December 29th

I have one name for you...a name that brings fear, hives, and anxiety to most...

Chuck E. Cheese

That's right, fellow child pleasers, the place "Where A Kid Can Be A Kid" and the place where some genius adult discovered the need for Valium.

I've visited this establishment on two occasions. The first dreadful experience was some years ago, and the second was last night. After my first visit with twenty kids and a singing mouse, I swore I wouldn't return. Oh, the things you'll do for your offspring.


My mom, Leslie, Creo, and Gabriel accompanied Ellie and I to Chuck E. Cheese to celebrate Miss Ellie's birthday. This was our family celebration (though we truly missed the rest of our family), but her actual birthday party isn't for another week. That was the key in making it a great time! Seriously, a 5 to 1 ratio in a place like that is definitely the way to go. We had a blast. Games, pizza, birthday cake, presents...no hives, headaches, or anxiety attacks. It was fabulous. Going on a Tuesday night could have been the smartest decision I've made in a long time.

I couldn't very well blog about it without adding a picture of her favorite ride there. A girl after my own heart! She was so stinkin' precious! Yay for birthdays!!

The Joys of Motherhood

Well, we made it. Somehow I managed to get Ellie to the three year mark without any emergency room visits, broken bones, nothing has had to be pulled from her nose or bronchial tubes, she holds her breath under water, she only fell off the bed twice, and she even stopped drinking the bath water....overall, I'd say that's some pretty good parenting!

Like any honest mother would admit, there were definitely some moments of uncertainty, possibly even fear. Although those moments were few, they still managed to sneak their ways into our everyday lives.

Like this for example:

I have no idea how the kid managed that one. She seemed to get in the little basket just fine, it was the getting her out that caused the panic. I, personally, like to think of parenting as more of a trial and error thing.

Ellie and I seem to be learning a good bit of the child/parent responsibilities as we go. I have a good framework for what I expect of her, and she corrects those expectations daily. A lot like this picture displayed above. I never expected her to get stuck (obviously, or I would have removed the basket from the tub), but she's opened my eyes to new possibilities.

I have to say, she taught both of us a lesson on that one. I learned how to remove a small square object from a large round one, which took me a good ten minutes, and she learned not to stick random things over her head. Guess what?! I haven't seen it atop the cranium since!

That was a lesson learned more on her part I would say. There have been quite a few instances that were definitely more beneficial for me. One of those instances being the fact that there is a little rubber stopper that goes in one of Ellie's sippy cups. The rubber stopper is what makes the cup a sippy cup and not what I might call a full-flowing cup. Apparently, remembering to put the stopper in after you wash the cup is a HUGE deal. Yeah, that took some time to clean up. Do you have any idea how quickly a two-year-old can make it around the house with a leaking sippy cup? Geez.

Or perhaps the baby powder. They make the little twist top for a reason, so it can be closed. I really didn't foresee Ellie pushing her little chair over to the changing table, climbing up the drawers, and emptying the baby powder container. All the while I thought she was napping. That little sneaker even knows how to tiptoe around her room.

Always an interesting journey. I can honestly say I wouldn't rather it any other way. It's fun watching her learn...it's a little embarrassing how she puts things into perspective for me, but I'm learning too. Such a sweet, sweet blessing she has turned out to be!

Happy Birthday, precious Ellenoir!

Three Years

As the year comes to an abrupt end, I'm forced to accept the fact that my sweet little girl turns three tomorrow. Nope, I cannot believe it's been three years since she was born. Although, you would think that special day would remain fresh in my mind with all the event replays I get from my oldest sister.

Let me just say, dating as a single mother has enough obstacles without your sister insisting on showing your significant other the video of you giving birth. Luckily, I've managed to intercept all attempts and made it perfectly clear that I would remove whomever shows this video from my family tree rather promptly should it be released. Believe me, I'm not above disowning a sibling.

I'm pretty sure out of the top 10 things you should never do to your sister, showing her birthing video without her consent is right around number 1. Yes, Gabriel and I are very close, but there's just something about seeing me eighty pounds heavier and pushing a baby out (in high definition) that makes me a little nervous. Silly me. By the way, Lauren, this includes releasing the video to Youtube. Thanks. :)

Awwww, you know I'm kidding about the disowning part...I'd probably talk to you again in a couple years. hehehe

Three years old....wow! Ellie has made some pretty great progress this last year. She's now speaking in full sentences, potty trained, and binky-less (which is the most recent development). She's so grown up now and I have to say she has every bit the attitude to go with it...not real sure who she gets that from. ;)

She is extremely independent and voices that independence with every task she takes on. It's always, "No, Mommy, let me do it" or "I can do it myself, Mommy" which is a little annoying right now, but I'm sure I'll be thankful for it later. She has just got to be the most precious thing I've ever seen!

Happy early birthday, Miss Ellie!

A Little Christmas Spirit

Ahhhhh, Christmas....

The season that brings out the angry shopper in us all. It's crazy! Wait, let me rephrase that... Women are crazy! I will admit I do occasionally run across a few tragically chosen males sent by their wives (against every manly instinct in their body I'm assuming) to complete those last minute tasks. I only say that because I always catch them in random stores like Bed Bath & Beyond or La Gourmet Chef looking completely dumbfounded. Believe me, I say a silent prayer for each of them for having to endure such madness. That's got to be true love.

They just look so meek and mild, like a little lamb that has lost his flock....only the discovery channel version where the lamb is about to be destroyed by crazed wolves with shopping bags. As a women, if my man hands me a shredded bath towel with someone else's initials on it, I'd find true romance in the effort that went in to getting out alive with that towel. So thoughtful.

There's just something about the holiday shopping deals that provokes this strange form of rage. A quality that seems to lie dormant the other 11 months of the year. Wonder why that is?

Me? Oh no, not me. I'm of course referring to every other woman on the planet. I would never be caught cutting someone off, giving fellow shoppers that dirty don't-mess-with-me-or-this-tinsel-will-be-used-as-a-weapon look, or snatching the last cashmere scarf off the shelf before that little person dressed like an elf could grab it. By the way, I find that wrong on several levels. Santa's got this huge workshop all to himself up north, but yet he sends his "little helpers" south to grab all the good deals. Hoarder.

Overall I'd say my shopping experience this year has remained rather mild. Tolerable and surprisingly successful (I'm thinking that's mainly a result of my online shopping). I've almost finished too! I finally picked up an item for my mother last night that was apparently sold out in every store north of Savannah, but I snagged it (nope, it wasn't that cashmere scarf either).

The other present I haven't received yet is for my sweet sweet boyfriend, Gabriel. I have high hopes that his gift will be arriving sometime today...I hope, I hope, I hope. I mean, what kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn't have a killer gift for my honey on Christmas Day?! We all know he deserves it.

That's one thing I find extremely important during these shopping escapades...a constant. Someone that regardless the horrible shopping language you may use or the snappy (often times intolerable) attitude you maintain, they remain the same lovable person you fell in love with years ago. Now that, my friends, is the truest of love....and I should definitely find one of those guys. ;) hehe... Just kidding, baby!

Seriously, a special thanks is in order for the vast efforts Gabriel has put forth in taming the shrew. I think I've actually learned quite a few things from my Gabriel! How could I not though? The person I spend the most time with is inevitably going to rub off on me. Luckily I have a sexy, thoughtful, responsible boyfriend to share such qualities with...well, that and a three year old (I try to take more qualities from Gabriel than Ellie, but the occasional temper tantrum fights its way through ;)).

Life is good, Christmas is going to be wonderful, and the company I'll be keeping will be no doubt memorable...as most Davis Christmas festivities are.

Merry Christmas!!

Victoria's Secret

As an addendum to my Christmas post, I thought I would add in a special moment I observed while watching one of those unfortunate male scavengers sent on the annual Christmas gift hunt.

I was casually looking through the Victoria's Secret selections at one of our local malls, as normal women who love lingerie do throughout the year, and in my peripheral vision I noticed a man across the room from me searching through the perfume section. This guy was mid-thirties, an obvious home-grown country boy, dressed in camouflage shorts, a long sleeved shirt and a Georgia hat (normal attire for the locals that rarely make it out to the malls). I found no surprise in this shopper, I normally run into several of these guys in Victoria's Secret this time of year and right around Valentine's Day.

I immediately thought to myself, "This will be good." I of course did what anyone looking for a good laugh would do, I moseyed my way a little closer.

As I'm approaching this fella I couldn't help but evaluate the situation, you know, paint a mental picture of what had, is and will happen with this guy. Here he is, hat almost hanging off the back of his head (obviously a product of scratching his head in confusion for the last thirty or so minutes), eyes pointed up in an effort to survey the floor to ceiling perfume displays, and two brightly colored bras in his left hand. He had assumed the position of a bouncer, feet shoulder width apart, chest swollen, and arms securely folded across his chest; no doubt determined to find a particular product.

As I settle into a good observation area a few feet away (I had no intention of offering assistance until he'd spent another fifteen minutes there in confusion), I could practically see the hamster in his head sweating from the intense workout he was getting just trying to keep up with the decision making process.

I have three questions going through my head at this point:

1. Who helped him pick out those bras?... and I sure hope he got some sort of size before he came in here.
2. When was the last time he actually picked out a perfume for this gift recipient?
3. I wonder if he knows he's looking at the men's cologne?

His eyes skimmed across the first row slowly, his mouth dropping a little bit wider with every bottle that passed. Then he made a move. He grabbed the Very Sexy (for men) and puts the top to his nose for a smell. The look on his face quickly expressed his distaste in the product. I hear him whisper to himself, "Smells like a dude."

Interrupting this moment of humor was a woman, obviously an employee, coming to offer the man some assistance. Dang it! Right when it was getting good.

Woman Employee: "Can I help you, sir?"

John Doe: "Yeah. I'm lookin' for this perfume that my wife wears. Smells good. This don't smell real good." He hands the bottle to the woman for her to return it to the shelf.

Woman: "Well sir, this is our Very Sexy fragrance for men."

John Doe: "Well now, that would explain it. Got anything for women?"

Woman: Motioning her hand to cover the majority of the room she replies, "We sure do. Do you have anything in particular you are looking for?"

John Doe: "Hell, I don't know. Somethin' nice (pronounced niiiiiice)."

His eyes continued to inventory the products as he reached for the Heavenly Body Mist.

John Doe: "Mmmmm, that's nice. Looks kinda like that bottle in our bathroom too."

Woman: "This is a very popular fragrance. Would you like the perfume in addition to the mist?"

John Doe: "Mist? Perfume?" ......

Oh yeah, his hamster was officially off the wheel at this point. That just completely threw him off track. The best part was the woman's reaction to the stunned look on his face. She merely picked up the mist and said, "It's ok, we'll just stick with the mist."

Gotta love it!

Welcome To D-Deck...

I can't bare to let my lack of writing short the significance of these precious vacation moments I have stored in my cognitive bank. I feel I'll be referring back to these for years to come.

What can I honestly say about this photo that it doesn't already say on its own?

Oh wait, I know....TRAUMATIZING!

Funny how that works. Any normal viewer may think, "Well that's refreshing... Even though they have huge orange life vests on, they still look like they're having fun."

Not so much. The words fun and life preserver don't really belong in the same sentence (unless of course you're speaking in reference to a floating chair, a drink tray of some sort, or really any other resourceful non-life-threatening purpose in which life preservers are sometimes used).

The infamous muster drill....

So, I understand the concept behind the muster drill, but nothing quite says lifesaver like three mildly intoxicated adults and a screaming two year old. Given my emergency management experience, I think I could do a pretty sufficient job creating a few pre-drill rules for the passengers:

Rule one: Know what time the muster drill is scheduled.

Rule two: Limit your alcohol consumption to one drink (if any) before the drill. Scratch that, you should AT LEAST have one drink before the drill.

Rule three: Small children should be locked in a cabin while you attend the muster drill. (This is for both their safety and the sanity of others of course.)

Rule four: Be prepared to sweat profusely while standing in line for a ridiculously long period of time...with an abnormally large life vest around your neck.

Rule five: If you're claustrophobic you should not participate in any muster activities unless there is an actual emergency (and even then I would question heading to the deck areas).

See, that would have been the smart way to approach such an event. Inform the guests with the need-to-know facts and leave the rest out.

Looking back to our cruise experience, this event flashes hazard with every sense of the word.

Let me add some insight for those of you who seldom take a cruise. A muster drill (also sometimes referred to as a lifeboat drill or a boat drill) is an exercise conducted by the crew of a ship prior to embarking. It includes all pertinent information directly related to proper emergency departure from the ship. You know, an effort to prevent such events as those that occurred during...let's just say....the Titanic for example. I can't really think of anywhere in the Caribbean that thousands of passengers are going to freeze to death, but I'm pretty sure shark bait is the first on my list.

Sure, slap a life vest on and jump on in. I'm thinkin' not so much.

I don't really know about you, but when a boat that's carrying over 3,000 people takes a nosedive to the deepest part of the Atlantic, the last thing I want to be doing is trying to figure out where D Deck is located. Naturally, I want to find the nearest bar, possibly even the engine room in an effort to huff as many fumes as possible to help soothe the ever chaotic circumstances.

Protocol...that's how they run these things. March 'em in, line 'em up, show 'em how it's done, and send 'em on their way. Though, I don't recall anyone demonstrating the appropriate being-eaten-alive-by-a-shark technique.

Both of my sisters, their significant others, myself and Ellie were all stationed at the same deck. Who knows if that actually helped the situation or would hurt it in the long run.

So, the drill is in full swing. We're lining up on the deck and Ellie at this point is completely devastated...and when I say devastated, I mean I was that mom with the screaming kid. Yep, that was me.

For starters, the ship wasn't even scheduled to leave port until 10:00pm. This means that the muster drill was at approximately 9:30pm, which just happens to be the normal bedtime for the offspring.

So she's miserably tired, hot, and antsy like normal toddlers around this time. Luckily, like I mentioned before, the adults had already downed a few brews before the whole thing started, so I was pretty calm and collected about the whole thing (hints the smile I'm displaying in the picture above).

Just a quick question before I continue...

How many of you new mothers have been forced to strap an oversized life vest on your child...while she's screaming? Anyone? Well I have, and there's just no pretty way to do it. Then, once you get it on, one of the crew members has to come by and slap a wristband on your child so she doesn't get shipped to the wrong deck if something were to happen. I can only imagine the thoughts streaming through her head at this point.

She's yanking the wristband off, pulling at her neck and screaming like someone is about to throw her overboard (which I'm sure that thought crossed several minds by this point).

In the split second that she actually caught her breath, Ellie looks up to me with the most pitiful, tear filled eyes and says, "Hold me, Mommy." So of course, like any good mother would want to do, I try to pick her up to comfort her in this traumatizing moment.

What happens next? Like any good mother, she slips out of my hands, onto the deck, and then into the water.

Sike! I might be a new mom, but I'm not that bad. I will say though, it is physically impossible for one human being to hold another human being (child or full grown) when both are wearing those life vests. Not a pretty sight.

Consumer Report

As I was diligently making my way through a few of our hundred (+) channels the other night (which is always an exciting event for me seeing as how this is the first time I’ve had more than three channels since I was born), I was delightfully astonished by the idea that people will try to sell anything. Seriously. I mean, I run across internet advertisements for random crap all the time, but this is television. We’re talking real life people (b/c we all know whatever happens on television IS real). Not only is it real, but it’s streaming into the comfort of my home.

Actually, I find the most humor in the idea that people actually buy this crap…and that my bank account is now $19.99 less due to a must-have item I happened to run across myself. Kidding, kidding…c’mon now, I do have some sort of self-control. Well, except for that one time the telemarketer persuaded me to buy a year subscription to some magazine that I had never even heard of, but that’s another story.

I just can’t see spending my money on an apple slicer when my knife seems to work just fine. Same goes for some of that other stuff too. Ever heard of a lap mug? Let me help:

Oh yeah, that’s exactly what I want in my lap…a scalding cup of coffee.

“Look, no hands”... I’m thinking not so much.

Let’s don’t forget what happens when you are half asleep (as I usually am when I go for a steaming cup of coffee) and you forget that your normal, flat-bottomed, dependable mug has now turned into an awkwardly large bullet-shaped thing with a handle. What do you accidentally do with it? Yep, you set it on the coffee table (which was conveniently named in the first place for accommodating your coffee-mug-holding needs). Then what happens? I can’t foresee anyone blessed with the natural talent of balancing THAT thing on the coffee table. So truthfully, I see this as a hazard you just purchased for $16.99…unless you order now, in which you can get three [hazards] for the price of one.

What about the chocolate bar magnets?

I have a toddler that has a nose like a hound when it comes to chocolate. She can spot candy from a mile away. The last thing I need is to walk in the house and see the few magnetic collectibles we own stuck to Ellie’s abdomen just because she thought the chocolate magnet looked appetizing…”Look mommy, it sticks to me” is not something I personally want to deal with.

Should I really even start with the sea monkeys? Anything that can be revived years later from dormant encysted eggs has no place in my house. That’s just creepy if you ask me.

I have to admit I did find mild interest in the alarm clock with wheels.

Someone did once mention that if I put my radio alarm on the Southern Baptist channel, I’d jump out of bed to turn it off in the morning. I don’t particularly like being yelled at during a sermon; even more true at 4:45 in the morning. I can see it now… chasing an alarm clock with wheels through the house at the crack of dawn. By crack I’m referring to the fact that’s what the neighbors are going to think I’m on, running around the house that early. I guess it could also be mistaken for some sort of domestic dispute…what with all the screamin’, yellin’, fallin’ over stuff and such. I started to rethink the interest in the alarm clock after running that scenario through my head a couple times.

Oh, and my favorite of all useless, wasteful ways to spend that extra dollar that’s burning a hole in each of your little consumer pockets: the Obama Chia Pet.

“Special Edition Chia Obama” it says. I don’t know about you, but after seeing that I felt compelled to stand, place my hand over my heart in appreciation and sing, “Cha Cha Cha Chia.”
Somewhere in the advertisement hypnosis state I was in I broke free in laughter. Life doesn’t get much better than that. They try and sucker you in with the, “In honoring our 44th US president” nonsense. I have nothing but respect for anyone that makes it into office; I even like plants as much as the next person, but a chia pet? Sorry, but if we’re headed down that road…when I am president all I want is for somebody to put my name on that huge portable pig billboard that sits out in front of that BBQ joint…bet cha that won’t cost you $19.99.

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?

CPR

Ah! The pleasures of cardiopulmonary resuscitation. One comment can probably sum up the outcome of my CPR class this week...

Lord help the innocent bystander that is held subject to my heroic CPR efforts.

I'm certified though! :)

This is Henry...he's my CPR buddy (fyi, he resents the idea that most call him a dummy). Let me tell you a little bit about Henry. He's a 32 year old male (obviously, I don't know many females named Henry), Caucasian (well, a pasty tan color), he enjoys long walks on the beach, romantic comedies, the occasional beating of the chest and a light shock if the occasion calls for it. That's right ladies, he's a keeper!

About the class... The actual certification is part of the my class requirements, so it was nice that they took a night to teach the CPR rather than making us attend another class elsewhere. I have come to the conclusion that they do it for kicks. I would...you should have seen some of the people in there.

We started off as usual, video and simple instructions. Did you know that over 900 adults in the US are killed everyday due to sudden cardiac arrest? That's right, we as individuals could be the deciding factor between life and death. That's awesome! I'm doing CPR on everyone, just for the slight chance that I might actually end up saving someone. So, family and friends beware! If you decide to grab a peaceful afternoon nap and wake up to me and my resuscitator mask hovering over your airways, I would consider yourself warned and move as quickly as possible towards the nearest exit. :)

The class covered adult, child and infant CPR. In addition to those stimulating lessons, we also covered first-aid for choking. You guessed it, the infamous Heimlich. This not being my first lesson, I'm sorry to report that I am lacking a funny story for that one. However, I do have an interesting interjection from the past that I will share.

So there we are, myself and several fellow waitstaff members socializing during some down time. This was when I worked at a local bar/restaurant on the weekends, so we always had a good time joshin' it during the slow lunches. Anywho, a friend of mine was the only one of us that had a table at the time. He had a two-top: man and women (both of which were pushin' eighty) and the man had moseyed in pulling his oxygen tank directly behind him. They were quite the cute couple. Chad had delivered their drinks, and their food came shortly after. As we continued our mindless discussion about whatever interesting event took place the night before, Chad noticed the man at the table slightly coughing and looking a bit scared like he may be choking. To add to the scene, the wife was rapidly tapping him on the back (I'm assuming to add some sort of relief to the situation...still not real sure). Chad's face turns white and looks at me with a "what do I do" look on his face. I of course said, "Don't just stand there, go see if he needs help!" At the time I could see that the man was not fully choking, but he was indeed having some difficultly chewing the abnormally large bites he was taking. Chad, on the other hand, obviously couldn't see the situation during his mission to heroic status. He immediately grabbed the man's shoulders and said in a loud, very stern voice of panic, "Are you ok, sir? Are you choking?"

Side note: One key step we learn in these classes is to wait a few seconds to give the victim a chance to reply.

I think he must have gotten caught up in the excitement of it all, b/c he grabbed the old man from behind, strategically placed his foot on the bar stool across from him (for extra leverage), and began what looked from afar like two foreign creatures preforming some sort of exotic mating ritual...one creature considerably older than the other mind you.

That image will forever be burned into my memory bank. This odd experience continued for, I would say, seven good thrusts before the man could squeeze out a, "Stop! Stop! I'm ok!" About that time, Chad sets the fragile old fella down on his chair, wipes the beads of sweat from his brow and hands the man his oxygen mask. We, as onlookers, casually brought our mouths back from the "holy crap" position they were in and started looking for something productive to do before the couple noticed the audience. Before leaving, I did hear Chad say, "Is there anything else I can get for you?" I can only imagine the look of fear on his face after that experience.

Like most events in our lives, there was a valuable lesson learned here: Always be sure the person you're saving needs help! If they don't, just move really quickly before they can say anything.

Weekend Escapades

I thought I would take this post to talk about the Labor Day weekend I had. I should probably preface with the fact that not every weekend goes the way this one did. Normally, I bask in the idea that I spend at least half the weekend being responsible, but something happened...it must have been all the holiday excitement.

So, how about we start with Friday? The obvious occurred: work and a little bit of play. I did the normal routine of up at 4:15am and off to work, but after work my sisters and I had some big plans for dinner and drinks with an old friend (a previous babysitter actually). We had so much fun catching up with her! I have to throw in that she had a huge impact on our molding process as individuals. Although, I won't say she's completely to blame for the wild women we have become today, but she had a lot to do with it. ;)

So after partying with Kim Friday night, my sisters and I headed out. Not really sure where to go, we defaulted to Wild Bills. (Side note: We have recently decided to change that default) Not enjoying ourselves to the fullest of our ability, we decided to leave after one song, half a beer, and $45 to get in (don't ask what we were thinking, b/c we weren't really). Actually, at the time we thought it was a great idea. A little honesty for you dedicated readers, most of our great ideas are alcohol induced decisions. So there we were, seriously jammin' to some hip hop and headed to the ATL for the remainder of our Friday night. Leslie (our party animal of a sister) just couldn't muscle the 30/45min ride down to the club; she was out cold by the time we finally parked. Without further hesitation, Leslie eagerly insisted that we leave her there to sleep while we went on in. With three hours left to party, Lauren and I had our night cut out for us! What a blast we had too! Lauren, I couldn't have asked for a better night!!

Yay! There we are! This was somewhere between our 6 Red Bulls, the fun girls we met, and T...who was a hottie! :) The picture is a little fuzzy...as was the night!

Friday night turned into Saturday morning real quick as we closed the club and headed back home around 5:00am. No, it doesn't normally take us two hours to get home, but apparently the directions on Lauren's iPhone can be (awkward clearing of the throat) pretty tricky to read. I still love you, Lauren!

I should probably add that there were several promises made prior to our Friday night out. Lauren and I promised (cross my heart and hope to die style) that we would get up and help Leslie paint her house first thing Saturday morning...regardless what time we crawled through the door that night. So we did just that! We were up and ready to paint by 9:00am. Sleep is really overrated, you know?

I can tell you from personal experience that proper ventilation is essential when you're painting. The word vegetable comes to mind. Seriously, I was a mess. 3.5 hours of sleep + 6 hours of paint fumes = some really bad singing coupled with some seriously bad dance moves...in the middle of the day...covered with white paint. An out-of-body experience to say the least, but we got it done!

Just a few of the many high points (pun intended) from our day of painting:

1. A biscuit and some Red Bull.
2. "I've been in the same spot for an hour now...have I painted this crack yet?"
3. Bel Biv DeVoe, Paula Abdul, and our new CD.
4. More Red Bull.
5. "It's club Apple...bring your computer, Matt!"
6. "No, we're in no condition to try and play volleyball with pros!"

I knew we must have been high when Lauren and I decided it would be a good idea to head back out to Atlanta again Saturday night. So, we got ready and made our way down to SHOUT for drinks and some awesome sushi! Mildly comatose from the day and night before, Lauren and I filled up on some much needed nutrition and headed upstairs for some mingling. How much fun did we have?! Good times. Then over to the club for some jookin'. Yes, that is one of my new words from the weekend! Some other interesting things:

• Texting under the influence never ends good.
• Patrón does improve the situation (and often times the company).
• You can pay 1/2 the parking fee if they only give you 1/2 a spot (half meaning that you have to physically crawl over to the passenger side to get out of the car).
• "I wish he would have just taken a pee on my leg, it would have been a lot quicker than that whole territorial thing he was just doing."
• If her hair looks fake, chances are it is..."but you can ask if you want."
• The curb won't give!
• "Lauren, exactly how close am I to that BMW?"

Yeah, so sometime amongst all of those educational experiences, we decided to head to a bar in Buckhead to meet up with some friends. So, north we went! After wrapping it up in Buckhead, Lauren and I were D-town bound. After a quick stop by the Waffle House in Dawsonville (aka D-Vegas), we finally pulled in the driveway about 5:15am. Once again, loving my bed by this point! Needless to say, Sunday was spent sleeping....

ALL DAY!

I think I might have made it out of bed twice for some much needed H2O, but other than that it was sleepy time for the E! Poor Lauren had to drive back to Knoxville, but she seemed pretty ok with it (ah, who am I kidding? I was passed out when she left). She did make it back safely though! Overall, I would have to say we had an amazing weekend! Time with family and friends...it doesn't get much better than that!

Aerodynamics

So, I started thinking last night (which is never a good idea) about some of the experiences I had with one of my old roommates. It's crazy how you forget all the funny times. If you're anything like me, your memory is shot! I have a few specks of memory from significant points in my life, but overall I would classify my memories as lost, vetoed, or even irresponsibly misplaced due to too many parties. Though, I do have one that stands out. One terrifying, life-changing moment that remains a vivid memory...I thought I would share it with you.

My best friend, and roommate at the time, and I were on our way home from one of our many nights out. On our way home at 10:00am in the morning mind you. Yes, driving without any sleep does sound like a bad idea...now. At the time the idea was brilliant. You know, you get that feeling of, "Ok, I'm done being here and I'm ready to go home, get a shower, and be in my bed." So that's what we did. This was a few years ago and I was driving my 2001 MR2 Spyder convertible (very cute car by the way) that only sat approximately a foot off the ground...give or take some space (hey, I'm a female...those statistics are irrelevant to me). Anyway, she and I were jamming out to some overrated hip-hop, as usual, not paying much attention to our surroundings. We decided to take a shortcut to our house rather than staying on 400 the whole way. So there we are, top down and making our way north towards Forsyth County. Our shortcut turned into a not-so-shortcut once we proceeded to get behind a geriatrically driven four door sedan. Paying no mind to the 20mph decrease in speed we continued with our chatting and piercingly bad singing. Then, out of the corner of my eye I see what looks like a groundhog running abnormally fast towards the highway. Living in the country, I see groundhogs all the time. They spend their afternoons grabbing some grub near the highways or observantly perched on their hind legs peaking over the kudzu all attentive to any danger that may arise. So you can understand my surprise when I see one hauling some serious butt towards a highway. My pulse starts to race as the furry, fat-rolled marmot continues it's course towards the road. My thoughts at this point (considerably slower than normal) didn't even reach my mouth; before I could mutter a word the rodent was in full motion and headed straight for the car in front of us. Within seconds the groundhog collided with the back rear tire of the sedan. The car didn't even jerk. The couple probably didn't even realize what had happened, but us on the other hand...we were in trouble. I was immediately informed of my copilot's awareness of the groundhog as she clenches the door handle and the right side of my seat all in one terrifying motion. I, with my hands firmly at 10 and 2, squeezed the wheel and tensed up my entire body. Have you ever seen a groundhog fly? No? Me either until now. The speed from the vehicle and the speed from the groundhog must have amplified the reaction, because the groundhog was instantly propelled into the air. I remember thinking, "There is no way that is a groundhog!" But it was, and it was headed helicopter style towards us. I am not even kidding. All that we could see coming towards us was snout...tail...snout....tail. I didn't even swerve (there was no time). Luckily, given the aerodynamics of the rodent and the limited height of my car, the groundhog flew right over the top of the convertible and into the grass on the opposite side of the highway. I don't know about you, but seeing the underside of a flying groundhog was definitely on my things-to-do-before-I-die list. Needless to say, the lack of sleep and alcohol consumption the night before coupled with our little groundhog incident resulted in an extreme case of the shakes for the both of us. So, I pulled over for a few minutes of recuperation before continuing our journey home.

I thought this might assist with that mental picture!