Working it OUT!

This week has been a great workout week--as was last week! I love when I'm mentally in the game, which sometimes takes forever to transpire. But it has and I feel fabulous!

One of my friends at work and I have been hitting the track as many days as we can--due to the snow at the beginning of the week, we weren't able to. We did attempt, but to no avail. On Wednesday and Friday we got in the 1.5 miles--six times around. And it goes so fast--mostly because we're chatting up a storm the entire time. I love it. I love the friendship that is developing and the camaraderie of our professional relationship as well. After school, I throw on the PIYO from my laptop, project it onto the screen, clear out the tables and throw down the yoga mats. It's awesome! I mean there are some moves that literally SUCK when I'm attempting to do them, but I'm getting stronger and I feel better. I can't wait until my wrists no longer suffer under the weight of my body--when they can support the moves I'm wanting to do. It's a slow process, but I've completed two weeks! Yay!

Me and my babies--rocking the workout pants!

Usually I make my working out about my weight. I'm a slave to that damn scale. I remember when I was younger and I thought When I'm in my 30s I'll no longer be so obsessed with my body. Yeah right! And while I did hit a heavy spell for a few years in my 30s, I realized that it was due to being in a shitty relationship. It wasn't me. At 38, I got in the best shape--back to the shape I was in BC (before children). Going to the gym with Kent felt amazing--we built the foundation of our relationship there, as friends. I looked forward to going, to seeing him, to talking about our lives, our stresses, our kids, us.

This go around I'm trying, notice the trying because the scale has been a part of my life ever since I can remember and some habits are extremely hard to break (sorry for the ramble...)... Anyway, I'm trying to not make the tail end of my 40s about the damn scale. I only got on it once this week. And I'm not even going to write about the two pounds I lost. Oops. See. Like I said--trying.

What can I say? I'm a piece of work. I hope that I always care about my body--about my health. About looking my best and feeling proud. There's this saying, "You feel your best, when you look your best." And for me that's true. Some days my best means sweats and a t-shirt. At work it means dressing for success. I like that my students call me the fashionista and are taken back when I wear jeans or workout attire or whatever.

It's been a good 2 weeks. Here's to a great two more! =)

Blessed.

Some nights, when I'm perusing the Internet, I come across some pretty amazing stories. There's one blog in particular that I found a few months ago--one that I've found myself going back to and reading the updates, following the stories, looking through the photo and even watching the videos. I feel connected to this family--one I've never met, yet their story has touched my heart.

I step back and think about my life--about my kids and my husband, and I feel so incredibly blessed. There were times when life was starting to get the best of me, when I didn't think things would ever turn around... and then they did.

And it's made me realize how important it is to take in every day--even the really shitty ones--and grab ahold of it for what it is, and for what it isn't.

This past year has been filled with so many blessings. From celebrating our 6th anniversary, to buying our first home together, to being empty nesters--to living life with a man I love and who loves me back. There are so many days when we're sitting under the stars in the hot tub and we look at each other and say, "God, I love our life." Because we do.

We're so lucky in so many ways. Not a day goes by that I don't send up a prayer of thanks...

The Heart of the Matter

There is nothing worse than not feeling well.  For a little over a month, my chest has been killing me. Yeah.  Yeah.  Yeah.  People hear the words "chest" and "pain" together and all they think of is 1) Oh my god, she's having a heart attack and/or 2) Oh my god, she's dying.  Seriously.

At least that's what I think of.  And being the typical, in-denial type of chick, I ignored the signs as long as I possibly could.  And they kept getting worse.

So FINALLY, at the encouragement of my husband, I did make a doctor's appointment.  And I really hate doctor's appointments.  I mean the entire time I'm sitting there, all I do is convince myself something is definitely wrong.  I don't just sit on the stupid gurney-thingy either.  I'm analyzing the charts, checking my BMI (which is in the normal, healthy range), and read anything I can get my hands on.  Then the knock on the door comes and I leap back up on the chair, pretending I've been patiently waiting the entire time.  Whatever.

During the "exam", I swear they know exactly what is going on.  They're just not telling me.  Yep.  This is where the paranoia sets in.  Everything he asks of me, I do--meanwhile, my brain is breaking it all down, coming to one conclusion--something is terribly wrong and he's trying to figure out how to tell me.  There is a small, sane part of me that is actually dismissing the crazy talk simultaneously--hoping for a good outcome.

And usually there is one.

This time, the first diagnosis was costochondritis.  As I read up on it, I don't seem to qualify.  I'm no teenager, after all...  I accepted the diagnosis and began the ibuprofen regimen.   Oh joy.  After two weeks, and a stomach which could no longer tolerate the ibuprofen, the pain hadn't dissipated.  At all.

So back in I went--the same rig-a-ma-roll happening all over again.  This time with my husband in tow.  My support system allowed my brain to be a bit at ease, until the doctor called me later on that evening wanting me to come back in for an EKG.  Okay.  Really.  I'm a bit young for that.  And no, this is not denial--I AM young.  Dammit.  He wanted to rule out periodontitis.

I dragged my husband back with me--I mean who wants to get all hooked up and be alone.  Not me, thank you very much!  After the quick 10 minute ordeal--with 8 of the ten minutes the time it took to hook me up to the machine--the doc came back on in to give me the good news.  Or so I was hoping. He didn't like some of my "T-waves" and could not rule out the periodontitis.  Oh joy.  Next stop--on over for an echocardiogram and a treadmill stress test.  Seriously.

Two days later, my husband and I head over to the clinic where I'd be getting tested.  After getting checked in, we go up the elevator to the cardiology wing.  The moment I stepped off the elevator, I knew I was NOT in the right place.  It was the senior center USA.  And me.  They even looked at me wondering what the hell I was doing there.

I am young.  I am healthy.  I still workout on a regular basis.  I don't drink soda.  I only have 1-2 coffees a day.  I am not a heavy meat eater.  I actually eat very healthy--and yes, even breakfast every day.  I love my veggies.  I drink plenty of water.  I'm not overweight.  I'm not a smoker, nor am I a drinker.  This is ridiculous.

First stop was the echocardiogram.  The technician was very nice.  Except for her straight face.  I couldn't get a good read on her.  And as I looked up on the screen, at my beating heart, I had no idea what I was looking for.  She kept measuring these huge dark spaces.  Several times turning up the sound and I could hear the life inside of me.  Kinda cool.  Then she let me go and do the stress test--a positive!  If she didn't give the okay, it meant bad news.  I got the okay.

Me ready for the echocardiogram!

The stress test was interesting.  They hooked me up to eight different cables and gave me some insights as to what would happen.  Every three minutes the incline and the speed would increase.  "I so got this," was all I could think about.  I workout dammit.  I can run.  I've learned how to breathe.  They told me my heart rate needed to hit a minimum of 150 to get a good reading.  "I can do this in my sleep," is all I thought.

And I did.  I got an "above average" reading for the time I was able to last during the test.  And the chick didn't finish her sentence with the "...for your age..." either, which made me happy.  My heart recovered quickly--another strong sign of a healthy heart.  She said my doctor would call me with the results, but not to worry.

So of course, I did.

When he called me back, there was good news.  Well, good news and bad news.  The great news was I do have a very healthy heart.  The bad news--the pain isn't going away.  They believe it to be muscular.  I have to stay away from Crossfit--probably the catalyst of all these injuries--and keep working out at the gym.  I now have to do physical therapy to work out the pain.  That will start on Friday.  Which is fine.

The scare though--the scare of something being wrong with my heart really left a mark on me.  It's not like a leg or an arm or a knee.  It's something that cannot always be fixed.  It's something that's needed to live.  And it scared me.  I think good things can come from bad situations--from scary situations--and for me, it made me take a good look at my health.

When I think about retirement (hopefully in 12 years), none of it will matter if I'm not in good health.  So for 2014 I plan on still eating healthy, still loving my veggies, still planning to go to the gym, still planning to steer clear of soda, still plan on having my Starbucks (although I have switched to decaf...sometimes...), still plan on being conscious about my weight and my water intake.  And I've added a new little something for my health--wine.  I need more wine.  I need to relax, to take the time to chill.  To stop worrying so much.  And wine is going to help me get there.

Techie, I am not...

Okay, I'm going to be honest here.  I am SO not a techie.  At one point in my life I thought I was.  I even have a Master's Degree in Educational Technology to prove how tech-afied I really am.  Yeah, right...

Tonight I received a phone call from my sister-in-law, Theresa, giving me some advice in regards to my non-techie status.  I didn't realize how badly in need I was of updating my Facebook, my Twitter, my BLOG (yes, I know it's been almost a YEAR since my last post but what-are-ya-gonna do?), my Pinterest, and my articles.  Whew.  I thought with having so many sites (it's a lot for me), that qualified me as tech-afied.  Yeah, right...

And so I spent a little bit of time arranging, and fixing, and adding, and all those other things that I should be doing.  Maybe 2014 will be the year of the techie...

On second thought...

Yeah, right.

Here are my sites!
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MrRightsGoneWrong
Twitter: https://twitter.com/FmTheSidelines
My Novel's Website: http://mrrightsgonewrong.com
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/merelovesthepac/articles-i-ve-written/

See--I'm kinda a techie.  In the making, anyway...

P.S.
Thanks, Theresa for all of your help!

Mr. Rights Gone Wrong--It's HERE!

YES!!  Finally will be doing pre-sales for my novel!

 Mr. Rights Gone Wrong will be in bookstores and online (Amazon.com) by April!  However, I am taking preorders if you are interested.  For pre-sales, I'll be paying all shipping/handling and tax fees.  If you are interested in purchasing a copy, there is an order form attached.  Also, if you'd like your book to be signed, just let me know--be sure to include the name you wish the book to be personalized in.  The special pre-sale pricing is good from now until 3/8.  Books will be delivered to you by 3/25.

For those of you ordering, please email me at merelovesthepack@yahoo.com for mailing information.  Below is the order form:

If you have difficulty printing the form from here, please use the link below.  The order form is available there as well!

Want to learn more about my book?  Like my page at https://www.facebook.com/MrRightsGoneWrong

Thanks for your support!

~Meredith

Forbes Women Article

It's been a bit since I posted on here--hard at work on my novel, which should debut in the next month! Here's my latest Forbes Women article--enjoy!

Cream Puffs, Gum and Fried Chicken: Confessions of a Self-Saboteur

~Meredith

Today's Not the Day

My first article with the Journal of the Colorado Language Arts Society--just happens to be about one experience I had in the classroom...the only time I was ever frightened. And yes, it was because of a weapon. It's just a glimpse at the love I have for every kid that enters my classroom.

Today's Not the Day

Go Get It

My latest Glass Heel article!

Go Get It

The Substitute.

Recently I've had a student teacher in my classroom--an absolutely amazing student teacher, I might add.  So after spending a lot of time working on the publication side of my first novel, planning my next few units out, and reading a ton of short stories that I plan on using, I've more or less been a substitute in my building.  With the flu season kicking in, substitutes are needed.

And what an experience it's been thus far.  Oh yes.

I've learned a few things in the past few weeks that I thought I'd share with you.  Here goes...

1. Nose pickers gross me out.  They have no shame as they dig in there and pull out a doozy.
2. Booger eaters make me want to yack.  Especially when they are chewing away on the slimy ooze, then look to their fingers in hope of finding some more delicious goodness.
3. 6th graders love, love, LOVE cheesy jokes.  And I love the 10 second pause they take before actually getting the joke.  (The one I told "Why was the nose sad?  Because he did not get picked"--I was hoping the nose picker/eater would get the double entendre I was exposing him to...but no such luck).
4. I have no clue about science.  Seriously.  Lights on, but nobody is home.  I should've paid more attention in school.
5. My math skills versus today's math skills are completely different.  As a matter-of-fact, my way of performing mathematical functions are "old-fashioned", as in "Dr. Collins is that the old-fashioned way of doing math?"  Bite me.
6. Our special education teachers are actually angels, goddesses, saints--you name it.  Of all the substitute experiences I had these past few weeks, this particular class took the cake.  I fell instantly in love with the kids, who were the kindest and sweetest little kids ever.  Except perhaps the boy who wanted to discuss weapons, drugs, and body parts--just typical conversations I have on a daily basis with students--NOT!  Or the poor little girl who burst into tears because she couldn't find her paper.  Some of us are equipped to handle complete meltdowns every 30 seconds, and some of us simply are not.  I don't think I need to say which category I fall into.  Regardless, to do this work every day is without question a gift from above given to a few.  Thank God for them!
7. The "Dr." in front of my name confuses the young.  They asked me countless times what hospital I worked at and when I found the time to be a doctor.  Funny!  Especially since I am extremely nervous around anyone who looks, acts, or is ill in the slightest of manners.
8. I have a presence.  I am little, but I am fierce.  And I don't even have to say a thing.  Pretty cool.
9. These kids adore their teachers.  And they love the other teachers in my building.  I loved when they asked if I could always be their sub--how cute is that?  
10. The gullibility of 6th graders is priceless.  When asked who was teaching my class, I told them 8th graders are so together they don't need teachers.  I leave the instructions on the board and they just get it done (yeah, right).  "Wow, can't wait to be in 8th grade" was heard more than once.  

So yep.  Here's to all you substitutes out there.  Whew.  It's quite the experience.

My latest Glass Heel Article!

Advice--So Easy to Give...So Hard to Take.

Enjoy!

~Meredith

Fall Is in the Air!

I love fall.  I love the crisp, cool air.  I love the way the trees turn into golden, mystical creatures or vibrant orange and red.  I love the way I suddenly have the urge to eat apples (which I've been doing every day for the last three weeks.  There's just something special about fall.

Years ago, when my kids were little, Fall meant shopping for Halloween costumes, decorating the house with feign spider webs, and buying a TON of candy (we were on the one for the kids at the door and two for us type of system).  We carved pumpkins every year, got lost in the corn maze, and prayed for good weather come Halloween night.

And then, somewhere along the way, my babies grew up.

Here it is, October 26th, and everything has changed.  I'll still go shopping for my daughter's costume, but no longer for the trick-er-treating that used to occur.  No, instead for a Halloween dance that she's dying to go to.  My son is long past the costumes, not even mentioning getting a mask this year.  And the candy?  What candy, unless it's for me.  Being the only house on the street means no trick-er-treaters, unless I force my kids to stand on the porch, ring the bell, and yell "Trick-er-treat!" like I did last year...

With this being said, I can't tell you my delight when my son said to me last night, "Mom, when are we carving pumpkins?"  And my daughter busting at the seams to get her costume perfectly in place.  So while things have changed in my home, I'm still so thankful we're doing SOMETHING to ring in the Fall.

I don't know what I'll do when both my kids are too old to care about the season.  Well, I guess that will mean dressing up the dog (can't wait to show off his costume for this year) and maybe my hubby... haha  =)

Getting the Workout ON!

I'm sitting here at my desk, shoveling a Hostess cupcake into my mouth, and thinking how great I've been doing at working out.  Yeah, I'm a walking contradiction over here.  Seriously though.  There's something about hitting the gym 3-5 times every week that makes eating this cupcake simply A-OK.

There's no guilt.  There's no worry about it staying on my ass for the next few weeks.  Nope.  Nothing of the sort.  Because I know, I'll be zumba-ing it all off tomorrow.  So for now, I'm going to take another bite and enjoy.  Yum.

Time to Thank Those EMS Providers

Here's my latest article on Glass Heel!

Time to Thank Those EMS Providers

On Sabbatical

It's been awhile since I've blogged or written any articles for the Glass Heel (only one up last week, another to be published this week--that's it for the summer...).  I've been working aimlessly on my first YA (young adult) novel.  I'm up to 43,000 words and Chapter 21.  So I've been a bit preoccupied with that...and hope to finish it by next week.  Writing the ending of a book is bittersweet and with this book it's no difference.  It always amazes me where a story ends up--and where this one is ending up so far is not at all where I planned it to be.  This story is a coming of age for a young girl in the Midwest.  There's the laughter, the tears, the confusion, the hard knocks--ya' know, all those things that are needed when growing up.

On that note, my first book--Mr. Rights Gone Wrong--is in the works to get published.  I'm hoping to be sitting in the Tattered Cover at my first book signing in the next 6 months.  I love that this store really embraces Colorado authors.  While I don't expect to make money, yet, I have learned the importance of networking, networking, networking.  I'm not a good networker...although my husband disagrees.

The novel I'm currently working on--Everything--will most likely be seen another year from now--I already have the sequel spinning in my mind...  One day I hope to be a full-time author.  For now, it's a dream that I am demanding to come true.

So that's where I've been, in case you've wondered.  =)

For Marissa...my latest Glass Heel article!

http://glassheel.com/work-life-balance/sweet-sixteen

Burberry Dreams...ahhh.

Beginning two years ago I fell in love with this gorgeous Burberry tote and wallet.  Every single time we went to the Cherry Creek Mall, there I'd be in Burberry.  Just asking to hold it on my arm and flip through the wallet.  Whenever I was at the Park Meadows mall, I'd take a stroll into Nordstrom and go straight to the designer handbags.  There she sat, where I'd once again hang her from my arm, then flip through the wallet.

In 2010, when I graduated with my doctorate degree, I was quite intent on making the purchase.  I remember heading into Burberry with my husband (Kent), checkbook in tow.  The saleslady took down my bag and I held it on my arm for about ten minutes.  But when she rang up the price, and I saw the total being well over $1200 with tax, I just couldn't do it.  Purchase it that is.  So I handed her back and kept the monies in my savings account.

And then last Monday, as my daughter and I strolled through Nordstrom, something almost miraculous happened (stop laughing, Kent, it WAS miraculous).  I did my usual ritual--holding her on the crook of my arm.  This time I tried to take a step and the security chain tugged her back.  "Can't go far with that bag!" laughed the saleslady.  "Oh, I know that..." I laughed back, placing her back upon the shelf.

I walked over to the matching wallet, who wasn't chained down, picked her up, just wishing to make her mine.  My daughter, so used to the Burberry ritual, stood and waited for me to finish.  Eventually I did, and we started making our way to another part of the store.  Before exiting the Designer Handbag section, another saleslady stopped me.  "You know...that tote that you seemed so fond of is actually going on sale next Friday."

"What?!  I thought Burberry never went on sale!" my voice was filled with astonishment.  After all, I'd been eyeing this bag for over two years and never had I seen a sale sign.  Never.

"Well, it's not the typical sale.  Our manager wants to try to get some customers excited.  The only bag going on sale is the one your hand was on."

"How much?"

"40% off."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously.  I can presell it to you if you'd like.  We open at 10:00 and I guarantee it'll be gone by 10:05."

My mind started swirling with mathematical calculations.  For the last few months I'd been saving my pocket money and had over $500 to go toward my Burberry Dreams.  I'd been planning on saving through December or as long as it took to make my Burberry Dreams come true.  I was thrilled!  I was elated!  I'd barely have to dip into our savings account.  Yay!

"Okay, sign me up!  I'll be here first thing on Friday morning!"  The woman filled out the necessary forms, making sure to jot down both the bag and the wallet.  The moment she finished I was on cloud nine.  Not only were my Burberry Dreams about to come true, but I'd be SAVING money too.  Yes!

The moment we finished the transaction I had to call my husband.  Two weeks earlier we had the Burberry Dream talk.  "How many Coach bags do you think you buy every year?" he began.  

"I don't know 2-3?"

"2-3?"

"Yes..."  Not all of them count...

"Okay, if you didn't buy any Coach bags for say three years you'd have enough for the Burberry, right?"

"So you're saying if I promise not to buy any Coach bags for three years, we'll head down to Burberry and buy my bag and wallet?"

"Sure."

I had to think about this deal before signing on.  After all, three years is a LONG time.  We didn't make the deal.

And now I had the Burberry without having to make such a crappy deal!  Yes!  My husband was happy for me and my purchase.  I could see him just shaking his head at his desk, smiling at my glee.  But believe me, there are many purchases he makes that make no sense to me.  Like his $1000 bike and the other $1300 he's spent on the "accessories"--seriously.  To make his ass hurt, that's what he spent?  But whatever makes him happy...

Friday couldn't come soon enough.  I woke up early, went to the gym, got ready to hit the mall and sat in the parking lot for a good 30 minutes before the doors opened.  It was a Friday morning and there was a line outside of Nordstrom.  I don't know if this is normal, but I was happy I was a presale.  The bag was mine.

I was greeted by a transvestite.  She was kind, but so homely.  One would think that if you want to be a woman, you'd at least shave the beard.  But whatever.  I liked her immediately.  We chatted about her morning and the employee that fell in the parking lot earlier.  The ambulance had to pick her up, which was making my saleslady's job a nightmare.  "Take your time ringing me up," I told her.  "I've been waiting two years for my Burberry Dream to come true, a few more minutes isn't going to matter."

She went in the back room to retrieve my new love.  The anticipation was killing me!  "Oh, no," she said as she started manning the cash register.  Panic arose in my eyes and I waited for her to continue.  "I know you were told the wallet is on sale too, but it's not.  Only the bag."

"Really?" I asked trying to figure out if I still wanted the wallet.  It's not a couple hundred bucks we're talking about here, but rather $375.  No, I wouldn't be able to get the wallet without the discount.  It just wouldn't be mine.

"Well, I'm going to give the discounted price to you, honey.  You've been waiting all week and lord knows Jenny wrote it down for you on your slip.  I'm going to honor that for you, sweetheart."

"Really?!  Thank you so much!"  See it was meant to be.

The total came up on the screen and I took out my wad of cash.  "I'm paying for it in cash," I said.  "I've been saving for awhile."

"Well, I guess you have, honey.  That is how everyone should make their purchases.  Save up and then buy it.  I can't tell you how many people try buying their Burberry on their credit card and the thing gets declined.  Good for you, sweetie!"  Seriously, I was loving this girl.

Finally the bag was wrapped, as was the wallet.  I literally skipped out of the store.  And that, my friends, is how my Burberry Dreams came true.

Sometimes Ya' Gotta Tell Them To F-Off.

So there I was, chillaxin' at the pool with my hubby.  He took the day off in order to spend some much needed time together.  Life this summer has taken hold, and we've been busy--and our alone time has suffered.  Before hitting the movies and over to Texas DeBrazil (dinner tonight, thanks to Julia and Chiz!), we decided to catch some rays.

We brought our Subway sandwiches and drinks, beach towels donning the lounge chairs, sunscreen all over our bods.  The sun had been soaking us in for about 30 peaceful minutes.  Beautiful, quiet, serene minutes.  There were barely any others at the pool, one of the luxuries of not working during the week.

And then the family of hillbillies came traipsing through the gate.  Three women that could fill the entire baby pool, two men, and a shitload of kids--at least 6--and they were all boys.  And it was still fine when they started canon-balling into the pool.  And it was still fine when they were screaming at the top of their lungs, as though the invention of a pool had never been introduced to them before.  And it was still fine when the squirt guns came out and they were firing shots at each other within reach.

Things were still fine when the father started screaming at his kids to stop talking to their mother in the profane manner that they were.  Things were still fine when one of the mothers told one of the little boys that she'd "Beat the shit outta him if he didn't stop squirting her."  Things were still fine when one child began to sink, and started to scream for help.

And we lay there, the sun taking ahold of us, not saying a word.  We relaxed through the mayhem.  Soon Kent arose and dove into the pool, anything to get away from the noise or perhaps simply because he was too hot.  Who knows?

And there I lay, feet toward the pool, about 10 feet from the pool's edge.  Next to the Rules and Regulations sign that clearly stated several infractions these yahoos were breaking.  But who am I to enforce them?  No, not my job.  It's the summer.  I'm here to relax, to swim, to relax, and oh, yes, to relax.

I tuned out the annoyances so close to my right, focusing on my hubby who was swimming around.  And that's when a huge burst of water hit me directly between my legs.  It was like a bidet cleaning with my suit still on.  "JESUS CHRIST!" I yelled in shock and jumped up out of my seat.

And one of the piece of shit mothers, who ten minutes ago was cursing out her kid, had the audacity to harp in on me.  There was no apology.  There was no "Hey, son, say your sorry to the lady that you just violated with your squirt gun."  No, there was nothing but a "If you don't want to get wet you shouldn't be at a pool."  Oh really.

And without a moment's thought or a moment's hesitation, I had to tell this woman, and the other two women who stood with her, to all "F-off."  Except I used the word.

If I seem a bit self-righteous, I don't really care.  There's nothing worse than parents who are unable to control their children in public places.  Seriously.  If it's that difficult, please turn your ass around and go home.  Public places aren't merely for your children to run amuck.  They're not cute.  They are annoying--as are the adults who are unable to control them.

And by the way--Rule #2: No throwing of water.

Tomorrow I'll hit the pool again, and when I do I'll be sure to bring my headphones and super soaker.  Except it won't be the kids I'll be aiming for, it'll be their parents.

Enough said.

Memorial Day Hell.

Memorial Day weekend.  I could end the story with that one fragment of a sentence, but what would be the fun in that?  I swear, between my kids and the dog, there's never any reprieve.  Every year, I get all excited right around Memorial Day weekend.  The planning take hold, lists are compiled--this sudden urge for the perfect summer-kick-off-weekend is always on the forefront.  It's as though if the first summer weekend is perfect, the rest of the summer season will fall easily into place.  And as my children are getting older, these summers feel more and more important--to me, if not to anyone else.

And so this year, after the last two DISASTER camping trips on Memorial Day weekend, I was bound and determined to have the perfect summer-kick-off.  Lists were made--from camping supplies to the food we'd bring.  Great preparation was taken going through all of the gear, with another shopping trip getting all the supplies that were either missing, broken, or seemingly essential for this year's trip.  Marissa and I spent two hours filling the cart, deciding on what was needed and even putting back some things that seemed silly to buy (i.e. the plastic carton to hold the eggs).  I strategically packed the Sorento, perfecting this job with ease and skill that the women in my family all seem to have.

As we hit the road, kids were happily listening to their music, dog found a comfy spot between them both, and there was excitement in the air.  Granted it was a bit windy out, but we figured it'd either die down or it wouldn't be that bad in the location we were headed.  Before hitting up the lake, Brandon would be playing in his last soccer game of the season.  His game went well--they won once again, Gates enjoyed chilling under the tree with Kent, and I sat and watched the game with Riss.  Perfection was still looming all around, and I was happy.

Two and a half hours later, we piled back into the Sorento and hit the road lake bound.  We were all quite anxious to arrive, set up the tent, and get our camp on!  Oh yeah.  The ride itself was enjoyable--in other words, there was no arguing or bickering or moments where I wanted to pull over to beat some kids.  Yup, good trip.

Upon arrival, the wind seemed to take notice and apparently wanted to greet us.  Kent and I made our way down to introduce ourselves to some of my sister's friends (who were also camping for the weekend--except in campers, not tents) and figure out where to sent up our site.  The wind was approaching 25 miles an hour at this point.

The lake was beautiful.  Gates was getting along famously with Body (sister's boyfriend's dog).  Kids were happy.  My husband kept giving me the look of "Yeah, this isn't going to end well," which I was pleasantly avoiding.

"Babe," he began.  I looked toward the lake.  "Babe," he said a bit louder.  I turned my head and flashed a beautiful smile toward him.  The smile that always makes him melt.  He grinned back, shook his head, and asked, "Where are thinking this tent's going up?  It's going to be like a kite in this wind."

"It'll be fine," I answered nodding over toward the trees.  Perfect.  I mean the trees will totally block the wind, right?  "How about in there?  Next to the water, in the trees."  The kids were all for it, running toward "our" spot.  They began clearing branches, making sure our spot was ready.

"You do realize this site is at an incline?" he questioned.

"Yeah, that's fine.  We'll face the water--it'll be fine."  I honestly had no idea whether or not it'd be fine.  At this point the wind picked up to about 30 miles per hour.

"Honey, you do realize it's all sand over here."

"Kent, it's FINE.  Plus the sand makes it easier for the tent stakes to go into the ground."  Which was completely true.  No need for the mallet over here!

By this time the dogs were running through the water, chasing each other and having a grand old time.  I was pleased that Gator was doing so well!  After all, he'd never been off leash like this before--except at home every now and then.  But never in public.  And he was behaving.  This was going to be the perfect weekend.

Kent and the kids started unloading the camping supplies and bringing them down to the site.  I was supervising (the MOST important job, if you ask me).  Kent was unrolling the tent, getting the long tent thingies put together, and I was putting the stakes into the tabs.  "Wow, babe, this is easy breezy!"  The tent stakes slid right into the sand, no problem.  I thought back to last year when I was pounding them into the rock--yeah, that was awful.

And it was perfect.

For about 10 seconds.

Then this gust of wind picked up our tent, with no regard for the tent stakes I meticulously put into place.  "Sit on the tent while I try to put the tent rods in," Kent directed.  And so I sat.

And the moment I got up, the tent soared into the air, with sand flying straight into our eyes.  "This isn't going to work," he started and I had no choice but to agree.  Sand was everywhere--the tent stakes were now buried, but without the tent.  Yeah, the wind was going to win this one.

I headed over to the others to tell them of our dilemma, when I heard Brandon and Marissa screaming for Gator.  He had long tired of the water and running with Body, and decided to jump the fence across the way.  The fence that housed the farmer's cows.  "Ah, shit," I mumbled and started to whistle for the damn dog.

He was going nowhere but after the cows.  And that's when I saw this big ole' cow begin to jump two fences, with Gator right on her heel.  He was barking and herding her.  And we were all screaming for him to "COME!"  Yeah, he didn't listen.  And that when we saw the heifer lift her leg and give Gates a huge kick.  Marissa started screaming and crying, and I began to worry.  I know the power behind those kicks--not first hand, but from my sister who is a dairy farmer, and has had her fair share of injuries.  Thinking my poor dog was killed, I lunged toward the field, yelling his name.  Kent was on my heels.

And that's when I saw him, the prodigal son returning home.  He was limping, made his way in-between the barbed wire fence, and collapsed right at my feet.  "We're going to have to take him to the vet!" I told Kent, afraid his leg was broken.  Marissa was now in hysterics when another camper headed toward us.

"If the farmer sees any dogs chasing his cow, he'll shoot them on site."  That was enough to send Marissa and Brandon over the edge.  Suddenly my angel babies turned into mafia maniacs and were ready to come unglued on the farmer.

"We are going.  Let's packed up and blow this clam bake.  We can go camping in a hotel, with a pool and room service, but I'm done with this!"  the mama bear had spoken.  Kent took Gates and walked off his injury.  He was fine, just a bit shaken up.  Within a few minutes his limp was gone.

So another year, another Memorial Day weekend that bit the dust.  And I've decided that next year, should we want to ring in the summer, we will do so poolside.  As for camping in Colorado, May is simply too early.

P.S.
We did make it home, safe and sound.  Ordered pizza and movies that night, went bowling the next night, and ended up having a great weekend--tent-free!

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