Saturday, May 28, 2011

Donkeys like dragging people

I don't think I've mentioned the therapeutic riding stable I volunteer at yet. Let's call it the Horseplace.
Funny thing about stables, at least ones that aren't run "professionally", things get very chaotic quite often. In fact, just about every time I go out there, something out of the ordinary happens. Well, maybe not out of the ordinary, since if it happens every time I go out there then it is ordinary......
Okay where was I? Oh yes, talking about chaos. You know, I think I use that word too often, maybe I should say 'turmoil' or 'havoc', or even go all out an say something like 'pandemonium'. A word that is way too long to belong in my vocabulary. But again, I think I'm straying off point.
Today I woke up at six in the morning to catch a ride to the Horseplace, even though when my alarm clock went off I seriously considered throwing it out my window or smashing it against the wall like people do in movies. The point was: I did NOT want to be awake. It was torture just rolling out of bed. Somehow, I managed to pull on a pair of jeans and my boots, chug down some cereal, and hastily brush my teeth in time to walk a block down the road to my friend's house. See, we carpool all the time, and it was one of those days where I was the one catching a ride with her.
After nearly falling asleep multiple times between the walk over, the car ride, and the rhythmic feeding of thousand pound animals, Taylor and I finally realized that we had forgotten the house key. The woman who runs the stable had gone out of state for a wedding and left us in charge, so naturally she gave us a key. Only Taylor had insisted on taking it home and the only other copy was with the hired hand, Steve McQueen. (That's a nickname so don't be alarmed.) So after much bellyaching and grumbling, I summoned the courage I needed to text Steve McQueen for help.
"Could you come by and bring the house key?"
"I thought you had one?" He answered.
"Taylor forgot it."
"......Yeah, I'll be there in 30 minutes."
So of course, we sat and did nothing until he arrived.
Now about this time, I bet you're beginning to wonder where the donkeys in the title come into play? Well that's the thing, it was later in the day that it all happened.
We were sitting in the kitchen, the three of us, Steve McQueen, Taylor, and I. My ride and Taylor's as well were on their way to pick us up, so after much arguing over the fact (and a water fight to settle it) it was decided that she and I were to be head wranglers. So gathering our battle gear, which was basically a rope to lasso them with and a bowl of food, we set off across the property to find the two donkeys that were loose and take them back to their pen.
Now there's something else you need to know about these two donkeys, Domingo and Sassy. One: They're both girls. Mamma and baby. So the trick is to capture Mamma donkey (Domingo) and baby (Sassy. Who's really not that small or baby like at all anymore.) will follow. Two: All donkeys are deceptive. They are smarter and stronger than they appear. Something I thought I knew but definitely had confirmed today.
And three: Well, our donkeys are just plain naughty.
So as Taylor and I approached the two of them, Sassy already heading over to the food bowl, I didn't think twice before lassoing Domingo because I'd done it before. I thought I knew them well enough to predict their every move.

Boy, was I wrong.
The second the rope slid around Domingo's neck, it's like something snapped inside her. She went berserk. And unfortunately the moment she did, I was turning around to make some snide comment at Steve McQueen who was acting as the spectator, and was completely unprepared. She took off and man, literally, took me for a ride.
I was dragged halfway across the property, tripping over everything she intentionally ran me into, and desperately trying to hold onto her.
"Hold on!" Taylor cried, running after me.
"Grab ahold of her!" Steve McQueen yelled, taking off after me too. "Wait...Don't let go!"
"Ah!" I screamed.
I was slammed into a stone wall and a railing, and when I finally felt myself flying forward into a face plant, I let go. Steve McQueen tried grabbing the lasso after I released it, but he was dragged a couple feet and then had to, in turn, let go or risk the same fate as me. We watched as Domingo and her faithful daughter, Sassy, turned into a trail of dust.
Doubling over in hysterics, Taylor and I gave up to the laughter that was racking every part of our body. There were two trails in the dirt from where my heels had been digging in, trying to stop the crazy donkey, and add that to the dismayed look on Steve McQueen's face and there was no stopping us. I couldn't breathe I was laughing so hard and Taylor didn't look in much better condition, while the whole time our stern faced, hired hand sat with the slightest hint of a smile on his face. It was too funny not to smile.
Lucky for us, the donkeys got the message and we found them waiting by the door to their pen, after we'd gotten ourselves under control and walked back up to the barn. So I guess the whole ordeal had been for no reason.
You can't really top experiences like that though. I can only imagine the surprised look that had been plastered on my face as I was dragged around the ranch. It must've been quite the sight.
So there was my story for this entry, it's not old at all, it happened today. But I guess that's the great thing about life, you can always expect the best day you've ever had to be today. New opportunities rise with the sun.

Today, when my family went to lunch, Taylor came along and I think it's only right that she be the one I quote today. Forgive me if I get some of this wrong:
"Justin Bieber was born in Stratford, Ontario in Stratford General Hospital, in room 112, at exactly 11:56 a.m." (Hopefully I got that right.)
My mom: "That's creepy."
Taylor: "I know right? It's only because of my friends that I know that."
Me: "Just tell me one thing."
Taylor: "What?"
Me: "Was it a boy or a girl?"
To all you JBiebs lovers, my apologies. I couldn't help it.
However I had to give her credit for knowing all that, no matter how creepy it is, it takes effort. So Taylor, you are the star for this entry.
Along with Domingo, my new donkey nemesis.

Monday, May 23, 2011

Blowing up limbs and other important things

So tonight, my older brother, Nate, and his girlfriend Lena came over for dinner. Just like my normal family dinners, there was a lot of laughter and story telling. At one point Emma Lou was running around the table yelling, while Dad was nearly sawing through the table in an attempt to cut our ice cream cake, and Nate was telling a story that was making everyone break into hysterics. You can imagine how hard it is to concentrate on anything when activity like that is going on. You get so enraptured in the stories and laughing along with everybody that you forget to even think. You just are. Being there, at that moment.
At least, that's how they feel to me.
Now however, I'm going to take you back a couple years, when I was still in elementary school. In the middle of the Wisconsin farmland, surrounded by corn, in a small log cabin built on a hundred acres. This is my summer home. Sure, it's not the Hamptons, but it fits my families personality. The sun beaming on the golden field stretched out in front of the one room cabin, an icy river running right through our property, and wildlife everywhere. I have so many fond memories of this magical place, completely secluded from the rest of the world.
The one I'm going to tell you about though, is the Bottle Rocket story. (Yes, we've actually labeled these stories.) See my uncle has a problem with buying tons of fireworks every year we go up there. Even though he vacations there before us, he always leaves a bunch for us to set off, cause he's so awesome.
So Nate, Erin, Meghan, and I got a great idea to see how many bottle rockets we could set off at once.
We set them up where the road split into a V, making its overall shape a Y. Now the problem with our innocent idea was that the canister holding all the bottle rockets wasn't very wide, so when we crammed fifty of them in there, they didn't just poke up. They were at all angles.
I don't quite understand why my parents thought it would be okay to let us try it, but they did, and when we lit the fuse it was all in good fun.
Then of course, it exploded.
Naturally all of us hit the turf, but as I was lying there tucked in a ball, I got a bad feeling and immediately afterward a rocket exploded right next to my leg and burnt me. It didn't hurt but it scared me so bad that I got up and took off running, straight down the road, away from the cabin. And I swear, it felt just like a movie, with bullets whizzing past you as you ran and felt explosions at your feet. The feeling was identical as all fifty of those bottle rockets shot into the air and lit up the sky.
I also remember thinking that it was the coolest feeling I had ever felt.
So naturally we did it again and this time I got my siblings to run with me. They thought it felt awesome too, so we did it over and over again until we finally ran out of bottle rockets.
Crazy that no one stopped us sooner, I'm surprised we didn't light the field on fire. But I'm glad no one did, because that's one of my favorite memories from the Cabin, shooting off the bottle rockets.
Isn't it weird how some of your most memorable stories can be the most insignificant ones?
Like, in the long run, there is no grand purpose for setting off all those fireworks. It was just a lot of fun, and definitely good bonding time with the siblings. I also learned not to do that again, unless you're prepared for the consequences. Like getting your leg nearly blown off.
Unfortunately I don't see bottle rockets in my future anytime soon though. I'm almost positive the state of Wisconsin has permanently banned my family from setting them off. Ever.

So anyway, I've started gathering quotes from the people around me, because sometimes they say things that are way more funny and clever than celebrities. Like for instance:
"You've got a little bit of Spaghetti, all over your face." (There's the Spaghetti reference again)
And: "What's that movie called again? Justin Bieber: Just Say Never?" (My dad said that and he was not joking.)
So it'll be interesting to see what I come up with. I'll try and keep remembering them so I can put them in this blog too. After all, I talk so much about my family and the people around me, it's only right that they should get a direct quote in here somewhere.
Right now I'm sitting in Meghan's room, probably bothering her by being in here when it's so late, but she's reading a book called Something Borrowed, so I guess she's fine with it. For now.
Just like everyone in my family, it's hard to tell when she'll suddenly turn on you, teeth bared and claws out. In fact, she did that once when I scared her coming out of the bathroom. The hallway was dark, so I couldn't actually see how badly I had spooked her, but when I felt her nails clawing at my face, I knew I was in deep trouble. Meghan was always the terrorist in my family. The one who would tickle you till you puke or suffocate. So when her hands reached for my face, I ran for my bedroom, even as she football tackled me through the door. After that, all I remember is being dimly aware that she was sitting on me and Erin was looking up from her book and asking what had happened.
Luckily I came away from that night with only a couple new scars.
We get along though, so don't you worry.
And since we were talking about pranks, here's a hilarious compilation that I just had to add.
Scaring people is a lot of fun.............

Saturday, May 21, 2011

Eating It: The old fashioned way

What story should I tell today? You know I have to admit, this is already harder than I thought it would be. Writing a story from your life is definitely not as easy as you think it is, let alone doing it every single time you publish an entry, but it would be silly to give up now. So let me think......
Maybe I should tell you about Bitey Boy a.k.a. our dog Toby who we used to lure down the basement stairs with Oreos until he would sprint after us, jaws snapping for the cookies in our hands, and leap on the mattress we so subtly had scooted off the edge of the bed. I'm sure you can imagine that poor dog's face as his world flipped upside down, but I talk about dogs too much.
So maybe I should talk about going sledding on the huge snow hill during the winter time, zipping down the small slope only to straighten out and then drop furiously again until we had reached the end of the run. Nate always waiting at the end to ram us with his own tube. But again, I'm mentioning Nate. Got to think of someone else.
How about the fort Erin and I built in the basement? That's interesting, though we didn't really build it, it was already there.
For some reason my parents had this section of wall where a bunch of mattresses were stacked on their sides in a row. There was at least six of them, nestled in that far corner of the basement, hidden away from everything else. Not long after we moved there, Erin and I discovered this wonderful hideaway.
By pushing our backs against one mattress and planting both feet on the other one, we figured out a way to walk up them so that we could sit on the tops, hidden from everyone else's view. Now at the time, we didn't realize that by sitting on them we were slowly breaking the box frame, so it was all innocent fun. We went up there to make Christmas presents for people, tell secrets, plan pranks, and vent about getting in trouble since we always did. It was the perfect hideaway and it was all ours.
Until my parents threw out the old mattresses.
But I think the main point of these ideas is that they all happened in the same place, the Kansas House, which we call our old home. We lived there for only nine months, but they were fun and adventurous. My mother grew up in the same house and when my grandparents could no longer take care of it, we all packed up and moved there to save the family home. It was a great old house, wood floors and a big stone fireplace. It had that mothball, homey smell to it that reminds you of all your best memories. It was warm in winter and cool in summer, and looked out on seven beautiful acres. Unfortunately it was Kansas and none of us could deny that we were Texas people deep down.
So we upped and moved back to the exact same house we'd lived in before. And seeing the neighbors faces when we showed up again almost made paying two mortgages worth it. I'm a big fan of the slack jawed, big eyed look. It's so entertaining.

So in the end, I was still a Texas girl (despite the fact that I was born in the north) and it shone through. Who cares where I was born though right? The point was that I got here (to Texas) as fast as I could. (Took that right off a bumper sticker hanging in my room)
I realize that this entry isn't exactly the thigh-slapper, but maybe it's okay to occasionally calm down on the humor.
And of course, I can always mention the one time when the whole "Bitey Boy" thing didn't exactly go quite as planned. We did the whole standard Oreo lure, but for some reason Toby was exceptionally eager. So of course, he took off way too early and made our plan go completely askew.
What I remember is Meghan and Erin flying past me in a blur, screaming at the top of their lungs, while Nate practically shoved me over he was fleeing the scene so quickly and Toby was right behind him, jaws snapping and eyes wildly crazy. I also remember thinking, as my three older siblings slowly grew smaller as they sprinted down the hall, that I was going to die. So as a last effort to save myself, I jumped onto the pool table, just as I felt Toby zoom past me, his fur brushing my feet.
It had been way too close and of course, I loved every second of it. But the best part to me was watching Nate wipe out on the floor carpet, since he'd hit it running and naturally it slid out from under him. THAT is the part I remember the most, probably because someone else had fallen victim to Bitey Boy instead of me.
Besides, it's always WAY funnier when someone else eats it.

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

How to get pants sucked into the escalator

So my brother almost got his pants sucked into an escalator today. We were at the mall by my house, shopping for a new Princess dress for Emma Lou's birthday present, and had all made it down the escalator successfully before him. My mom and I were looking at a store nearby and had turned away for only a second, when it happened. He sat down. I don't quite know what was going through his mind and WHY he thought sitting down on an escalator was okay, but he did it. When I looked back to make sure he was following, I freaked. Mom did too, the minute she saw he was three stairs away from the bottom.
So of course we both started shouting, "Stand up! Now! Quick! STAND UP!" and since he'd been pouting, it actually took him a moment to do just that. I swear it was like one of those scenes from a movie, where they barely dodge the bullet or just miss getting run over. He got up at the last second.
By then the both of us had run over there and were practically shaking, our hearts beating a mile a minute.
"What were you thinking?" My mom asked him.
"You could've had your pants sucked into the escalator!" I added.
Luke, being the cool kid he is, just shrugged. "So."
"So?" I laughed. "You wanna run around the mall in only your undies?"
His face got a little red then and he smiled, like he still wouldn't of cared, even though it was clear that the horror of the situation had finally set in.
Isn't that often how it is? Not realizing just what's at stake until after you've narrowly dodged whatever it is.
Like when a brother comes barging into your room and you just happened to have put your shirt on in time? (something that happens often in my house) Or when you're about to say something maybe not so nice about someone and they come up behind you just before it leaves your mouth? (close call)
Or my all time favorite, when you barely avoid getting caught doing something you're not supposed to by your parents. These are all "close calls" but in my point of view (especially the last one) they're near death experiences. Just like Luke on the escalator.
Getting caught by your parents is something every kid fears, but I think my parents take it to a whole other level. Well, maybe not my dad.
Let me tell you a little about my mom. She's a little above average height with a thick bush of hair on her head and a smile that crinkles the edges of her eyes. She's tan from working in her garden and probably more tomboy than me. Which is hard to top. Only extremist do.
My mom also possesses the coldest Death Stare I've ever seen. I'm mean, so scary, that it could make water freeze. Add that to her arms-crossed-over-her-chest-you're-in-trouble walk and kids shake in their shoes or wet themselves. In fact, my mother once sent an entire group of boys ranging from 10-18 scrambling for their homes, all because they had run in her garden. It's actually known around the neighborhood now that you DO NOT step one foot in my mother's garden. To do so is to die.
Occasionally we'll have kids come around, who do not know this though and one time in particular it turned out to be quite a hilarious outcome.
I was sitting in our living room that overlooks our front yard and noticed a large group of middle school boys trampling through our yard, squashing plants and flowers. For their own safety, I walked outside onto the porch and simply said, "You know, my mother's downstairs."
They all looked at me like, "So?"
All that is, except Laighton, our next door neighbor and a friend of mine. I noticed that he was standing on the sidewalk, quietly obeying our yard rule while his friends ignored it. However the instant I spoke, he turned and took off for home, sprinting and shouting at the top of his lungs, "RUN!"
In their alarm, his friends followed him and all was well. My mom never had to find out.

Tomorrow is Emma Lou and Nate's birthday, which should be an exciting event. I always found it funny that the oldest and youngest were born on the exact same day, eighteen years apart. We all believe it was a sign that eight was WAY enough. There will probably be a lot of excitement and sugar, which is a dangerous mix, and I'm betting at least one emotional meltdown, but that's life. The ups and downs are always there.
Let's just hope for everyone's sake though, that the next down isn't my brother getting his pants sucked into the escalator.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

What Spaghetti has to do with anything

Surprisingly this blog is not about spaghetti. I'll probably mention it now and then, but no, I'm not writing recipes on how to literally cook your spaghetti. So if anyone reading this wanted just that, sorry to disappoint. Actually I started this blog because I realized my life is pretty strange. Really, quite weird.
My family consists of my poor, unfortunate parents and all seven of my siblings and I. Plus our three dogs and that strange neighborhood cat that I'm almost positive, thinks he's a dog as well. Since we're all crammed in a pretty small house, for our monstrous size, you can probably imagine that the roar of noise here is undying. Like right now,  my little brother Evan is playing war with my other little brother Luke, and they're making explosion noises, which basically means they're spitting all over the place. Oh gosh, I should probably go check on Emma Lou and make sure they didn't tie her up again........
Nope, she was fine, just standing on the dining room table in only her diaper and a batman shirt. *rolls eyes*
So anyway, where was I? Oh yes, describing the chaos that is my life. When people ask me how many siblings I have and I answer "Seven." I like to watch their faces. It's like I just told them I'm really an alien from the planet Unbelievable, their face goes slack jawed and their eyes get about three times their normal size. So I always like to add a little bit of extra info to REALLY shock them.
"Yeah, I have four brothers and three sisters." I think it's the four brothers that makes most people freak out. It's just universally known that little boys are way harder to handle than little girls. And if they're big brothers......You better just hope they're not. I have one big brother and imagining a second? Holy moly, I don't even want to think about it. Nate's great, but one Nate is WAY enough.
So yes, to list us in order it would appear like this: Nate, Meghan, Erin, Rachael (me!), Paul, Luke, Evan, and Emma Lou. So in all, we're pretty evened out. Four girls, four boys.

Now you'd think with so many people in one house, that my parents would be completely against pets, right? Which my dad argues they are. However, the minute one of them sees a big eyed, begging little or big face, they go all mushy inside and cave immediately. That's the only reason we ended up with three dogs.
Jazz, is my dog, so I'm in charge of taking care of her. Which I do......Most of the time......Okay, sometimes but I really do care about her. She's my best bud, I even gave her a bath in the kiddie pool today. You know? One of those plastic, round pools with a pathetic little slide attached that we all LOVED as kids?
So I dragged her outside, unsuccessfully tried clipping her nails, brushed her teeth with one of those finger brushes (gross!) and had to pick her up to get her into the pool because she did NOT want to go.
I mean, she did the whole: Plant the feet, give you that look that says, "I am NOT going in there." and then sits when you try to pick them up. In the end though, I came out victorious. I wrestled her into the pool and held her still with my body while proceeding to hose down the both of us, even though my first intention had been to avoid getting wet. Oh well, at least she didn't smell like a fish anymore.
Ha, it's not as bad as the time when I tried doing it in the bathtub......
Oh jeez, Tux is sitting on the window sill next to me, looking in the window and begging to come in now. He's that dog cat I told you about. He's not even our cat, he's our neighbor's, but he likes our house more. Probably because of our massive garden......
Okay, back to the main point of this whole thing!
I am going to write one interesting story per entry in this blog, and it has to be something that happened to me. I can't retell someone else's stories. So my first story was washing Jazz......Lol, hopefully the stories get more interesting as I go.
Oh yeah, and the reason I named this blog How to Cook Your Spaghetti is because my family has this tradition where each of us has our own recipe on how to cook that delicious pasta meal. We all think our own is the best, but we all like the other's just as much, if that makes any sense. Anyway, I just figured Spaghetti is a big part of my life and it kind of describes it as well, a big tangled mess. But delicious just the same.

- RL