This one is for Randy, Erik’s estranged-now-recently-re-acquainted father. He means well, but is a tough pill to swallow at times! There’s a reason why he never got re-married after Erik’s Mom . . .

And he still brings food. I credit this instance for why Earen loves fries so much as a 4 yr old.

Excerpt from “Six Kids, Four Months and One Camper”:

Thursday I had just laid Earen down for a nap and was tickled pink to finally get a chance to get outside and work with Sailor since the well guys STILL had not showed up, when Randy’s truck crept up our driveway. I had just stepped outside and Sailor was waiting for me at the gate when I saw his blue GMC. I groaned and could feel tears welling-up in my eyes. I didn’t have a whole lot to look forward to in my day, coffee was a small perk, and being able to get out with my horse was the biggest bonus. At this rate I’d never be able to ride him. And then all I’d have is a cup of lukewarm coffee to look forward to each morning.

Randy had a wide grin on his face and he was holding a large paper bag in his hand. He motioned for me to follow him inside. Sailor let out a tremendous whinny as I turned to go into the camper.

Randy popped his head out of the door and looked at him. “I’m sorry! This isn’t for you!”

He wandered into the camper and sat down at the table then pointed to the seat across from him. I reluctantly sat down as he began pulling items out of the bag. He set an Arby’s roast beef sandwich and container of fries in front of me along with a tall cup of Coke. I had already eaten, but didn’t mention this as Randy was clearly elated to have brought me some food.

“Now I know Erik keeps you locked up here with nothing to eat all day, so I thought I’d have pity on you. Hey, Arby’s is a heck of a lot better than anything you’re gonna make in here,” he motioned around him. “Hey, where’s the little critter?” He suddenly looked around puzzled. My cat Anya jumped up onto the sofa behind him and began rubbing against his arm. “Not you cat! Shoo! I can’t be round you; you aggravate my allergies!”

I chuckled. “Earen just went down for a nap, he’ll be asleep for a good 2 hours.”

“Good Lord! Wake the poor kid up! He wants to see his Grandpa! He can’t sleep for 2 hours!”

“Randy I can’t wake him up, even as much as he’d love to see you, it would make him so cranky!”

“And? He needs to learn to get over it. It won’t kill him to skip a nap, will it?”

I paused considering this. It quite possibly could kill ME.

“Don’t keep me from my Grandson. He’s MY Grandson and he wants to see his Grandpa. When is this kid going to be potty trained so I can take him for the day?”

I sighed. “He won’t be potty trained for another year or 2.”

“What? That’s not acceptable. My mother had both me AND my sister trained BY the age of 2! What’s the holdup?”

“There’s no hold-up, it’s just going to depend on him. He’s not even six months old yet – you still have a while.” I stuffed a few fries into my mouth.

The argument didn’t last long as I heard a wail erupting from the other room.

“What was that?” Randy stopped puzzled.

“That was Earen.”

“Oh good, now he can see his Grandpa!”

I wanted to bang my head on the table.

I walked back and got Earen from our bedroom. The look on his face said it all. He was going to be one crabby monster!

“Hi Earen! Grandpa’s here and he brought you food!” Randy picked up the Arby’s bag and waved it for him to see.

“Maybe in a few more months he can, Randy, but right now he doesn’t have any teeth yet. He can eat mushed banana though.” I walked him over and handed him to Randy. Earen began grabbing at his pens and glasses in his pocket.

Randy looked up at me imploringly, “can’t he at least suck on a fry? Look, the poor kid wants the food and you won’t even let him have a taste!” Without waiting for an answer Randy grabbed the longest fry he could find and stuffed it into Earen’s hand and pushed it toward his mouth.

I wanted to bang my head on the table. Again.

When Earen’s hand finally left his mouth, half the fry was missing.

“Where’s the other half?!” I was in shock.

Randy was laughing. Earen was making all sorts of adorable 5 month old baby faces as he sucked on his fry chunk. I reached over and tried to pry his mouth open. He had it clamped shut.

“Earen! Open your mouth!” I scolded him.

“Get back Mom. Let him enjoy his tasty fry!” Randy handed him another fry for his other hand.

Maybe I was overreacting, maybe not. He was MY child and I had final say on anything. Not his Grandpa. Now Earen opened his mouth to stuff both hands of fries into his mouth. I quickly lunged forward and scooped out the mushed-up chunk from his mouth and pried the other two fries from his hands. Earen began wailing.

“What’d you do that for?! He was enjoying fries with his Grandpa and you ruined it!” Randy yelled at me, furious.

“Randy, he can enjoy fries with his Grandpa in a few more months. He’s too little for anything besides mush right now. He could choke!”

“But he didn’t!”

“No, but he could have. His mouth isn’t developed enough to handle solid food yet.”

“He was doing just fine with it.” Randy stuffed Earen back off into my arms. He resumed quietly eating his sandwich with a fierce scowl on his face. I tried making pleasant conversation a few times, but he waved me off. As soon as his sandwich was gone, he stood up to leave. As he got up he knocked the chair over. He glanced at it then pretended not to notice. “Goodbye Earen, sorry Mommy has to ruin everything for us!” Then he walked out the door and drove off.

I banged my head on the table a few times.

Excerpt from the book Six Kids, Four Months and One Camper :

It took us maybe an hour to get everything set-up. By this point, the other two dogs HAD heard Bella’s barking and found their way back. Both dogs were soaking wet from playing in some of the ponds on the property. There was still a bit of water in the second water tank, so Erik hooked-up the hose and battery pump and sprayed the dogs down after they’d been caught and leashed. Neither seemed to mind, then we put all 3 back into the kennel yard. We had filled their dog house with hay, so it was nice and cozy for them. Instead though, they all curled-up in a pile together in the soft grass and fell asleep. We positioned the bird cage next to the kennel yard, so any animals would be too scared to try to break into the cage and eat a pigeon dinner.

Yes, it took the kids that long to notice. Jada was the first to finally realize a blue porta-potty stood next to the camper.

“Sweet! You guys got a porta-potty?” She looked at it curiously.

Abby walked over. She opened the door and stuck her head in. “Wow, that’s pretty nice! Better tell Dad not to make it all gross – wait, Suzanne, isn’t it the guys that always make porta-potties gross?”

I grinned with a light chuckle, “not necessarily Ab. Usually it’s a mixture of too many people, guys peeing on the floor, and people puking. You’re thinking of porta-poties at the fair, right?”

“Yeah! You gotta open like 7 before you find one that’s not gross. Dad, you’d better not pee on the floor! You too Eian!”

Erik, who had been lounging in a chair talking with Brea, looked up. “What?! I’m not using that thing! I’m peeing wherever I feel like it.”

Brea grinned at him as she stood up. “Yeah, and you’re gonna poop at work, huh Dad!” She rolled her eyes.

“Yep! You losers get the porta-potty!”

Brea suddenly realized the full extent of the conversation, “what?! I don’t want to use a nasty porta-potty either! I’m going to go to school smelling like a porta-potty! Why can’t we just use the camper toilet?”

“It’s actually pretty nice in there Brea, you should see,” Abby opened the door and motioned for her sister to go in.

“Yeah, and the guy comes out once a week to clean it too, so it’s should stay clean even if your Dad DOES pee on the floor.” I smiled reassuringly at Brea.

Brea walked over to it while Abby held the door open.

“Brea, if you walk in all the way and shut the door, there’s a really cool mirror on the back!”

“What?” Brea walked into the porta potty and shut the door.

Abby quickly threw herself at the door, pushing against it.

“Eian, help me trap her inside!”

“WHAT?!” A muffled voice shrieked from inside.

“Move out of the way losers, let me show you how a pro does it!”

With that, Erik deftly turned the blue potty box so that the door side was against the side of the camper. Screams billowed out from inside.

“DAAAAAAD! No, it’s gonna spill porta-potty juice all over me! I’m going to be covered in crap! Noooooo, PLEASE!”

Erik was now laughing hysterically and dancing around. “Brea, you’re making me have to pee! Oh and if you see my turd nugget from yesterday be sure to say “Hi” to it! Mine’s the one with all the big corn chunks in it!”

“You didn’t really poop in there, Dad! You just said you poop at work!” Abby corrected. “Brea, he’s just messing with you.”

“Nope, I took one this morning!”

“And the other day when it arrived,” Nuriel added matter-of-factly.

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that one! That was a nice juicy hot one!”

Eian began giggling. “Did your turd really have corn chunks in it Dad?”

“How the hell would I know? I didn’t look at it when it came out!”

Eian shrugged bashfully, “I don’t know. I look at mine when they’re floating in the toilet . . .”

“Eian you’re disgusting! Looking at floating poops!” Abby scowled.

“What? It’s not my fault!”

More screams and groaning from inside the porta-potty jail, “Argh! I see it! It DOES have chunks of corn in it! DAAAAAAD!”

“Brea why are you LOOKING at the POOP? You’re disgusting!” Abby scolded.

“What? I can’t help it, it’s floating right there!”

“Then shut the lid!”

“Lid? Oh yeah! Ugh! I think I can smell it! Dad, I’m gonna puke! Let me out!”

“Good thing you’re in a porta-potty,” Abby chirped gleefully. “Wait, no! Don’t puke in the porta-potty! No puking in there, it will make it gross! Dad, let Brea out, she’s going to make it gross in there so no one else can use it!” Abby grabbed Erik and pushed him closer to the potty.

This only got Erik going more and he ran to the Journey and pulled out a ratchet strap. He inched the potty door away from the camper just enough to shimmy the strap around the entire box, then ratchet it tight.

“Kids! You ever tip a porta potty over? It’s like cow-tipping, city style!”

“WHAAAAAAT?!” Brea screeched.

Eian began jumping up and down excitedly urging Erik to tip it, while Abby and Nuriel began to feel bad for Brea who sounded very close to crying by this point.

Erik and Eian both grabbed ahold of the potty and began tipping it backwards. Brea began screaming hysterically, smashing herself into the door with no luck.

“NOOOOOOOOOO! The juice! It’s gonna gush all over me! Dad! PLEASE!” Brea sobbed.

Erik tipped it partway back and shook it around a bit. You couldn’t help but laugh hysterically at the choppy screeches that spurted out on every shake! Even Nuriel and Abby were on the ground laughing and trying not to pee!

Finally Erik decided Brea had had enough and turned it back around and unstrapped it. Brea burst out of the door. She gulped a few fresh breaths of air then turned toward Erik.

“You jerk!” She punched him several good blows into his arm as the snot flew from her nose, tangling into her long hair. Erik pretended to cry out in pain with each punch.

“Jeez Brea, you don’t have to beat-up on your poor ‘ol Dad!”

“You deserved it!” She shot back.

Considering that finally this year I am LEARNING how NOT to be lost in the woods, and considering that somehow my “No Trespassing” signs have all vanished from one end of the property (put up in the fall), I think this memoir snippet is perfect!

On a side note, we try to rotate cameras on this end of the property thanks to people and animals trespassing. And I’m going to take my stack of signs out with me today while checking sap buckets. Might need to do 2 per tree . . .

 An exert from the book Six Kids, Four Months and One Camper

October 11, 2013

Since hay season was done, and I’d processed the deer, the lawn was done growing for the year and Erik hadn’t assigned me anything to do that day, I had some free time. “Free time” . . . as if that were ever really such a thing when you have a baby AND live on a farm! I decided to go staple some “No Trespassing” signs up. Signs can be expensive, but a company near us makes some great, bright orange, heavy stock paper signs that are super cheap. They only last a year or two, but then so do the nice plastic ones! I stocked my camo fanny pack full of signs, a staple gun, and extra staples then strapped Earen into his front carrier and walked-off.

It was a long walk.

I finally managed to make it to the side corner of the hay field. Our property here began to run behind another neighbor’s farm field. This was also where the barbed-wire fencing began that bordered every other part of our property. The farmer’s field didn’t seem to have anything growing, but it was freshly tilled. The whole border of our property line on this side was scattered with standing deer blinds. The gentleman who owned this property didn’t hunt, but his son did. His son happened to live diagonal from us on the street, and his kids rode the bus with our kids. From the sound of things, he was NOT happy we had bought “his favorite hunting ground”. The kids had argued with our kids that the land was really their Dad’s because he had hunted it so many years. The guy would get a nice reminder that we had BOUGHT the property and if he wants to use it, then we’d be happy to SELL it to him. Otherwise he needed to stay off!

Mature oaks lined the fence between our properties, so I stapled a sign every 20 feet or so. Nothing made me more furious than someone getting something for free. Just like the jerks hunting the guy’s property at our old house. People seem to think that it’s up to other people to buy stuff for them to use as their own. We had spent a nice chunk of change on this land, and if someone else wanted to use it, then they could make us a nice offer to buy it!

I continued on down the fence, eyeballing the blinds standing on the very edge, wondering if he was hiding up in one. I finally came to the next corner of our property and the fence began running back into the woods. I figured as long as I stayed on the fence I wouldn’t get lost.

I was completely wrong.

My first problem, was the fence disappeared. Because it was so old, and this portion of the woods so wet, the posts had rotted away – especially the ones in the swampiest areas of the woods. My second problem was the angle. For some reason what I THOUGHT was a continued course south was more of a diagonal line into my neighbor’s property. I finally remembered that I could use my previous “No Trespassing” sign as a fence marker, and would look down the woods for the signs to line up, then I would look around on the ground for the fence remains of barbed-wire. This seemed to work much better. I was chugging right along, trying my best not to smash baby Earen’s face into the trees as I stapled the signs up high. Soon, the fencing changed from 3 strands of barbed wire, to the square cattle fencing. I didn’t stop to think about this as I continued on the line . . . until I found a different set of “No Trespassing” signs!

These were yellow plastic, and decently new within a year. It suddenly occurred to me that maybe I didn’t have a fence on the back property line where it made the end corner and began to run westward. I suddenly felt like a total jerk, stapling my signs all over someone else’s property. I had been getting nervous, baby Earen was due for a nap and I was still putting up signs. But now as I looked at my embarrassing mistake, he was fast asleep, head lopped over and dangling down. I groaned, but knew it was for the best. I could finish this and by the time I got home and really wanted my own nap, he’d be back awake and ready to roll! It didn’t help that I’d also been getting nerved-up seeing MORE hunting stands on the edge of our property. Every single one had a window facing our land – who’s to say they don’t shoot whatever they see, wherever they see it? I had made certain to put my name and phone number on several of the signs. I hoped that they’d call me if they shot a deer and it ran onto our land. Legally you are required to ask permission before seeking a shot deer anyway, but most people are not concerned with the law. Otherwise they wouldn’t be shooting on someone else’s land in the first place.

I decided to walk back down the property line and see where my own line changed directions. I had walked way off. I had to go back quite a ways before the fencing crumbled into the swampy ponds. This time however, I noticed something new. Pink survey ribbon. It was tied both into a tree branch and around a small sapling. Usually an indicator of a property stake. So I began looking around on the ground. Boom! I found it! The yellow cap stuck up only 1 inch from the ground, tucked up between a big tree and a dead stump end.

I stood on the marker, facing down the neighbor’s fence line, then turned my body one quarter turn to the right. Somewhere should be my property line. I stapled a sign onto the tree with the marker at its base, and tried my best to walk straight west. It was nearly impossible to do however. This direction also had plenty of swampy water holes, and the depth of some were very questionable. Not to mention one boot seemed to have acquired a hole and would randomly leak water in. My signs were now zigzagging back and forth, and I really hoped whoever saw them wasn’t upset if I accidentally got one on their side of the line, nor that they assumed our property line MUST be another 20 feet in since that’s where the sign was.

I continued on, seeing a clearing and light up ahead. I could see a farm field of corn! And a deer camp. The deer camp was kinda cool. There was what appeared to be an outhouse, a fire pit, several deer blinds and a massive wood pile.

And a few large roads running back into my property from their camp.

By this point I HAD picked-up a new fence line, this one possibly newer as it was marked with metal t-posts. No doubt someone had attempted to rip the fencing down since the posts were still standing tall but the wire was buried into the dirt and there were no trees nearby to have fallen onto it. As I studied the road running onto our property, I noticed the fence picked-back up along the farm field. But my stomach was churning seeing the roads onto our property, for it looked very much like deer camp used our property as their private hunting reserve. I held Earen’s head steady with one hand as I clumsily dragged a fallen log over the “access road”, and then a few more. There were a few other “access points” that appeared to be used by quads so I drug tree tops over those. If I came back another day and found the small branches smashed up, I’ll know they were driving back here. Hopefully they’d see my signs and realize someone had bought the property and stay off.

It was almost 4pm and I was getting exhausted walking with a 20 lb baby, tripping and stumbling over branches. I made the poor decision to try walk back home by turning to the north and walking straight. I walked for 20 minutes and somehow circled back to the field. I tried again and walked for 10 minutes and circled back to the field. I felt like I was in an episode of “The Twilight Zone”. I tried again. This time I walked for 30 minutes . . .  and came right back to those plastic signs!

By now I was swearing-up a storm. Earen was still somehow asleep, but I had visions of Erik finding my body half-eaten by coyotes the next morning. I couldn’t call anyone for help, no one knew the woods so no one could figure out where I was, and in any event, my phone battery was nearly gone! I began praying in my head for God to lead me back home.

I was crying, not just crying, sobbing! Not because I was “lost” and would never get home, but because I was “lost” and exhausted and had a big baby on the front of me, and because I HAD to get home before Erik did. He didn’t want me in the woods “scaring the deer away”. If he came home and I came sulking-in from the back property he’d know I’d been in the woods and I’d certainly hear about it!

I sniffled as I walked, tears streaming down my cheeks. I picked-up a big maple leaf and blew my nose into it. This proved not very useful so I just used my sleeve. Why does everything crappy always have to happen to me?! I was too busy crying as I walked to see the tree branch in front of me. I stabbed myself in the face with it. I cried more. I had always prided myself on my good sense of direction and never getting lost. Yet here I was, lost as could be!

I sat down on an old tree stump and cried. All I wanted to do now was curl-up into a ball on the ground and be left for dead. I most likely would have too if baby Earen hadn’t been stuck on my chest. Why should he have to suffer for my poor judgement? I let out a frustrated wail and stood up.

Then my brain cleared a moment and I suddenly realized that all I needed to do was follow my own signs home. Apparently exhaustion had severely clouded my judgement! So I followed the cattle fence back to my orange paper signs and followed the line of them.

Nope. Wrong way. I was back at deer camp! I doubled back on my path and followed them the other direction until I could see my next set. I followed these all the way out of the woods, and then back along my neighbor’s fields until I could see our hay field. My rubbery legs struggled to drag us back home, and by the time I crawled into the camper Earen was wide-awake and crying for food! I pulled my carrier off and fed him, and passed out on the sofa for 20 minutes while he ate. Or at least tried to. The kids were busy fighting and running in and out and Erik came home just 10 minutes later. But at least I’d made it home before him. Thank-you Jesus!

I ‘m in the middle of another major edit, and this was where I stopped today, and I thought it would be a good one for Memoir Monday!

From Six Kids, Four Months and One Camper

. . . . .  .

I shrugged and pulled Earen out of the tub, drained the water and wrapped him up in a towel. I handed him off to Erik while I gathered his jammies and a diaper for bed. I walked back out and Erik was sitting on the sofa with Earen in his towel. Erik was staring at the blank TV.

“Kinda sucks the TV doesn’t work.”

I smiled, “yeah, but now the kids can do something OTHER than plant themselves in front of it all day, arguing about what to watch.” I took Earen and put a diaper on him then stuffed him into a lightweight jammie sleeper with blue and green elephants. I sat down on the sofa next to Erik, nursing the sleepy 5 month old.

Nuriel walked out and sat on the floor near us. “Mom, I won’t be able to sleep tonight! I’m too excited!”

I grinned deviously, “just go sit in bed honey, you can let the coyote calls put you to sleep!”

Right on cue, the eerie singular howls began erupting from not far beyond the camper. They were followed by answering calls from a group. Then a series of yelps, yips and shrieking howls. Nuriel’s eyes got big as the sounds seemed to travel closer to the camper.

“Good night!” She scurried back off to her room and shut the door. I looked down at the sleeping baby with half a boob still stuffed in his mouth. I carefully pulled it out, tucked it back into my shirt (Earen had a habit of ‘quick-sucking’ it back into his mouth on the way to bed). I walked into our bedroom and went to lay him down in his portable crib, but his bed was already full.

My crib playpen idea had worked marvelously. There was just barely enough room for me to squeeze between the corner of the bed and the crib. I had put it up and stacked a pile of blankets nearby. I knew we’d probably be here the long haul and none of us had any idea what to expect for winter.

Now when I had put the crib up, I hadn’t been able to find the fitted sheet that attached to the bassinette portion, and had instead used a soft, thin blanket wrapped tightly around the bottom insert. It must have been quite cozy, for now both cats had decided to use it as their bed!

I scurried back out, desperately hoping I wouldn’t wake the sleeping baby.

“Hon!” I whispered. “I need your help! The cats are in Earen’s bed!”

Erik not-so-quietly got up and shooed the cats out of the crib and bedroom. Baby Earen stirred a bit in my arms and his eyes began to crack open. My heart began pounding and I could feel the heat of my blood pressure rising as I started to panic. I began bounce-rocking Earen and “shush”ing him on the way back to his crib. I ever-so-carefully laid him down into his bassinette crib. His eyes shot open and his arms flew upward, which startled him more and he began to cry.

At this point my blood-pressure had reached a fever-pitch and tears began to well-up in my own eyes! It had been way too long of a day, and tomorrow was sure to be just as exhausting! Trying to think fast, I put my hand down into the base of his bassinet and began to rock it back and forth. It was basically free-floating inside the crib which allowed it to rock a bit inside of the crib walls. Baby Earen’s eyes slowly began to lower and his arms lay planted up by his head.

I had spent every night for the last 5 months working to get Earen to sleep fully through the night. He had finally accomplished that goal over the last month despite our crazy schedule with moving. As I stood not daring to move, I looked at his peaceful face and wondered how well this co-sleeping arrangement would work. It wasn’t that I minded co-sleeping . . . I just didn’t like not getting any sleep! We had tried putting his crib in our room when he was younger, but Earen was always waking up Erik, and Erik was always waking Earen. Neither was happy about it, so baby Earen went into a separate room in the house and everyone finally managed to get some sleep. Now it seemed we were back to where we started.

I carefully closed the bedroom door and shut the bathroom door in the living room partway to allow the cats in. I looked around. Where was Erik? Using the potty? I stuck my head outside and there sat Erik on the deck, a Red’s Apple Ale in his hand as he stared at the stars overhead. He looked at me and quietly patted a chair next to him.

“How bad are the mosquitoes,” I asked looking around as I pulled my chair closer to him.

“Haven’t really seen any. I think we had more at the old house because it was in the woods and surrounded by swamp.”

“Yeah well, we have a huge swamp right behind the camper, and grass everywhere. I’m SURE there are mosquitoes here, they just haven’t found us yet,” I wryly replied.

I looked up at the stars overhead. “Wow. I’ve never in my life seen stars this bright! Look, you can see the Big Dipper! And there’s Orion!” My mouth hung open as my eyes stared upward at the stunning jewel-like lights overhead. It made your head spin trying to look deeper and deeper into the great foreverness of the skies. Thinking about how each star had at least one planet or solar system similar to ours. Staring-up at them, the sky seemed to swallow you whole. I thought of all the city people who got excited just seeing one star in the sky (usually the “stars” were actually satellites). Most of them lived their whole lives never seeing “the Great Beyond” even though it sat right over them. I felt decidedly blessed.

The few cars that did pass by our property driving down the road at the far end of the hayfield a good 500 feet from us, did so slowly — no doubt staring at the lights on in the camper, wondering if someone was finally living there. I’d smile politely and wave as they went past. I wanted them to know I was watching them right back!

We talked a bit more, and stared up at the sky several more times, drinking-in the beauty overhead before finally climbing back into the camper to brush our teeth and try out the bed for the first time. Erik was the first one into bed, and he thrashed and bounced around as he wiggled deeper under the covers. I had just managed to get my pajamas on and wiggle down into the covers when Erik popped his head up.

“Did you add more gas to the generator?”

“Um, no. How could I? You’ve been with me the whole night!” I stuffed the sheet tighter around my neck. It was way too hot outside for full blankets!

“Well I’m sure it’s not going to last the whole night, and I have to charge my phone, so go out and check it.”

“Why can’t you?!”

“I’m all snuggled-up and cozy in bed! Besides you’re faster than me. I’m sure you can go out and come back in less than a minute!”

I growled quietly at him and threw the covers off me and tromped back out to the living room. I found my pair of tennis shoes and went back outside onto the deck. It suddenly occurred to me that we didn’t have a flashlight. Well, we USED to have several, but the kids of course had run off with them all – despite each of them having gotten their own just a few months prior! Lucky for me it was a clear night, and the moon was offering just enough glow to dimly light my way. I could hear the generator running as I rounded the side of the camper. Then it began to make a strange “burrup!” noise. “Burrup! . . . Burrup! . . .Burrup!” I began to walk faster, not watching very closely where I was going, and stepped right onto our old pee bottle. It threw me off-balance enough that I stumbled a few steps, then tripped in the tall grass at the edge of the small ridge just 10 feet from the camper. I fell/rolled down the short ridge, catching several blackberry brambles on the way. My cheek stung and I could feel tiny prickles in my jammies.

The sounds erupting from the generator were sounding more intense so I quickly scrambled to my feet and ran the last few steps to the generator. I peered down at the gage. It was too dark to see anything. I opened the lid and watched the moonlight partially fill the insides. I couldn’t see any liquids glistening. Maybe if I added some gas to it I’d get a better idea of how full it was. I looked around. Where was the gas can?

“Shit.” I muttered, remembering. My hands flew to my mouth and my eyes got wide. I swore! I never swore, not even with my crazy ex-husband! Why was I swearing now?! I pondered this as I trudged back UP the small ridge to fetch the gas can next to the porta-potty. We had filled the canister on the way over here to make sure we’d have enough. I picked-up the 5-gallon container and waddled with it down to the generator. It sputtered out the second I set the jug down.

“UGH!” I shouted at the sky. I dropped to the ground in panic. Shit! I’m going to wake the baby! Then I’ll really be in trouble! Crap — I just swore again!

I held my breath off and on for several minutes, straining my ears for any sound of the baby waking up since the generator sat directly behind our bedroom window maybe 20 feet away. All I could hear was Erik rolling around in bed. I finally took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then I stood back up, uncapped the gas can and the generator and filled it as far as I dared to go with my moonlight flashlight.

This was a pull-start generator. And I am known for being terrible at pull-starting anything! My arms are just too short to get any sort of leverage! But I had managed to re-start it several times with Erik earlier, so it shouldn’t be too hard. I figured I wouldn’t need to prime it since it had just been running a few seconds ago. I switched it to the “off position”, then back to the “On” position just in case. Then I began pulling the pull-cord. One! Two! Three! . . . . . Nothing. Four! Five! Six! . . . only silence.

I was getting out of breath and my arm was already beginning to cramp. After all, I had been moving furniture all week and had spent all day moving the heaviest of objects! I jumped up and down in frustration and smacked my head a few times.

“Idiot, idiot, idiot! Why can’t you just do it right the first time! You knew it was running out of gas yet you didn’t think to grab the gas can at the start?!” I was pretty good at criticizing myself. With all the forgetting, messing up or ruining things I was always mad at myself.

I took another deep breath and sat down in the tall grass. I stared at the vivid beauty of the stars. God made those stars. He made those stars because He Himself is beautiful and wonderful and they are only a tiny glimpse of His own beauty. I stared hard into them. I could just make out galaxies millions of miles away, each galaxy another cluster of stars.

I could do this. It was a beautiful night. It wasn’t pouring rain, or snowing, or blowing crazy cold wind. It was quiet and warm. And I was complaining about the generator not working? So what if I didn’t get it working? The camper wasn’t going to explode . . . although Erik might if his phone didn’t get charged.

I thought about it more. Maybe it DID need to be primed. It HAD run out of gas after all. It wasn’t like the circuit had been blown. I flipped the switch to “choke” and began to pull again. The first two tries were not quick enough. Three . . .  Four . . . Five! It gave a cough, telling me to try again. I flipped the switch to half-choke and pulled again. Six! It finally sputtered on, choking on its fresh supply of gasoline. I flipped the switch to full and it roared to life, happily chugging along. I put the caps on and walked back to the camper, proud of my problem-solving skills.

“This wasn’t going to be so bad,” I thought to myself. “I can do this — no problem.” I smiled, proud of myself and excited to take-on any new challenge I was sure to have thrown at me. I took my tennis shoes off inside the camper by the slider door, pet the sleeping cats on the sofa quick and opened the door to the bathroom and dove into the darkness.

Smack, “boing!” “Ugh!” I gasped, hand over mouth. The cats had been busy while I was outside and had kicked their closet litterbox door open. I had jumped right into the end of it thinking it was mostly shut. Tears welled in my eyes; I rubbed the bruising spot on my forehead, heart racing as I craned to hear if I’d woken the baby.

I could hear him thrash a few times. I stood holding my breath, “please, please God! Don’t let him wake-up! I’m so tired, could you please have pity on me?”

Baby Earen coughed a few times, then began to wail. I joined him. Tears now snaked down my cheeks. Yep, I certainly did it. Maybe I wouldn’t be able to handle this camper experience. I walked the last few steps into our room and scooped him up then we went back to the sofa to try our nursing bedtime routine again.

Ok, so it’s really Tuesday and I forgot Monday was Memoir Monday, so I’m playing catch-up. But it worked out well because it brings me to our Memoir excerpt of the week.

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.