Tag Archives: Humor

The secret I was taking to the grave

15 Nov

Before I proceed with this post, I need to explain what events happened last night that ultimately led me to confess a 25-year old secret to my little sister.

Erik was watching a show called “Total Blackout.” If you have never seen it, it’s a game show in which contestants battle each other and their fears in a series of challenges. All the challenges are played in complete darkness; no lights, no blindfolds and no-holds barred as the players face their fears and unexpected surprises. It is hysterical. In the episode last night, teams confronted MY biggest fear; a bird. Yes, you read that correctly,  I am terrified of birds and seeing those people have to pick up a pigeon and carry it around in the complete dark, made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Well, I had no idea that Cane was laying on the floor near where I was standing. As I went to turn and walk away, I felt something brush up against my foot, and in a “knee-jerk” reaction, I jumped, screamed and then looked down. It was Cane’s paw, but for a split second, I thought it was a bird.

After Erik gained his composure and stopped laughing at me, I explained to him, that this sort of panic happens to me all the time. I hate anything that fly’s near me. If it has wings and they flap… I run, scream like a girl and sometimes get in a fist fight with the air. It sounds funny, but rest assured, on my end, it is anything BUT funny. It is my biggest phobia and I will never confront it.

This “run-in” with Cane’s paw, led to this text message being sent to my sister and a confession that I had every intention of taking with me to the grave.

Growing up, my sister always had strange pets. We didn’t have a dog or cat, like normal families, oh no, we had ducks, geese, rats, grasshoppers and of course… BIRDS. My sister had a blue parakeet, “Buffy, the pretty bird.” This bird was everything BUT pretty, but it loved my sister and vise-versa. She would always let Buffy get out and fly around our house. It was awful. As an over weight teenager, there is nothing like being chased all over the house by a bird, but it happened often. Perhaps this is where my love for running started. I did a lot of it, just trying to protect myself from that thing. My sister would sit back and laugh as I was crying trying to hide. But, I was determined that I would get last laugh.

One afternoon while I was home alone, Buffy got out of her cage and was flying from room to room, probably looking for my brat sister. After 10-15 minutes of this charade, I had a brilliant idea, and I put my plan into motion. I went out to the living room and opened the screen door. I sat there and called for Buffy. Within seconds, she flew into the living room and out the front door! It was glorious to watch as she flew off into the sunset. With part A of “Operation Free Pretty Bird” complete, I had to figure out part B.

When my mom and sister came home I had my story ready for them. I told them that somehow Buffy had gotten out of her age and while I was trying to go outside, she just flew out. My sister was devastated but I knew she would be. I had to keep telling myself that this was all for the “greater good.” Birds need to be out in the wild not cooped up in cages. I did that bird the biggest favor of its life. I was hero and one day my sister would see that. Sadly telling myself this never made it true.

Chrissy decided that she would put Buffy’s cage in the tree on the side of our house. BRILLIANT IDEA, I thought to myself as I watched her climb to the top of that large tree and hang the cage. That bird was so long gone, but hey, it made Chrissy feel better, so more power to her. Day after day, she would climb up that tree and sit, waiting for that bird to come home. Day after day, I would sit and with a devious grin, enjoy a “bird free” life. Total bliss.

Two weeks later, while playing in my bedroom, I heard an all too familiar noise coming from outside. I brushed it off thinking I was obviously hearing things, but the noise kept on. “Buffy the pretty bird… Buffy the pretty bird… Ricky-Ricky Roo Roo.” I stopped dead in my tracks and turned toward the window, afraid of what I might see. Within seconds I heard my sister in the other room yelling at my mom and before I knew it, she was up that tree.

I am not going to lie, I was praying like I have never prayed before. I thought, there is NO way that bird found its way back home. No way! Well, I was very wrong. There was a way, and that darn bird found it. Guess who got the last laugh? That’s right… BUFFY.

I swore I was never going to tell my sister what I had done. That was until last week when I had a conversation with one of my friends about my bird phobia. I was telling her about what I had as a kid and she was cracking up. She told me I had to tell Chrissy that it was far too funny not to. I told her there was no way that was going to happen, but last night something came over me, and I told her the truth.

I want to apologize to my mom for what she went through the days following “Operation Free Pretty Bird.” I know that sis was a wreck and I am sorry. I owe you a round of botox for the stress she put you through as I am sure she added a wrinkle or two. And Chrissy, if you ever read this… Ha, I am not as sorry to you. You were so horrible to me with all those dang animals, especially that bird. I am so happy that as an adult, although you still have strange pets, they are much better than birds.

Many Blessings ~ Summer

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I picked a really BAD time to stop drinking wine!

24 Sep

A few weeks ago, I decided to stop drinking wine in an effort to become healthier, both physically and spiritually. I have awful timing! I didn’t realize then, that in a few weeks, we would be going to Hawaii for my sister in laws wedding.

Before you say,”Ah, Hawaii!!! How lucky is she,” let me explain… WE ARE TAKING THE BABIES AND THE TEENAGERS. Yea, not so envious of me now are you?

On Thursday morning, we are loading up 2-10 month olds, 2 teenagers, 2 car seats, the big double stroller, several suit cases, and along with a few hundred innocent by-standers, boarding a non-stop flight to Hawaii.

As I sit here and write this, I feel the anxiety welling up in my inner most being. I feel my heart beating a bit faster and my palms are getting sweaty. WHAT ARE YOU THINKING? This is playing over and over in my head like a broken record. Haley on a plane for 5 hours… are you kidding me? I really wish I was. But the plane ride is only the beginning.

Yesterday, I started to write down all the things that were coming to mind regarding this “trip.” I started a list of all the things I need to pack and all the things we need to buy once we land. (ie, diapers, baby food, cereal… Valium… ok, not the Valium, that will be in my purse ;)) Then I realized I had forgotten about some very important things. Like, where are the babies going to sleep? What are we going to do about nap time since they are on a tight schedule? How are we going to push that clunky, big, double stroller through the sand and on the grass? Does our hotel room have a microwave and fridge? Is there a separate sink in the room aside from the one in bathroom? The more I thought about all this, the more the stressed I became, and then the real question dawned on me… HOW AM I GOING TO DO THIS WITHOUT WINE?

I think we know the answer, I AM NOT!🙂

Oh yes, this trip is going to be very memorable. Between the morning at the spa, the bridal shower, grooms luncheon, nap times, diaper changes, teenager wanting to go to the beach to look at cute boys, rehearsal dinner, making bottles, dealing with the heat, getting babies ready for the wedding, getting MYSELF ready for the wedding, the actual wedding itself, pushing the stroller everywhere, loading and unloading car seats, making sure the diaper bag is always loaded, and the luau… I would say that deserves a glass of Chardonnay or 12. (Oh and this is just Friday and Saturday)

So, now that I am all worked up and even more worried than I was 10 minutes ago, when I sat down to write this comical post, I will step away from the computer and go lock myself in the closet.

But in all seriousness, please know that there WILL be some very entertaining blogging coming your way, as I fully intended on documenting our “Traveling with Twins” adventure. I will be sure to let you know all the Do’s and Don’ts we are going to learn over the next few days… and yes, I will be writing with wine in hand 🙂 (just kidding)

Many Blessings~ Summer

Today’s “Unexpected” Twin Question

7 Sep

This morning I decided to be brave, and take the babies with me to Macy’s. About 20 minutes into our shopping venture, I began to wonder if I was brave or flat-out crazy. I think you know what the answer is. CRAZY! I was hoping that since it was around nap time, they would fall asleep in the stroller and I could get a bridal shower gift for my sister in-law’s upcoming wedding. Hoping was not enough. They were wide awake and very vocal the entire time. Oh well, lesson learned.

As a mom of twins, you learn very quickly that you are going to attract attention. You realize that complete strangers are going to ask you questions NO ONE should ever ask another STRANGER and you will be given ridiculous advise that you simply have to nod and grin at. It comes with the territory and I got over that about 13 years ago with the first set. But this morning, while pushing the big double stroller through the lingerie department, a sweet little lady stopped to look at the babies and asked me a question I don’t recall being asked before. “What is the best and worst part of having twins?” Huh? I just looked at her… This is one question I don’t have a rehearsed or generic answer for. I don’t recall exactly what I said, but her question got me thinking and here is what I have come up with.

The Best Part: My answer may not be what many of you are expecting, but hear me out. The best part of having two at once, is that I have learned I am capable of doing so much more than I ever gave myself credit for. I can carry two babies up a flight of stairs, while stashing one bottle in my bra and the other in my pants. I can feed two babies at the same time AND fold laundry. I can function on little to no sleep and somehow keep going. I can cry and laugh at the same time.  I have mastered the art of tuning out all crying and or screaming. I can see them, but hear NOTHING… It is great. I can deal with two very different personalities wanting my attention at the same exact moment. I can carry two car seats with the babies in them, and also do bicep curls at the same time. Oh yes, there is not many things I cannot multitask.  And although I am trying to bring some humor to this, I have realized that I limit the things I think I am able to do. But put me in the situation and somehow, someway, God gives me the strength and I am able to accomplish what I thought was impossible. Which leads to the very best part and that is receiving all the love and joy my daughters bring into my life on a daily basis.

Onto the second part of her question and I have decided to re-phase it from, “What is the worst part,” to “What is the hardest part?” (I don’t really like how, “Whats the worst part” sounds.) So for me, with 13 years experience under my belt, the hardest part about raising twins is learning to delegate time so that each child feels the same amount of love, respect, and attention. I am sure this is hard for any parent who has more than one child, but I think where it differs with twins is that they are never alone. From day one, they have to share. They share the womb ;)a bedroom room, toys, clothes, birthday’s, and of course, the time they get from mom and dad. Even though they don’t know any different, I find myself struggling with feelings of guilt and wanting to make sure they are never in competition of my love or time. Whether they be 13 years old or 9 months old, as a mom, that part of my heart never changes. There is only one of me, and now, four of them so all I can do is my very best to make sure that each one of them feels valued and loved for who they are.

So yes, being a mom with twins is not always easy but I would not trade it for the world. However, ask me that same question when I am having to pay for two college tutions… AT THE SAME TIME and I am pretty sure that my answer to the “Whats the worst part” will be different then today’s!

Blessings ~ Summer

When you REALLY need a good hard laugh… just read about FARTING!

5 Sep

Last night, while casually checking out the latest gossip on Facebook, I came across a link that one of my good friends had posted. The title alone captured my attention: “The fart that (almost) altered my destiny.” I had to  read this one, so I clicked the link and was taken to a website that is now bookmarked on my computer.

As I began to read, I had to put the TV on mute so I could share with my husband. I knew he would totally appreciate this one. Within seconds the tears were streaming down our faces and neither of us could contain the laughs coming from our belly. I don’t care how old, educated, or classy you *think* you are, when someone is talking about farting… you KNOW you laugh.

I absolutely love finding websites that are just funny and make fun of the things that happen in life. Let’s be honest, life can be very humorous at times, so why take it so seriously? So, enjoy the story and make sure you check out the website for a daily dose of humor!

 http://hahasforhoohas.com

Like everything in life, farts have a time and place.  However, I never realized that in the wrong time and place, flatulence had enough power to alter my course in history.  Well, it can if it’s the third date with the man of your dreams.  And, if it makes his eyes burn.  If God destined us to be together, I was one SBD away from foiling His plans (that’s “Silent But Deadly” for you prudes).

It was about five years ago.  I was trying to lose a few pounds so I was staying away from carbs.  That’s when I met my husband, Rob.  On our first date, he booked the next two.  He liked me.  I liked him.  Things were looking real good.

He picked me up in a Cobra, Mustang and his pathetic attempt to win me over with a car totally worked.  I’m not shallow, but since I spent most of my twenties picking men up because I didn’t want my hair to frizz in their non-air conditioned jalopies on 3 wheels and a 15-year-old spare, I welcomed his fancy sports car with open arms.

We arrived at the restaurant and Rob was ordering food I hadn’t allowed myself to eat in years. I didn’t want to be “that girl” so I ate, drank, and oh, was I merry.  Later we shopped a bit. Rob surprised me by buying an expensive pair of shoes that he caught me eyeing.  Was this love?

That’s when it happened.  Gas strikes in two different ways – uncontrollable toots or sharp, shooting pains that feel a lot like dying.  I thought I was dying.  Not to make a scene, I told Rob I suddenly wasn’t feeling well and probably needed to head home.

On the way home in his Cobra, he tried to hold my hand and ask me lots of questions, but I wasn’t having any of it.  The pain was so bad it felt like I was being stabbed with a bunch of tiny forks.  Then I realized …

My God, help me.  I have a horrendous fart on deck.  I’m in trouble.  Big trouble.

The more I held it in, the more pain would shoot through my stomach and down my legs.  I was even having to raise myself off the seat, gripping on to my door and the dashboard.

“Seriously, you need to hurry – I’m in a lot of pain.” I managed to say through gritted teeth.

“Wow, it’s that bad?  What’s wrong? Do I need to take you to a hospital?”

How do you tell a man you just started dating that the reason you’re writhing in pain is because you have to fart?

Well, you can either tell him, or like me, let the fart speak for itself.

People, hear me.  There was nothing I could do.  As impressive as I am with sphincter control, this was out of my hands.  Slowly, it eeked out.  The more I tried to stop it, the more it forced its way through the door.  However, to my pleasant surprise, there was no sound.  I sat silently, sweat accumulating above my upper lip.  Ok, maybe I got away with it.  Maybe I’m home free.  Then it hit me.  Not an idea, a cloud.  A horrific, fart cloud.  Not in a, “am I smelling something?” sort of way.  More like a “is someone dead and rotting in your trunk and am I in hell?” sort of way.

Suddenly, I panicked.  “Roll down the windows!” I screamed (yes, I literally screamed it like I was in a horror movie).

“What? Why?” Rob asked, starting to freak out because I was freaking out.

“I can’t roll down the windows, unlock it!  UNLOCK IT!”

“What’s going on?” Rob yells back to me, “Why are you …” then it hit him.  I could see it in his eyes.  Was it surprise?  Horror? Water started to accumulate at the base of his eyelids, “Oh my God, I CAN TASTE IT!” he screamed.

“Roll down the windows!”  As I screamed, the toots started to flood out uncontrollably.  I scratched and clawed at the window like I was being kidnapped.  Rob, unable to see either by fart cloud or panic, kept turning on the windshield wipers instead of unlocking the window.

It was chaos.  We were acting like we were under siege by gun fire.  We were under siege alright, just not by gun fire.

Finally he was able to hit the right control and he rolled down our windows.  We both gulped in fresh air.  I was horrified, yet happy to be alive, then remembered I just farted on the man of dreams, then sorta wished I was dead.

We sat silently for the rest of the way home.  Although the shooting pains had subsided, I now desperately needed to use the bathroom, in an urgent, explosive kind of way.

He pulled up to my apartment and before he could come to a stop I had already jumped out, “Ok, thanks for dinner, sorry about the fart, love the shoes!” and ran in to my apartment like I was running from the cops.

I burst through my door and ran straight for the bathroom, where I was finally able to unleash and make noises that no one should ever, EVER, hear coming from another person.

Then I heard it.  Rob’s voice.  Right.  Outside.  My.   Bathroom.  Door.

“Anna?  You left your shoes in my car and your front door was open.  Where do you want me to put them?”

“Get away from the door!” I scream like Reagan from The Exorcist.

“Ok, I’m sorry.  Are you okay?”

*toot* *toot* *splatter* *ungodly noise*

“I’m fine, Rob – just leave the shoes there.  I’ll call you later okay?”

“Okay, are you sure you’re …”

“I’m fine!  Get away from the door!”

This man!  I mean, I love him, but take a freakin’ hint!

Finally, I heard the front door shut, and the Cobra engine zoom away.  I thought that was the last I’d hear from him.  I didn’t think it was possible to ever see a man again after he screams he can taste your fart after only knowing you for 48 hours.

But, to my surprise, I did.  A couple of days later, actually.  Now we’re married and he’s lying on the couch while I type this … “It was your rack that saved you,” he just lovingly reminded me.

Well, thank you boobs.  You saved us.  You saved our destiny.

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