magic car...

 

 

any harry potter fans out there?  remember back to 2001, when we first laid eyes on Professor Albus Dumbledore?  who was this strangely dressed man with the long white beard stealing the light from the streetlamps?  the opening sequence, to the first installment of the harry potter movies, filled me intrigue and wonder.  confession: i never finished reading the series, nor did i watch any of the movies past number three or four, but i remember the first one vividly.

 

the other night my son, ash, and i were driving south down the main drag in our town, state street.  it was dark and kind of foggy.  in essence you could say it was perfectly spooky for this time of year.

 

our adventure started on 116th street.  this is a main intersection on state street.  it has a stop light with a large shopping center on the northwest corner, a gas station with a car wash on the northeast corner, a closed down, boarded up grocery store on the southeast corner and a hokey looking computer recycle place that sometimes peddles flags and blankets (not at the same time) on the southwest corner.  now that you have the lay of land let's get on with the story.

 

as i was saying, ash and i were traveling south down state street.  there are streetlights that line the west side of the road, all the way to the other end of town.  we drive under the first streetlight and it goes out.  now, i have a sunroof in my 4Runner, and i noticed that all of the sudden the brightness above my head was gone.  i looked up, yes pulling my eyes from the road, and saw just the sky.

 

we travel a few more feet down the road and just as i pass under the next streetlight, it goes out.  again the brightness above me disappears.  i look up again and see just the sky.  at this moment i look down the road.  all the streetlights on the west side of the road are lit ahead of me.  i look in my rear view mirror and it is dark behind me, no light from the streetlights.

 

we travel a few more feet down the road, approaching the next streetlight.  at this time i am watching the light and not the road.  it seems strange to me that the last two lights have darkened just as i pass underneath them and i want to watch this light.  just as the two lights prior, this third goes out as i drive underneath.  that is three streetlights.

 

i ask ash, "hey ash, watch the streetlights tell me what you see." 

 

we are still maintaining the same speed and still traveling south down state street and quickly approaching the next light.  it is lit up, shining like a beacon in the night, spreading its glow on the ground below.  just as we pass underneath it, yep you guessed it, the light goes out. 

 

ash says, "hey, the light went out." 

 

i say to him, "that is the fourth light to go out when i drive underneath it.  look behind us."  he looks, there are no lights behind us.  the only light we can see is the intersection stop lights that we traveled through, which is continuing to fade into the night, otherwise it is dark.

 

now we are both watching the lights.  the lights are still lit up as far ahead as we can see, and none of the lights we have passed under have come back on.  we come to the next light and it turns off.  

 

ash says, "we have a magic car!" 

 

he is totally thrilled with our 1996 magical 4Runner.  i, on the other hand, am kind of creeped out. what in the world is going on?  i have turned off the radio, for some reason my thinking says, "stay on your toes, heather".  i keep looking all around waiting for something, i have no idea what, but something to happen, but there isn't anything out there.  just a perfectly spooky night. the lights behind us still haven't come on and the lights ahead of us are still lit. 

 

our entire adventure started at 116th street and ended at 100th street, when we took a left and headed home.  for those 16 blocks, every light we drove under turned off, leaving the road behind us black.  we never saw Dumbledore.  we never figured out what was going on.  we just watched in amazement as the lights blinked off as we drove under.   

 

 

 

 

rim job...

several months ago there was a runner in arizona who was caught on film pooping in someone's yard.  according to the news story, a fed up homeowner caught the repeat offender on a hidden camera.  instead of going to the police, the homeowner sent it to the local news station.  sometimes public shaming is in order to get your point across.

over the summer i started running a lot.  i still loathe the actual process of running, you know the one foot in front of the other business, but i have gotten much better at it which makes it tolerable.  to be completely honest it isn't as bad as it used to be.  i don't get as tired, my legs don't hurt as much, my lungs don't feel like they are going to explode anymore, my breathing is way better and my rear doesn't jiggle as much as it used to.  all bonuses in my book. 

i have never had the urge to drop trow and crap in someone's yard, but after my experience yesterday i might choose an outside venue from now on. 

there are two port-a-johns at the trail head where i run.  after my run yesterday, i told my running partner "i'm going to use the potty."  he said, "okay, i'll meet you at the truck."  before we go any further let's chat a bit about these portable toilets.  you are stuck inside a plastic coffin of human excrement.  they smell terrible.  they are never clean.  there is no way to wash your hands.  it's a super small space that lends itself to mistakes.  in a nutshell they are ultra gross!

so i go into the john.  barely touch the handle to lock the door.  lift the lid to expose the heaping pile of crap, paper, liquid and the cloud of fumes that probably could've lifted the lid by itself.  one of the top 5 rules to using a port-a-john is you don't ever sit on a port-a-john seat EVER, you only hover regardless of what kind of business you are adding to the pile. i pulled down my pants as quickly as i could and did my business.

here is where something went terribly wrong.  it wasn't splash back, although that has happened to me.  i didn't even accidentally sit down.  there was toilet paper, which i had grabbed enough to wipe 35 butts just to be on the safe side.  but my luck was about to change.

i reached around to the right.  now, your hand has to pass the seat, graze the rim and dip into the bowl just a bit in order to get around one's hip and behind your bum.  as my hand dipped in i felt something touch me...

have you ever played operation?  wiping your ass in a port-a-john is very similar to playing this popular kids game.  although there are no sound affects, if you accidentally touch the rim you might just get more than you bargained for.

...for some reason my right hand was damp.  not wet like water wet, but cold and damp.  in what felt like slow motion i pulled my hand back into my line of vision.  right there on my hand, the cause of the damp, was crap!  not my crap...someone else's crap! 

now it's gross enough when you accidentally get your own crap on your hand.  you know this has happened at some point in your life.  you don't use enough toilet paper.  you are somewhere with that ridiculous one ply toilet paper and even when you use 12 sheets it still soaks through.  someway, somehow you've done this.  now just imagine you have someone else's crap, a complete stranger's crap, you've never set eyes on this person's crap...on...your...hand!

what happened after can only be described as some sort of attack.  i completely freaked out inside of my plastic coffin of human excrement.  i started dry heaving making this horrible barfing sound intermixed with "oh shit! oh shit! oh shit!"  somehow i got my drawers pulled back up, with my completely useless left hand, all the while holding my right hand as far away from me as i could. 

i washed my hand in a stagnant pond of green.  it was the only water source.  my running partner had a travel size bottle of hand sanitizer, which i dumped way more than i needed in my palm and rubbed vigorously into the affected area.  however, i wasn't satisfied, i put on gloves.  i had to cover my contaminated hand so i wouldn't have to look at it or worse forget and touch myself with it before i had a chance to properly clean it.

time to come full circle with the story from the beginning.  maybe this public pooper has had too many mishaps with conventional toilets and has decided that the only safe way to go number two is out in the open?  lets face it there is absolutely zero risk of getting someone else's crap on your hand when you just squat out in the open.  the public pooper may be onto something, but i don't see myself doing this anytime soon.  instead i will take the riskier approach and take my chances in public facilities.

two ratchets...

two summers ago my kids voluntarily decided to share a room.  the idea was presented on a typical sunny afternoon.  although it involved a lot of rearranging, i thought why not, they aren't going to want to do this forever.  so we set off moving all of my son's stuff into his sister's room and turned his room into a play area, aka junk haven.

for the next six months i tucked my two darling kiddos into their beds.  every night when i left, miss p would shout out, "see you in the morning" and as i walked down the steps i would shout back, "thanks for the warning".   i would sit downstairs on the couch and listen to them whispering back and forth to each other.

under the cover of darkness, sharing the same space, seemed to be the only time they got along.  i could hear them giggling, telling each other things that they didn't want to say in front of me, and sometimes i could hear miss p helping her bro sound out a word in his book.  they were bonding, solidifying a friendship that will last a lifetime.

i fully expected this arrangement to last about six months.  i figured miss p, in the thick of those preteen years, would want her own space back.  that ash would get tired of his sister's sloppy ways and need his organized clean space back.  to my surprise they shared miss p's room for the whole school year, with very little arguments or complaints about each other.  then for some reason, this summer, they decided to switch rooms, piling all their bedding into junk haven.  camping out on the floor like they were camping.

a month into middle school and my miss p, has decided she definitely needs her own space.  in some fashion these two have been preparing for this moment.  miss p has slowly been arranging and rearranging her room to her complete satisfaction before officially moving back into it.  while ash has been clearing out the junk from his room turning into a space he is comfortable with.

last night was the first time in over a year that they slept in separate rooms.  there is a part of me that is super sad that this journey is over.  no longer will i hear them giggling quietly, or sharing stories of their day, or helping each other without arguments.  however, they made the choice to share a room on good terms and ended on good terms.  i'm super proud of my kiddos for being there for realizing when the novelty has worn off and made adjustments before wringing each other's necks.

raising a son...

 

my son is ten. he is a pretty typical boy in most respects he likes; video games, donuts, soccer, altering safe toys into weapons of very little destruction, a strong dislike on being clean, exploring in the woods and streams, wrestling anybody who will participate, scaring me whenever the opportunity arises, tormenting his older sister, drawing, finding anything to do besides his homework, and showing me anything that has to do with pooping or farting.

he is reserved and shy, and like most adult men i know, does not share his feelings freely.  he seems to keep those things locked up tight, but every now and then he breaks down.  when those moments happen he has my undivided attention.  there could be a meteor headed right towards the spot i am sitting, or the zombie apocalypse could be starting (just for the record, i think the whole zombie thing is totally dumb), or the president could be tugging at my shirttail, none of it is as important or pressing as hearing the thoughts going on in my little man's head.

i am always surprised by what he reveals.  i'm not sure that i am completely equipped to be raising a boy.  his little mind works so differently from mine, most of the time i am at a loss. i don't realize the challenges he faces as a young man trying to find his place in this world.  his road of discovery and truth is just starting, but i worry for him.  i don't know how to instill confidence to share his feelings when the world around him tells him, "men don't share their feelings."

i have read countless articles, in every kind of publication imaginable, that single mothers raise weak sons.  due to our societies high divorce rate, more boys are being raised solely by women and we women are instilling girly qualities in our boys.  in my experience, women tend to be much more comfortable sharing their feelings, sometimes we share too much (i recently shared too much and it didn't turn out well), but for the most part you don't really have to guess where you stand with women.  whereas men tend to keep their feelings locked behind an impassable door with only one key, which they keep hidden away. 

i wonder out loud, can't there be a happy medium?  is it really that unrealistic to raise young men to openly share their feelings without taking away from all the macho manliness that men have been taught for countless years?  does asking your son to share his feelings, to do the dishes, to help fold clothes, to do any other traditional woman oriented chores, or simply living with just females really emasculate that young man? 

i do my best as a woman to understand the challenges my son faces, when he chooses to share them with me.  i try to indulge the gross things he is interested in (we just went through the process of curing a crow skull).  i laugh at the ridiculous videos he finds that center around farting or pooping, even if i find very little humor in them at all.  i save the traditional man chores for my young man.  i try not to get too worked up when he digs massive holes in my backyard just for the sake of digging a hole.  i react appropriately at the pranks he pulls on me as long as they aren't dangerous.

the authors, researchers and voices behind "single mother's raise weak men" would probably cringe at the fact that i require my son to give me a kiss everyday, that i hug him in front of his friends, that i encourage him to share his thoughts, not just his cockamamie ideas, but his feelings as often as he wants, and that i tell him i love him every chance i get, but i don't care.  they can be naysayers.  watching my son trying to put on a brave face just to be a "man" makes my heart hurt and frankly i think it's wrong.