Best. Sound. Ever.

To me, there is no greater sound than that of my teenager laughing.

Especially if I am a part of that laughter in any way, shape or form.

You see, there was a time, not so long ago, where the boy child and I butt heads constantly.  My husband would declare that we were too alike, cut from the same cloth so naturally, of course we weren't getting along. That tenuous time between my son morphing from the boy child into Mandrew certainly had some rocky moments. For both of us.

It was almost as if when he was struggling with all these emotions and growing pains and hormones that deep down, I couldn't handle him getting to be so damn big so damn soon. I was mourning the gradual loss of my sweet little boy who was way too quickly growing into this strange young man.

But then, all of a sudden, somewhere towards the end of his middle school experience, something clicked.

I was getting compliments from my adult friends telling me how when he saw them around town, even when he was with a group of friends, he would purposely stop what he was doing to go say hi to my friend and give them a big hug, asking how they were like it was something all teenage boys did, with no qualms and no embarrassment.

I'd get reports of his compassion and kindness and desire to make people laugh. The comedian part didn't always come at the best of times, usually more like the middle of biology or something, but nevertheless, it was there.

Huh. Looks like we were raising a good kid after all, sometimes in spite of ourselves.

It took moments like those to step back and realize that even if raising a teen is hard ass work, life wasn't about constantly arguing about schoolwork. Or chores. Or other responsibilities that never seemed to get done. Which, to be honest, we still do to some extent.

As long as we were raising a decent kid that was all that mattered. In the grand scheme of things, big picture wise, that's going to take him further than anything.

It wasn't until I could step back and acknowledge the boy child for these traits that I could also begin to appreciate his humor. Which, to the shock of absolutely nobody, is a lot like mine. Pretty sarcastic. Definitely silly. Maybe sometimes a little more than a little odd.

We text each other stupid memes or silly videos, like someone in a  T-rex costume running or really bad song parodies.

We'll talk to each other with horrible accents. We'll wear ugly Christmas sweaters and onesies and silly hats.

We do interpretive dance, just to get a rise out of the other. My hands-down favorite is probably his Muppet dance. Freaking priceless. It's really too bad that I can't share it, because you would eat it up too.

We make horrible puns and try to top one another with pranks. And maybe trying to find the worst hairstyle when we're traveling - man buns and comb overs and the like.

I know, I know... it's a little horrible. Don't judge. A mom has to do what a mom has to do in order to bond with her son.

And sometimes I'll get awarded with a deep laugh that lights up his face and rolls through his body, collapsing his giant, 6'2" frame in half. This is usually paired with a "Moooommmm" in a semi-sarcastic voice, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

I love that shit.

I wish I could put moments like these in a jar, display them on a shelf so when I'm old and crotchety and gray, I can open one up and relive the pure, unadulterated joy, one last time.

If only.

Until then, I'll eke out every single moment, every chance I can in my quest to hear that laughter again. Because it truly is the BEST. Sound. Ever.

You say you're afraid of WHAT?!

So, I may or may not have a completely irrational fear.

OK. Full disclosure? It's completely, 100%, unapologetically irrational.

You see, I'm afraid of deer. Specifically, of being hooved to death by a rabid deer.

I know, right? 

I know that the chances of that happening are so slim that they're almost non-existent. The key word here is "almost". Probably deer don't even have rabies. Whatevs. It is what it is.

And the sad thing is, I have no reason for this. Like I said - totally irrational. I will, however, freely admit this in a pretty self deprecating way, laughing freely at myself because I know just how stupid it is.

I don't relay this information expecting one to nod and say something like, 'Well, now that you mention it, yes, I do see why one would confuse Bambi with the demonic spawn of the forest.' 

I will say that I absolutely do not need one to not only ignore my fear, irrational as it may be, but also to ADD to the fucking beast.

Eight or so years ago, Mick and I found pretty much our dream home. A cabin in the middle of the woods, on a little bit of land. We have gorgeous views of prominent peaks, with mountain foliage ablaze of neon green and conifer-ish colors, when our Rocky Mountain version of Mother Nature decides to play along with the rules. Even better, we were less than a mile from Target. Everyone wins.

At that time, Sis was just about to start Kindergarten, and was about the size of a pixie. The boy child just going into 4th grade, and even though he was tall for his age, he wasn't big by any means. And, since I'm neurotic anyway, it's not like I was going to be letting these kiddos out of my sight when they went to play outside. After all, it's not like we were in a neighborhood any longer. 

We met our new neighbors shortly after moving in. They came down the hill bearing a plant for our garden. Bwahahaha! First mistake. The poor dear thought I could grow something. Half the reason we live on a woodland enclave was so I could avoid gardening, since I tend more towards a black thumb than anything. But I digress.

They were a sweet, older couple. Gina and John. Well, they were sweet until we started chatting. 

I jokingly referred to the dreaded deer problem, sure to include that as Colorado girl, born and bred, I could still appreciate the beauty if wildlife and honor the fact that we've developed land that encroaches on their territory, and yada yada. Just because I can appreciate nature's abundance, certainly does not mean I don't have some deep down, innate fear of the things.

"Oh dear," Gina assured me with a smile and her thick mid-west accent, "you're just going to love it here. You see that bed of flat grass right off your porch? Well, that's where a whole herd of them bed down at night."

Delightful. Sigh.

"And the deer are just the start," she continued. "Why, we have bears down here all the time. They'll come right on up on your porch and just peek on through your windows. Ya know, if you garden with fish oil they'll come right up behind you and sniff your ear. Heck - John and I even feed them."

Call me crazy but I'm pretty sure that's illegal, lady.

"We see foxes and rabbits and chipmunks, all sorts of God's creatures, all the time. There's even a mama mountain lion up on the ridge there who'll come down and prowl on the BLM land right behind us on occasion." 

Fan-fucking-tastic. By this time, I swear I'm a little light headed, as I see my tiny sprite of a daughter playing in the shade from the corner of my eye.

"Oh, and one time, me and John were playing with a squeaky toy with our dog Spike when wouldn't you know it, a coyote jumped right out from our bushes thinking it was a baby rabbit. Gosh, I wish I had a camera. It was magnificent."

Well, shit.

Thanks for turning my completely irrational fear of rabid deer into an actual fucking, totally legit fear of carnivorous creatures roaming the forest that surrounds my house. Really - I feel just great about that. The fact that I was hyperventilating at this point didn't seem to phase my new neighbor.

Somehow in my ridiculous admission, Gina must have heard that I LOVE me some wildlife, not that I don't really super love them unless they're far away and/or I'm behind some sort of barrier.

This could be a lesson in actually listening to hear what someone is saying, folks.

Needless to say, now, almost a decade later my kids are still not allowed in my yard alone. And maybe, a large part of the reason why we have dogs may or may not be due to wanting the big and scary animals go after them first have them warn us if danger approaches.

As for deer, well. I continue to have a love-hate relationship with them.

Yes, they are beautiful. Generally, I know that they are harmless.

The last few years, we've had a buck and two does claim our yard as home base. We often find them nibbling at the edge of grass along our twisted driveway, or bedded down in the middle of our yard. There is really nothing more spectacular than seeing these gorgeous creatures bed down, with the sun shining through their huge ears, and the foliage glow gorgeously and surreally around them. 

But that buck think's he's the shit. I'll step on my porch to grill dinner, and there he'll be, pleased as punch, munching down on what passes as a "natural" garden (i.e. whatever the hell decided to grow with no help nor hinderance from me), mere feet away. The bastard doesn't even flinch any more. He just continues his business like it's no big deal.

This is a real pic of a real deer that I took in my real yard. If you can't tell, he's really an asshole.

Don't think I'm not watching you, buddy.

Breaking out of the box

Hey there lovely,

Recently, after months of agonizing over a final decision, I wrote my farewell letter to five years worth of friends and customers from a recent journey. I'm a pretty primo multi-tasker (if I do say so myself!), but in order to move forward, I had to cut away one of the things that was holding me back.

I've been wanting to get back into writing FOR-EV-ER. Well, years, at least (if you happen to see the last post I had here, you know - two years ago. Oops.

Really, I dream of writing all the words, all the time. But too often I found myself wasting time with other endeavors. Like Facebook. To plan my business. Naturally.

*cough*

So, with a tear in my eye and butterflies in my stomach, I said goodbye to something that I loved tremendously.

Now, in it's place, is this - Shorty with a Story.

Much like anything else I do in life, I've decided to jump back into this writing thing head first, with much gusto and little thought.

I do a lot of faking it 'til I make it.

Generally it turns out great. Sometimes, eh, not so much. Hopefully this turns out to be a happy medium.

I think one of the main reasons why it took so long for me to jump back on this bandwagon was because of fear. I was afraid of not being enough. Or being too much. Or even worse, something mundane and in-between. Ugh.

It took months of hemming and hawing over what I want the "theme" of this blog was going to be. 

Should it be yet another mom blog, similar to the humor column I had once upon a time in a little podunk, small town newspaper? My kids are so much older now - who really wants to hear funny stories about teens. And, could I tell those tales without being a total embarrassment to said teens?

Would it be funny and/or cringe-worthy stories from various work and volunteer projects? Gracious knows I have a lot of those. But then again, who doesn't?

Would it be about life in general? Do you want to hear about my totally irrational fear (of deer, no less) or about the mundane details of adulting when you feel like anything but an adult?

Can I simultaneously make a positive impact on the world, when sometimes, all I want to do is bitch about something that irritated me, like traffic or tourists?

Decisions, decisions.

I wear - like many of you - so many freaking hats. Mom. Wife. Friend. Chauffeur. Chef. Maid. Babysitter. Bookkeeper. Writer. Creator. Inspirer. Dreamer. Doer. Baker. Sassy pants. Leader. Follower. Fun-haver.

The list goes on.

Why, I asked myself, if I wear so many hats, would I limit my public writing space to just one? That sounded just so dull. 

I plan to have this blog as an adventure. A fun and funky road trip. Really, who knows where this windy path is going to take us.

So I tossed that "theme" shit to the wind and came up with this blog.

I'm a short girl with big ambitions, full of stories from all parts of my life. And yep - even some that aren't part of my real life. I'll throw in a little fiction, just for giggles. This is going to be a blog without an overall theme, because labels are lame.

I'll tell you what else this blog will contain:

Tales from a girl who married and had kids young, who has a huge and wildly amazing family. A girl who has strange fears and maybe too high of expectations and too little patience. A girl who really loves her friends, and really loves to make a difference. A girl who has no qualms about being silly, or frivolous, or even, on occasion, very cheap frugal.

You'll get tales from a girl who really cracks herself up, but also cries at happy-sad commercials and sappy, crappy movies.

You'll get stories from a girl who fucking loves the f-bomb, but tries to be appropriate in (most) social and professional gatherings. Probably not as much on here, though, because really, this blog is a spot for me to be authentically myself. And, since I like to cuss, there will be some spicy language to season the tales found on these virtual pages.

You'll get stories from a girl who believes in the good in the world, in seeing the best in people, and who believes that the universe is too small for us here, on this teeny, tiny speck of a planet, to know everything that's out there. A girl who believes miracles and the unbelievable still exist, out there somewhere, waiting with bated breath.

Some of these stories might be from my day to day life. Some might be works of fiction. Hopefully, these stories will provide someone with entertainment. More than that, they'll provide me with creative relief.

So, my friend, if you find yourself here and made it this far - allow me to officially welcome you to this adventure!