of the time together in the various waterways of SouthFloridaLand.

This fishing trip would be completely different from any of those "good ole' days" fishing trips. This fishing trip involved a rambunctious two-year-old and an Easily Disinterested six-year-old. This fishing trip would be on a dock, in the middle of the day, in 94-degree weather, with no ocean breeze to unplaster the sweat-soaked hair from my face.

No, thanks. I'm not interested.

Fifteen minutes later, we're all piling in the car to drive across town for this fabulous fishing adventure. In my head, I'm calculating how much this outing is costing us:

• bait bucket $9


• new line for the fishing pole $5


• bait (shiners from the nearest tackle shop) $6


• bobbers $2


• gas for the car (approx.) $1,200

We arrive at the park, alone, except for some city employees trimming a tree. The lake: murky and green. The heat index: a million degrees. My attitude: somewhat dismal. The children help with the fishing (Noodle has her own pink and blue rod & reel) for approximately 2 nanoseconds before the Whining begins. I consider tossing Hopers to the alligators for a few moments before making the decision to take her up to the playground for some swing time instead (within shouting distance of the dock). Noodle shows up moments later, complaining, "These fish are boring."

Twenty minutes pass as the kids run back and forth between the playground and the lake (making it necessary for me to follow them and get really sweaty) before a fish is caught. OH the THRILL! The children squeeze in for a picture with it, and then immediately slump their shoulders, stick out their chins, and begin crying for something to drink. Alas, the water fountain is broken, filled with dry leaves and someone's trash. The only water we have is a lone sippy cup, left in the car. I throw my hands up and begin the walk back to the car.

As I'm walking, I hear people shouting. The sound becomes clear enough to create an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Upon reaching the top of the hill where the parking lot is located, I am confronted with the sight of about 40 teenagers, obviously grouped by skin color, shaking fists, shouting obscenities at each other, and preparing to fight. I nonchalantly, unlock my car, grab the sippy, and begin walking back toward the park (all the while staring at the ground, hoping no one notices me). As soon as I reach a point in the path where I think no one can see me, I break into a dead run, my heart pounding.

Meanwhile, Seth has caught another fish and is calling my name as come running down the path. He actually thinks I am excited about the largemouth bass in his hand and begins pestering me to take a picture before I can get any words out of my mouth! "You...have...to...(pant)...call...the police!" I sputter at him, skidding to a stop. As I'm explaining to him the situation in the parking lot, Seth continues to request a photography session... even as he's calling the police!

What's worse, he begins heading up the path! Now, if you know my husband, you might know that he is a notorious Fight-Breaker-Upper. He was in many fights as a teen (having four brothers and living in a rough neighborhood) and is not afraid of them. He has stepped in the middle of more than enough during the seven years we've been married. I, on the other hand, well... freaked out. I did NOT want him going up there and getting in the middle of who-knows-what kind of crazy gang-related, gun and knife-toting teen fight. Call the cops and let them take care of it. There's only one of you and 40 of them! He would absolutely not listen to me, and stomped up the path, still on the phone with the police dispatch. That left me to huddle on the wooden step of the dock and comfort my crying children, who were extremely upset that I was so upset, and that Daddy was doing Something Crazy.

After about six agonizing minutes, Seth returns with a smile on his face as if nothing had ever happened. "How about some more fishing?" he says, picking up a rod.

"What?? What happened?" I shouted at him, not amused by his antics.

"Oh, some of the kids realized I was talking to the police and giving physical descriptions and license plate numbers... It only took a second before someone shouted that the cops were coming and everyone ran off. Apparently they hadn't started fighting yet, but they'd been planning the fight since yesterday. I told the police what happened. They'll be here shortly."

I let out a huge sigh and thought about punching my husband in the face. The rest of our time at the dock went by very quickly because, a) the kids and I were emotionally drained, and b) we still had no water.

I am now at home, releasing my frustration out on a blog post, and... excuse me, I need to go find some chocolate.