Camping Fail.

Oh honey! You bet I’d love to watch football ALL day with you while I wait on you hand and foot. Oh! And lets rent a movie. The kind with lots of blood, guns, bombs, and naked women.

Ahh, the things we do for our spouses in the early years of marriage. It isn’t until about the 2nd year that all that crap goes out the window and the dialogue goes a little like this:

If I have to listen to one more minute of football I’m going to poke my eyes out with forks. I wouldn’t want to poke yours out because you wouldn’t get to stare at the boobs of that chick with the half-missing tank top holding the M16 covered in sweat and mud.

You get the picture. My husband likes camping. The nuts and berries/water out of a stream, dig a hole to poop, kind of camping. Now, pooping in the toilet can be challenging enough, that I knew early on that I would never partake in the kind of camping that includes digging a hole and mastering the concept of dangle and drop. My idea of camping included an RV with hot running water, toilets, carpet, and lights. 

We compromised with a tent, air mattress, and the fact I can bring my down comforter. I know what you’re thinking, but shush; it’s the closest thing to a Hilton Inn, so I’ll take it.

Our first attempt at camping with our small kids didn’t go so great. We both decided for our own sanities we’d wait until they were a bit older. This past spring when we bought our boat, we decided it would be the perfect opportunity to start camping again .. or attempt it at least. After all, we were really enjoying our boat – mainly because I can get out aggression on my husband and kids in a non-violent but oh-so-fulfilling manner by putting them on a giant piece of rubber and driving the boat so fast I put the fear of God in them by swinging them side to side. Not to mention I get great satisfaction out of watching them fly off, screaming like little girls the whole way down to a fiery splash. It’s the simple things in life, really.

See, due to a little disorder I like to call Obviously Clean Disorder (not, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder like the over-educated doctors call it), camping for me can get a bit complicated. For example, I shower twice a day. Every day. I like my kids clean, warm, and lotion’d up before bedtime. I enjoy clean, cozy, and crisp linens. I don’t like to be too hot .. or too cold. I can sit in front of a campfire like everyone else, but if the shower and etcetera’s don’t follow soon after, I will appear one-half devil to anyone within a 5 mile radius.

So, when some very good friends of ours invited us to camp one night with them at a lake only 10mi away (lets be real: a short drive back home in case of small panic attacks), we were up for the challenge. The previous weekend we let the boys have a camp-out in the backyard to let the tent air out. This was the pimpest bachelor pad for boys under 7 ever made!  At times that tent was swinging from side to side with wild-animal noises coming from inside and guess who didn’t care: me. I waited for blood splatter or bone cracks. It never came, so the swinging kept on.

Fast forward to last weekend. We showed up at the Glenn’s campsite ready to go. I had pumped myself up in my head with random sayings like “Leslie, you got this. This will be fun! All the luxuries of home, the kids are going to have a blast. THIS IS AWESOME!”

 I was ready for mother nature to BRING IT! Our enthusiasm was met by silence. There was no one at camp. We weren't sure where to start setting up, where to park. The kids jumped out of vehicles like they'd been freed from a prison sentence. Mase went one way, Griff went another, and Bay-the-Bassett went in her own direction. Octopus-arms mom that I am jumped into action and scooped them all up and hog tied them with socks to the picnic bench.

We just picked a spot that looked semi-level and got the tent ready. After one roll out of the tent, I heard the words I don't like to hear.

"Ohhhhhh God. What is all that?!"

I turned around to find that somehow, chocolate milk had been left in the bachelor pad. It had been rolled up in the tent and stored in the dead heat for 7 days. Nate convinced me to go ahead and put the tent up and we'd let it air-out and we'd clean up what we could. I hesitantly waited outside the tent with bucket of soapy water in hand, not sure what to expect when I opened the flap of Chocolate Curdled Milk Tent. All I can say is I threw up in my mouth just a little bit. Yep. Sure did. 

Nate, bless his heart, did scrub the best he could to get as much of it out as possible.

Just breathe through your mouith, not your nose. Clever concept, you might think, except instead of smelling it now I could taste it. And we won't go there. Who will be the lucky duck to get to lay on that quarter of the tent? Well, Bailey rolls in dead things for fun. She should appreciate this wall of deliciousness. I also assumed that my Snore-Eliminator Mondo box fan that I brought from home would help to dry it out some, too. Nate snores so bad that I either need major drugs or a really loud jet engine fan to drown him out just so I can sleep. As Nate got out the extension cord to get the magic fan plugged in, we heard it:

"Uhhhhh, these sites aren't electriccc, soooooooooo..."

What!? No electric? No Snore-Eliminator Fan? No Sleepy-Sleep for Leslie?

Deep breathing and counting to 2938, I got over the no-electricity concept and moved on. Maybe a good boat ride would help, surely. Docked in reeds 59 feet high (oh yeah, we just slam our hummer of a boat into the weeds like a make shift anchor) we made our way to the boat. No flip flops could hold up to the demands of thick mud, rocks, and weeds. Battered, bruised, and almost defeated, we made it to our boat. I twisted my knee, Mase was terrified of the "mysteries"that lived in the weeds, and Griffin cut his foot. I felt like the soldiers in 'Nam wading waste-deep in water up to my waste. The only thing missing was my rifle held above my head - oh, and the cigarette pack in my t-shirt sleeve.

At sundown, the smaller kids were playing random games in a flat field near the site. As if a clown were chasing them, they all came a'running, screaming, and grabbing various body parts. Turns out, there was a nice little yellow-jacket nest in the ground had been disturbed and any child around was a victim. Most of the victims were dainty pre-teen girls who sounded as though they were birthing babies rather than surviving a bee sting.  

When dinner was over, the men decided they needed a guy's knee boarding trip so they headed out. I decided it was a good time to drag my boys down to the showers with me (will refer you back up to paragraph 3 about my illness). We show up and at first I wasn't sure there were showers, because the doors were the same size as regular toilet stalls. Yep folks, we're talking our shower was 3'x4'. Let's count the occupancy to this hummer: 2 rowdy boys under the age of 7 and one large woman with big parts.

By now the boys have learned that this place echoes. Of course that means we have to test the limits of this metal box of headache. Eventually bellowing through the tin shack was:

"GRRRRRIIIIIIFFFFINNN SMEELLLLLSS LIIIKKKKKEEEE POOOOOOOPPP ..... liiiiiiiikkkkkkeeee pooooooooop"

Giggles would ensue and then Griffin would seek revenge.

MAYYYYSSSEEEEENNNNNNN EEEEEEEAAAATTTSSSSS POOOOOOOOOOOOOOPPPPP"

OK! BOTH OF YOU STOP THIS NOW .... stttooop thssssss nooooowwww"

The new game after the echo competition was to see who could climb from under the stall opening to the stall next door the quickest. Maysen soon discovered if his body was covered in soap, he could slide faster than a seal covered in baby oil and be next door in 5 seconds. Now, I'm hot as hell from wrestling these boys around. The water was one of those that you had to push every 10 seconds so just as I'd get one soaped up the water would turn off.

I'VE GOT SOOOOOOOOOAP IN MY EYYYYYYYYYEEEEESSS .... HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLPPPPP!!!! 

Then Griffin had to pee so he just lets her rip ... all over my leg. I finally had it, and I swear that public shower house sounded like I was performing an exorcism up in that joint.

BOTH OF YOU TWO GET IN HERE NOW AND STAND IN ONE STOP OR SO HELP ME GOD I WILL BEAT YOU WIT--.

I decided I'd better calm down. We finished the shower, double socks and all (double so that the dirt germs didn't get through the first layer ... I told you. I have an issue), and I was so worn out by the time I got back to camp I wasn't sure if I had just ran a marathon, or really in fact, just did showers. I was looking forward to hitting the bed.

Ahh, sleep. If it would have only been that simple. We hit the sack around midnight. Nate had coincidentally tweaked his back bending over to get something out of a bag (yeah, I know, right?). As we laid down on our air mattress the first thing we notice is about 25% of our air has oozed out. Yipee. Remember, no fan, so it was dead quiet, something none of us is used to. Nate could barely roll over or he'd be really hurting. When I'd go to roll over my knee would scream at me I'd about hit the roof (which consisted of nothing but a screen because Nate forgot the tarp for the top ... I was for sure a bird would fly over and poop all over my face. I kept waiting for it.)

Within minutes, I heard the dreadful sound. Not a bear. Not a bird pooping on my face. It was much worse. It was Nate's dreadful snoring. It's like a foghorn in the middle of the night, in a tunnel, right in my ear. Remember the fizzling air from the leak in the mattress? This has provided a trench, a gully, for him to fall right up against the side of me.

2:47am

 

4:07am: You've got to get the hell out of here so I can get some sleep.

By now, karma had paid my husband back for me and acid reflux was knocking on his esophageal door. He decided he'd better just go sit up in the chairs by the fire. Poor man looked homeless, curled up in a chair by the community fire in a dirty sweat shirt.

6:32am: CAWWWWWW CAAAAWWWWW CAAAWWWW!

Apparently at 6:32am the crows of the campground have a caw-fight. They were so loud. I decided I'd better check on the homeless man at the fire. Afterall, aside from the CAWWW's, it had been unusually quiet and when Nate's around sleeping, everyone knows about it. In fact, he would likely have scared the crows off. I peeked my head outside our tent.

There was the firering. There were the chairs. No Nate.

Crap, has he been abducted? 

Then I saw it. Our Tahoe had magically appeared behind the Glenn's trailer. What's weird, is that we had left it 3 miles down the road at the boat launch the day before. How did it get here? Inside, I found the homeless man behind the wheel passed out, drool dribbles and all. I could hear the small vibrations of his snoring as I stood at the door.

*knock knock* How'd the Tahoe get here?

I went and got it.

Yeah, but. How? It's 3 miles down the road.
I walked.

... Yeah, bu-

I walked. Through the woods. In the dark. It was scary. I followed the trail and it took me to some random person's campsite. I waited to be mauled by a dog. Shot by a camper. Assaulted by a group of camping feminists. I didn't care. I needed shelter and a heated seat. So I walked. Now shut the door so I can go back to sleep or I'm tearing down the tent with everyone inside.

I've never seen anyone disassemble a tent/campsite so fast in my life.

When we finally got on the road, all was well in the Scovil vehicle. Nate dozing behind the wheel, bugs crawling out of my hair, and screams of joy and excitement radiating from the backseat.

MOM!!! WHEN CAN WE DO THIS AGAIN?! CAN WE DO THIS AGAIN TOMORROW!? PLEEEEEAAAASSSEEEE??

My girly boys

Mom? What are you doing? I LIKE RED TOO! Can you paint mine? I want my toes to look like yours!

Sure. But your dad is going to kill me. And so will you in 10 years.

I don’t look forward to the day that my boys will break my heart; but I know it’s coming. No longer will they ask for me to lay in bed with them to talk about “funny stories”. No longer will they run to me for safety from one another, as they will learn to fight their own battles. No longer will I have to blow on their oatmeal so that it won’t burn their tongues.

And it will break my heart. But I also look forward to this day as well.

Maysen has started to have more interest in daddy and “daddy’s things”, which I knew (and warned Nate about) would happen. It warms my heart to watch Nate start to instill the male slant on things in their life, as I know one day they will reflect back to it when, perhaps, one day they have their own children. They’re boys and I know this is very important.

But I will still miss the days where they wanted toes like mommy. I will miss the days where Mase would fall asleep in bed with either a blanket or Leo the Lion on his head because it made him “have hair like mommy’s”. I know that these photos are great for blackmail when they’re 18, but that’s not why I have them. It’s to remind me of the days where, if even for a moment, they were my little ones who wanted to be like their mommy.

So, no longer will they aspire to have toes just like mom because “they like red”. But. That’s OK with me. Sort of.

Maysen's kindergarten graduation

 Mrs. Larson was Maysen's kindergarten teacher and one of the best you could have ever asked for! We hope Griffin is able to get into her class to continue the Scovil tradition!

Maysen and his friend Natalie. She is adorable! I think they'll be lifelong friends!

 Miss Young was Ms Larson's helper.

Our wonderful bus driver, Pam.

first boat experience.

As mentioned before, I mostly grew up on boats in the summer time. So, when we bought our magic watercraft on wheels, I thought this would be a piece of cake. Gone was the logic thought of,

Leslie, your husband has never really been on a boat. How do you expect to know what the hell he's doing? You're going to drown out there!! Think of your children!!! Oh, the humanity!!

Nope. All gone. Instead I relied on my husband's 10min brief orientation from the previous owner to hold solid and get us through this. Mainly because as the years have ticked by he's proven to me that he is MacGyver and can fix just about anything. Minus the hot 80's mullet.

Our infamous boat-launching day, we decided to "go it alone". Meaning, we'd been warned to not do this your first time alone.

Ha! We laugh in the face of the non-believers!

Or so we thought. We arrived at the boat dock, and like a panicked school girl, I kept frantically looking back and forth like some hyped up retriever looking for his ball.

What do we do now? Do you want me to get out? Oh, God, Nate what if people are waiting for us? What if you screw up backing the trailer up and then the guy behind us is pissed and then we get gossiped about by the Official Boating Club people?

The what?

Ok, I get it. My husband set the boat down in the water with amazing ease. Overjoyed that MacGyver had soothed my first fear, the boys and I hopped out and got on the dock. Neither boy had a life jacket on and now THEY were the ones who were the hyped-up-retrievers-looking-for-their-ball. I'm standing on the dock holding the 2 white ropes as the boat came off the trailer. I pulled the boat over to the dock and was excited for my own achievement. Then Nate disappeared over the loading dock and he went to park the Tahoe.

As time ticks by my hands are turning purple from holding the ropes so tight. I mean it wasn't a yacht in a windstorm for crying out load, I was just to hold the unloaded boat at the dock.

This is our first time, I kept saying with my big Jackie O sunglasses on, and I think the strangers noticed my hyper-panicky voice. I don't think anyone really cared. This was mixed in with:

Maysen get back off the side, your brother is going to watch -- Griffin you step back too ... Mase I said to just sto--- GRIFFIN! YOU BOTH GET BACK BEFORE I SWEAR TO GOD I'M GOING TO--This is our first time ...*smile*

Minutes tick by like hours as I'm waiting for my saviour to make his way over the hill and into my view. I can now audibly hear the "sighs" of the boats behind us frustrated that I, Jackie O who is yelling at her kids non stop because she's afraid they'll slip off and drown, is indeed taking up the WHOLE DOCK.

Finally here comes Nate. And what do I see? NO, and I mean ZERO boys' life jackets or backpack (which contained emergency snacks, sunscreen, socks ... always need dry socks). It takes him what seems like forever to reach the dock, and like a dog who fetched a bone was smiling wildly at me.

Ready to go?!

Nope. You left all the crap up in the car.

Sh--

Yep. Please hurry as I'm about to panic over these kids and the irritated two guys from Grumpy Old Men behind me. Which, as of program note, in fact had to go back out into the lake, circle around, and come back because I was in the way. Score.

Now here he comes with arms full of gear. As I strap the kids so tight they can barely breath in their life jackets, we load the boat. People flood out of the woodwork, seemingly, as soon as we hop aboard.

*Grrrrrrrrrrr---*    *Grrrrrrrrrrr----*

What? You can't tell that's a dead battery noise? Well. It was. And while we tried for the next hour trying to get jumped by everyone sailing by on the water, no luck. We decided to abandon ship, and back we came into town for a nice $80 mid-Sunday afternoon snack of battery! If I had only grabbed my cellphone. I see now what people used to do before cellphones were here. Savages!

Back we go, all 20 miles back to the lake. The people have scattered, and to our relief no one had stolen our non-starting boat. Phew! Nate got the battery in, changed, and she fired right up! I was glad because I had already talked myself into believing that this boat HAD to be a pile of junk, and that we'd gotten ripped off, and the previous owner had, in fact, stolen our first born!

We enjoyed our day out on the lake, which really was only about an hour. But that was enough, as the breeze was chilly now and the sun was fading. Feeling we'd tackled the hardest part of the journey, I told Nate to go get the trailer and I'd load the boat. Nate missed the launch pad twice, should have been an omen.

I loaded the boat with ease and perfection. All except for when, thanks to the homeless guy on the dock who screamed "YOU LEFT YOUR BUOYS OUT!!", I was about to pop those babies in two. Take #2 went smoothly as well. Nate got out to crank the boat up and as we were driving up the boat ramp with smiles of triumph, Mr Homeless came running after us pointing.

"OWIEGN  KDGIJD  KJIIAASHIKJWE  KDLJIAGHIE!!!!!"

I smiled and waved, "THANK  YOU!"

**CRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR--**

What? You didn't know that was the sound of your motor that wasn't lifted out of the water dragging on the launch pad? Oh. Well. It was. And now we are sitting high-center in the middle of the launch pad. Over much debate with whether or not I raised the motor out of the water (which I did what I was told and did) and with the help of 4 or 5 other boaters who came to help out, we remained high-centered on the launch pad and, again, in every one's way.

Dying of mortification, I just want to spread my wings and fly back into the middle of the lake away from everything, but instead I'm asked what no fat dwarf wants to be asked.

Can you get out of the boat?

Uh. Leslie here with 2ft legs and we're sitting approximately 8 feet off the ground. Right.

You've gotta be kidding me right? Where are those damn wings?

Somehow we all pile off the boat and I make the kids get into the running Tahoe while we (the guys) figure out what to do. It takes the kids exactly 4.9 seconds to remove their life jackets, seat belts, and are currently hanging from the vehicle complaining and whining like you'd just told them Santa ate the Easter Bunny.

With God's graces, they were able to push the motor up a bit and move the boat back into the lake. Now what? We still can't load it and take it out of the lake. The mystery was behind this magic black button called "Trim". Apparently we were pushing it all the way up but the motor was not coming out of the water. We were placing all bets that our faithful friend, Tim, would be home. It was Tim who had told us to not go boating alone the first time and wait for them to be available. We'll never ignore Tim again!

I left with the wild animals who had no shoes, had not eaten, and were gnawing holes in the new Tahoe seats. I look back to see solemn Nate in the boat like a developmentally challenged person with no helmet. Boat sitting quietly at the dock and we all know is going no where. I fly down the highway as the tears start to flow. What am I going to do if Tim's not home?

I pass a highway patrolman who slams on his breaks. No, I'm not speeding, don't do this to me! I rounded the hill and slid behind some semis in hopes I'd lose him, although I didn't know why I was being followed to begin with. The lights of HOME were shining at me as I took the exit and sped to The Glenn's house.

Thank you JESUS he was home! Tiffany answered the door.

Oh my God, what's wrong? Who died?!

Did I really look that bad? I blubbered out my sob story as Hero Tim changed out of his church clothes at warp speed and before I knew it, stood there, wrenches in hand. We walked to the trailer and I think I found the culprit of why the highway patrolman slammed on his breaks.
There behind the trailer was 12' of the line used to crank the boat in with. It's a 3" wide ribbon/rope and Nate had not locked it. So I'm flying passed people on the freeway at warp speed, crying, kids going nuts, all with 39 million feet of this flag waving behind me.

Tim agreed to drop me and the kids off at home, now dark, and go rescue Nate. Within 30 minutes I got a call from Nate.

Figured out the problem. Apparently there's a separate black button that raises the engine out of the water.

Thanks Tim for saving us. And we will not be attempting this again without you.

Proud.

As a parent, it is easy to get wrapped up in everyday life. I will admit that often there are times where my kids test my frustration-level more than my love-level. I know that I am not perfect and no matter how hard I do try and bite my tongue, I know my quick wick sometimes gets the best of me; I am sure I say some things that I wish I didn't. It is something that I am trying to get better at, honestly.

My sister directed me toward this poetry reader that she found online; Her newly profound interest in poetry came out of nowhere, like many of her new ideas and interests. This poem struck me more than some of the other random poems and site readings she sends me via YouTube. Perhaps its because I'm a mom. Maybe its because of her openness and honesty. Maybe its because it is so true, hidden behind some locked file cabinet in our minds, we know all of this, but yet it doesn't seem significant enough at the time. 

At the time. At "this" time is what is most important. This is the time that will count for that time down the road.

In her poem, Rachel McKibbens mentions #1 "the crumpled photo of myself in the garbage".

One sunny afternoon, Maysen was going through my drawer where I keep old photos of classmates and dusty yearbooks. Annoyed he was dragging everything out of the drawers, I barked at him to put all the stuff back and shut the drawer. 

Who is this, mom? 

That's me. (Really do I look that different?)

How old were you? Why is your hair yellow? 

I explained that the picture was when I graduated high school, right before college. As for the yellow hair, I tried to rationalize why I had over-highlighted to cover my dark roots and then my hair got too brittle and only becau--- I stopped there because the deer-in-headlights look was too much.

Nevermind. My hair was just yellow in high school. 

He sat mesmerized and as his brother approached, he beamed.

Griffy did you know this was Momma when she was graduating High School? She was 18. She even has yellow hair!

He later asked for some tape. Annoyed at having to remove 29 feet of destroyed tape from his attempts to cut a 1" piece off, I gave him the tape. I didn't think to ask what it was for. 

That night, tired and eyes watering from yawning so much, I was talked into going upstairs to lay with him. Griffin had fallen fast asleep and was audibly snoring. 

Listen to that beast! 

We both giggled, knowing it probably wasn't the best thing to condone him calling his brother a "Beast". All in all, we sat and whispered to one another. Maysen loves hearing about stories of when I was young. As he yawned, I kissed his forehead. Something caught my eye.

Taped on his headboard was my senior picture. 

Why did you tape my picture up here?

Because, mom. You're so pretty! 

He now has 2 pictures on his headboard. My senior picture from 12yrs ago, and one photo my sister took of Maysen and I when he was about 3 months old. I am holding him  up in the bathtub, while he stares at Jenn with his huge blue eyes. He thinks he looks like "a baby monkey and I'm sooo cute, mom!".

I never want to see my picture crumpled up in the garbage. I think it would be the one thing in this world that could break my heart. I hope I always make him happy enough, proud enough, to display my picture. 

Come on Summer!!

But I am afraid of the dark spots in the lake.

Jenn, the dark spots are nothing to be afraid off.

But they're deep spots. I don't like them. I don't know what's down there.


Within a few minutes of being out on the water behind our pontoon blowing full speed, she forgot about the "dark deep spots" in the lake. Although I got tired of her wigging out that fish were swimming around her feet ...

There was also the feeling we got on Fridays when we knew dad was coming home from work. And when he came home that meant we'd all load the pre-packed motorhome that was strageically parked in the "get the hell out of Dodge" position along the street pointed in the direction of travel. Pulling out of town in our motor home, with usually a friend in tow (Jenn got Charity, I got Mollie), it felt so great leaving our little town behind and headed for ..... "the lake".

We would stop at the infamous 2-story KFC for dinner. That is where I discovered Honey Mustard sauce and that instant mashed potatoes were, in fact, awesome. Then off to finish out, hoping to reach the campground before dark.

Once at the campground we'd set camp. A fire would be built; s'mores were cooked. Going to the bathhouse to shower makes me remember the smell Herbal Essence in my hair while looking up at the stars. Walking back to the motor home fresh and clean carrying towels of a girls' toiletries was a challenge. 

We'd wake up in the morning to dad already being gone fishing. Mom and Dad would come and pick us up once we woke up and jammed our fists full of chocolate covered donuts and orange juice as "breakfast" and we'd hit the lake. The sun made my freckles shine radiantly. Dad would pull us behind the boat on the "sked" until we went flying off, then he'd circle and do it again. When he was ready to fish and get rid of us, he'd take us to an island in the lake and dump us off. We girls would pretent it was an abandoned island and we were to "survive" the elements. That would last an hour, and dad would be back. Secretly we'd hope that some super-cute boys would come and flirt with the pretty 13yr olds on the deserted island. Never happened. 

Point is this: I have the greatest memories of growing up every Kansas summer at the lake. Bonds were made, memories made, so much fun was had. And I want my boys to have that. A few weeks ago we purchased a boat. This last week we purchased a new family vehicle that can pull the boat. We have absolutely wonderful friends who also have a boat and we have summer plans already set for this summer. I cannot wait to start forming those close family times with my boys ... out on the lake :) 

Cinnamon Laundry Room Flood, 2008.

I remember it like it was yesterday; 2008. Maysen was about to turn 4 and had just started that climbing and getting into every.thing. We had just finished up supper and I was cleaning up. Griffin began to get cranky and so I left the kitchen to attend to him.

That's when it all went down. Like a perfectly planned masterpiece. But not.

I hear rustling in the kitchen.

Mase? What are you in to?

Silence.

MAYSEN. What are you ...

Just then I hear what sounds like an explosion of a million tiny bead-like objects falling onto every hard surface in my kitchen. What in the world is that? Is it beads? No. I don't bead. Is it marbles? No. Too heavy for marbles.

Then I remembered: I had a brand new bag of those tiny cinnamon candy balls I had bought for Maysen's bowling ball cupcakes for his bowling party.

I rounded the corner to see his eyes as big as silver dollars holding a bag that had been ripped from end to end. You can tell the look on his face said "This is NOT what I had planned"

My husband heard my exasperated prolonged sigh that I let out.

I will get the broom.

I'm so thankful I have a husband who, not only can read my mind, but can act without seeing the destruction ahead. As I heard him stop what he was doing, he headed for the laundry room where our broom was housed. I wondered how he would maneuver around in there because I currently had it filled with laundry as I continued with my 108-load marathon laundry day. I had originally expected to hear a curse word or two come out of his mouth as he trudged around in there. Instead:

 Uh. Oh my. Umm. HONEY! SOMETHING HAS GONE TERRIBLY WRONG IN HERE!!

I stood there not knowing whether to grab my 4yr old off the counter and brave the death walk that was my cinnamon-ball covered floor like a scene off Home Alone when the burglars slip on the marble trap, or go to my husbands aid and brace for what was coming at me next.

I decided to opt for #2 as I told Mase to "hold still" as I had "an emergency to attend to". I ran to my husband's defense to whatever was attacking him in the laundry room. A few steps away from the laundry room I heard water. Like, splashing puddles of water. There stood my husband; he had pulled his pant legs up as to not get them wet has he stood, confused, in 2" of water that had flooded my laundry room floor.

The hose, which is attached to the draining system for our washer, had become dislodged from our tub-sink causing all the draining water to spill onto the floor.

GET ME MORE TOWELS .... I HATE THIS G.D. WASHER! .... HOW DID THIS HOSE COME OFF? ... I DON'T KNOW, NATHAN, DO YOU THINK I DID THIS ON PURPOSE? .... NO! I JUST DON'T KNOW HOW ALL OF A SUDDEN ....---

*ding dong*

We both stopped, frozen in time with a half-panic look on our face. What do we do now?

Is Mase still on the counter?
Oh crap, yep.

I bolted from the laundry pond to find Mase, who was by now naked from the waist down for God-only knows why, standing in the living room with the phone in his hand.

*Ding-Dong*

As I snatched Maysen up with one hand I opened the door to find a police officer standing at the door.

Someone from this residence contacted 911. Is everything ok?

Yes, officer. Just another day in the Scovil household.

Principals office #1

Ok, the first thing you'll notice is that I actually, yes, numbered this post. That is because I am fearful that this is the first of many trips to the principals office. I know that I, as a child, unfortunately became very familiar with the inside of Mr. Levin's office for various things such as: leading the entire 7th grade class down Main Street because I happened to be at the beginning of the line during an all-school walk to the high school. Mr Woodham, who was (what seemed to a 7th grader to be about 95 years old ) was the teacher in charge and the poor man was near a stroke by the time we got to the school. He was, regrettably, the same man who fell victim to Leslie Shindley's idea of a fun game called "Lets Hide From Mr Woodham" in his math class which was held right after lunch. He'd walk in, and I'd wrangled the entire class into closets and cabinets around the classroom. I'd hide in the closet directly behind his desk and as he'd enter the room, sit down and wonder "Where is my class?" I'd shoot out of the closet screaming and laugh as I watched him jump with fright. That was followed by the rest of the class bursting out and again, I'd see Mr Levin. But man was it worth it. I'm still laughing ....

However, when you have children you're supposed to teach them right, teach them the err of your ways. But, is there a certain "ornery gene" that gets passed on? Or is it karma?

Maysen doesn't "need" to ride the bus. He rides because he absolutely loves it. We live a mile from the school, so whatever. On Thursday last week his bus driver asked to speak to me when she dropped him off.

Uh Oh.

"I've been telling Maysen over and over again that he cannot stand up in the seats, or frog hop from seat to seat while the bus is moving. He really should get a citation for this, but I wanted to talk to you". Frog hop? That resulted in him being grounded from riding the bus for 2 school days.

Then yesterday I came home from a long day at work to see a mysterious envelope on my counter. "To the Parents of Maysen" so sterile, so blatant, so ... stark. The envelope was a business envelope from "Principal JR". I felt a sense of nervousness come over me as though I were the student. As I read the report marked "MAJOR ACTION" I began reading how my son "spit on other peer's food during lunch, which will result in mandatory lunch-time in Principal's office for the next 2 days". Oh Lord. Spitting?

At first he refused to tell me what happened. Tears welled up in his eyes and I could tell he was ashamed. After much prodding (and threatening of losing Wii privileges) he explained to me that his friend, D, had spit (or so he thought) on C's food, so because D is his friend, he did it too. Apparently D only "faked" spitting but Maysen had followed through. Oh the betrayal Maysen felt to find out that D had "faked me out". I have to admit I feel a  bit sorry for the poor chap, eating in the Principal's office all alone. Perhaps maybe he'll wander over and spit in JR's food if she looks away ....

Scovil Decor 2010

 Double effect courtesy of the granite counter

This is our 11 foot Christmas Tree. We have never had a tree this tall and now that we have the ceiling space for it, we thought "why not?" It was hilarious watching us decorate this thing. Nate had to rig up a broom stick with a hanger on the end of it to get the lights/ribbon strung clear up at the top. 46 trips to Bi-Mart for non-functional lights and after 7hrs we finally had it finished!

The boys were even lucky enough to get a tree for their upstairs play room. They decorated it how they wanted to and didn't do too bad for a 6 and 3yr old. Kept them entertained, so that's a score in my book!

 Part of our annual Christmas Village, courtesy of Mom and George.

Of course you can't see it here, but we have those (somewhat annoying yet fun) lights that are synchronized with the Christmas Music that belts out of the box the lights are plugged into. I'm sure our new neighbors love the seizure-causing flashes coming from next door. They then open their door to see what the chaos is, only to have "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" at 100 decibels staring them in the face. Ahhhh, the joys of the holiday. 'Tis the Season, folks!

Happy 6th Birthday, Bean.

No, I know what you're thinking and that is NOT a pile of dog poop birthday cake. It is, in fact, an active volcano, don't ya know! Can't you see the spew of hot lava flowing down the sides as it explodes from the top? (That is, by the way, melted down Cherry Jolly Rancher for the explosion part and Fruit By the Foot for the lava down the sides). Maysen turned 6 this weekend and it was filled with cheers and thrills all weekend.

My little boy's love for trains continues to this day, mainly encouraged by random YouTube videos of Amtrak and other "bullet train" videos he finds. So, what could have been more appropriate than his first Amtrak ride. We have a train station in town, so Nate's mom dropped us off and drove with Griffin to Albany (45min away) while we boarded the train...just Maysen, Nate, and I.

It was wonderful! It was such a pleasant surprise for all of us. I've been on a train here and there, but never a "mode of travel" train like Amtrak. It was smooth, it was quiet, it was sooo relaxing. In fact, we decided on that 45min train ride that this must be our newly discovered mode of traveling. Maysen fell in love with this train, never diverting his gaze out the window as he rediscovered every day images in a new way.

This foot rest ended up being the coolest thing, for all of us. Within 20min of our ride, we all 3 had them up with our seats reclined and arms behind our head. We were enjoying life .. and our McDonalds apples.

The thrills continued the next day with Science Experiment Birthday party. We did experiments with Dry Ice, Milk Swirls with food coloring & QTips, Alka-Seltzer Lava Lamps, Instant Snow, Glue Gak, Baking Soda volcanoes, and the finale were 4 Mentos Diet Coke Geysers!! It was an absolute blast!

The fun and hilarity of chaos!

Maysen and good pal, Natalie. Doesn't he look handsome here?

Part of the loot

Digging in the piles of instant snow ..

I was so happy that Dad and my step mom Jo made the jaunt from California to be at this party. It was the first one they've been able to attend and it was such a help having them here as I think we underestimated the amount of help we'd need for this caliber of party. As you can see, even the adults were enthralled.

Even though I did a run through before the party, I needed to re-read instructions for the Green Glue Gak (which we deemed "Monster Boogers"). Again ... as you can see the adults were just as intrigued...

During the last few kids, we added food coloring to our vinegar when we did the volcanoes. It was a neat change. I, regrettably don't have pictures of our Diet Coke Mentos geysers. I am trying to get a few from a few of the other parents who had cameras out. If I get some I will post them. We did them in our back yard. Nate had my dad as an assistant and all of us were safely sitting on the porch. Safely, we thought, until Nate pulled the release trigger, dropping the Mentos into the 2L bottle and the top was on crooked. The diet Coke shot out sideways shooting most of the kids. I will admit that a few parents shrieked with surprise too. It was an absolute blast and I'm sure that we will be remembering this party for quite some time. Some of Maysen's friends at school were still talking about it today ... he was so proud!

So, Happy Birthday, My Little Train Conductor. I'll love you forever ...

Go Go Mario Kart - Trick or Treat!

And this is what we wait all year for. Costumes. This year the pair decided to be Mario and Luigi from "Mario Kart". What a hoot they were!

And because they were from "Super Mario Kart", we had to be complete with the Mario Kart vehicle. They drove this hummer door-to-door all night trick-or-treating. It was an ordeal hopping in and out of this thing every 20ft, but they did it! And were excited to!!

Earlier in the day we went to the Community Center for Harvest Festivities complete with ring toss, cotton candy, cake walk, and $1 hot dogs. It was a blast. We met up with some great friends there and that completed the afternoon.

The boys were even asked to join the costume contest. They didn't win but they were sure cute up there strutting their stuff!

The afternoon was rounded off with making a trip to MiddleField Oaks to visit mom. The whole place was so excited to see these two munchkins walk in the door that we could barely leave. We played a few rounds of Go Fish with mom and then headed home to prepare for the real deal !

And it all boils down to this repetative position and phrase "Go Go Mario Kart, TRICK OR TREAT!" They said it over a hundred times last night, I'm sure. Our loot is ridiculous and I'm hoping to accidentally drop some in the trash. Oooo, wait. I'll pass it out as party favors for Maysen's upcoming birthday party. That's our next event. Two words: Science Experiements. Can you imagine the mess? Ugh.