One of my favorite things to do when I’m bored is to scare people. Usually those people are my family. I’ve done this since a small child for reasons I cannot explain, but I love it even more as an adult.

Now, after 3 years of being scared, Erik and his family have begun trying it out for themselves. It’s actually a good thing. Learning how to be quiet, calculated and work your way somewhere un-noticed is a valuable skill for survival. On the opposite end, learning how t be constantly aware of your surroundings, noticing things sneaking around and hearing faint noises is also a key to surviving.

Unfortunately, I am the master of scaring. I am small enough to fit anywhere and I’m always inventing new places to hide. Between the two shower curtain halves, in the cupboard, under a pile of blankets on the bed, under the bed, next to the bed under a blanket overhang, in the curtains, and the list goes on.

Most everyone screams and jumps back. The one you gotta watch though, is my daughter Nuriel. This one will throw punches and kicks when you scare her. This, I tell her, is a good thing. But she still needs to notice me better.

Camper life was no exception to my scaring obsession.

(This one actually includes two different excerpts)

Six Kids, Four Months and One Camper

September 2013

Sunday we stopped at Meijer on the way home from church. We had to return the Redbox movie so Erik ran-in to get two rotisserie chickens and some sides from the deli. I loved not having to cook! When we got home, Erik ushered everyone inside saying he had to poop and didn’t want an audience. We didn’t think anything of his request as we were too busy fighting over what part of the chicken everyone got, and how many potato wedges everyone could have and “don’t forget Dad!”. Several minutes later Erik walked-in and none of the kids noticed his face, but I did! He had that funny, twitching smile he gets when he’s up to no good and trying to be secretive about it.

He pulled me aside in our bedroom. “I’m playing a prank on the kids, so don’t go into the potty. Let’s wait and see which kid goes in!”

I grinned slyly, “Oh good honey! I’ll play along!”

We nonchalantly walked back out to join the group and began munching away at the delicious fare on our plates (tasted all the better because I didn’t have to make it!) That’s when they all began to get up and clear their plates talking about going outside to play. Erik began to look nervous knowing he’d lose his chance to watch the fun if everyone was milling about outside.

I quickly broke-in, “hey could one of you guys get your Dad some toilet paper from the bathroom?”

“I will!” Eian said, but Abby jumped-up first.

“I’m going to Eian, sit-down!” Abby shoved him back into his seat, then jumped-out the door looking over at him, sticking out her tongue.

Erik and I snuck over to the window in the kitchen but couldn’t see well enough, so we just stuck our heads out the screen door. Abby walked along quite pleased with herself for beating Eian to the job. She grabbed the plastic handle of the door and struggled to pull it open. She started to go inside, then shrieked and jumped back several steps. She scowled and began walking back along the deck. We both jumped back into our seats and played casual.

Abby stomped up into the living room, “nice try Dad!”

“What Abby?” Eian asked with wide eyes.

Abby smiled slyly. “Oh Dad left a giant turd floating in the toilet! It was gross!”

Eian got excited. “Did it have chunks of corn in it?”

“Oh yeah!” Erik broke-in, with a sideways glance at me. I rolled my eyes, but he was playing along well so I kept my mouth shut.

“I bet it’s not huger than the one I took the other day at school!” He called as he ran out the door.

Erik was trying hard not to give himself away with his snickering.

“Dad, WHAT are you doing?” Brea yelled at him hearing his snickers.

Erik snickered more violently. “Tshush! Brea, get down!”

Brea’s eyes got bigger as she hunkered down next to Erik and poked her head out the door.

Eian caught us poking our heads out and called to us confidently, “Come-on, it can’t be THAT bad!”

Eian opened the door and almost jumped inside in his effort to see the “turd”. The door suddenly burst back open and Eian ran out yelling. Erik had stuffed a very realistic-looking squirrel dog toy in the far corner of the potty.

He looked-up and realized we were laughing at him, and Erik most of all.

“Not funny Suzanne! You didn’t scare me!”

“Eian I didn’t do it, your Dad did!”

“Very funny Dad.”

Erik finally managed to collect himself enough to poke a few coy comments at him. “Didn’t scare ya uh? Looked like it did to me! You ran outta of there pretty quick!”

“No, I ran because I was mad you guys played a trick on me!”

“Seriously Eian, you were THAT excited over POOP?” Brea rolled her eyes in disgust.

When there is no TV available to keep you entertained, sometimes you have to provide your own entertainment. That was just the start of the pranks. Everyone knew I was the master pranker of “jump out and scare you”. I could squeeze myself into anything and make the most horrific noises when I finally did jump out. Brea was usually my favorite target as she was both easy to scare and gave the biggest reaction.

Later that day, Brea walked out to use the bathroom. I quickly snuck outside and crawled under the camper where the steps were. The bottom two steps were solid wood – added under the metal folding ones to make a smoother transition from the ground. The top step was a metal, folding camper step, and I could reach through it easily. I only had a minute to compose myself, mentally pick my scary sound and position my hand before Brea would pop out of the porta potty and run up the steps.

Sure enough, in less than a minute Brea was out of the potty and running up the steps. Unfortunately for her, I was faster and caught her last foot through the steps, letting out a horrific, ear-piercing shriek/scream. Brea let out a horrified scream-wail and kicked furiously to release my grip on her leg, wailing more. I couldn’t contain myself any longer and let go and began laughing.

“What?! Suzanne!” Brea’s face popped under the camper to stare at me. “You scared me! I thought you were a possum or a raccoon!” She helped pull me out and shook her head. “Great hiding spot though. You gotta get Abby. No one has scared her yet!”

I looked at her devilishly, “Oh don’t worry, I’ve got plans for her too! Maybe not today, but sometime!”

*****Except number 2********

October 7, 2013

A great way to begin any Monday is by having to process up a deer. Again, this was one of those things that some guys can do in under an hour. Not me. Thanks to my small stature, man-handling a deer weighing more than me was a difficult task. Even pulling the hide-off was a feat due to my tiny hands . . . and my insistence of perfection. I had plans to someday tan this hide (and any others) and it had to be pulled-off the deer perfectly. I began on a step stool to reach the neck, then worked my way down to the back legs. Once it was off (minus the tail, I always managed to not catch the last tip of the fluffy tail!), I folded it in half then rolled it up and put it into a garbage bag, then into a cooler filled with ice. Randy had already said we could use his extra freezer at his house to put our meat and hide in, I just had to keep it cold until then.

Flies were buzzing around my head, and the weather was coming into a brief warm spell. I had to get this deer cut-up before the meat went bad, or the flies got into it. Hmm . . . I looked around as I kept trying to swat the flies off my deer. Now that the hide was gone, all that tasty deer meat was drawing flies like a dinner bell. I looked down at the roll of garbage bags and had an idea!

I took my knife and began slicing them down the seams. I laid the sheet of plastic around the deer, covering all exposed areas I was not cutting. The flies were pretty ticked off! This deer was already quite fattened up for winter, no doubt thanks to the neighbor’s corn field. I peeled-back the plastic covering her back and began chiseling off the thick, hard fat along her spine, exposing her back straps.

Now, I’m not sure what exact cut of meat this is in relation to other animals, but it resembles a tenderloin. Many guys insist you can remove these simply by running a thumb along the spine to loosen it, then pull it out. You can, but you leave a lot of meat behind. My goal in cutting-up any deer is to use as much as humanly possible. Last year I even cooked the ribs down for pulled venison.

I went to work skillfully cutting out both back straps and laying them in a gallon size Ziplock bag. The two hind quarters of the deer were tricky. You had to split the pelvis with a sharp knife then you had to detach the free hanging legs from the back tissues. They were heavy and every time you cut one off, you had to catch it as the heavy weight would always catch you by surprise, buckling your arms in and nearly dropping it.

Erik had cleaned-off the counter-top to his homemade workbench and it was sitting outside the round top with a hose at the ready. Since I didn’t have the needed counter space in the camper, this counter was going to be my processing station. I heaved the leg up onto the flat surface and carefully selected the perfect knife. My cleaver. I still had to hack-off the end of the leg with the hoof.

I stuck it out over the edge of the counter and with three hard chops, it fell to the ground, leaving behind the meaty portion of the leg.

I quickly went to work with my knives, slitting-open the muscle groups and making piles of them on the counter.

The large leg bones I tossed into a pile with the hoof, then packed the various meat groups into Ziplocks. I arranged them by roasts, steaks and grind later for ground “beef”. I did the same for the other leg, then cut off the front shoulders and finally all the neck meat.

It took me several hours, but I finally got it all done. We would be having steak for dinner tonight!

Now since I wasn’t sure yet what Erik wanted me to do with the rest of the carcass, I just left it hanging in the hay shelter. He told me the next day to go bury it out back (thanks). However, this was also the day the kids came back from their Mom’s house, so I wasn’t in a rush to cover it in the ground. As the first set of kids got off the school bus and walked up the driveway to the camper, I popped outside quick to ask Brea to get me the horse’s lead rope out of the hay shelter. I wanted to walk the dogs and couldn’t find their leash.

Brea nodded and dropped her backpack off on the deck then walked over to the round top. She unzipped the front door then walked-in . . . screams of bloody murder erupted from inside! Brea came running around shrieking in a high-pitched voice at me that I was a horrible person. Abby stood there laughing at Brea as Brea’s voice reached such a high pitch that only the dogs understood what she was saying.

“Why do you always get me?! Why not Abby!?” She laughed as she lightly shoved me, then dragged her backpack inside with her.

We had done the same thing last year at the old house. After cutting up the deer, all that was left hanging on the rope was the head. We had taken the head and stuck it inside a large bin behind the house, then set-up the video camera. When Brea got home from school, we asked her to get some bird seed out of the bin to feed the birds. At first she stuck her hand in before looking. When she felt something furry, she shrieked and then looked in. She screamed seeing the deer head with his cold, glassy eyes staring at her and then fell to the ground in a tight ball, crying and sobbing. When she figured out Erik had planned the whole thing, she chased him around the yard trying to beat him.

Our muddy driveway made me remember this . . .

(General Disclaimer: Memoirs are a protected freedom of speech under law and therefore allow no grounds for sueing.)

Late October, 2013

The rain came. October and early November are always cold and rainy in Michigan, and this year was no different. Unfortunately, we had not given a thought about our driveway. It was a basic two-track driveway that curved an 800 foot C-shape from the road. Erik struggled one rainy day to make it down the driveway to go to work and called it quits. No more driveway this year – we’d have to park by the road where the driveway was much more solid and not so muddy and walk up or risk getting stuck in the softer areas for good.

 I didn’t like this idea. How would I get groceries up to the house?! Carry them all?

Apparently so.

The first week of parking at the street I carried Earen up to the camper and put him in his play gym, then began trudging the 800 feet back and forth staggering toward the camper with armloads of groceries through the front hay field. The hay field was a shorter distance than the driveway, and much less soggy. Typically it took me 8 trips to the car and 8 trips back. Erik didn’t understand why I complained so much about having to park there. It wasn’t that far to walk and exercise is good he claimed. However, he didn’t understand how exhausting it was carrying loads up groceries UP a hill . . . 8 times!

After 2 weeks of carrying groceries up the hill, I finally got smarter. I brought a sled along in the car with me. I’d load the groceries into the sled and pull it up the hill. Sometimes they’d fall out, but usually they did well. I still had to make several trips, but it was a bit easier now.

On one such day, it had rained pretty heavily, making sled pulling quite difficult thanks to the mud. While the hay field was full of 3 inch high grass, it was thin so there were plenty of muddy spots. I heaved my weight into pulling the sled, trying to inch it up the hill. One of the neighbors drove past slowly. I had Earen in my arm and the sled line in my other hand.

The kids also struggled with the mud. The girls were all high into fashion, and wanted to wear all sorts of fancy shoes – some with heels! Despite my constant prodding, they had to find out the hard way that they needed to wear their muck boots to the bus stop. No one liked the thought of wearing those horrid things on a bus full of kids, but I figured out they could simply leave them at the edge of the driveway and change into their school shoes on the drier ground. Problem solved.

Guests were not as fortunate. All of our neighbors knew we parked by the road, and they could clearly see our driveway was hell. Invited guests were warned over the phone. Randy however, refused to walk-up the driveway and simply chose drier days to visit on and drove his truck right through our hayfield (much to my horror).

But not the door to door salesmen.

Surprisingly they do still exist, and these guys were selling the Kirby vacuum. It was a group of misfits inside a van that was so old it threatened to collapse at the sight of our long driveway. The group’s manager was driving – a well-dressed black man with a warm, genuine smile. His assistants looked like they’d been scraped up from the side of the road. One kid barely looked 18 and appeared to not have had a shower in a week or more, his hair was greasy and stuck up in odd directions. The girl, I guess it was a girl, but maybe it was another boy . . . I couldn’t tell . . . she/he seemed a bit more put together than the boy but still struggled to present as polished of an appearance as the manager. One of the two other fledglings looked like a computer geek and the last appeared to be of Asian descent and while he was the best groomed, he seemed lost in the world of adulthood, wondering how he’d managed to get swept-up in this whole salesmen job.

This group of unlucky souls decided to solicit my house. Er, camper. (Not sure what I’d do with a vacuum like that in the camper . . . I already had to keep my tiny shark vacuum in the round top until I was ready to use it.) Unfortunately for them, they didn’t realize how bad our driveway was and decided to give it a go. They didn’t make it very far of course and got stuck . . . directly in front of Larry’s front slider door.

I happened to see the van from the camper’s window and was praying it would not attempt to drive up the sludge-hole that the driveway was today, thanks the freeze and warm cycle of fall weather. I held my breath and watched as the van drove backwards up the driveway then crawled to a stop, buried in the sticky clay.

I ran outside to meet them and see who the unfortunate individuals were. The manager sheepishly climbed out of the trapped vehicle to shake my hand and explain that the van had slid into a big rut and gotten stuck. I tried helping them push it forwards, but it was caught too deep in the rut to gain traction.

I watched with disgust as Larry drove his truck back and forth down the road, driving by SLOWLY and watching it all. The manager flagged Larry down on one of his drive-bys and asked for help. Larry of course insisted that he was too old and would be of no help but he was looking for his friend who also had a truck (yeah right). But it gave me an idea. I told the guys to hold tight as I had something that might help. I ran to the round top and grabbed a few ratchet straps and then ran back. Thankfully Erik had left me the Journey that day (he wanted me to take it to get the oil changed), and it was still parked by the edge of the street. I backed up carefully until I was 10 feet from the front of their van. I took out the ratchet straps and used both to attach to the hitch on the back of the journey and the sales assistants took the other end and attached it to the front of their van (apparently this happened so often they decided to put a hitch on the front for times like this).

Just then, Larry popped out of his slider door and began yelling.

“Ya’ll don’t have any right to be stuck there! That’s not a driveway!”

The manager looked over dejectedly and walked closer to Larry who had sauntered out of his house and stood with arms folded looking at the van.

 “I’m sorry sir! It was an honest mistake. We should not have attempted to drive-up this nice lady’s driveway.” The manager offered his hand in apology.

Larry ignored his hand. “Driveway?!” He shouted. “That ain’t no fucking driveway! That’s a racetrack.”

“My apologies sir! It appeared to be a driveway. But I’ll ask you kindly not to use such language in front of this nice lady here.”

By now I tiptoed a bit closer to hear the conversation, hiding behind the van. The other sales people had stopped and stood staring at the face-off as well.

“Lady? Lady?! Let me tell YOU something! That ain’t no lady and this here ain’t no driveway! I called the township and they said the driveway MUST be 50 feet from the property line! This here is only 2 feet!”

You could actually see veins bulging in his neck, and he appeared to be swaying slightly. While I wasn’t sure about the township ordinances regarding driveways, I did know that the county had already inspected it and said it was fine. Despite Larry’s rude remarks, I knew enough that he was just an asshole (pardon the language) and it had nothing to do with me personally.

I popped-up from behind the van and jumped into the conversation.

“I’m sorry about all this chaos in front of your house. These people had no idea how bad the driveway was and it was an honest mistake. As far as the driveway goes, the county already came out and inspected the driveway and said it was good. That’s how we got our mailbox. They told us we were all set.” I replied calmly, trying to smooth things over.

“Fuck the county! They don’t know shit! It only matters what the townships says, and the township says 50 feet!”

The manager stepped forward. “Sir! I’ll kindly ask you again NOT to curse in front of this nice lady here!”

I tried again. “I hadn’t heard anything about township regulations, but I’ll be sure to double-check tomorrow just to be sure. We certainly don’t want to be in violation of any codes, especially with our driveway.”

“THAT AIN’T NO FUCKING DRIVEWAY, IT’S A RACE TRACK, AND YOU CAN’T DRIVE YOUR FUCKIN CAR DOWN IT NO MORE!” Larry staggered out of his house further and was now just a foot from the driveway.

The manager stepped forward and gently pushed me behind him. “SIR. THIS IS THE LAST TIME I’M GOING TO ASK YOU. GO BACK INSIDE YOUR HOUSE UNTIL YOU CAN LEARN SOME MANNERS.” He growled with a fierce gaze.

Larry glanced down at the man’s tightening fist, spit in the man’s face, cursed again and walked back into his house.

The manager gave a quick motion to me to get going, so I jumped into my car and the boy into the van then with the manager and guy/girl pushing I managed to pull the van free in a few seconds. Solidly parked by the road, the manager thanked me. I felt bad about the rough day he was having but thanked him kindly for being a gentleman.

The man shook his head sadly. “The world needs more gentleman, and less assholes like that. Excuse my coarse language. Men like that drink piss for breakfast! I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a vacuum?”

I laughed. “Maybe if I had a house! I am living in a camper right now until we can build one.”

“Kids?”

“5, and one is just a baby.”

He shook my hand again and kissed it, “God bless you ma’am. You have a wonderful heart!”

I walked slowly back to the camper through the hay field, then realizing that Earen was still inside by himself I began to run across the field then jumped inside the camper. Earen looked at me in surprise. He was busy playing with the toys on his stand and play gym. Thank heavens.