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 :) 

Rylan's Wagon

The Browning family lived next door to us. 

The Brownings always had an immaculate yard - they spent hours every summer pruning their planter boxes - weeding their large garden and intricately planning the placement of each piece of shrubbery.

Shrubbery is a weird word. 

Ryan is my little brother. He also lived next door to the Brownings. 

Ryan was an adventurous child. He was convinced he was half dog until the age of eight, put his head through a wall in the middle of temper tantrum and locked my other siblings and I out of the house for two hours while I was babysitting. 

His inadvertently destructive adventures often affected our neighbors - most frequently the Brownings and their impeccable yard. 

He once let an entire bucket full of snakes loose in their raspberries since my mom wouldn't let him keep them as pets. 

Mr. Browning did not always love living next door to Ryan. 

Ryan also had a red radio flyer wagon. He filled his wagon with "treasures" he found - usually in other people's homes, rooms and areas.
Some of the Browning's thing ended up in the wagon. 

This may have been an early sign of kleptomania - we're still watching him. 

One day, immediately after the Brownings had planted a new row of baby trees along their sidewalk, Ryan was out for a walk. 

He came across the baby tree. 

He liked the baby tree. He wanted to take it home as a "treasure".

He rummaged around in his wagon of stolen things.

He found an axe he nicked from my Father's toolbench. 

He cut down the Browning's tree. 

And put it in his wagon. 

He then brought the tree home as a keepsake. 

The Brownings watched the whole thing from their window. 

The End. 

A Bird in the House!

It was an ordinary day at the Fuller house. 

(...Not my real last name. My mom has qualms about sharing "real" personal information on the internet. First names, however, are the same. Usually. )

7:45 a.m. 

Mom had already run 8 miles, showered, dried her hair, woken up the boys for the first time, applied her makeup, started breakfast, woken up my brothers for the SECOND time and ended up in the laundry room to start the FIRST load of laundry for the day. 

Since she was baking a particularly fragrant breakfast she had opened the windows and doors to the kitchen to allow for a breeze before retreating to the laundry room.

In case you can't tell - my mom is kind of like wonder woman.

After their second wake up call, my two brothers still living at home came trudging down the stairs to await their homemade breakfast.  

If you've ever teenage boys come down the stairs for breakfast you know how pathetic this scene is. 

Rylan, the youngest of the brothers, has an unhealthy obsession with his "6-pack when he lays down." This obsession, and the fact that he considers himself quite sexy, leave him frequently lounging about in nothing more than his boxers. 

Thank goodness he doesn't prefer briefs. 

His inability to clothe himself regularly is a common source of conflict at the Fuller house. 

This morning was no different than any other - Rylan descended the stairs shirtless. 

An unfortunate choice given the impending events.

So... heavy-eyed, sluggish and, in Rylan's case, almost naked, the two lumbered down. 

Had they been fully awake and cognitively functional they would have seen this:

Instead the scene was ignored until something, nippy air on his shirtless body I presume, pried Rylan's eyes all the way open. 

He reacted loudly. 

This scared the bird. 

Cory, in turn, reacted loudly. 

They were both fully awake at this point. 

Rylan moved to safety. 

Then they called for a big strong protector:

My mom, who had been dutifully laundering the clothing in the other room, came out to see what the ruckus was all about. 

She found out quite quickly. 

Rylan and mom set about defending the home from the rogue bird, grabbing the first item that could be used for weaponry and considering themselves armed. 

They were out for bird blood. 

8:10

I happen to live across the street from my parents. At 8 A.M. I was up and attempting to cook my own breakfast.

 I was all set up and ready to make some delicious french toast when I realized I had no eggs. 

Since I conveniently live 15 yards from my mother's house - and I often treat her pantry as a grocery store anyway - I started out to procure eggs for the soon to be delicious french toast. 

The doors were open, so I didn't knock. 

I rounded the corner from the Hallway to the kitchen with a cheerful greeting:

This is what I saw:
Cory was screaming like a little princess.

It was not a typical morning. 

I was not about to miss out on this opportunity so I suited up too, arming myself with a nearby LaCross stick. 

The next 20 minutes went something like this: 

So we decided to trap him in the laundry room. 

The three of us herded him towards the door with our loud voice and vicious weapons. 

It worked. 

There happens to be a door leading outdoors in the laundry room. 

We sent the shirtless wonder in to open it up, without letting the bird back into the main house of course, and hoped the bird would fly out on his own. 

We left Mr. Bird alone for about 30 minutes. 

Cory re-surfaced during that time and brought our little sister with him. 

And then there were 5. 

9:00 A.M.

There were window banging sounds and wing flapping wind swooshes coming from the other side of the laundry room door. 

It was obvious the bird was not bright enough to find his own way out of the wide open porch door. 

 An idea was hatched. 

Birds don't like loud noises.

Dogs bark very loudly. 

Birds also do not like Dogs. 

Birds flee from Dogs.

We should get the dogs to chase the bird out. 

Cory disappeared to hatch his own plan. 

This is Duke. 

Duke is a mut. His mom is a lab and his dad was a neighborly Blue Heeler. 

Originally Duke was a normal sized labrador looking dog. 

He has since developed an appetite for everything - edible and otherwise. 

He eats the cat's food, his food, his friend Mogli's food and various things he steals out of the trash can daily.

He is a fat Duke. 

He's so fat, in fact, he makes a pyramid shape when he sits. 

He's so fat we literally cannot put a collar on him because his neck is significantly thicker than his head. 

Don't think we are terrible pet owners - we have tried many times to put Duke on a diet, but he will honestly eat ANYTHING. 

Moral of this side story - Duke is fat. Duke eats everything. 

Anyway - we called Duke in to scare the bird out of the laundry room. 

Initially, it was almost working. 

Instead of scaring the bird out the door, Duke just scared it into the opposite corner of the room.

Obviously Duke just needed to be on the other side of the bird, so it could scare it into the OTHER corner. The Corner with the door in it. 

So Rylan helped Duke out.

He lifted Duke up to get the bird out of the corner. 

It worked. 

Not exactly the way we had intended it to though... 

Duke ate the bird. 

We tried to Cover Brooky's eyes but it was too late. She saw the whole thing. 

Then Cory re-emerged, right after the action. 

He had a good idea. 

Too late.