Lie Maestro

This is my mother. 

I call her Woman. 

I am the Woman's favorite child.

Sometimes she says she doesn’t pick favorites, sometimes she says she loves us all the same – but I know what she really means…. 

I am her favorite and she loves me most of all. 

This story is dedicated to her – and me – but mostly her.

A few months ago we were visiting my family in Utah and reminiscing about our childhood.

It was remembered that there was a time, between the ages of 12 and 18, when I was not my mother’s favorite.... 

Yup, I was a sassy pants. Or rather, a sassy lack of pants. 

This spurred a discussion of all the hilarious and terrible things we did as children.

*Cory filling the Logan Landing hot tub with bubbles....

and then playing in them until the cops arrived. 

*Jaron attacking mom's physique as retaliation for sending him to his room

*Rylan locking the neighborhood bully in the trailer and tormenting him with a hose,

*Brooklyn being sent to time out once in her entire life -

....which was apparently a false sentence since Rylan recently admitted to biting himself to get her in trouble.

The stories went on and on, each one funnier than the last, each one more shocking to my poor mother. 

As my mom listened to us crack up about our naughtiness, and having had enough surprises for one night, she decided to drive the conversation to a more positive place - she wanted to remember the sweet things we had done as children.

The first story she mentioned was about me. 

May 2001

I had the perfect plan for Mother's day.

I decided to surprise her with the thing mothers love most – flowers. I had recently been granted permission to ride my bike alone - as in no parental guidance. Were this not the case, I would have simply asked my father for a ride to the store, bought flowers, and had an ordinary mothers day - but that would be boring and obviously not blog worthy. 

I rode my bike. 

I rode the three miles downhill to Lee's marketplace in record time – a ten speed had never sped so speedily as mine. 

I then set out to find the perfect flower. 

As I perused the flowers I found an entire display of Mums! These aptly named flowers must have been specially grown for mothers or “mums”. At $6 a pot it was the perfect price for a budding babysitter and I had found my secret mother’s day present. 

Side note – I later learned that mum is just a shortened version of chrysanthemum…, which is the #1 choice for grave flowers – Mums are NOT a flower designed for mothers by the British. 

All I needed to do was get home and hide the flowers until the next morning and I would have the perfect mothers day gift - flowers I had purchased and procured all on my own. 

Here's where it got tricky.... 

As I was awkwardly peddling back up the uphill grade to my house, the flaw in my plan became apparent. - Biking with a pot of mums in your arms is surprisingly difficult. 

As I struggled along to keep myself and the flowers balanced, I noticed a large scary man running the same path I was laboring along, a path which happened to be a precariously thin dirt patch between a major roadway and a canal surging with fresh spring run off. 

As it turns out, I was right to fear the Nefarious looking jogger behind me. 

My slow biking on the narrow trail was impeding his workout, something he did not tolerate well.

As he ran past me he purposefully knocked me off balance, sending me, my bike and my recently purchased mums straight into the canal. 

Soaked from the waist down, my plan was ruined. 

My perfect mother's day plan was ruined. 

Defeated, I walked my bike to the back side of an office complex just across the street from the scene of the crime. 

My flowers, and my will to ride on, were broken and sad. 

Someone found me and let me use their cell phone to call my mother. She was coming to get me and would see her bent mothers day flowers before mothers day. 

Worst day ever. 

When my mother arrived I recounted my tragic tale. 

I had not yet dried from the awful endeavor and my sopping state, along with the damaged and pitiful flowers in arms, made for a distressing scene.

Naturally, she was outraged.

How could anyone - much less a full grown and balding adult- knock a child into the water and continue on as if nothing had happened? 

Surely this "man" was a monster.  

I, on the other hand, was an angel and these sad little flowers were the most precious of all mothers' day presents. This was a story of self sacrifice to remember - my mother had successfully taught me the addage "tis better to give than to receive" and I had employed it in my young life. 

... as in last month while on our trip down memory lane....

The TRUE Story: 

Before leaving Lees, I had the slight notion that I needed to use a bathroom. In my excitement to get on with my adventure and eager to hide my gift - I forgot about that notion and mounted my bike in pursuit of home - without the use of the facilities. 

As I rode, the need to tinkle became less of an inkling and more of an urge. 

 The urge grew stronger and I willed myself to carry on. 

I was 12 after all, and 12 is old enough to be in charge of one's bladder. 

....or so I thought. 

My body, confused from multitasking kegels and awkward bike riding, betrayed me.

 I was no longer dry while riding the bike. 

There was no canal in sight. 

Yup.  

That Happened. 

I peed my pants, blamed it on an imaginary man, and lied about it for 15 years.

Sorry mom :) 

My Husband The Hobo

My father in law is a farmer. As a farmer he is rugged, masculine and stubborn. He is also called the silver fox by countless peri-menopausal women in the Northern Utah area. That fact has nothing to do with the story but I felt it was necessary since this post is, in some ways, all about him. 

His name is Sam. This is Sam.
(Names have been changed to protect the identity of the almost innocent characters in this story)

He even has a Tom Selleck Mustache.

Sam, the manly farmer that he is, is never less than diligent in the doing of farm chores. Thus, at 10:00 PM last sunday, AKA Mother's day, he decided to go out to change water on a 1980's motorcycle with low headlights. While charging along at 20 MPH on a water saturated skinny dirt road inches from a 3 foot canal - disaster struck.  

The front wheel hit a waterlogged piece of driftwood and threw Sam from the cycle.

The motorcycle went one way, Sam went the opposite way, and his lower leg went both ways. 

Sam was taken to the Emergency Room, after a hearty amount of pleading of prodding of course, and was given every test known to man. 

His X-ray showed two broken bones in multiple places on his right leg, his MRI showed extensive tissue damage and his CT scan showed no brain damage. 

His leg was splinted and he was sent home the next morning with instructions not to move and wait for the swelling to subside.

He did not like waiting. 

Two days later the family gathered together for a BBQ. Sam didn't go to the barbecue. Instead, he went trolling around checking his fields for sufficient water and ensuring the farm was running smoothly without him. Because his right foot is broken, Sam used his left foot to pressure the gas pedal.

 Did I mention he was also on oxycontin at the time?

 Yes, yes he was. 

Yet another two days after that, Sam had a Doctors appointment. Due to the prior driving incident and other unsuccessful attempts, Sam's lovely wife Cathy hid all keys. While Cathy was in the shower and his son, my husband, was on the way to pick him up - Sam found the keys. 

He drove himself to the Doctor.  

With his left foot.
On opiates. 

No one can say Sam is not tenacious.

He thought only happy thoughts on his way to the Doctor.

Well... Mostly.... 

Once Sam got to the doctor's office he realized he may have been more affected by the narcotics than he originally supposed.

As he was lumbering out of his truck he looked down to find he had driven there without footwear.

He contemplated driving back home, since he was uncharacteristically 20 minutes early anyway, but decided against it. 

(Clearly another decision influenced by drugs) 

He was going into a medical office shoeless. 

The Doctor removed Sam's splint and gave him a boot as a replacement. 

He drove himself home with his good, and now slightly dirtier, bare foot. 

Once he got home, Sam didn't like his boot. The lack of structure allowed his bones to crunch around and the crunching made him less able to break the rules. 

He was miserable. 

In comes husband. Up until this point you've probably been wondering how the title of this blog post ties into a broken father in law. 

Here is how. 

Since Sam was miserable with his new boot, he decided he wanted his old splint back. 

Problem - the Dr's office was closed by the time he made this decision. And it was friday. The office would not be open again until Monday morning - an entire 72 hours away. 

An idea was hatched.

Most logical people would say this: 

Husband said this:

 So Husband climbed in his work clothes and drove to the hospital to dumpster dive for Sam's old splint.

Once he got to the hospital he realized the Dumpster was not in some back alley as he expected. Instead it was on the parking lot side of an all glass building facing two sides of a heavily windowed hospital.

He strategically parked his truck so it blocked as much of the dumpster as possible, but a giant red truck is more conspicuous than most.

He exited the truck. 

Nervously, he glanced around for onlookers. The last thing he wanted was to be recognized rummaging through medical waste in his chore clothes. 

For those of you who were not raised on a farm, let me elucidate the nature of chore clothes. 

Chore clothes almost always consist of coveralls. Large, thick uncomely overalls made of a taupe canvas material that barbed wire can't cut through. 

Old clothing that most people give to goodwill - become chore clothes. Jaron's barn clothing largely consist of shirts from the 7th to 9th grade. These shirts are not barbed wire proof and are thus often riddled with holes and few sized too small. 

Long sleeves are a must - which usually means ratty old jackets are layered on top of holed t-shirt. 

Boots are steel toed, rubber or drenched in mud. Usually all three. 

Dip the whole outfit in manure, tractor grease and general smelliness and you have chore clothes. 

Farmers know how to work.  

Anyway back to the story - Jaron, in his chore clothes, was hesitant to jump into the dumpster.

When it appeared he was audience free he boosted himself up and into the dumpster. 

He immediately regretted his decision.

Medical offices do not dispose of the same things that, say, a paper office would throw away. 

Doctors throw away things that have been under, around, on or a part of the human body. 

Often a diseased, infected or broken human body. 

He found many things of this nature. 

He Found: 

Used Casts

Fungus growing on the used casts

Used Splints - one of which may or may not have been Sam's

Fungi growing on the used splints

Diapers

* ADULT diapers, not baby diapers.

Other gross things. 

He Did Not Find:

Drugs

Needles

Laughing Gas

Syringes

Any other thing the people passing by must have thought he was rooting around for. 

The next ten minutes went something like this:

He thought about this as he poked at a particularly fungus infested cast.

Then he obeyed. 

He buckled down, ducked his head so he couldn't be seen, and rifled through the entire load. Out of diapers, casts, bacteria and countless other health hazards he gathered all the Sam-sized splints, making a stinky pile just outside the dumpster. 

When his work was complete he hurriedly lept from the dumpster, ready to head home and take seven showers.  

But then the phone rang. 

He shifted the weight of the reeking splints to his other arm and managed to answer the call.

It was Sam. 

The End.