Goddess of Chaos: 1 ; Newton Family: 0

Ahhh, chaos! It reigns in my home so frequently, I wonder if Eris (Greek goddess of chaos), might have a summer home nearby. Every once and a while, she'll poke her goddess-head out of her window, raise one ethereal eyebrow at my Type-A ways, and bam! Here's how it began:

"Mom! Dad fell...and he's not getting up."

At first, I giggled. I know--real sensitive of me, right? But it sounded like that cliched commercial for those LifeAlert pendants. My humor evaporated when I saw my daughter's wide-eyed panic. Uh-oh.

Vaulting into action, I sprinted outside taking in the scene like a veteran cop: my kids: safe (although the youngest was running around screaming about Daddy's bloody knee). Neighbor kids: gawking from their side of the lawn, dressed in their full Laura-Ingalls regalia (They're Missionaries. More on them another day). My husband: laying on the intersection of lawn and driveway, and (from the look of him) the intersection of conscious and full-on faint.

Mike's hands clutched his ankle. "I was playing basketball with the girls. I went for a rebound and rolled my ankle. I heard a loud crack," he said, his lips the color of manuscript paper. He was in a cold sweat, pale and glassy-eyed.

My inner-EMT pursed her lips. Hell, no. He's not going into shock. Not on my watch.

Gently prying Mike's hands from his ankle, I exhaled in relief. No protruding bones. I gave him a reassuring smile. "It looks fine. We'll get you inside, get some ice, and see if we need x-rays."

Then, the Goddess of Chaos intervened. The *itch figured I was managing too well.

My toddler was the first to respond to Chaos' call. Peering at his unhurt (but bloody) knee, she managed to bang into the injured ankle. Mike hissed in pain, and my toddler gave him a chastising look. "S'okay, Daddy." She lowered her face to the abraded knee, flailing into his ankle once more. "It's just bwood, sweetieheart."

Mike's face got paler, and I (still calm) told my little one to watch out for Daddy's foot.

Meanwhile, my oldest began a screaming etiquette lecture for the gawking Missionary kids. "Go home! Don't you know how RUDE it is to stare? Go HOME!"

Wide-eyed, the neighbor kids hiked up their colonial-style garb and climbed a nearby tree, getting a better (and safer) view of the chaos.

Still trying for serene, I sent my oldest daughter to fetch ice, more to stop her yelling than anything else. Then, I helped Mike up, noting the cold sweat drenching him. God, let me get him into the house before he faints!

Blocking my toddler as she made another bee-line for the bloody knee (via the broken foot route), we took two gimping steps forward. My eldest raced back with an ice-filled towel, and promptly resumed her tirade at the now-arboreal (yet still staring) neighbor kids.

Before I could rein in my girls, Mike said, "I'm going down."

And he did. He didn't faint--it was more like a slow-motion swoon, except my husband is a muscled mass of a guy. Slowing his descent was like attempting to catch a falling freight elevator--I couldn't do much except use my body to break his fall. Sacrificing my left arm and leg, I crumpled gracelessly, half under him, to the hard concrete.

"Ice!" I barked, my pinned left side protesting.

My toddler snatched the towel-wrapped ice. "Lemme shake dis out." And with an expert flick of her tiny wrist, the ice scattered across the driveway in every direction.

The loss of her freshly-fetched ice provoked my eldest into another vein-popping screamfest. At the same time, my toddler--having shaken out the towel to her liking--used it to blot Mike's knee, laying across--what else?--the injured foot.

Mike gave a guttural groan, moving enough for me to finally wrench my arm out from under him. Grabbing up my youngest by the back of her shorts, I shoved her off his foot as gently as I could (one-handedly) but she fell and bloodied her knee. Her shrieks, combined with her sister's top-of-her-lungs lecturing to the treed neighbors, eroded the last of my calm.

Understand that I'm descended from a long line of loud, loud women. My daughters are mere acolytes in the art of bellowing. I am in full mastery of my vocal capacity. Pulling air into the lowest recesses of my diaphragm, I let loose.

"STOP IT RIGHT NOW!"

My yell bounced off the driveway, stole the breath from my screaming children, deafened my husband, and scared the Missionary kids so badly they fell from the tree in their haste to retreat to the sanctuary of their house.

Eris' ethereal lips curved in a smirk--she'd won. Goddess of Chaos: 1 ; Newton Family: 0

BUT...
This story does have a happy ending. While Mike did indeed break his fifth metatarsal, it was 3 cm up from having to have it in a cast. Thanks to that 3cm, he's in an ankle brace which--although painful--is a hell of a lot easier.

What a difference 3cm can make. (At least, that's what I always say, *wink-wink*).

So...in the end we all did live...
Happily Ever After,
Dylan

Scrap Challenge Day 7--Completing the Layout for "Day in the Life of Mom"

If you've stuck with me, you already have a gorgeous two-page layout featuring YOU, the Mom, on Mother's Day. Finally, you've made a guest appearance in the scrapbooks you create!

Today's double-page layout is about a day in your life--just an average, everyday, day. As much as you think, "Oh, I'll remember my schedule," five years from now, you won't. It'll be different. And when you flip through the scrapbook containing this layout, feel free to email me and tell me how much you appreciate the challenge this week!

This may take a bit longer than the other challenges, depending on how fancy you want to get with it.

Supplies:

• Pictures printed from Day 4 of the challenge
• Ephemera gathered
• Journaling pen
• Adhesive
• Trimmer
• White gel pen, if desired
• Pictures of a clock--this can be stamped, a big clock chipboard (like the one I used), or go to Google images, type in "clock face" and print one of the hundred or so there. I used a cut piece from a piece of patterned paper for the one on the right side of the layout.
• Stickers, frames, clock hands, rub-ons, bling, etc.--amazingly, I didn't use any flowers on this one, but you could easily incorporate that.

Directions:
1.   I printed most of my pictures in wallet, which allowed me to fit more onto the page. But I did print two in 4x6 (punching bag pictures, and the one with my girls playing outside that I ended up trimming slightly to fit).
2.   Lay out your pictures and memorabilia in a ray pattern from the clock at the center. If you want to split the clock in two (half on the left side of the layout, and half on the right), that would work, as well. Basically, this will depend on how many pictures/ephemera you are including on the layout. Here is my layout before embellishments:
3.   I used number and letter stickers in each photo, and then journaled the rest of what was happening at that time of the day by hand. I hate my handwriting, but is is mine. And the layout is all about me, so I figured it was appropriate for once for me to write longhand.
4.   Find a title that works for your day. Since my layout is all about my favorite day of the week (Tuesday--the only day I don't have to take kids into school and have more time to write), my title was "I (heart) My Tuesdays."
5.   I tried to go through my stash of mismatched things to use on the layout. So I have a felt scroll-work embellishment that was a leftover from a past layout, clock hands from a broken clock, and miscellaneous bits and pieces I've held onto when the rest of the pack was gone. Use a mixture of number and letter sticker fonts--great way to use up letters and numbers you have leftover from previous layouts.

That's it! My only other advice is to tell it like it is. One of my favorite parts of the day is when the kids go to bed, and my husband and I have time together. Not a great "Mommy" thing of me to say, but true nonetheless. We have so little time alone together that these few minutes are precious.

Good luck and thanks for sticking with me during this week of scrapping YOUR life as a Mom...

Happily Ever After,
Dylan

Are you just joining in? Here are the links to the previous Mother's Day challenges--you're not behind! We'll wait for you to catch up.

Day 6: Completing the Mother's Day Card Layout
Day 5: Journaling about YOU from Your Kids

Day 4: Capturing a Day in the Life of Mom

Day 3: First Page of Mother's Day Card Layout

Day 2: Journaling Pros and Cons of Motherhood
Day 1: Mother's Day Challenge

Rockin' Date Night

For Those About to Rock...Please Puke the Other Way

My husband and I love rock concerts. Heavy Metal, Hard Rock--we love music where the bass is so loud, it pumps your heart for you. Where mosh pits offer up more chipped teeth than an NHL hockey game, and the band will actually call you out if you happen to sit at any point during their face-melting onslaught.

Mike and I have attended rock concerts together for over two decades.  (Full list at the end of this blog.) Together, we've seen over 25 bands--some of them multiple times.

We have enough concert tees to make at one kick-*ss (and all black) tee-shirt quilt.

Recently, my husband bought us tickets to the 98 RockFest in Tampa, cleverly supporting my goal of injecting more fun into our date nights together. And because I want you to rock your  Happily  Ever After, I have compiled these concert rules from my years of attending rock concerts. You're welcome!

UNWRITTEN HARD ROCK CONCERT RULES:

1. Wardrobe: Wear black. Preferably a concert tee from the band to show you're a real fan. However, don't buy the tee-shirt there, and put it on over what you wore to the concert. Because then you look like you're trying too hard. And you're so not fooling anyone.

• Stripper clothing is a rock concert staple. Seemingly for every body type. I've seen fishnet stockings restrain massive amounts of cellulite--it's like beholding a wondrous concert night miracle.
• Only wimps wear ear protection. Part of the rock experience is partial deafness. If you don't have a few hours of tinnitus after the show, you didn't rock hard enough.
•  If you have a tattoo or piercing (besides your ears), it is expected that you will wear something that reveals that body part. Just to show how bad-*ss you are. 

2. Smart Phone Musts: Bring your cell so you can take your picture at the concert and immediately post it to Facebook. Before you go, upload the flashlight app,too. That way you'll  find your freaking keys when you drop them trying to get your phone out so you can update your Facebook status.

3. Head-Banging: I've never been a very good head-banger. Some people thrash their heads around and look cool doing it. Me...not so much. Do it in front of a trusted, sober friend before trying this at a concert.

4. Being Groped &/or Cat-Called is part of the experience. Apparently. Happens to me every damn concert. You'll just be winding through a crowd of people and bam! Someone grabs your *ss. I used to get really offended. But now that I'm over 40, I try and take it as a compliment. Oh, I still turn around and try and catch the offender, my ninja hands up. But now I keep in mind that the alternative--when nobody wants to grope you because  you're too old and gnarly--might be worse. 

And finally, the most important rule of them all...

Age doesn't matter on this one. At 98RockFest, a 60 year old in front of us had 12 too many brewskis. He'd already broken so many rules, I should have known he'd make this last infraction something of a finale. He wore a plain, dark blue tee-shirt that covered up most of his faded upper arm tat, and jeans so crisp, you could smell "Eau de WalMart" rows away.

Clear infraction of Rule #1.

He had no cell, and his head-banging looked more like he was slowly agreeing with a silent conversation. Which, considering his state of intoxication, was probably the case.

Rule 2 & 3--broken.

I gotta give the guy credit for Rule #4, as he was ardently groping his girlfriend (gaggingly his younger by a good 15 years). But I could've misconstrued his lascivious intent. He may have been searching for a hand-hold as he swayed on his geriatric feet, and her *ss provided ample leverage.

And Rule #5. He waited until Shinedown's ballad, "45" for that one, the old romantic! Lucky for the  SweetTart he was with, he gave her one last butt-squeeze, and then leaned over the seat in front of him. Shinedown was loud enough to drown out the retching as he yarked his guts out.

His girlfriend turned to us, grinned and shrugged her shoulders as if to say, "It's a rock concert. Whaddya gonna do?"

Indeed.

The puke cascaded harmlessly down the two empty blue stadium seats in front of him--incidentally, the only two empty seats in that row. Another rock concert miracle! And the guy kept the most sacred of all rules:

5. For Those About to Rock...Please Puke the Other Way.

Rockin' my Happily Ever After,
Dylan

Want to see another amazing Date Night Idea? Click here for Date Night/Fight Night.

Curious to compare your rock concert attendance with my own? Click on the "more" below and check out previous date night concerts we've attended.