Cruisin' Through 2009

I can't quite say whether the lack of posts is due to a serious case of writer's block, or the fact that 2009 has been an insanely hectic year thus far. Though, I can't very well shy away from the fact that I have been known to procrastinate a time or two as well.

It's funny how an eight month gap sounds like a long time, but yet it really does seem like yesterday that I was writing about a ski-induced concussion. It's so cliché, but time really does fly by. Gah, so much has happened since then. I took a trip to Chicago...mostly business, but fun. I went to Las Vegas...which was all fun, but not near long enough. I've also been spending a good bit of time with my sister in Knoxville, some much needed sister time that I've been neglecting. Last but not least, we just returned from an awesome cruise.

When I say awesome, I mean nothing less of the word. This was our first family vacation in years. Yeah, we've had trips here and there together, but never the whole Davis clan. So what better way to contain a crazy group of eight individuals than to stick them on a huge boat in the middle of the ocean? "I'm on a boat!" Yeeaaahhhh, that's what I'm talkin' about.

I would normally say that the adventure started once we left the airport, but so many memorable moments occurred before the actual flight...I just have to include them for future reminiscing purposes.

As a female and mother of an [almost] three year old, it's understandable that a nine day vacation would call for a mass amount of luggage. I did pretty good though, I managed to get all of Ellie's and my own stuff into my one suitcase. Yes, it took a forklift to maneuver that bad boy, but I was pretty stoked that I was only going to have to pay to check one bag even if it was a little over sized.

A little over sized...now there's an understatement.

Lauren strolls in the house around midnight Friday night only to find me laying on my suitcase trying to get it zipped. Actually, it took a bit of coercing from Judson to take out quite a few things before I could close it.

coerce (v.) , -erced , -ercing , -erces . To force to act or think in a certain way by use of pressure, threats, or intimidation; compel.

And by that I mean he really had to coerce me. I wasn't very happy, in my tired state, that I was going to have to unpack and repack yet again. Several comments I vaguely remember making:

"Do you understand what you're asking me to do? You're taking away the things that make me ME!"

"No Judson, not those shoes! They're my favorite!"

"Thanks so much guys, I'm that girl standing in San Juan with a case of Red Bull and a pack of Ellie's Pull-Ups ready for the vacation."

Good times. :) So anywho, Friday night was spent getting those last minute things together....zipping the suitcase, downloading some new jams to my iPhone for the plane ride, getting my carry-on full of Ellie's stuff, etc. Needless to say, I didn't get much sleep that night. I still can't decide if it was out of stress or excitement that I woke up every hour on the hour. I was like a little kid before Christmas. Ahhh, who am I kidding? I was like myself now before Christmas.

I don't know how things go at your house before a big vacation, but as fun as the Davis family can be is just about as stressed and chaotic as we can be too. Think about it, four women, three men, and a two and a half year old all getting ready to leave the house by 9:00am. Don't ask me how we did it, but we actually were pulling out of the driveway by 9:15am. Amazing I tell you. The only thing running through my head was a sound that faintly resembled that circus tune...do do do-da do-da do do do.... yeah, it was craziness.

We finally made it to the airport! As I was casually dragging my luggage, my daughter and my carry-on behind me, we decided it would be better if we all just put our stuff together and took turns going through the baggage check line. Smart, smart decision I must add. We Davis women all have our own agendas you know, so we all headed our separate ways....leaving Ellie on baggage-watch-duty.

What can I say, I'm a terrific mother....

Kidding, kidding...she was totally supervised at all times (yeah, by the airport security cameras maybe).

No, seriously though, this is how it went: Mom and I went to check our bags in one line, Leslie and Creo checked their bags in another, Judson and Dad were still parking the cars, and Lauren and Ellie sat on the remainder of the luggage waiting for our return.

Side note: Pack each person's luggage separately.

I seriously thought I was doing better by packing Ellie's stuff with mine. Not by a long shot!

Funny thing, let me tell you something about checking bags...If you normally fly Delta (which I've done several times in the last six months), you pay $15.00 per bag unless it's over fifty pounds and then you pay an extra fee for the overweight. Not a bad deal if you ask me. But when you fly AirTran to San Juan with the same suitcase packed full, you pay over $100. No bueno! Oh well, by the time we finally made it to the ticket counter I would have paid anything to make them take the bags.

(My sister's fiancé, Judson, and I at the airport)

Stoked, stoked, stoked!! We were all so excited about the trip! On top of that, even the flight was fun because it was Ellie's first time on a plane. She was so precious! Good thing she was, because the rest of us looked ridiculous trying to lean on one another to grab a nap between Atlanta and Puerto Rico. I don't really consider a nap helpful when you wake up with a stiff neck and the whole right side of your face numb. Don't ask.

Ahhhhh, arrival in Puerto Rico.

Yay! So we made it to San Juan. We gathered all of our belongings and headed to the taxi line to get a ride to our hotel. Once again, the circus theme song danced along in my head as we tried to coordinate our baggage claim and taxi service. We all managed to keep track of Ellie which was an accomplishment in itself, but somewhere along the way Leslie's bag was mysteriously misplaced. Luckily after a few minutes and some help from the airport security we found it.

(The search is on for Leslie's Bag)

Our hotel was beautiful. Our rooms were nice, contemporary and really spacious...which we managed to clutter up in no time at all.

(Part of the fam in San Juan)

Well, our original plan was to fly down on the same day the cruise departed (Sunday), but after a month of planning with one of the Radiologists we work with, we decided to spend Saturday in San Juan. This doctor is originally from there, his brother is actually the mayor, and he was beyond excited about taking us to dinner and showing us around while we were there. Great idea, huh? Only if you aren't planning to have a four hour dinner.

Oh geez, that was quite the obstacle with Ellie. Great, great food, but stressful for everyone. So, about 11:00pm I took Ellie back to the hotel room...and they were still on drinks and appetizers when I left. I didn't even realize dinners COULD last that long.

So midnight rolls around, I'm asleep with Ellie and I'm suddenly woken up by Judson's skinny finger eagerly tapping me on the shoulder..."Evelyn, Evelyn, wake up! You're coming out with us! Get up!" I of course jump right up and I'm still in my evening wear from dinner. Yep, that's when I remembered we had planned to go out once they finished dinner.

Have you ever woken up not knowing where you are, only to look down to find you have a nice black dress on, high heals, and a phone in your hand? Probably happens all the time, but I was beyond confused for a few short minutes.

I have the best parents in the world! They kept Ellie while I met back up with Lauren, Judson and all the other people they had met while I was gone. Fun, fun times! Apparently, our hotel was THE PLACE to be. Both the lobby and club were packed all night. Man, I'll tell you one thing about Puerto Rico...the party never stops. I seriously think people were still partying when we were headed to the pool later that morning.

After a late night/early morning, Lauren and I got up and headed down for some poolside breakfast before gettin' our tan on. They had a fresh breakfast buffet that looked great after the long night we had, so we sat at a quiet little table on the patio. I'm not sure how familiar you are with the wildlife of Puerto Rico, but let me just tell you about these birds that were lurking around the patio. They looked like crows, could quite possibly have been a crow, but a little more elegant and a little less I'm-going-to-gouge-out-your-eyes. That's what I thought at first anyway.

Naturally, these birds were hanging around to catch any crumbs that might be on the patio...like what most pigeons, seagulls or other avian related animals that prey on small children would do in this instance. As I sat with my plate in front of me I realized I was in immediate danger. There I sat...staring...eyes agaze on this jet black, red eyed, razor sharp beaked bird staring directly back at me.

It's one thing to have this happen to you in a normal state of mind, but it's quite another to have this happen after a night of drinking.

The bird continued to stare at me, then my food, then back up to me. I of course (because I find some sort of weird humor in the whole thing) pick up my fork and gently pierce a strawberry, moving it slowly to my lips without losing site of this little black demon. I felt as if I was in some sort of typical old western about to engaged in a gun draw....crumbs blowing by like tumbleweed.

I started chewing on the strawberry with an intense stare that could have burnt that little creature to a crisp. Then he starts to sway....yes, I said sway. He's shifting his weight back and forth on his skinny little legs like his anxiety was getting the best of him. He looked as if he might jump the gun, but he seemed to be holding his position. I then decided that my best line of defense in this scenario was the fork I was holding in my hand (hey, this thing could have been rabid for all I know...I had to take precautions). So I slid my hand around the fork handle, forming a fist around the utensil and ready for anything that might come my way.

Then I heard something, it was Lauren approaching the table.

Mistake #1: Never lose eye contact with the enemy.

I turned for a split second and the bird charged. Out of the corner of my eye I could see what looked like a ten foot wingspan (and yes, I was hugely hugely mistaken). I immediately jerked to the side and bent over my armrest as if I was going to dive under the table. For some very odd reason things look so much larger in my peripheral vision.

Yeah, so that thing wasn't anywhere near me. In my semi-panicked state, I realized I had misjudged the bird's size and flying direction. As I was catching my breath and repositioning myself back in my chair, I looked behind me only to see the bird ever so eloquently perched on the back of a nearby chair with a smug little grin. Some might suggest the grin was merely the way his beak naturally lay, but I know better.

Lauren asked me if I was ok and I of course answered with a, "Holy crap! Did you just see that bird?" With an amused smile on her face, Lauren replied with an, "Ok, Evelyn...how 'bout you sleep at night." I don't care what she or anyone says, that bird was gonna fight me for my breakfast. I could see it in his eyes... he backed off only because he knew he couldn't take Lauren and I both on at once.

To give all of you gentle readers a better idea...

...pure mayhem.

Concussed Part II

There isn't much I can say about waking up the day after your first time skiing. Pain pretty much sums it up I think. I guess that's normal though, after you spent the night before beating your body against the side of a mountain.

So we're ready for day two on the slopes! We wake up, grab some breakfast and then head to the slopes! Joining in on the freak show was Judson, who was smarter than I and decided to spend the day watching rather than skiing. Not us though, Lauren, Paul and I were off again to conquer the mountain.

I do have to say the conditions Saturday were so much nicer. There wasn't any snow blowing in our faces, the temperature was warmer, and the sun was just glistening off the snow. Perfect day for some ski action.

What a blast! I was doing so great. You would never guess that I was the crazy person rolling down the mountain just the night before.

In congruence with the Friday night twilight ski, we had our "apple cider" flask full to keep us warm and to assist with any unsuspected anxiety that may sneak up on me. Although, seeing as how my skiing efforts were really starting to pay off, the flask was just adding to the fun. So we're just movin' on up to new slopes; having a great time. Then, as mid-afternoon approaches, I look at my ski buddies and say, "Ok y'all, let's hit the big one from last night!"

What a rush! It was so great! Yes, I actually made it down on several occasions...without falling! I was so proud. Lauren and Paul gave a few shouts of excitement before we headed back for our last trip.

How 'bout a little explanation about why this was my last trip down the mountain....

Lauren, Paul, and I lined up for the ski lift to take us to the top. Another guy, we'll just call him Joe for reference purposes, was headed to the top as well. Seeing as how this was a four person lift and he was all alone, we coaxed Joe into riding up with us. After a little chit-chat and a few good laughs, we start approaching the top of the mountain. Lauren politely asks Joe, "Which way are you going?" Joe, who was meeting some of his friends at the top, informed us that he was headed down the right side of the mountain.

I found myself mildly intimidated by his statement, mainly because his decision to head down the right side meant he had to cross in front of me to get there. Under normal circumstances, proper chair lift etiquette might state that all chair lift parties must exit the lift together and then worry about which way they want to go.

My thought process during this quick conversation was that I would wait a few seconds and let him off first. That was nice, right? That way Joe could just get off the lift and head straight for the right side. Yeah......

A few seconds in ski-lift-time can be a really long time.

So there I am, sitting on the lift and I see Lauren, Joe and Paul get off the lift. It isn't until now that it comes to my attention I am about to get left on the lift...alone. So what do I do? Seriously, what would you have done?

I jump off the lift, which was suspended a good five feet in the air, and land on my skis for a brief second before the momentum actually catches up. My skis went forward and my butt hit the snow. That would have been ok if the momentum wasn't such that the whiplash motion sent my head to meet the snow as well.

Spell it with me now...c o n c u s s i o n

That's right, not only did the sobering knock in the back of the head have me seeing stars, but it also had me questioning what the heck I was doing on the top of the mountain! Time, at this point, had no relevance and the throbbing I was feeling (and hearing) faintly resembled the sound of horses' hooves cantering about on my head. That seems like an accurate description seeing as how all I could mutter out was, "Hey guys, have we been riding horses today?"

Surprisingly enough, Lauren and Paul were able to contain their laughter (I'm thinking only because they actually saw how hard I hit the snow/ice) and helped me ski to the bottom of the mountain.

Ahhhhh, never a dull day out with the Davis girls!

Skis...Check! Concussion...Check!

I should probably just go ahead and preface this post with an age-old comment (which is perfect for this discussion): If you can't laugh at yourself, then who can you laugh at?

Skiing: a sport in which participants must travel on skis... hmmmmm....

Snow is a funny, funny thing. Having been born and raised in the south, I can only think of a few select times that we actually had enough snow to play in. I'm not talkin' that ice/sleet stuff that we manage to get every year, I'm talkin' the beautiful, white, fluffy snow that you see in pictures. You know, that snow that's ideal for skiing. So, you can imagine my reaction when myself and three others decided to hit the slopes a few weekends ago in North Carolina.

Aside from being consumed with excitement, I have to say I was dealing with an extreme amount of anxiety. There's just something dreadfully intimidating about standing at the base of a snow covered mountain with your feet strapped ever-so-tightly to two long pieces of wood. Ok, so the standing part wasn't near as intimidating as the feeling I got when the the infamous words came out of Paul's mouth, "It's ok, Evelyn. It's really not that hard, just point your skis downhill and go with it."

Hmmmm...

"And go with it" just doesn't seem like the last words I want to hear before I die. Ok, ok, so we were just heading to the bunny slopes...which brings me to the first of many questions I still haven't found the answer to. Why would someone stick the bunny slopes at the bottom of a steep hill? I'm sure there's some angry little man somewhere nearby just peeping through the woods at the (for lack of a better word) beginners bustin' their tails just trying to get to the bunny slopes.

So there I go, completely clueless as to how I was going to manage this, but somehow staying on my skis and reaching the bottom. I'm thinking, "Not bad, not bad. I actually might be able to make it through the weekend without breaking anything." So after getting a brief lesson from Ski-Pro Paul, who glides like a penguin across the snow, I decided it was time to give the bunny slope a go.

I should probably add a little background information on the scenario in which we experienced that Friday night. After renting our skis, arriving at our cabin, throwing on our ski clothes and heading to the slopes, we made it for the twilight skiing. Sure, sounds fun right? Skiing in the dark while they're making more snow...so exciting, huh? Yeah, that's what I was thinking too. Not really all it's cracked out to be. So anywho, we arrive at the slopes and decide beer and some shots are only going to make this experience that much better! So we hit the bar in the lodge and then the slopes...which brings me back to the bunny slope incident.

I'm in my skis and headed for what looks like a conveyor belt, but for skiers to ride on. There comes question number two, "Who sticks a conveyor belt in the snow and expects you to actually ride on it, WITH skis on?" Like other experiences in my life, a little alcohol and my inhibitions are out the window.

I approach the conveyor belt, skis pointing up the mountain, and I step forward to gracefully ride to the top of the slope. Not so much. There was nothing graceful about whatever it was I was doing. One ski made it on the belt and the other was left squandering behind (with my leg still attached to it I might add). In a naive attempt to balance myself and reposition my skis, I managed to plummet off the right side of the belt (which was conveniently a snow covered ditch about two feet deep). At this point there isn't much I can do except laugh. Lauren, who is bent backwards laughing at her sister, tries to get out an, "Are you ok?" Paul, who is the most encouraging person I think I've ever met, minimally contains his laughter long enough to help me back on the conveyor belt.

Ahhhhh, an excursion to the top of the bunny slopes. ha

At this point I'm thinking, "Holy crap, this is going to be a long trip!" We Davis girls don't just give up though. Nope, that would be too easy. Instead, after three more runs down the bunny slope the most interesting thing happened. Words of mild courage came out of my mouth, "I think I'm ready for the real slopes now."

Dun, dun, dun....

Excited about the sudden change in pace, Lauren and Paul decided we should probably get on the ski lift closest to the bunny slope. They saw no need in taking off our skis and climbing to the top of another hill in order to reach the next ski lift, when there was a lift right next to us. Sounds good to me. So, still somewhat agreeable at this point, I line up for the lift with Lauren on one side and Paul on the other.

What a nice ride, I'm enjoying my rest and the somewhat dark scenery when I start to realize the lift ride is really taking a bit longer than I expected. On top of that observation, I start noticing the incline at which we're traveling at this point. Still oblivious to the idea that nor Lauren or Paul really knew where we were going, we finally reach the top and I hop right off the ski lift. I'm thinking, "Ok, this isn't going to be so bad...at least I made if off the lift."

Then I hear it, words that sound a bit like uncertainty coming from Paul. Personally, I cannot think of anything less comforting that the sound of uncertainty (borderline fear-for-my-safety) coming from the person teaching you to ski...at the top of a mountain! So I look over my left shoulder and all I see is the edge of the mountain. Lauren who is fearless, just pushes right off and heads down. It's apparent, as I watch her instantly disappear off the edge, what I was about to deal with.

That's right ladies and gentlemen, we had taken the ski lift to the highest point. I take one look at Paul and say, "Nope, I can't do that." Of course his reply is, "I'm sorry, I didn't know we were going to the top. It's ok, I'll help you down the mountain." What else was there to say except, "No seriously, I can't go down that." Then he goes about fifteen feet ahead of me (or below me considering the circumstances) and stops. He throws out a, "See, I'm right here. You'll be fine...promise."

So there I go, all the while thinking I'm going to die and a bit relieved we visited the bar before heading up the slope again. Of course, I ski a bit then panic that I'm going too fast and plop right down. Then up...ski...then fall again. This continued for about six good falls and then I decide, "Ok, I can do this." So I brace myself for what could possibly be my last trip down the mountain, and I head downhill.

I must have gone ten more feet before managing to make a ninety degree turn to the left. For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of experiencing skiing (or a black diamond), let me enlighten you on what a ninety degree turn going mach three down a mountain will do to you. I'm pretty sure my tail end hit the snow first, then all I could really see was snow and my skies going different directions over my head. The only word that comes to mind is tumble, and that's putting it lightly.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I must have heard you wrong. You meant stay ON your skis....Ok, that makes sense."

Ahhhhh, good times.

Well, I actually made it to the bottom in one piece. Face covered in snow and water...which was a mixture of face-plants into the snow and the snow from the blowers blowing in my face the whole way down. So, Paul hooks us up with some goggles and we're off to try it again.

I, with my knees still shaking and a death grip on my ski poles, head toward the ski lift for the intermediate slopes. Lauren and Paul truck along right beside me with nothing but words of encouragement, "Don't worry Evelyn, this one won't be near as bad."

So we ride the ski lift up and I actually manage to make it down the slopes several times without falling. I was doing pretty good for myself. Aside from the few ice patches that resulted in loss of control and a quick fall, I think I was really getting the hang of it.

Note: Never get cocky when you're attempting a new sport.

So Lauren, Paul and I decide to go down the same intermediate slope a few more times before calling it a night. We get on the lift and make our way up to the top. I wasn't really aware of this, but did you know they have a little "lift shack" (I'm pretty sure I just made that name up) that someone sits in so that they can stop or slow the lift if needed? And you would think that since they're paying someone to work that little shack they would actually stop the lift if....let's say...three people pile up underneath it. Yeah, that's what I was thinking too!

Lauren and Paul try to prepare me for our (awkward cough) lift dismount by telling me which way to turn so that we all make it off ok. In this particular case we needed to make a hard right off the lift to what I would now call the "safe zone"...b/c apparently there are lots of unsafe areas when getting off the ski lift. I'm thinking, "I got this. All I need to do is make it over there without knocking Paul or Lauren down."

Sounds pretty easy, right?

As we're proceeding off the chair lift, I'm not exactly sure what I was thinking about. Whatever it was it obviously had nothing to do with getting off the lift safely. I hop up and with one not-so-swift motion I manage to take Lauren and Paul down with me. Unable to contain my laughter, I just sit there. I glance over to Lauren, who is holding her head with a confused look on her face, and manage to get out a, "Sorry, Lauren." She just looks back at me and says, "Ouch, one of those poles in front of us must have hit me in the head."

About that time, out of nowhere, the ski lift chair smacks into the back of Lauren's head. As Lauren assumes the fetal position, I hear Paul say, "Holy crap, the chair just knocked Lauren in the back of the head....twice." Being the insensitive (somewhat tipsy) sister that I am, I reside in the snow consumed with laughter. It wasn't funny that Lauren was hurt, or that the lift chair was still swinging from left to right, but more the fact the chairs were still flying by...one after another.

Finally pulling it together, I lean over and ask Lauren if she's ok and all I get in return is a, "Do you think you could move over!" So I try to move to the left, but given our positioning that particular maneuver just wasn't happening. Paul pulls me out of the way and then Lauren to safety. (I'm thinking his calling should have been a lifeguard rather than a doctor given the dragging technique he used to get me out of the way.) In retrospect, with my huge blue ski suit and immobile body, I'm sure I looked like the beached whale of the scenario. The analogy fits quite nicely, seeing as how I needed a crane to assist with getting me back on my feet.

What a tough one though! Lauren gets up, shakes a little snow off and heads down the mountain like a pro. We decided to do another trip down the slopes and then called it a night. We figured we had done enough damage for one night.

It's Electric....

Growing up, I was (for lack of a better word) obsessed with horses. Seriously, every afternoon and every weekend from the time I turned eight, I was at the barn riding or caring for my horses. I loved it. Plus, I had several friends that had horses too, so we would all ride together and just have a good ol' time.

There was a period of about a year or so that we kept the horses at our house. I should probably give some background info on where I live. Our house is on the side of a mountain. That's right, not a place for horses, but it just happened to be that there was an adequate amount of space behind our house that my dad cleared and fenced for the horses. It really worked out great having them right there. We would ride down to the river and spend the day swimming or fishing...ahhhh, good times.

So anyway, back to the story. Dad chose to fence this area with an electric fence. Good thinking, less time and money spent fixing this area up when the truth of the matter was we weren't keeping them there forever. He did a bangin' job on the fence work I might add. Dad's so great, fixing this up for me so the horses could be close by. Definitely a Father of the Year award recipient!! Though, I'm thinking he gave me a little more credit than was due. I'm guessing he assumed I had learned my lessons with electric fences due to previous adolescent games at the barn.

Have you ever touched an electric fence before? Sure, as kids, we would always dare some idiot (usually me at any given point) to grab the fence for ten seconds and see how many shocks you could take....if you're interested in a good laugh, that's the way to go! We always shared a laugh or two at someone else's expense.

Time to throw in that side note: no one individual should have more than one bad experience with an electric fence of any sort, unless you happen to work for a power company.

Electric fences are funny things. They don't give a constant shock of electricity, just a shock every second or so (at least the ones I've come into contact with work that way) like.....bzzzt.....bzzzt.....bzzzt...and so on.

So there I am, alone with just the company of my two horses. I'm sure they were pretty pissed at me, taking them from the nice fully green pasture and sticking them in a space a third of the size with a tenth of the grass...I would have been pissed. They showed no ill will towards me, they trotted right up to greet me just as they always did. So I did what I normally do, went to crawl under the fence so that I could jump on the back of one of them and ride around for a bit.

Something that morning gave Evelyn the bright idea to pull her hair back with a metal clip on the top of her head. That's right ladies and gentlemen, I'm a genius. I bend down to crawl under the fence and the clip meets the electric wire. BZZZZT....and I'm down for the count. There aren't many things like being electrocuted (with roughly 600-1000 Volts) from the very top of you head to the ends of your toes.

As I sat paralyzed for a few seconds on the ground, I'm sure I had the most dumbfounded look on my face. I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out what had happened. First I was standing, then I was crawling, then I was on my back looking up at the sky...and somewhere along the line I was wondering if I could still even move my fingers and toes. Seeing as how this wasn't my first experience with the electric fence, you would think I would have recognized the signs of a good shock. I didn't though, I was so confused.

So I resided on the ground for a good five minutes...ummm...let's just say gathering my thoughts. I can remember looking over to the horses and seeing a distinct look of satisfaction upon their faces. Something along the lines of, "Hah, now you know how it feels! Idiot!"

Stroller 101

Offspring make for some rather interesting moments I must say. As a first-time mom, I think I had what most would call preconceived notions about the things my child would do. How naive was I? She's only two months shy of turning two and I'm already finding myself saying things I never imagined I would need to:

"Stop putting your face in the water! You know you can't breathe like that."
"Shaving cream is not the same as whipped cream, so stop eating it."
"We don't pull the dog's tail, ears, or poke her in the eyes."
"Chew your food before you try to swallow it, please."
"I told you she'd throw up if you kept spinning her like that."

Yet, it seems I am not the only one that thought things with children might go a little differently than planned. Surprisingly enough, baby stroller manufacturers and I share this ignorance.

Let me just say that I have a Baby Jogger that a neighbor gave me after Ellie was born. I'm assuming he did it because he was tired of seeing me struggle on my afternoon runs with the regular not-made-for-running stroller. Either way, this thing was an awesome gift...these strollers are like $200+ new. For those of you who don't know what a Baby Jogger is, it's a stroller with bicycle tires (sounds ridiculous I know), but it makes the run with the little one so much easier.

So anyway, let me tell you a little bit about this Baby Jogger. Hard core is putting it lightly! It's so handy when you live in the mountains...no casual run is taken without conquering several hills along the way. Plus, Ellie loves going with me. She is an outside girl for sure, so she's in heaven riding along with me in her little chariot. This thing has brakes and everything! They thought of it all! Oh, and did I mention there is a wrist strap too?

That is where my question comes in....

How safe is it really to have a wrist strap on that bad boy? Yeah, yeah, yeah, perfect for reassurance that the baby isn't going to roll away without you attached to it. Key words...without you attached to it. I can personally say that there are several instances I can foresee Ellie being a whole lot safer strapped in a metal stroller tumbling down a hill, than Ellie, me, and the stroller tumbling down the hill. There's just something wrong about that.

This wrist strap of death is attached to the handlebar of the stroller. It is made out of that serious a-knife-can-hardly-cut-through-me vinyl that all outdoorsy people find essential for any activity. Don't get me wrong, I think the strap is a great idea if you are a strong man that weighs enough to actually stop the weight of the stroller and the baby combined. Me? I'm thinkin' not so much.

I can see it now, Ellie and I enjoying a nice refreshing evening run. The weather is beautiful, the wind is blowing, and the sun is just setting on the horizon. I'm running and bustin' my tail as usual, while Ellie is just smiling as the wind brushes her hair oh so softly. Then out of nowhere (b/c I am terribly clumsy 90% of the time) I trip over nothing and it's down hill from there...literally. Can't you just see me? No bueno! Out for a run and returning with knees, elbows and head marked by the asphalt kiss of death. Maybe they should include a warning label: If you're that idiot that falls going UP stairs, you're not qualified to operate this piece of machinery!! DO NOT ATTEMPT!!!

I complain about it, but the sad part is that I still wear it. Yep, that's right, I still put that strap around my wrist and hope for the best. I confidently admit there haven't been any accidents thus far (I'm knocking on wood as I type this), but knowing me I'm sure there will be a follow-up to this post confirming my strap phobia.

A Little Fall Fun

I am still completely enamored by the fact that somehow over these last three days it has turned into winter in good ol' D-town. I'm pretty sure I was just in a bathing suit like two weeks ago (though, I'm still not sure exactly what I was doing in a swimsuit in October). Either way, it wasn't long ago that our nice, southern, vaguely-resembling-hell, 100+ degree, 90% humidity weather was lingering around these North Georgia mountains. I read a cute little, southern bashing, email the other day stating: Georgia seasons consist of almost summer, summer, still summer and Christmas! I think that did a pretty fair job of depicting our climate up in these here hills (sorry, I couldn't resist).

Surprisingly enough, we had our first freeze warning of the year this week. That's right, breaking news for every local news station within the 50 mile radius. Oh yes, that's just one of the many pleasures of growing up in a small town. Another pleasure....small town festivals!! Yep, this weekend was the annual Gold Rush festival in Dahlonega. There are two great things about Gold Rush...people and food. You have to remember that an event such as this generates the same amount of excitement in all the locals. So you see, people you haven't seen in years come out of the woodwork to mingle amongst the Gold Rush crowd. And the food....seriously, I wait anxiously all year for a gyro from Gold Rush...mmmm...I'm getting hungry just thinking about it. Needless to say, it was a great weekend!

How 'bout a lil photo of the fam from the glorious Gold Rush days...

It was a busy, busy weekend. Actually, the whole month of October has been crazy busy come to think of it. No complaints from me though, I've had a blast. Last Thursday was a blast too! Just the start to a great weekend I needed. A friend and I went to see Zac Brown play at the Tabernacle. We had a great time!! The night really wasn't anything spectacular, but sometimes I guess those are the best nights.

Now we have Halloween coming up!!! YAY!!! I foresee an update on those exciting plans coming soon! :)

October

This is really random, but as the new month rolls in I thought I'd take the time to evaluate how I'm beginning this October:

• Single (which is a great thing)
• Still a mother (which is an even better thing)
• A student (which is getting better)
• A friend (which is teaching me just how much fun I can have while being all of the above)

Oh, and a patient...which is teaching my wallet more of a lesson than anyone.

So, as a preventative care measure, I thought I would go to the doctor for a check-up after those several fainting episodes I experienced the last two weeks...I'm such a hypochondriac, gah!! That's how I feel though, going to the doctor when I'm not even sick. Mom says, "Better safe than sorry."

Anywho, I have a very thorough doctor. You know, one of those that if something is wrong with you she's gonna find it; one that even if you don't feel like anything is wrong she's still probably going to find something after she finishes the million tests.

Seriously, I went home yesterday poked, scanned, stuck, rubbed, monitored and lectured (not in any particular order). It appears the symptoms, however mild they may be, caused a little bit of a ruckus. Personally, I think I'm just one of those girls...you know, passes out occasionally and maybe a little numbing of the hands (the perfect date material). ha

So, now I'm on a heart monitor for a few weeks in addition to several other tests coming up. Can we say lab rat? I'm thinking this is going to be a lot of fuss for tests that a going to come back negative. I should probably throw in that the preventative care idea was implanted into my thought process solely by my mother. Who knows though, maybe I'll thank her later.

For those of you who haven't ever been on an event monitor, let me just tell you about this thing. It's a beeper (haven't heard that one in a while have you?) with three wires that attach to your chest. One wire on the right side of my chest and one on either side of my rib cage under my arms. Yes, it looks completely normal (awkward cough). I'm only the one person that still looks like they carry a pager on their hip (for those of you that are still doing that...it's not cool). Wait, I take that back (not the "cool" comment, but the pager on hip thing). I guess there are some healthcare professionals somewhere that still need a pager, but I'm sure even their hip accessories aren't the size of an 8-track. The first thing I said when I saw it was, "You want me to do what with that? Wear it? Are you serious?"

I know, I'm shallow right? Good health is much more important that appearance. Yeah, right! I should have just strapped an old computer monitor to my back for a few weeks. Then at least people wouldn't be like, "Hey Ev, what's that? A pager?" Instead, they would be like, "Hey Ev, I love the monitor! How long do you have to lug that bad boy around?" See, much better!

Nah, I'm just full of it today. The monitor really isn't that bad...hardly noticeable actually (to anyone else that is). Me, I'm just learning to deal with all the wires. No biggy though, just a temporary annoyance.

Well, October is lookin' good thus far!!! Some fun things planned: Trick-or-Treating with Ellie on Halloween night and several parties for myself on the weekends around the big occasion. Love me some costume shopping! It's always an interesting experience, so I'm sure I'll be posting about that soon enough.

Nail Horror

I feel I should start by stating the obvious: Women love gettin' their nails done. Yep, it's just one of those body maintenance things that is (1) relaxing and (2) enjoyable both during and after they're done. In most cases anyway....

Mom and I decided to indulge in a little "me" time yesterday and get our manicures and pedicures together. Mom ended up having to work later than planned, so we ventured to a new nail salon closer to her office. For those of you avid nail maintenance individuals such as myself, you know how timid you can be about testing out a new place...it can be dangerous.

So there we are comfortably relaxing in our nice massage chairs while our feet start soaking...ahhhhh! Then the nail technician approaches and asks, "what color you like?" As I happily reply with a french pedicure, she smiles and begins the hour-long process. Under normal circumstances you can sit back and relax, enjoy the massage and practically fall asleep. Chin (my nail lady) has a misconception about American women I think. It seems she believes pain is a plus during this experience.

My feet hate me right now! They look pretty, sure, but every step after that was a reminder of our ghastly experience. Chin, with her nail tool that strangely resembled a metal toothpick, went to town on my poor toes. After the first one I thought, "Ok, man-up Evelyn! You can do this." Once she finished my right foot I was hesitant to even bring the left out of the water. Seriously, she grabs my leg and says, "You put foot here!" Timidly, I did as I was told. Hey, I was frightened of what might happen if I didn't...she was holding a weapon you know.

I made it through the pick-of-death and on to the scrubber. Those feet scrubbers aren't normally the most enjoyable things, but the problem I usually face (it tickling me to death) was far from the havoc I went through this time. Chin took every bit of anger out on my innocent appendage. I'm talking I have never seen a 90lb Asian woman work a scrubber in such a manner. My relaxing massage turned into pure torture as my body was taut and beginning to sweat (a normal response to pain).

With my fingers clinched around the edge of the armrests and my back as straight as a board, I glanced over to see if my mother was enjoying her pedicure more so than I. I don't think I can even explain the look on her face. Eyes pinched close, legs drawn, and a simple phrase murmured in my direction, "This doesn't feel good." About that time, her nail technician looks up at her and says, "Ok, give me foot. I not hurt you."

Mom relaxes and allows her to continue. Overall, mom was pleased with the remainder of her visit. Her nail tech must have redeemed herself somehow, because Chin felt no need to ease-up on my feet. So I did what any woman in my position would do, I gave one swift kick (ka-tow!!) and back flies the little lady! :) Kidding of course, I sat there like a push-over would and let her mutilate my precious toes.

She finished the pedicure and on to the hands. I questioned whether or not I should request another technician, but at this point I felt that might be rude (and hey, my feet were killing me...why not add my hands to it?). She sat me down at a nail cubicle and really did a great job on my nails. Maybe feet just aren't her thing; I can understand that.

Then the strangest thing happened. Apparently this nail salon concludes your visit with (what most would normally call) a shoulder/back massage. Chin, with her tiny hands and surprisingly thrustful punches, proceeded to...well...I guess massage my back. Have you ever see WCW? Yeah, wrestling. You know, where they jump on the guy laying on the ground, landing with their elbow on the guys stomach....it was kind of like that, but my back.

After three good whiplashes, I held my hand up and said, "Ok, ok, that's good...thank you." Chin, with her hair falling in her face from the crazy energy it must have taken to do whatever it was she did, brushed her hair back and smiled with a, "Tank you! You come back!"

Yes, I paid (and even left a tip) for that whole thing. I can still see her standing at the door of the salon as I'm trying to run (more like limp) to my car. She's still just a wavin'.

**Note to self: Stick with the salons you know!

Hide-and-Seek

Having siblings is a wonderful thing. Lauren and I were reminiscing the other day (as we so frequently do) about some of our adventures throughout the years. Being the youngest of three girls really puts things into perspective for you. I mean, growing up you have the usual actions that tag you as the youngest: hand-me-downs and a push-over attitude (mainly b/c everything through adolescence was handed to you), but somewhere on the third child disclaimer there must have been some fine print stating: Official guinea pig as needed.

Man, we used to love playing hide-and-seek in the dark. I can remember getting the whole neighborhood together on the weekends right at dusk to start playing. Ah, good times! Though, the most memorable hide-and-seek moment comes from a game between just us Davis girls. This was last year...ok, kidding. I must have been about 8, Leslie was 10, and Lauren was topping out at 13. Old enough to know better.

In accordance with our aberrant adolescent attitudes, we decided against taking the game outside. Instead, we had brilliantly come to the conclusion "inside has way better hiding spots!"

There were always rules (we were way too bossy not to have rules):

1. Upstairs only
2. No turning on the lights
3. Switching spots permitted if the occasion calls for it

So, off go the lights upstairs and there we are, Lauren and I, coordinating our hiding efforts as quickly as possible. Leslie, who was named It right from the get-go (we weren't always the nicest to Leslie...but we love you now! :)), resided in one of the four bedrooms upstairs counting to fifty.

I should probably add that Lauren and I were inseparable growing up. I wanted to do everything she did. So, when it came time to find a hiding spot Lauren was the go-to girl. We scurried around for a good ten seconds before testing the first spot. Shower...no good, b/c the water inevitably got turned on at some point during the hunting process. Under the sink...no good, nowhere to hide all the stuff already under there. Closet...no good, dead giveaway. Behind the door...no good, you're trapped once she suspects the spot. Then Lauren whispers a brilliant idea into my ear, "Evelyn, we're going to hide you in the dryer! It's empty, you're tiny...it's perfect!"

With my perma-grin shining ever so brightly in the dark laundry room, I climbed right in with no other objection except, "Don't forget about me, ok?!" Lauren, in a hasty rush to find her own hiding spot, secures the dryer door and hurries off. After a good five minutes pass I realize that I have the perfect spot! Not only has Leslie not found me, but I've kept her looking for five whole minutes (give or take some time...dryer time goes a lot slower than normal time).

Then, as my cognitive timer strikes the ten minute mark, I start to question my decision. A number of things begin to run through my mind at this point: Am I going to run out of air in here? What if someone turns the dryer on? Are dryers made to open from the inside? Am I going to die in here? Not to mention I had a mental picture of a dog being stuffed into a microwave before exploding (too many scary movies). Driving myself into an eight-year-old ball of dryer fear and fury, I kicked the dryer door open and poked my head out gasping for what I thought was my last breath.

Yes, I did overreact...as most children do, but I'm happy to report none of my fear-induced questions became reality. Although, that would have probably made for a better climax to my story: Then out of nowhere I heard footsteps approaching the dryer...getting closer and closer. Before I could say or do anything I hear the control nob to the dryer clicking past the first cycle and on to the permanent press cycle...dun, dun, dun. With one flick of the wrist I was 75lbs of tumbling flesh headed for a permanent press.

Oh well! I like my ending pretty good seeing that I was the innocent victim experiencing it.

Anyway, to better understand the consequences to these dryer actions, you must understand my parents. Mom and Dad had purchased a new dryer some years before this incident. During their perfect dryer selection, they decided the most user-friendly door would be one that opened like an oven door. So you see, in order for me to climb out of the dryer I had to sit on the door itself. In my opinion, I think there should be a weight limit posted on the dryer door...you know, for situations such as these that may arise.

I think it's obvious at this point what happened...I broke the door. In my defense, I didn't actually break the door off the hinges, I just warped it a little (generously speaking). Ok, so we may have had to rig the door closed with a three foot long piece of wood lodged ever so tightly between the handle and the door jamb for years after that, but a small price to pay for a daughter saved from being dried alive if you ask me.

Needless to say, we got quite the lecture from Mom: "You three are so selfish, you don't think about anyone but yourselves! Just wait until you have kids and they destroy everything you own! See how you like it!" Do to my PG-rated blog, I'm of course leaving out the profanities that were thrown around in that lecture. In retrospect, we deserved it...and a good beating.

I think it is of utmost importance to explain why it is I was left in the dryer for so long. It seems Lauren didn't have enough time to find an adequate hiding spot (due to the time it took to stuff me in the dryer I'm assuming). So, upon the completion of Leslie's counting, Lauren was found and tagged almost immediately. Then, our parents informed us it was time for dinner, so Lauren and Leslie headed downstairs to eat....without me. At least their priorities were exposed early in life.

***Oh, and I forgot to mention that we, the wonderful daughters that we are today, did in fact purchase a new dryer for the folks. This one has a door that opens to the side...just in case. :)

A Conscious Effort

The saga continues! A short break in the action due to a minor syncope episode I had last Monday, but I'm back now! Apparently, dehydration can do some rather interesting things to the human body. You see, I've never really been an avid water drinker. I think about it a good bit, but it turns out that isn't quite enough to maintain homeostasis....who knew? Needless to say, my water drinking negligence came back to haunt me last week.

I woke up last Monday, later than usual, feeling surprisingly well considering the weekend I had. So, I headed downstairs for some coffee and morning convo with the fam. As I'm chatting it up with my mom I start feeling a bit woozy...never a good way to start the week off. So, rather than coffee (I saw no need in jump-starting my heart at that point) I decided to head back upstairs for my shower.

As I reach the top of the staircase my legs get weak and my mouth starts to water. You know the feeling, that oh-crap-I'm-about-to-be-sick-right-here feeling. Worst feeling ever! So I think to myself, "Ok, just make it to your bed and you can sit down and catch your breath." I make it through the door just far enough to flip on the light, then I collapse right there on my bedroom floor. Not kidding. The next thing I know I'm waking up to my mom and sister standing over me going, "Oh my gosh! What happened! Your lip is bleeding! Are you ok?!" Given their panic state, the hard surface, my cold sweats and a bustin' head, I kinda figured out what happened (I should have been a detective). The only thing I could think to do at this point, amongst my confusion, was assume the fetal position.

As I began to regain somewhat of an alert cognitive state, I realized they were talking to me. The only response I could think to give was, "Yeah, I'm good...I just thought I'd chill down here for a while." What a weird morning. Anyway, I took a few minutes to get it together and then resumed my normal getting ready ritual before heading into work. I humbly admit that I still have some war wounds that I'm recovering from: a mild case of carpet burn on my chin (try explaining that one with a serious look on your face), a slice in my lip (apparently I bite on my 5+ foot journey to the floor), and a small knot on my forehead from the end of the bed.

Reluctant to engage in a visit to the doctor, I spent my week recovering from what I've determined was a case of dehydration (since I'm an MD and all). Out all night Friday, sun all day Saturday, and drinks again Sunday night...who wouldn't be dehydrated, right?