Posts Tagged With: funny

~ Maryland Task Force One ~

Posted on November 3, 2012 by mamaboe

Here’s the thing.  I’m a writer.  Ipso Facto, I have boatloads of imagination and creativity.  Sure, I use obscure Latin phrases inappropriately to sound smarter than I really am, but that doesn’t change the fact that I have boatloads of imagination.  It certainly comes in handy when I’m writing heavily exaggerated to the point of absolute falsehood in order for it to be funny  stories.

But it doesn’t come in handy when I’m home alone waiting by the phone, or computer, or toilet, to hear from My Captain when he is deployed on a rescue mission.  My Captain is the Rescue Manager for Maryland Task Force One’s deployment to New York and New Jersey for Hurricane Sandy…aka Frankenstorm.  I haven’t seen him for a week.

This is nothing to military wives, I realize.  But guess what I ain’t, and never signed up for?

That’s right.  Being a military wife.

I just don’t have the patience or fortitude to live life constantly waiting.   I hate waiting.  I’m the one who stands in front of the microwave, yelling at her instant oatmeal, “HURRY!”    I sure as hell could never be a military wife.

So when My Captain gets deployed for Urban Search and Rescue…whether it be a collapse rescue as when he served at the Oklahoma City Bombing, or at the Pentagon, or in Mississippi during Katrina…I squirm.  I cringe.  I whine.

He left on Saturday for work at the firehouse at 5:30 am.  He worked a full shift, and the next day, his rescue team got activated ahead of the storm.

Then came Frankenstorm, unleashing all its Hell and Fury.  We had purchased a generator ahead of time because we always, ALWAYS lose power during big storms.

Guess what I never lost?

That’s right, power.  Why?  Because we bought the generator.

So listen, he’s gone from last Saturday on, right?  The storm comes.  I’m feverishly bailing out parts of the basement that are leaking.   I’m mitigating the flow of water around the mud pit.  I’m filling water bottles and putting candles everywhere in case I need them.  I’m eating everything in the fridge.

Not because I had to, more because it was, well, there.

My munchkins were at their Dad’s house, because it’s made of brick, not straw like mine.  (I obviously was never read The Three Little Pigs as a child. )

And that is when it kicked in.

My Awe Inspiring (to me, anyways) Imagination.

In all its glory.

I began imagining My Captain in all kinds of debacles.  I began to see him drowning in some flash flood in the middle of Long Island, calling my name ever so romantically before he went under for the last time.  I began to picture him being mauled by a pack of angry, starving looters in Queens.  And with his dying breath, he whispered, “Just tell her I loved her.”  I saw him getting run over  and trampled to death by his own men and women as they raced to the mess tent for their ration of hot Spam.

Really, I can’t be left alone for long periods of time.  It’s just not healthy for me, frankly.

Last night….Thursday!….I finally had a chance to talk to him in detail of where they were and how they were.

Turns out they are ok.  Tired.  Fairly battle-weary.  Frustrated.  But essentially, Ok.

He told me bits and pieces of his last few days, and I listened.  I heard of the mess and the challenge ahead of those states as they rebuild.  I heard of the strength and perseverance of the people there and the team that went with him.  I heard the fatigue in his voice.

And then he asked me how my week had been.

“I think some acorns dented my car!”  Was all I could come up with.  My life is, as ever, incredibly mundane.  If it were not for my verging-on-diagnosable-in-the-field-of-psychology imagination, I’m not sure I’d survive it.

Turns out he needed a little mundanity.  A little something to ground him.  Something to reset his compass.

Oh don’t worry, I didn’t inundate him.  I didn’t tell him about the cat puke I stepped in this afternoon, or the way I stapled one of the fourth grade bulletin boards in my son’s classroom so perfectly, or the infinitely interesting details of my shopping trip for Varmint’s friend, Alexis’, birthday gift.

I’m saving those little nuggets for when he comes home.

Categories: Fire and Rescue, Urban Search and Rescue | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

~ Is Something Burning? ~

Posted on October 22, 2012 by mamaboe

We were at our new friend’s house tonight.  They had bought a wonderful hundred-year-old farm-house on a few acres, complete with a big red barn worthy of any children’s book.  (Go find The Big Red Barn if you have never read it.  Then come back to this post and go “AH!”)

It was a cool, crisp, clear night…one that was supposed to be full of shooting stars due to a rare meteor shower.   All of us had lifted our eyes to the stars, sipping Hot Cider that Jackie and Dave had ever-so-kindly warmed for us in a Dutch Oven over the bonfire.  The dogs were out running around the barnyard with Critter and Jeremy and Jesse.  Varmint and her friend Julia cuddled near and were, like us, searching the night sky.

The crickets chirped and sang.

Wood smoke wafted through the air.

And then…

“AUGH!!!”  Varmint rocked back too far in her campchair trying to better see the sky, and fell (as my Dad would say) ‘ass-over-teakettle’.  All we could see were her feet flailing wildly in the air as we gasped and laughed.

And then…

“AUAUAUAUAAHAHHGHGHGH!”

In her descent, Varmint’s chair had caught the camp table behind her…… the table that held the hot dogs and condiments and cider.  And it was all slowly dumping on top of her!

My Captain rushed over to help her.  Jackie and David rushed over to help her.  Even the dogs rushed over to….well, I think they were in truth looking for the fallen hot dogs….but me, I sat where I had been, laughing so loudly and forcefully, it caused my rump to sing.  (That’s polite-talk for ‘fart’.)

Which made me laugh harder. … because I’m immature and love potty-humor.

Don’t judge.

They got her up, brushed her off, and got all the furniture set to rights.  Varmint was, as always, a good sport and I was very proud of her behavior!

But something didn’t smell right.

At first, of course, I figured it was me.  I mean, I was the one who had just had the singing-butt.

But the smell didn’t dissipate.

In fact, the fart stench started to smell like a burnt fart stench.

I glanced down at the fire.  There, in the middle of the blaze, was one of Dave’s fireproof gloves.  It had evidently gotten tossed into the fire in the fray and frenzy of Varmint’s upending.

And, er, it turns out that, well……

They ain’t so fireproof.

They had burned.  Everyone started saying things like, “I WONDERED what that smell was!”  and I was relieved no one actually pointed at me.

Now, what I want to know is this: What in tarnation is in those fire-RETARDANT (because fire-proof they surely are not,) gloves to make them smell like the fart of a middle-aged soccer mom?  Or, conversely, what is in my rectum that makes my fluffies smell like burning fire-retardant-treated leather?

Someone figure it out and get back to me, please.

Thank you.

Categories: Fire and Rescue, Urban Search and Rescue | Tags: , , , , | 1 Comment

~ Parental Chaperone From Hell ~

Posted on September 12, 2012 by mamaboe

Through a process entirely unknown to me, I find myself signed up for a three day/two night John Poole Middle School outdoor education camp…and I’m going as….get this….a parent chaperone.

BAaahahahaahAHAAHAahaahahahaAHAAHAHAAaa!

I don’t honestly know how it happened.  It was a blur.  My friend….or at least, I thought she was my friend, Wendy, cajoled and flattered and finagled me into it somehow.

I’m not speaking to her ever again.

Or at least until I see her again. And even then, only if she is bearing coffee and chocolate for me.

I think she said something along the lines of, “You’ll be so good for the kids!  Your daughter needs you there!  It will be good for you to make new friends!  There will be s’mores!”

I heard this: “Yada, yada, yada, blah, blah, blah, S’mores.”

And the next thing I knew I was signed up.  Committed.

My Captain, the love of my life, said he would come too, without hesitation.  Not because he isn’t already SERIOUSLY over-committed.  Not because he relishes the idea of a complete and total lack of privacy for three days.  And not because he is crazy, though the thought crossed my mind.

He is doing it because he loves my kids. He’s doing it because he loves other kids…all kids.  He is doing it because he is driven to teach and model and encourage.  He is entirely selfless.   He is doing it because he is truly, honestly, sincerely a hero in every way.  Yes, he is a hero as a firefighter and paramedic.  Yes, he’s a hero as a rescue technician for the Urban Search and Rescue Maryland Task Force One’s Collapse Rescue Team.  But for an infinitely more important reason, he’s a hero because he has an enormous heart.   No one had to cajole him into this venture.

Me?

I’m in it for the S’mores.

Categories: Family | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

~ Critter Vs The Rooster ~

Posted on July 24, 2012 by mamaboe

We are taking care of chickens this week.  For a friend. A friend who thinks we are responsible and trustworthy.  A friend who thinks enough of my children to invite us into this wonderfully fowl world of hers.

So we gather eggs.  We change water.  We spread calcium pellets.  We scatter feed.

We watch out for the resident black snakes who are known to show up from time to time.

And we avoid the rooster.

The Rooster.

THE Rooster.

Let me tell you something, my critter is not a calm child.  He is a bundle of energy, full of impulse and joy.

Roosters, apparently, do not appreciate these qualities in a human caretaker.

We had finished up the work and egg gathering portion of our visit this morning, and were embarking on our talking-to-the-hens portion, when Critter, in his usual exuberant fashion, bounded from the door of the barn to the coop.  The Rooster, who was coming in the exact opposite direction, took umbrage to this and attacked Critter’s calf.

There was horrible squawking.  There was gut-wrenching crying.  There was blood.

Fortunately, My Captain had come with us this morning, and hightailed Critter to our car and it’s very-oft used first-aid kit.  Critter’s wound had to be well cleaned because Rooster claws are full of, well, CRAP.  Nasty, bacteria-ridden chicken crap.

Varmint and I stayed at the coop and calmed all the occupants down, with a watchful eye on The Rooster From Hell, otherwise known as RFH.   Frankly, it was already business as usual to them.  Even the RFH, who simply strutted and cocked around like “That’s right!  And there’s more where THAT came from!”

Critter eventually stopped crying and asked me in the most pitiful voice I’ve ever heard him use if we could boil the eggs we gathered this morning so he could eat them for lunch.

“That would make me feel a lot better, Mom.  It would serve him right, too.”

I guess the lesson here is that revenge isn’t best served cold.  It’s best served Hard Boiled.

Categories: Family | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

~ Varmint and Critter and The Bee ~

Posted on April 25, 2012 by mamaboe

What a weird evening.  I spent it at a spelling bee.

Both of my children entered the Monocacy Elementary School Spelling Bee.  Both of them made it to Finals.  Both of them made it to the winner’s circle.  Varmint got 3rd, and Critter got 2nd.

Understand something….let me be VERY CLEAR:   If it were not for Spellcheck, you would not be able to discern half of the words I write on Mama Boe.

Clearly they got their orthographizing talents from their father.

I was not looking for an entertaining evening.  I mean, let’s face it, I’ve gone from exciting nights out on the town in my 20’s to an evening at the elementary school spelling bee in my 40’s. I really did not have high expectations for the evening.

But talk about excitement! Holy. Stinkin. Moly! It was more stressful than going to the racetracks.  I mean, I was on the edge of my friggin’ seat.  And to have BOTH of my kids going head to head on the stage…there isn’t enough Xanax in the world for that kind of pressure.

Varmint got taken out by the word ‘Cemetery’.  Critter got taken out by the word ‘Stomach’.  Neither one of them will ever ever ever spell those words incorrectly again, that I can promise you.

And then at the end of the evening, the school had a raffle.  One of the prizes was “Vice Principal for the day.”  Critter won it, and was overjoyed.

Before we left, I asked Varmint how she felt.  She was pleased that she had given it a try, and pleased that she had gotten to the winner’s circle.  I could tell that she was a little disappointed, though.  I had watched her study the word lists, and watched her nerves and hopes throughout the process.  She was a real trooper and doing her best to be mature about not winning first place.

Then I asked Critter how he felt. He said it was good that he got Second place, because red is his favorite color and that was the color of the medal around his neck, but what he was REALLY psyched about was winning Vice-Principal for the day.

So, let me get this straight:  He survived longer than all but one of the many contestants on the stage after several gruelling rounds of spelling bee, but what he was most proud of for the evening was winning a raffle? Winning a game of chance?

I thought Varmint was going to punch him for sure.

It’s a good thing he’s fast.

Categories: Family | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

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