With my naked eyes...

Over the holidays, my husband's and my performance schedule required some crazy schedule juggling and my taking kids to babysitters (or waiting for babysitters to arrive). While my girls are great sports, unusual schedules take their toll on the best of us so I tried to move us quickly from one event to the next without rushing. Unfortunately, my most careful planning didn't leave a lot of time for me to primp before concerts.

So, I would run into the bathroom before each show and put on some makeup. One night, I quickly curled my eyelashes and reached up to stroke them with the mascara wand. Whoops! I missed. Hm. Strange. I swiped and missed again. Uh-oh. I began to experience an uncomfortable sensation in the pit of my stomach. Then, I looked closely in the mirror.

"OH-MY-WORD!"

There were no eyelashes in the middle of my left eye! I grabbed the eyelash curler and looked at it. Yup. I hadn't pulled out one or two eyelashes but ALL SIX of the eyelashes in the middle of my lid! All right, so I didn't have that many lashes to begin with - the loss of them was still profound. I realized I'd forgotten to clean the curler the last time I used it. Ok, let me be honest. I'm not very good at cleaning this tool at all, let alone each time I use it. But, I didn't have time to feel badly for too long because I had to go to my concert. So, I threw my stuff back in my makeup bag and left.

As if this wasn't bad enough, the next night at another concert, I repeated my quick turnaround and makeup routine. If you can believe it, I pulled out the same curler and proceeded to rip the eyelashes out of my other eye! I couldn't believe it. In a day, I'd managed to forget the horrible experience of the preceding night and completely decimate what remaining lashes I had! I looked in the mirror and assessed the damage. My eyes looked - naked - but at least they matched.

I'll leave it to you to decide what the moral of this story should be. Be happy with my eyelashes without curling them?  Clean the curler? Leave more time to primp? Or, be willing to set new trends with bald eyes?

Regardless, I am happy to report that slowly but surely, my eyelashes are growing back.

Oh Horatio...save us!

When I was about six months pregnant with my first daughter (read: hormone-filled and more than a little sleep deprived!), my in-laws asked my husband and me to house sit and watch their dog while they vacationed. We gladly obliged. It was near Christmas. Their house was already decorated for the occasion and presents were under the tree.

The two of us enjoyed a nice dinner together and a few shows on the big screen TV. (That would be any TV bigger than our 13” model). Then, tired, we took the little dogs out one last time and went to bed. After a few hours, we were wakened by voices and the sound of packages being ripped apart in the living room. Our dogs were barking like crazy.

We called 911. The operator told us to stay on the line and in our room. Within two minutes, three police cars squealed up in front of the house “Rockford” style. We looked out the window to see officers approaching the house, guns drawn with their flashlights out – just like on CSI. It was really impressive and totally cool. The police helicopter arrived moments later and beamed a huge light over the area – in case the “perps” tried to escape. Meanwhile, my husband and I moved his parents’ HUGE dresser in front of the bedroom door to prevent the possibility of a hostage situation.

After a few moments, the 911 operator said the house was secure, officers were inside and that we could open our bedroom door to admit them. Of course, we had to ask them to wait a minute while we moved the giant dresser AWAY from the door! It took a lot longer to remove it than it had taken to put it there.

When we opened the door, the officers confirmed that we were safe. We went into the living room with them, where they’d discovered the perpetrator. The source of the voices we’d heard was – the TV we’d forgotten to turn off! And the rustling packages? A mylar balloon that had become tangled in a ceiling fan. The officers also pointed out that a back door was unlocked and that we shouldn’t leave it that way.

Oh. My. Word.

After sheepishly thanking the police for their time, we made a pact NEVER to reveal this humiliating story to anyone! Imagine my surprise a few years later when my father-in-law asked if I’d ever seen the police report from this incident. I tried to play dumb but he knew. We hadn’t counted on the neighbors on his block ratting us out.

I guess I'll never live this down - especially from those of my friends who are officers of the law. But, what’s the point of life if not to find the humor in it – even if it makes you look ridiculous?

A funny car story

Yesterday, I noticed my gas pedal in my car was not responding with its normal alacrity. With a sinking heart, I feared the worst. Would the money I JUST received from my tax return have to be spent on yet another car repair? As I drove it, I realized that the brake pedal seemed stiff as well – but the symptom came and went. I called our mechanic and he said to bring it in to the shop if I felt there was a problem.

This afternoon, I enlisted my mother-in-law's help in taking the car over to the repair shop. As we made our way there, I pondered a technical question. What would cause both pedals to behave so strangely all of a sudden? If it were only the brake, a master cylinder could be the culprit. However, clearly this was not the case. Suddenly, the thought came to me. What if the pedals were obstructed in some way? I looked down toward my feet and began to laugh. All my worry was for naught. The pedals were not broken, they were simply blocked by the FLOOR MAT which had become bunched underneath them. LOL! I was greatly relieved. It was a good laugh in the midst of a stressful day.