First, find a rock.  One that will go in to a hole like this one.  You can find these holes on the back of most porta potties.

Now, sneak behind the porta potty while someone is doing his or her business.  Make sure you are holding your rock.  Reach up to the chimney and….

Do you know what happens when you are doing your business in a porta potty and someone throws a rock down the hole in the back of the very porta potty you are in?

You are very welcome for this information.  Now, go hike where there are porta potties.  And watch your back(side).  And never… EVER trust those you love.

Out of curiosity, we purposely hunted for another.  From there, we have discovered geocaching caches camouflaged as coral, trees, logs and even a spider.

I cannot tell you who said it.  But it was soon said.  “I know!  Let’s make our own geocache!”

With great excitement, my daughter and I obtained a waterproof ammo box.  An expert camouflage ninja showed us how to camo our geocache just right.

We thought out each bit of cache swag carefully.

Finally, the big day came.  Despite the rain… AND TEMPERATURES IN THE THIRTIES… we donned our cold weather layers, our hiking boots, packed our food and started our 45 minute drive to Lone Star Lakes in Suffolk.

We had to find the perfect spot.  Looking at our GPS, we discovered an area of forest that had somehow remained geocache free.  With camera and geocache in hand, we marched in.

It did not take long to realize why this space was available.  I will show you pictures within the next week or two.  I will just leave it at this for now:  Doll heads, dead deer and ancient trash.  More to follow.

Disappointed, we marched back out of the woods and took a break for lunch and reflection.  Where could we put it?  By then our feet were soaked, we were freezing and completely exhausted from cold weather hiking.

Then the idea came.  “I know where we can put it!”  We quickly piled in to the car.  I started the engine, pointed my car towards our destination and slowly began to drive.

That is when I heard it.

And felt it.

CRRRRUUUNNNNCHHHH… silence…   CRRRRUUUNNNNCHHHH.  Stop.  SILENCE.  PANIC.

“What did we drive over?  WHAT DID WE JUST DRIVE OVER?!”

“OH!”  “MOM!”  “THE GEOCACHE!”

Doors flew open.  People ran.  Then we stopped short.  In front of this:

I ran over the geocache.  I-RAN-OVER-THE-GEOCACHE!

I had no idea it was there!  I didn’t see it!  I DIDN’T KNOW!

But I ran over it.  With the front tire AND the back.  Geocache Fail.  Epic Geocache Fail.

It was at that moment that I began to laugh.  And laugh.  And wheeze.  And laugh.  And snort.  And wheeze some more.  As I told my daughter later, “If you don’t laugh at life, it will laugh at you.”

Seeing my daughter was about to break down, I made a split decision.  “We are going to hide it ANYWAY.  I will put it in a huge ziplock bag, we will hide it, log it and return later with a new ammo box.  Until then, finders will enjoy the first hand written page of the log.”

In the blink of an eye, we had gone from having a totally cool camo geocache to having the most hideous, glaringly un-camoed geocache ever created.

This weekend, things will change.  This weekend, we will be planting a duck.  A duck geocache, that is.  And she will be the coolest geocache camo job ever.  My daughter has already named her LoneStar.

Lonestar will never know the feel of my minivan’s tires.  Instead, she will remain in the woods guarding our geocache duck nest, greeting visitors and enjoying the great outdoors.  Besides, I can’t get my minivan through the woods.  Lucky LoneStar!

Because I rock as a Mom.  Indeed, I allowed my daughter to wear my pearls to school.  It was her first pair after the piercing studs.  My Dad gave them to me.  Yes, they are precious.  But so is my daughter.  And she wanted to wear them.  BAD.

After school, she took the little baggy out of my jewelry box that contains my most cherished pieces of jewelry.  Each piece was from my father, never to be replaced.  He loved to give my mother and I beautiful things on special occasions, knowing we would not get them for ourselves.  My daughter placed the pearls in the bag and set them down.

Enter:  THE DOG

I knew none of this.  All I heard was, “MOM!  Emma has something in her mouth! GET IT!”  With my dog being a stupid goat, I am used to this almost daily routine.  I mumbled, “Well just give her some kind of treat to get the thing out of her mouth.”

Enter:  MY SON AND A CUPCAKE

“Emmaaaaa!  You WANT this cupcake, don’t you?  Look at the cupcakkkeeeeee….!”  But Emma was quicker than my son.  In one gulp, the cupcake and the object in question were gone.

What I didn’t notice was my daughter running out of my room and in to hers.  She stayed there for about thirty minutes, finally reappearing with tears in her eyes.  “Mom?  Mom?  You are going to KILL ME!”  And out came the story.

What could I do?  She thought I was going to kill her.  Over earrings.  “Honey, you have tortured yourself more than anything I could do!  Just let it go!  It is just stuff.  And….. It will ALL COME OUT IN THE END.”  I finally got her laughing  with plenty of poop jokes before sending her to bed.

Enter:  THE WATCH

Following this incident, I walked with the dog every time she went outside.  Poop Patrol.  There is nothing pretty about it.  Especially in the morning before my cup of coffee.  What could be better than starting the day throwing up a little bit in your mouth?  Look at it this way… everything will go up from there.

I began to receive phone calls daily.  Is it out yet?  Did you get it?  No, not yet.  But you will be the first to know.

And on the third day?  Pure gold.  Literally.

Enter:  DIGESTED JEWELRY

(If you are one of those who wants to actually see the jewelry immediately out of the dog, click here.  If you want to see the jewelry pre-cleaning so you can compare it with the after-shot, click here.  If you do not care to see these, move along… quickly.  And if you are one of those people who clicks, I am dying to know who you are.  Because frankly, I am the one who took them.  And I need to know I am not the only off-balance person in this big, scary world.)

Sundown.  Mosquitoes attacking my back, ankles, face and neck.  Ziplock baggies on either hand.  Nose closed, with my hands buried in a pile of…. well, you can guess.

I believe everything is present and accounted for, if not shinier than before.  Except for my pearls.  My beautiful pearls.  Now smaller, misshapen and well, brown.

YOU JUST CAN’T MAKE THIS STUFF UP.  Indeed, I present to you once again:  My Life. Don’t be too jealous.

“Mom, I finally figured out what I want for my birthday.  I want a gun.”

Have you heard these words at any time in your life?  Because if you have not, I can tell you, they will stop you in your tracks.  At least they did me.

My son has received extensive training in firearm safety.  He placed second in an NRA competition.  He is level headed, responsible and generally a good kid.  His 18^th birthday?  Just this weekend.

After much thought, discussion and help from a hunter friend, I carried myself to Bass Pro Shops for a gun buying adventure.

I am one of those people who feels guilty walking in to an ABC store.  So imagine my hesitation as I approached the gleaming display of guns.

“I assume this is for you.  Don’t you want to hold it before you buy it?”  Nervous chuckle.  “Umm, no you go ahead and just box it up.”  Nervous chuckle.

Tons of paperwork and a police check later, I was at the cash register.  My worst crime?  They didn’t take my type of debit card so I <gasp!> wrote a check.  Did you know it is harder to pay by check these days then it is to buy a gun?

It took a fifteen-minute phone call to finally get my check approved.  Fourteen of those minutes were simply hold time.  Shouldn’t the long phone call have been to determine if I was competent enough to buy a firearm rather than if I could pay by check?  I’m just sayin.

During my wait, I noticed a price sticker on the floor.  I picked it up, read it and then re-read it.  And then I laughed.  And laughed, and laughed and laughed.

Do you own a gun?  Was it a pain in the an adventure when you purchased it?  Or was it more of an adventure the last time you tried to pay by check?

On a side note, I will tell you that I’ve learned a bit about my amazing, poised and generous mother during this puzzle building process.  When she is focused on a particular section, she is protective possessive obsessive enjoys the challenge ahead.

Last weekend my 17 year old came back from swimming before my mother and I did.  When I finally arrived, he met me at the top of the stairs with his head down.  In his sweet pretend child-like voice he said, “Mommmyyyyy… ummmm…. Mommmyyyyy…. There was a little accident with the puzzllllllle….”

My eyes widened as I cupped my hand over my mouth and ever so slowly looked towards the counter.  The puzzle was there, intact!  I turned questioningly towards my son.

Out of his mouth spilled, “I was making my sandwich just like I always do and I wasn’t really near the puzzle  I promise and then I sat down and started to eat and I noticed one of the pieces of meat was kind of chewy but I kept trying to eat it and when I realized it wasn’t meat I took it out of my mouth and… well…”

He then slowly opened his hand to reveal the following:

I started to chuckle, and then to laugh, and then by the time he finished blurting out, “I have NO IDEA HOW THOSE PUZZLE PIECES GOT IN MY SANDWICH!” I had tears rolling down my cheeks.

As for me – if there is something gross in the food, I will be the one to find it.  I’ve come across fingernails, fishing line and plastic.  The worst?  It was a hamburger in the college cafeteria.  I took my first bite and felt resistance.  Hamburger still in hand, I looked down to see a hair leading from the bite still sitting in my mouth to the middle of the burger I was holding.

Yea, I know.

Have you ever found anything in your food that simply should not have been there?

In celebration of my oldest son’s birthday, we went to Ocean Breeze Water Park for a fun day of water slides and stairs.  Up the stairs, down the slide.  Up the stairs, down the slide.  My nine year old was tied to my hip.  Do you know just how many times a nine year old can fly up a hill of stairs?  Proudly, I matched her every step.

My middle son was true to form, messing with anyone’s mind he could mess with.  Today he went to the Dip ‘N Dots counter and said, “Can I have some nachos, please?”  “We don’t have any nachos.  We just sell icecream.”  “Oh!  OK then give me the chips.”  “But we just have ice cream….”  My son put his head on the counter and feigned a weepy cry.  Then he walked away.

Later I looked across the park to see him practically cornering the ape mascot.  He had passed the ape an inner tube and was motioning for him to go on a slide with him.  The ape shook his head “no” and shrugged.  My son then pointed to the picture of this same ape going down a water slide.  Again, the ape shrugged.  The poor person inside that suit.  You just can’t win with my middle kid.  I find great joy in his absolute uniqueness.

Now for my big story.  I did it.  I DID IT!  On a whim I said to my son, “Take me on the speed slide!”  “OK LET’S GO!”  Up I climbed to the two very high speed slides.  Instructions soon came.  “Put your hands behind your head.  Keep on your back and cross your legs.”  Oh jeez.  I was about to go down a water slide that required safety instructions.

Before I could back out I threw myself at the tube, watched my son let go on the other side and then I let her rip.  My daughter said I screamed.  Maybe I blacked out during that part.  All I remember is the feeling of fear, free falling and then more fear that somehow I would not stop.

But I stopped.  I got up, looked back up the slide and grinned.  Grinned BIG.  After all, I was the only female over 24 that went down that slide today.  And I was CERTAINLY the only 44 year old mother of three that went down the slide in at least the last week.  I DID IT I DID IT I DID IT!  I even have marks on my back to prove it.  They obviously didn’t worry about smoothness when they attached the pieces together.

I found a video on Youtube of the slide:

So what does this have to do with something biting me?    At the water park?   You won’t guess it in a million years.  We walked to the car still in our bathing suits.  Got in.  Put it in drive.  Scratch.  Hmmm.  Scratch scratch.  Uhhhh….  Then my son scratches.  Scratch.  Mom?  But I was too busy to answer.  I had something biting me like crazy somewhere somewhat private.

OK, OK.  It was my bikini line.  Both legs.  And I started to form red bumps and welts.  As did my son.  Not on HIS bikini line.  On his ankles.  By then I was ready to cut my legs off.  The burn.  The sting.  The unbelievably long drive home.  I raced into the shower and literally dragged a razor across the fiery skin.  After all, maybe I COULD cut off my legs.

CHIGGERS.

Who else would park their car in a patch of chiggers but ME.

And who else would step in them and carry them in to the car but ME.

Fortunately my son was spared the worse.  But me?  I quickly began to search the internet for C-H-I-G-G-E-R-S.  The overwhelming home cure?  Listerine.  But I didn’t have Listerine.  I had Scope.  So I poured Scope all over my bikini line.  A small bit strayed.  We will not be talking about that.  But we CAN talk about how my bikini line became immediately fresh and minty.

Scope, Benadryl Spray, Cortisone Cream and Calamine Lotion later, I am not digging in to my skin with a knife.  And about 15 minutes ago I took a Benadryl and swallowed it with… well, a bit of Cosmo.

Tonight I will dream.  I will dream of my son dancing with an ape around a dish of nachos.  I will dream about climbing endless stairs.  I will dream about flying down the speed slide into a pool of chiggers.  And I will smile.  Because no other 44 year old woman slid down that slide today.  Especially in to a pool of chiggers.

Finish that sentence.  If you know me and you know my luck, I would assume your answer is POOP.  And you are correct.  But the story has a twist…

For the last two months, no matter what tennies I have on, my feet seem to be an irresistable magnet to poop.  Of course there is plenty of that in my own back yard.  But my feet often drift to the outside.  To the untouched.  To the Poop of Unknown Origin.

The first I remember was in my neighbor’s yard.  He has two dogs, so it was a no brainer that my feet would magically gravitate to the closest pile available.  The one in the high grass that was obviously waiting in stealth mode for me to casually walk by.

It called to my shoes.  It taunted them.  It cast a spell on them until they could do no less than stomp right in the middle of the waiting bounty.  “Oh MANNNNN!”

I made my way back doing the Poop Shoe Twist.  You know the one.  Take a step in the grass and twist.  Another step and twist.  Forget what the neighbors think.  Just hold your head high and step twist step twist.  “Why yes, I DO have dog poop on my shoe.  How could you tell?”

That pair went on my front steps, waiting to dry for easy removal.

Then came the second pair.  Just a week later I was pulling out of my driveway on my way to work.  Oops!  Forgot something!  I left the van on the side of the street, just in front of my neighbor’s house.  I got my lunch and flew back to the car.  Slam the door, put it in drive and… sniff?  Sniffff?  “OH NOOOOOOO!”

Yes, my shoes once again fell victim to some Poop of Unknown Origin.  I apparently stepped in a pile, flew into the car and put my foot on the brake as I manipulated the car into drive.  It was on my shoe, on the floor board, the carpet and… did you know that brake pedals have deep DEEP ridges in them?

A second pair of shoes was placed on the front steps.

And finally, pair number three.  My brand new stinking expensive Sketchers Shape Ups.  I never EVER buy anything for myself.  EVER.  But I had been pricing these babies out for months and months.  I received a significant check for writing and decided that I deserved a pair for my daily power walks. They would help my heel spurs and my posture.  AND I had found them for $50 off!

So there I am, walking my poor arthritic dog.  My dog who can’t squat to do her business anymore.  I had my new Sketchers on.  I actually thought to myself, “Ha ha!  I am so smart!  I am walking on the sidewalk instead of the grass so I won’t mess up my new Sketchers!”

That was when my dog chose to go potty.  BIG potty.  It dropped and I stepped.  The other dropped and the other shoe stepped.  Why would I expect anything less.

Three pairs of shoes were then taking refuge on my front steps.

Yesterday was the final straw.  Just before leaving for work I sat by my dog and gave her a morning batch of arthritis pills.  Rather than shove them down her throat, I hide them in everything from peanut butter to square cheese or deli meat.

That morning I had chosen individually wrapped square cheese.  She rejected it.  I forgot about it and used something else.  When I subsequently walked to the front door I realized my steps seemed a bit, well, cheesy.

There is no more room on my front steps.

As you know, most summer weekends find me and the kids in Corolla at my mom’s beach house.  I am happiest floating in the warm salt water with the sun shining above.

But guess how many times we have been able to swim, counting a full week plus weekends?  FOUR.  Only FOUR TIMES.  Why?  Because of the Outer Banks Cold Water Phenomena that has been haunting us all season.  For goodness sakes – the surfers are wearing winter suits in JULY!  In FREAKING JULY!

So the moment the water hit 59 this weekend we decided to jump in.  The air around us was 105, so on average, it wouldn’t be too bad, right?  But let’s throw in another factor.  There were red jellyfish scattered throughout the water.  Red STINGING jellyfish.  Very uncommon.  Let’s just say it was another straw on the camel’s back.

My mother and I ventured towards the water’s edge.  Hold your breath.  It’s COLD.  Timidly step in.  Take another step.  Another.  Dodge the jelly fish.  Now hold on, because there is a wave that is about to take you DOWN.  And…. Here….. It….. Comes….. CRASH!  Hold your breath.  Dive under.  The cold water wakes your every sense.

We broke through from the icy wave in to the amazingly hot summer air.  Refreshing.  Cold.  Lovely.  Ouch!

Whah?  Ouch!  <pause>  OUCH!

And then it hits me.  This weekend it came in threes.  More icy water.  Red stinging jellyfish.  And swarms of CRAB LARVAE.

You can’t see them.  But when they are in the water, they are EVERYWHERE.  By the time you feel the first pinch you are doomed.  For at that point they have poured in to your bathing suit already.  EVERYWHERE in your bathing suit.

The moment they feel that pressure they grab on to the closest thing they can find.  And that would be you.  And your private parts.  And everything else your bathing suit covers.

Imagine taking a needle and pushing the tip quickly in to your skin.  Then imagine an itch following the sharp and unexpected pain.  Now imagine thousands of these goings-on going on beneath your bathing suit.  That is what blue crab larvae feel like.  In your going on places, no less.

I have seen THE WALK OF SHAME many times on our beach.  One is the obvious, “I have to go to the bathroom immediately and it is NOT something I can take care of in the water.”  Yes, I’ve walked that walk.  There is also the “my CHILD has to go to the bathroom and did so, as a matter of fact, just now.”  Been there done that.  But the final walk?  It is the “I have crabs in my bathing walk.”

When you find yourself in a swarm of blue crab larvae, you have to make a decision.  Do I pretend I don’t have a thousand crabs biting my butt and walk out casually, or do I fly out of the water and race to the beach house as I strip down to my natural nakedness?

It’s a hard decision.  After all, everyone who has been in the water knows what is sharing your bathing suit at that very moment.  But there are some people that haven’t been swimming due to the cold.  And they don’t know what is happening.

So do you go the “I’m so cool nothing bothers me” route or do you throw caution to the wind along with your bathing suit top.

The first time it happened to me I learned how to fly.  I walked quickly towards the stairs.  Then I began running up the stairs.  Then I took flight over the walkway.  And then I went warp speed towards the house.

My mother found pieces of my suit going up the beach house stairs that day.  And jokes ensued for the rest of the week about how “Katherine got crabs.”  Ha ha that is so funny I forgot to laugh.

But now I’m a weekend local.  And I have to be cool.  I don’t live in Jersey, Ohio or New York.   My mother pays Currituck taxes.  So in my heart and head, I’m a local.  And locals don’t let on that they have crabs.

My mother and I played it out well.  We smiled through gritted teeth and slowly walked to our chairs.  As we packed up our things we made every effort to appear that we truly had meant to go back to the house right after our swim. Joe Cool had nothing on us.

We climbed the stairs, went over the walkway and then I turned to see if anyone had followed.  It was only then that I dug my hand into my bathing suit trunks and went to town.  Scratching.  Digging.  Pulling.

So maybe it was my MOM who more resembled Joe Cool than I.  But I couldn’t help it.  Because there was a party going on in my bathing suit, and from what I remember, I hadn’t sent out any invitations!

Alright, let’s be honest.  Palmetto bug is simply a fancy name for a Giant American Freaking Cockroach.  They live near the water, they freaking FLY and when it gets really rainy we occasionally find one inside.

Let me set the stage.  Last night there were several neighborhood boys in the house.  My mother had just left and I was getting ready to go to bed.   But I was hungry.  Hmmmm.  What to eat that is healthy.  I know!  There is some Special K Strawberry Cereal in the cabinet!

I opened the cabinet and grabbed the box.   Being the amazingly polite person that I am, I reached in and grabbed a handful while getting the bowl out.  Crunch crunch.  Mmmmm.  Yum.  As I was chewing I lifted the box and began pouring my cereal in to the bowl.

It only took a moment for the Giant American Freaking Cockroach to fall in to the bowl on top of my cereal.  The cereal that was in my mouth.  * PLINK!*  Look Ma!  I got a toy in my bowl!

“POOOWAHHH!  PLAHHHH!  PHATOOWAHHH!” as I frantically spat in to the sink.  Chugging water directly from the faucet!  Spitting!  Crying out, “DAAAVID!!  COME KILLL THIS THINGGGGG!”  “POOOOOWAHHHHHHHHH PLAHHHHH!”  LAUGHING!  CRYING!  TOTALLY FREAKING OUT!

In my utter panic and disbelief I had thrown the box over the bowl.  “DAVID!!  DAVID!!  DAVID!!  It’s in there!  It’s in there!  GET HIM!  PHATOOOWAH.”  All the boys had come running and encircled the bowl.

But then I stopped everybody in their tracks.  “WAIT!  I have to take a picture for the blog!”  “PHATOOOWAH.  PFT.”

NO ONE can say that I am not dedicated, right?

I was told very firmly by my son that taking a picture was NOT a good idea.  But I didn’t listen.  “Just open it a little.  I’ve got the camera right here and….. ““PHATOOOWAH.  PLAH.”

“MOM he got OUT!”

Scuttling.  Running.  Screaming.  Four teenage boys literally flipping my couch completely upside-down.  But the darn thing went in to the bowels of my microfiber couch.  Now he is set for life.  Sunflower seeds, boogers and crumbs.  He was in Palmetto Bug Heaven.  He will NEVER come out.

After brushing my teeth about a hundred times and spitting even more I went off to bed.  “PHATOOOWAH.  SHIRFFLE.”    Shuttering still.  Cringing inside.  Shuttering some more.

In the morning I found a note left out on the kitchen counter.  “12:45 a.m.  He came out.  I killed him.  You are safe.”

But am I?  From what my co-workers say, I now have eggs embedded in to my tongue.  And when they hatch, the baby Giant American Freaking Cockroaches will crawl up in to my brain.  And I don’t think anyone can save me then.  “PLAHHH.”

Now keep in mind, when I am home, I am never alone.  Elizabeth goes with me everywhere.  Furthermore, there was no way I was going to leave her with anyone while she was still hurting.  So where was the Tooth Fairy going to get these requested items?

It wasn’t until Sunday night that I found an opportunity to score five special things.  I was driving my son home after basketball, planning to stop at Rite Aid for a few little hair and jewelry items.  Unfortunately they were closed.  The only other option was the Walgreens across the street.

I’ve never been to Walgreens before.  To my surprise, there wasn’t a jewelry item in sight.  So I had to do the best I could with what was in front of me.  With a little help from my teenage son, I managed to score five things to go under her pillow.

Rubber glowing worm?  Sure!  He looks special to me!  Squirmles?  Oh YEA, I had one of those when I was young!  Sizzler magnets?  OK, I’m pushing it here, but why not.  Then my son arrives with a pretty nifty yo-yo.  Maybe not her thing, but since he was helping I certainly didn’t want to turn him down.  And was it any worse than that creepy purple glowing guy?

So I was up to four.  Needed one more.  Walking, looking, walking, looking.  NOTHING.  Until I turned the corner and found myself in the As Seen On TV aisle.  And found an item that she and I had wondered at just a few days before.  The Turbo Snake.  SWEET!  Not even thinking twice, I grabbed it and checked out.

OK, so the Tooth Fairy put a drain snake under my daughter’s pillow.  Doesn’t she do that with everyone?  But GET THIS.  It was the first thing Elizabeth squealed at, and was the first thing she opened.  My drains are crystal clear now.  Thanks, Tooth Fairy!