Stupid things I have done

So, I'm sitting around having this lively discussion with the kids tonight. We're laughing. A lot. Andy went to the really cool activity tonight with his Boy Scout troop called Trapeze University. He had a blast. 5 turns on the trapeze. He loved it. In typical Andy style he had to try a few things he wasn't supposed to. Thank God for harnesses and safety nets. He said, "As I was falling I kept hearing your voice in my head, Mom. Just remember buddy, that one little phrase.....seven hundred fifty dollar deductible." I laughed out loud. It's what I always remind him of when he heads off to do something that involves some risk. It's the amount of my medical deductible for him.

Him telling us about his adventures tonight got us talking about other things we've tried that perhaps didn't work out as well as we planned. Katie reminded us of the time she wanted a cupcake for breakfast and knew I wouldn't say yes. So she decided to take the cupcake out with her, hop into the van really fast, sit in the back and have her forbidden breakfast while I was driving them to school, thinking I wouldn't see her. She REALLY wanted that chocolate cupcake.

She heads out to the van about a minute or so ahead of me, but not quite so far ahead that I missed seeing this. I could see her back as she hopped into the side sliding door of the van, set her stuff on the seat, and the turned around planning to quickly slam the sliding door closed so Andy would have to sit in the front seat. She was a little too quick. She forgot to pull her head all the way in. Yep. She slammed the sliding door on her head. Fortunately not very hard. I was holding her in the driveway, applying an ice pack to her noggin, listening to her tearfully explain how she'd tried to be dishonest and it was bad, bad, bad; all the while commiserating and inside my head literally laughing my ass off. It was bad to laugh, but at least I didn't do it to her face. It really was pretty funny, but only because she wasn't seriously hurt.

Then there was the day I asked her to clear the kitchen counter and start the dishwasher so I could put on a batch of banana bread. She did a very thorough job. I walked into the kitchen just as she started the dishwasher. I looked around, did a mental "hmmmmm" and said "Katie, where's the mixer? I left it on the counter, honey." She pointed to the dishwasher. Yes, she'd actually loaded my electric mixer in there. And started it. I quickly opened the door, fished it out (thankfully, on the top rack), and turned to tell her gently, "Honey, water and electrical appliances are NOT a good mix, baby." Andy was sitting on the floor laughing, howling hysterically. hehehhe

Then they got started on the tell us your silly stories, Mom. OK. You get one. Only one. It's a real winner. When I lived in Arizona, I was dating a guy who was renovating his house. One day he needed to haul a pickup truck load of junk to the dump. Me, having been raised in New York City and surrounding areas, had never been to a dump. I had to go to. I wanted to see!

We drive out there, and while he's off-loading the stuff from his truck, I start wandering around. Fascinating. All sorts of things out there. Freezers, barbecues, pool table, all kinds of things. I climbed up to the top of this hill and looked down the other side. There's this bright blue ball laying at the bottom. It looked like the kind you buy in WalMart or Target for a buck. Something kids would play with in a pool or backyard. Cool!

I run down the hill, and with everything I had in me I kicked that ball as hard as I could. Instant brain short circuit. Literally. I couldn't breathe in, I couldn't move, I was literally shut down except for pain screaming from my toe, through my foot, up my leg. I must have made some sound because he came running. I'm hopping on one foot, trying to breathe, and he's asking me what happened? What the hell is wrong? I peel off my tennis shoe and my sock, and my foot is quite literally the darkest purple black I've ever seen. From the tip of my big toe and quickly travelling toward my heel and up my ankle, my foot is growing rapidly darker, and it's spreading, and the damn thing is swelling REALLY fast.

The first verbal statement must have come straight from somewhere deep in my brain. "There's a fucking rock in that ball!" Observant soul, aren't I? He looks at me really puzzled, bends over to pick up the ball, and sinks to his knees and starts laughing. A lot. Really hard. I whacked him on the back of the head. What the hell are you laughing at? He looks up at me, tears running down his face from his laughing, and manages to gasp, "Cate, it's a damn bowling ball."

Yes indeedy, I kicked a bowling ball with all my might. It was January. Just outside of Flagstaff, Arizona. I spent months walking through the snow in sandals. The thought of shoes made me cringe. I did go to the ER. They buddy taped all of my toes together. They couldn't do much else. I'd broken all five toes, and jammed the joint of the big toe.

OK, that's all you get. Just one. But yes, it was a really good one.