I Want My CrapTV!

On Sunday morning before we departed for our mini-vacay, I realized I’d forgotten to pay our satellite tv service bill. Thus, to avoid getting it cut off, I made a quick payment to DISH NETWORK via their automated phone service. About thirty minutes later, we hit the highway for Memphis.

When we returned three days later and the kids turned on the television, we discovered our satellite service had been disconnected. I was confused and a little irritated, since I was 100% certain I’d made the payment on Sunday to DISH NETWORK before we left.

Of course, I was even more TICKED to figure out it had been disconnected a majority of the time we’d been gone and my precious DVR had not been able to record the incredibly educational and important shows I watch religiously, such as… The Bachelorette… and Sister Wives. (I’d be happy to argue with anyone who says CrapTV can’t be educational. I mean, how else are our children supposed to learn the incredible importance of red roses in a relationship OR how having more than one wife might SOUND cool, until you have to figure out a way to feed the one zillion children that comes with it or until you accidentally admit you like one wife better than the others?! Geez.)

So, immediately I hopped on the phone to call DISH NETWORK and figure out what the problem was. I quickly got through to a customer service rep named Marcus. He was eager to help me solve the great mystery of why my service was disconnected, even though I paid my bill. He began asking me a series of questions, including my phone number and receiver number. After rattling it off to him, he proceeded to tell me I’d not had service since 2008, but he’d be glad to help me get it restored.

Me: 2008??? That’s ridiculous. I just watched three episodes of Duck Dynasty on Saturday night. Do you ever watch that show? Sy is my absolute favorite!!! Hey, Jack. Hey. Hey. Hey. (a little Duck Dynasty humor for my other fellow rednecks)

Marcus: Um, ma’am. No. No, I’m not familiar with that show. I know you “told me” you watched your dish a few days ago, but it clearly states here you’ve not had service since you moved from your previous address in 2008.

Me: Well, you are WRONG. I have DISH NETWORK service and HAVE HAD DISH NETWORK since we moved into this house, Marcus. Is this your first day at work?! I bet it is. I really think you might be in over your head with this situation, Marcus. Perhaps I need to speak to someone with a little more knowledge of “your system”.

Marcus: No, ma’am. I’ve worked here for five years. I know what I’m doing. My system says you don’t even have a receiver or dish at your house and the receiver number you gave me isn’t a recognized number.

I about flipped my lid.

I was looking RIGHT AT the receiver and most certainly had a very ugly dish connected to the side of my house. I was certain about THAT fact, considering in order to be permitted to actually place it there, I had to jump through hoops and negotiate the sale of my first grandchild to our Homeowner’s Association. In all seriousness, we really did have to get a “professional” satellite company to come assess our house and get written documentation to show the HOA, saying the side of our home was the only suitable place for a satellite dish before we were released of the $150 fine they were trying to cram down our throats.

Word of advice? If you’re a redneck, you like to do what you want on your own property, you don’t think having a basketball goal is evil and you could give a toot less about where your neighbor places their satellite dish, DO NOT move into a deed restricted area with a Homeowner’s Association.

Anyhow…after spending about thirty minutes go back and forth with Marcus about having a receiver, whether this "said" receiver I was describing had actually been working since 2008, me nicely telling him he needed to learn how to effectively do his job at DISH NETWORK and probably ruining my karma by calling him a Mo-Ron more than once under my breath, my phone’s signal dropped the call and all of my progress with dear ol’ Marcus was gone in an instant.

At first, I was livid. This meant I’d have to call back and explain the situation ALL OVER AGAIN to an entirely new customer service rep at DISH NETWORK who was likely just as big of a Mo-Ron as Marcus.

So annoying.

But, when I thought about it for a second, I was actually a bit relieved. I mean, Marcus clearly thought I was losing my mind and the receiver I was telling him about hadn’t worked for four years, but had been kept sitting on my entertainment shelf lifeless and collecting dust. In his defense, he was not familiar with my need to unclutter. If that thing could be tossed and I could still watch my CrapTV, it would have long been gone!

Yes, this was my 2nd chance to get someone on the phone who:

1) Understood how to do their job at DISH NETWORK.

2) Did NOT think I was insane. (No comment from the Peanut Gallery…HUBBIT.)

So, I called DISH NETWORK again and started explaining the situation (and the lack of efficiency of Marcus) to a sweet rep named Melana.

About half way through my ranting and raving about how DISH NETWORK needed to find better customer service reps and how I was appalled I didn’t know why the money I’d paid wasn’t credited to my account, I looked closer at the receiver Marcus and I had almost gone to a World War over and realized something SUPER vital to the situation…

It clearly said DIRECT TV.

Oops.

My bad.

Whitney

Warning: Not For Those With Weak Stomachs

Well, it feels like a million years since I’ve written a blog. My lack of blogging isn’t because there haven’t been “blog worthy” moments in my life. In fact, I have at least ten ½ written blogs on my phone, I’ve meant to finish and post. The truth is I’ve been extremely busy. If you don’t believe me, you should see my laundry room. It’s obscene.

In any case, on Sunday my little family and I hopped in our Swagger Wagon and headed to Memphis to visit with my friend Erin and her daughter, Raegan, for a few days.

Erin and I have known each other for years and she was even our Maid of Honor when Hubbit and I got hitched. Erin and I met at Christian camp when we were in 6th grade, where I still can vividly remember her stealing David O’s favorite Yankees hat and deciding it needed to be given a “good washing” with shampoo in the cabin’s sink. Needless to say, he was pretty ticked and I immediately learned what a pistol Miss Erin was. As we got older, she only grew feistier and now she is blessed with a daughter, Raegan, who is JUST LIKE SHE WAS, times 5. Oh how the world humbles us! ;) Rae is unarguably the sassiest 4-year-old I’ve ever met and I absolutely LOVE her!

While in Memphis, we visited Graceland (which was actually extremely entertaining) and much more, but the absolute highlight of our trip was our memorable visit to Incredible Pizza. For those of you unfamiliar with the place, it’s much like GattiTown. Only better.

MUCH better.

It has an enormous buffet of salad, pizza, pasta, a taco bar, a baked potato bar, desserts, slushie and ice cream…pretty much anything and everything a kid might want to eat. It also has a game room like none I’ve ever seen before, equipped with loads of fun arcade games, glow mini-golf, Go-Kart tracks, laser tag and bumper cars.

On the car ride there, my kiddos got more and more excited as Raegan gave us the run-down of the joint and raved about their wonderful food. When we arrived, we quickly learned she was right-on. The place was awesome! The kids were super hungry, so they immediately started piling food on plates and secured their spot in the “Sports” dining room, where they could watch ESPN while they ate.

As everyone was finishing their first plate, Hubbit decided to return to the buffet for a taco salad. About 2 minutes after he departed, Bug looked right at me and said, “Momma, I’m gonna be sick”.

Bug is a great kid. But, he’s a “puker”. You know, one of those kids who pukes several times a week or more, for reasons like: He’s hot. He’s cold. He’s happy. He’s upset. His mother fed him ice cream and cookies for breakfast. (Don’t judge me!)

Knowing Bug didn’t “play” when it came to puking, I quickly asked Erin where the restroom was and she loudly told me it was to the left. I quickly started escorting my dry heaving Bug to the restroom, only in my complete haste, I turned right and couldn’t find the bathroom! I finally realized my mistake and begged Bug not to vomit in the floor as we began walking what felt like 50 miles to the restroom located on the TOTAL OPPOSITE side of the enormous building.

When I had half-dragged Bug about halfway to the bathroom, he couldn’t hold back any longer and vomited what I would consider an enormous amount, onto the floor. At this, my speed increased and we continued walking toward the restroom. The most intriguing thing was, people were just stepping AROUND IT to get their food. Gross!! About three feet later, Bug vomited again. This time, it was not only right beside the 30 foot buffet line, but also practically on Hubbit’s feet (who was happily creating what he would later call “the most perfect taco salad EVER”).

I quickly asked Hubbit to take care of the mess and alert the staff of the issue and whisked Bug to the restroom.

The next few moments were quite entertaining and went a little something like this…

6:20pm: Hubbit sprang into action, grabbing a “Wet Floor” sign to alert others of the vomit.

6:21pm: A sweet little girl came running across the restaurant, slid and did a face plant across the floor, into the vomit.

6:22pm: Hubbit abandons his “most perfect taco salad EVER” and heads straight for the bathroom, as after witnessing the vomit Slip-n-Slide, he no longer could hold off his sympathetic dry heaves.

A short time later, Bug and I returned to the table where Erin was giggling uncontrollably after witnessing the extreme ridiculousness we somehow managed to pack in our luggage and transport for six hours to Memphis. Although it was a very dramatic beginning to our visit, everyone started feeling better quickly and the kids did get to completely enjoy the gaming area.

But, you can guarantee the next time we visit Memphis, we’ll be sticking to BBQ! (Good grief.)

Winning?

i love my husband. I Love My Husband. I LOVE MY HUSBAND.

Sometimes a gal just has to “remind” herself. Right? ;)

This morning started like almost any other weekday morning in my life. Hubbit was working at the firestation and I was in Full-On Momma Mode.

Like any other morning, I pulled Kid #1 out of bed, shoved a homemade breakfast in his face (toast does qualify, right?), helped him get dressed, packed his lunch and got him to school exactly two minutes before his tardy bell rang. Winning.

Then, I came back home, pulled Kid #2 out of bed, threw him in the shower, nagged him until he got dressed, shoved Pop Tarts in his hand and got him to school exactly three minutes before HIS tardy bell rang. Winning.

After I got home from dropping Kid #2 off, I started settling in for a quiet day of who-knows-what-when-you-live-MY-life. Much to my surprise, about 10 minutes later, I heard keys rattling at the front door and in walked my lovely husband…and the entire Engine 21 crew.

Instead of finding the June Cleaver wife my husband has always dreamed of turning me into, meeting them at the door wearing a lovely apron, sporting perfectly curled hair and welcoming them in with a plate of nice warm cookies I’d woken up at 5am to bake, “just in case” company stopped by…

There I sat. In my pajamas.

My hair looked like I’d just gone through either an Oklahoma tornado or beauty pageant nightmare (either one would have resulted in the same look, I’m certain). And obviously, since I make it a habit of NOT looking in a mirror immediately upon waking, there was no way I would have noticed the black mascara smudged down my cheeks.

Yep, instead of June Cleaver: High on Life, I looked more like June Cleaver: High On Crack. (That’s what you get when you don’t take 20 seconds to give your wife a “head’s up” call, HUBBIT.)

The real kicker wasn’t really my appearance though, as anyone who knows me understands you can likely find me looking this way on any given meeting-less-Monday-morning until at least 11am. After all, one of the biggest perks of working from home is able to “waller” in your own filth-sorrow-illness-pity-whatever on Monday morning.

Side Note: I’m constantly trying to explain to people that just because I work at home and can choose to look like a $2 hooker until noon (if I choose to do so), I actually DO work. In fact, most nights I’m up until 2am working on a press release, a white paper or some type of marketing strategy for one of several million dollar companies twelve hundreds miles or more from here. These big companies don’t care if I have mascara smudged down my face like a drunk Christina Aguilera. They don’t care if I’m surrounded by a hoard of tiny dogs. All they care about is the bottom line, baby. And, I never fail to deliver!

While I do work like a dog, Hubbit works 100+ hours EVERY FLIPPIN’ WEEK. He’s a machine. What can I say? Trying to keep up with his Superior Superman Skills (inside joke, sorry) and work ethic, when my work is slow and I don’t have any meetings scheduled, I will occasionally substitute teach.

Before you freak out thinking, “Good Grief, they will let anyone teach our children these days”, let me assure you…I am qualified. Or, so says the Master’s degree in Teaching it took me two years to earn. ;) Of course, I’ve been so insanely busy for the past few months, I’ve subbed a total of ZERO times this year. Hubbit has asked me a few times if I’ve had any substitute offers, and each time I’ve explained there haven’t been many offers coming through, which is basically true.

BUT, low and behold! Last night my phone rang with a substitute teaching offer for today. Hubbit randomly happened to be near my phone when it rang and when he saw on the Caller ID the call was coming from the Sub Line, he offered to answer it so I could accept the job. I quickly dismissed the idea, telling him this was going to be a completely overwhelming week with work and had absolutely NO time to take on anything extra. He made a joke about me declining the only sub job I’d been offered this year and with that, I went into a Full-20-Minute-Soapbox-Rant about how I not only worked my tail off, but I also did my best at keeping the house together, managing the kids’ schedules, volunteering and pretending to be a Rockstar on the weekends. Good Grief!

SO…

After patiently and lovingly listening last night to his cahhrazeee wife going on and on and on and on and on about having SO MUCH to do she couldn’t even BREATHE…

You can imagine his complete surprise when he and the Engine 21 crew walked into our messy house unexpectedly, on this “completely overwhelming” Monday morning, and found me…

Sitting on my comfy couch.
Surrounded by tiny dogs.
Stuffing my face with an omelet.

And watching…The Kardashians.

Winning?

Whitney

Marriage is nature’s way of keeping us from fighting with strangers. (Unknown)

"Scary"

My name is Whitney. I stand 5’3 on a “Tall Day” and weigh in at…a healthy weight. I am not large in size, but I’m pretty feisty. If you know me, you likely think I’m sweet, considerate and very “non-scary".

While I’m a big advocate of the campaign my kids started in my honor, called “Crazy Beats Big Any Day”, I never really thought I was all THAT terrifying.

But, if I’m being 100% honest with myself, I guess I should acknowledge…

Yes…

I have been very known for getting more than a little loud at the ball field on occasion. (What?!)

And…

HEAVEN FORBID anyone try to “come between me and MY man” (Spoken in my annoying Big Brother Rachel voice).

But, today someone I love deeply told me it was often hard to tell me the truth, because I made them feel afraid.

Afraid…

Of me.

Of what I would think.

Of what I would do.

Of what I would say.

It was in that moment, I realized I need to give people a little more slack. I always say if you don’t want to be disappointed, don’t expect too much from anyone.

But, the truth is, I expect a lot from everyone in my life. Not just “a lot”. A LOT.

My expectations for myself, for those I love and for those I choose to let in my life are great. In fact, they are most often so unreasonable, there is no one who could ever fulfill them to meet my standards. I preach the value of character authenticity, but then I am quick to cast judgment on it when it’s revealed.

I suppose you don’t have to be 7 feet tall and weigh 500 pounds to be terrifying. No, you can be 5’3, weigh a buck thirty five and still have the power to cause such immense fear that you’re unable to be given the truth.

I’ve decided I don’t want to be “scary” anymore.

So, to those who deserve it…I’m sorry. <3

Whitney

The Water Shut-Off

At the complete risk of completely humiliating myself, just to entertain my Big Sister and a few others who actually enjoy reading this blog…

Yesterday, our water was shut off. Not because the construction workers building the home across the street hit some sort of water line, not because I had a plumbing problem, but...for non-payment.

Yep. It turns out, if you owe the water company money, they can choose to cut your water off. Even if you only owe them $27.

Look, it wasn’t that I didn’t have the $27 in the bank to pay the bill. I most certainly did and the minute I realized my oversight, I obviously paid the bill.

It’s just that in a world where I’m trying to juggle a 3rd grader, a 6th grader, a crazy fireman husband, additional graduate classes, a full time job and an obsession with songwriting and performing, some things get forgotten. Sadly, the water bill was at the absolute dead-last-bottom of my priority list.

Thankfully, Hubbit, who has been telling me for about two weeks to “slow it down” and “you’re doing WAY too much these days”, was completely asleep during the entire fiasco. I have to admit, I did breathe a sigh of relief when after I humbly called to admit my oversight and pay the bill, they turned the water back on...before Hubbit woke from his nap.

Little did I realize, since Flea was home sick from school and witnessed the “Water Shut-Off”, after we picked up Bug from school, he revealed our little dirty secret. Flea also felt inclined to tell my parents, who then quickly called me to be sure I didn’t need money. Not a bad problem to have really...parents who are forever trying to give me cash! But, since I’m the world’s best daughter, I did not take their cash and simply admitted to my mistake. ;)

While we’re a family who likes to have no secrets, the problem with telling Bug ANYTHING is...he has zero ability to keep it to himself. He’s definitely not the kid to reveal anything to.

Not Chrismas present purchases. Not that you REALLY dislike his coach. Not that you secretly passed gas.

Because, he WILL tell.

So, ultimately Hubbit did find out and I got the exact response I knew I would get...”slow it down” and “you’re doing WAY too much these days”.

UGH. Doesn’t he know SuperWoman can do it ALL? Geez. Such a hater.

Side Note: Last year I made a bold statement that people over the age of 21 should NEVER use the word “hater”, by the way. In fact, my declaration REALLY ticked off at least one person. (giggle) But, in all fairness, it really does fit nicely in this context...so eat it up!

Anyhow, what no one knows...

I had already taken a shower before the big “Water Shut-Off” event, so the only thing I was genuinely concerned with was finding water to use for hand washing after using the bathroom. I searched the pantry and successfully found two bottled waters.

We were home free! Or so I thought...

After feeling confident we would “survive” this aggravation, I went to a few appointments and took Flea to the doctor. When I returned home, the water still hadn’t been cut back on.

No big deal. I settled down to do a little work, when I remembered I hadn’t washed Bug’s football pants and socks.

Since he didn't have practice until a few hours later, I knew there was still time. However, I had to act quickly, because I was scheduled for a studio session and had to leave 35 minutes later. I threw the clothes into my handy-dandy front loader, added detergent and turned it on. It started making a crazy noise and wouldn’t start.

My immediate thought was that our washer was broken and I started cursing the evil-too-expensive-not-really-worth-it machine. In my defense, since our dryer broke last week, I was a little paranoid about another broken appliance.

Knowing I didn’t have time for a “broken washer”, I did exactly what I do whenever I forget to wash things and have less than an hour to deal with it. I grabbed the clothing out of the washer, ran to the boys’ bathroom, tossed them in the sink and BEFORE THINKING, added a ton of liquid blue laundry detergent to the WHITE pants. Just like always, I twisted the water knob, fully prepared to see water come out so I could do my quick hand-wash.

ONLY...there was no water. How could I have forgotten about the “Water Shut-Off” and made such a big mistake. I looked at the clock and had absolutely NO time to run to the store for a gallon of water.

So, I panicked.

I looked at the bright white pants, covered in bright blue Tide. I looked at the remaining small amount of “hand washing bottled water” I had left. And, I almost started to cry.

Where on Earth was I going to get enough water to rinse out all of the detergent, so I could throw the pants in the dryer and hit the road to my session?

Just then, I got an idea. I’ll admit it wasn’t an ideal plan. In fact, if presented the chance again, I’m not sure I would do the same.

But, when your water has been shut off and you’re in a desperate situation, as I certainly was...

Lifting the back cover on your toilet, MIGHT OR MIGHT NOT be your magical-hear-angels-singing solution...

And you MIGHT OR MIGHT NOT be able to use the back of the toilet as a mini washing machine...

And if you are blessed to have three toliets with backs full of water, you MIGHT OR MIGHT NOT have enough clean water to rinse out a ton of blue liquid Tide from bright white youth football pants.

I guess, Hubbit doesn’t call me the Redneck Martha Stewart for nothing.

Whitney

We never know the worth of water, until the well is dry. (Author Unknown)

happy. 1st. day. of. school. seriously.

Today is the first day of school here, which means several things…


1) I might…JUST MIGHT…be able to blog more regularly now! Woot!! Woot!!

2) I gave THE performance of my life this morning, (in hopes of being nominated for a “Best Actress” award, of course) fighting back tears and pretending it didn’t bother me for a second to send my big boy to his first year of middle school (…gasp…) and my little bug to his first year at a new school, after being diagnosed with Diabetes (…double gasp…).

Thankfully Hubbit took off for a few hours this morning to be my ever present “Emotional Rock”. Last week when he mentioned he was taking off a few hours for the first day of school morning ritual, I was a little surprised. At that point the reality of this morning was far from my conscious, as we were trying to soak up the last little bit of summer break, laying poolside.

Our convo went something like this…

Hubbit: I’m taking off for a few hours next Thursday morning, just to help you get the kids off to school.
Me: Um, ok. I’m sure I’ll be fine though, seeing I’ve been getting at least one kid off to school EVERY day for the past six years. (Eye-Roll-I-Am-Woman-Hear-Me-Roar-Look)
Hubbit: (Totally aggravated at my eye roll, since he swares it’s the non-verbal equivalent to saying “FU”.) Well, maybe I just don’t want to miss their first morning back.
Me: Ok. (Thinking he is such a great daddy.)

What Hubbit knew then and I was simply too blind to realize is, I TOTALLY needed him this morning. While I’m sure he did love seeing the boys off to school this morning, he is one of those rare finds (AKA Soul Mate) who sincerely knows me better than I know myself. I always joke, he knows when to put his arms out to catch me, even before I know I’m falling and today was a prime example.

When Bug started crying at his desk, after we said goodbye in the classroom, I immediately shot Hubbit my “Please-Rescue-Me-Before-I-Totally-Lose-It-And-Bawl-Like-A-Crazy-Lady” look and he swooped in to fix everything. After a few minutes with his Daddy, Bug was tear-free and ready for a wonderful day! What would have happened if Hubbit hadn’t taken off this morning? Um, I would probably have laid my head down on that desk, right next to Bug’s, and wept too.

What can I say? I’ve said it about Hubbit before and I’ll say it again. He’s a keeper!


3)Hubbit and I were reminded that while we THINK we’re the hippest and coolest parents EVA…we are sadly as dorky as Flea constantly reminds us of being.

Here’s the scoop…

Hubbit and I both rode along to drop Flea off for his very first day of middle school, the thought of which brings me complicated and diverse horrors on many levels. I was feeling cool and confident as we properly navigated the potentially insane drop off route, with absolute ease. (Big thanks to EJH Middle School for providing an advanced copy of your car dropoff map I could actually decipher and understand.)

When we pulled up to the drop off point, Flea got out of the vehicle and started walking away from us, toward the school’s door. Hubbit and I looked at each other, in complete awe of the fact we now have a 6th grader.

Hubbit: Wow, it’s unreal he’s in 6th grade already.
Me: (Again, holding back those Crazy-Mom tears) I know. It just kills me. He’s like a little man.

Just as we were wallowing in our ridiculous sorrow, Flea looked back, smiled the biggest smile ever and waved. Shocked, surprised and ridiculously OVERJOYED at the fact our pre-teen son who typically only claims us as his biological parental figures when he needs cash or food, actually waved to US on his first day of school, we FRANTICALLY waved back and blew kisses, with Giant-Almost-Psychotic-Smiles on our faces.

However, our joy only lasted a moment when we glanced behind us to see a group of Flea’s best friends waving their arms in the air and yelling...

“Hey Flea! Wait for us!”

...and the embarrassing realization washed over us, as we realized he was indeed NOT waving to us.

Once a dork, always a dork. (Author Unknown, but I'd be willing to bet it was a teenager!)

The Fish.

If someone asked me how I operated under pressure, and I was COMPLETELY honest, I would say…TERRIBLY. In fact, these days I try to avoid drama like the plague because, although it amused me greatly as a teenager, it gives me total panic attacks these days. I avoid confrontation (unless it’s with an umpire or opposing coach on a baseball field, of course), stay clear of all crisis situations and basically try to keep as stress-free of an existence as I possibly can.

However, for SOME reason, Hubbit tends to attract chaos. For example, I would be perfectly happy and content living as a recluse in spider-less woods, miles and miles away from other people, where no one’s ridiculousness could skew my own. However, if I were to invite Hubbit to be my co-habitant in these spider-less woods that only exist in my sweetest dreams, there is no doubt…NO DOUBT…some person in need would stumble upon our creatively hidden tree house and need some type of flippin’ medical treatment, on a very regular basis.

I’ve pretty much come to expect some teenage pregnant chick to pass out, some old lady to crash into a tree or some anorexic beauty queen to have an allergic reaction to new psychiatric meds at any given time, pretty much any place we ever go. McDonald’s, an Interstate in Virginia or Arby’s…doesn’t matter where we are. It never fails, someone needs help and dun-dun-dun-aaaahhh…Hubbit comes to the rescue.

For the first few years, it freaked me out and Hubbit pretty much had two patients on his hands. The first being the person who was ACTUALLY in need of medical attention and the second being ME, the person who freaked-the-helicopter-out anytime an emergency occurred around me.

These days, my game plan goes a little something like this:

Stranger: Help, I think I am having a heart attack.
Hubbit: Dun-dun-dun-aaaahhh! I will save you!
Me: (turning immediately toward the door and saying to Hubbit) I’ll meet you in the car when this is all over, thanks.

Yep. Classic avoidance.

Something I’ve mastered over the years, no psychiatrist in their right mind can tell me isn’t helpful and/or healthy in at least SOME cases, such as this.

In any case, the whole point to my rambling is: Hubbit is a helper.

Now, on to the real dish…

About a week ago we were on our way to a family birthday gathering and as a result of an ignorant person trying to text while they were driving, two cars in front of us almost crashed horribly in front of us. At the speed we were going (Hubbit was driving so we ALL know it was faster than legally allowed), the crash would have been potentially very damaging to the cars and their drivers.

Hubbit joked: “Thank God they didn’t crash because I would not have been able to stop and help since it would have made us late for the birthday party. We're actually early for once.”

(Disclaimer: He was joking. We ALL know his “helper” mentality would not let him pass by anyone in need.)

Since we were actually running ahead of schedule, Hubbit decided he wanted to take us to this little fishing hole he’d discovered a few days before. While he knew you couldn’t eat them, he claimed he saw tons of enormous grass carp swimming in it and thought the kids might like to take a peek. After all, it was on our way to the birthday gathering.

We arrived at the little creek and when we did, were in absolute awe at the sight of thirty five GIANT grass carp, swimming in shallow water. Hubbit had noted the drop in the water level just from the day before, when he said it was basically at the top of the bank’s edge.

We all stood there, looking at the pretty 60 pound creatures floating around in the water. All of a sudden, Hubbit glanced down the creek and spotted a giant grass carp stuck in an extremely shallow area of water I’m pretty sure could best be described as a puddle. In fact, I’m 99% sure I’ve seen deeper puddles in the Wal-Mart parking lot after all of this rain we’ve had lately.

The fish had its head under the water, but most of its back was exposed above water. Hubbit grew concerned immediately. He was genuinely worried about the fate of this fish.

The only access to the big swimmer was to walk on really small rocks, into the middle of the creek. Convinced this fish would die unless he was able to transfer it back into the deeper water where the rest of the fish were fully covered, Hubbit insisted on venturing into the creek.

This is a man who just hours before told me he was thinking about taking up hunting and he now couldn’t stand the idea of this dumb fish dying. By the way, he’s never hunted in his life and I’m pretty sure he’d be more likely to kill a human being than a deer...but WHATEV.

I tried to stop him, considering we WERE on our way to a family party and HE was the one who insisted on us being timely. In addition, I was not amused by the fact he thought his giant size 15 shoes would fit easily on the tiny stones that led to the distressed swimmer.

But, my pleas fell upon deaf ears and before I knew it Hubbit was almost-falling every two seconds on the slippery rocks, making his way toward the fish. Meanwhile, Flea was laughing, Bug was begging to be allowed to help and I was praying out loud that Hubbit didn’t fall, knock himself unconscious and force me to make what would likely be the most embarrassing 911 call EVER. Although, I’m not sure if it would have been more embarrassing for me or him considering the Fire Department Grapevine passes gossip faster than any other I’ve ever witnessed. Who knew a bunch of middle aged men had better gossip spreading skills than the average 12 year old girl?!

In any case, he made it to the fish and bent down to pick up the giant creature. He picked it up with both hands easily, but as he stood up to walk three rocks down for the ultimate water transfer, the fish slipped right out of his hands. It landed on rocks (I have NO idea how it survived the fall) and before Hubbit could recover it once more, it slipped back into the puddle it was retrieved from.

At this point, I started trying to convince Hubbit things like…

1) It liked the puddle and actually WANTED to be there so it could tan it's back in the sun.
2) There’s no way a fish that big could be dumb enough to get itself stuck in a place it couldn’t survive. After all, it did somehow live long enough to pack on 60 POUNDS!
3) Even if he did catch the fish, it was far too slippery to actually hold onto long enough to make the intended transfer.

Persistent and stubborn, Hubbit refused to give up. Instead, he started silently looking around for something to aid him with the rescue. All of a sudden, Bug spotted an old rusty metal-grated-fence-type-of-thing and in his own personal MacGyver style, suggested Hubbit slap the fish up onto the grate and then carry the grate to the fuller area of water. Hubbit smiled, the plan was set into motion and Bug was VERY proud his idea was being put to use.

Twenty five minutes after we’d first arrived to the scene and after a few more failed attempts, the plan did work. The fish was “rescued” and we headed back to our parked vehicle.

As we got back in the van and buckled up, I looked Hubbit in the eye and said, “Well, it’s a good thing those cars didn’t crash because HEAVEN FORBID us be late because you had to play Superman or something.”

Whitney

“I used to be lost in the shuffle. Now I just shuffle along with the lost.” (Author Unknown)