The One Where Emzy Made Halftime NOT a Family Show

If you know Emzy or myself, there's a good chance you are aware that we were both in marching band throughout high school and college. You are probably also aware that Emzy is not well endowed in the hips and rear end region. I'm not saying she doesn't have them. They just aren't very big. So when she went off to be a college girl, she wasn't exactly ready for the Racer Band uniforms they had at the time. They consisted of pants with suspenders, a jacket, a ruffled dickie, and a cummerbun. Very classic. But not very functional.

Picture a college football stadium on Homecoming day. The stands were packed. There was this part in one of the songs where all the flute players ran to the front sideline and grabbed cymbals (I mean really, what's the point of a flute in a marching band anyway?!?). Somewhere between the middle of the field and the sideline, Emzy's suspenders broke. And down came her pants, just like London Bridge.

With almost 200 people on the field, I'm not sure how many people noticed. But I noticed. And that's what's important.

The One Where Emzy Came Back from Sabbatical

It was just a week or so ago when I was talking to Emzy about how she was all spent up. Nothing on her level of ridiculous has happened recently and I was beginning to worry that I was already out of current material before I even really started. I was trying to console myself and come to terms that this blog was doomed to retelling stories of years past. She was on a seemingly permanent sabbatical from the crazy life. I was beginning to feel the walls closing in.

And then Emzy brought pizza over for dinner tonight.

Not just any pizza. It's Pat's Pizza, which to my knowledge is only available in the Baltimore AREAand points east of it. And what a shame that is, because Pat's is AMAZING. I'm pretty sure they put crack cocaine in the sauce, because whenever I eat a piece, it's like I neeeeeeed another piece, or I might just die.

So after we consumed enough pizza to ensure that we would one day be standing up at a Pat's Pizza Anonymous meeting, we turned the TV on to find one of those shows about hoarding. You know, the kind where people find carcasses amid the debris belonging to pets they thought were long lost in the woods or are so buried in their own excrement they failed to realize they even still own a toilet.

And then, out of nowhere, Emzy starts yelling about her foot, her toe, her ankle, how something isn't right. At first I couldn't tell if she was serious. She was making this sound that you can't really tell if it's laughing or crying. I like to call it the "tickle-hurt." Like when you bang your funny bone on the door frame and you want to laugh and cry all at once. She says that she can't move her second toe, it's having a muscle spasm.

Okay. Who has muscle spasms in their toes?!?! Emzy does!

I didn't know what to do to help, so I tried massaging it, like Mom and Dad used to do whenever we had charlie horses in the middle of the night (there's a funny story there about how I inadvertently dropped the F-bomb to my mom, but this blog isn't about me...). Whenever I touched her second toe, especially the base of it, she started screaming bloody murder. We went on like this for about five minutes, with me asking if she needed to go see a doctor. She couldn't make a decision so she told me to call Mom.

SOOOOO I get Mom on the phone and ask her what we should do...walk in clinic or emergency room. And she treats it like a multiple choice test and answered with, "that's the emergency room, right?" Which is what I thought, since Emzy was still screaming like she was being attacked by an axe murderer. I am actually quite surprised the neighbors didn't come over to check or at least call the police for a domestic disturbance. It was basically out of control.

After a while it was over and she went back to having full control of her lower extremity. And I was speechless. Not to mention KINDA freaked out. But also kind of excited....cause Emzy's BACK!

The One Where Emzy Got "Bullied"

Two of our many formative years were spent living with our mother at her parents' house in rural Arkansas while our father was in Army flight school in Alabama. The rules have since changed, but at the time, pilots-in-training (my term, not the Army's) were not permitted to reside with their families during their initial training. So we lived a charmed life of playing outside with the random array of farm animals that Daddy B kept in the back yard and letting our imaginations run wild, creating one fantasy after the next, and usually while wearing nothing but underwear and wellies (known to most of the world as galoshes).

This story particularly revolves around the animals of the bovine persuasion at Penrivendell (that's the name my grandmother gave to their home - I'm not sure where she got it, but if you recall the Elven city of Rivendell in The Lord of the Rings trilogy, it means, "the last homely home"). There were three altogether - a bull and two cows. One cow was named Heiffer and the other two didn't have official names. It wasn't long after our arrival that Emzy and I took it upon ourselves to give them some, though.

While I like to think that we were very creative during our playtime, we failed miserably at creative animal names. What I am about to say is almost as bad as naming your cat Kitty or your dog Barker. The bull at Penrivendell was kind of mean and was always busting through the fence, leaving Daddy B with and endless bull wrangling and fence patching. In fact, I'm pretty sure that it was in hanging out with him while he fixed the fence that I learned my first swear words. Anyway, because of his mean streak and the fact that he was a bull, we bestowed upon him the name Bully. I promise this story gets better.

The nameless cow was a bit of a genetic oddity. It is a well known fact [I believe] that horns on cows are not overly common. Not unheard of, but not an everyday occurrence. And since Heiffer didn't have any horns, we thought the obvious name for this cow was Horny. Go ahead and laugh. First because it's hilarious. And second because our parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and every other adult around just played along as if nothing was remotely funny about the name we chose for her. And I don't blame them one bit. I mean, who wants to explain to a three year old and a six year old that Horny isn't an appropriate name for the cow in the back yard? Nobody!

It wasn't too much longer until we found out that Horny was expecting a baby calf (and with a name like that, who would be surprised?!?!?). Emzy and I absolutely could not agree on a suitable name for the little critter. Finally, a compromise had to be reached. We agreed that if it was a girl, Emzy would choose the name. And if it was a boy, I would get to choose. So Emzy picked out the name Buttercup. It really is cute. There's a part of me that, to this day, is a little saddened that the calf was a boy. And I was completely unprepared. So on the fly I named it Little John Bull, after Daddy B, whose name is John. I am also pretty certain that there is a small part of Emzy that hasn't completely forgiven me either.

But of course there came a time when the bovines had to go. We never really knew what happened to Heiffer, although we assume she died. She was always there, and then she just wasn't. Daddy B had found a farmer down the road to take Bully, Horny, and Little John Bull. They were getting to be too much work, too much money, and too many fence repairs. So the farmer backed his trailer into the yard. I remember being outside playing in my own world when Mom told me to come inside while they loaded up. Emzy, being all grown up at the ripe age of 7, wanted to stand by the pool and watch. She promised that she would stand very still on one of the support beams and wouldn't get in the way. Mom, and I stood by the back door while Auntie Jane video taped the proceedings through the window. (How fancy were we with a video camera in 1989?!?)

Horny and Little John Bull walked right on into the trailer without a problem. They had a little trouble getting Bully in the trailer, but they managed. Except once he was in he decided he didn't like it much. He snapped the gate right off the back of that trailer and took off charging around the pool, straight for Emzy. When she realized that there was over two thousand pounds of angry bull coming in her direction, she hopped down and hightailed it for the house. It was like a scene from a movie. I guess it kind of was since it was caught on camera...but I digress. Mom opened the door just in time for Emzy to squeeze in, slammed the big door, and then we looked around at each other in disbelief. I distinctly remember telling them to lock the door. As if a standard doorknob lock was going to keep Bully from charging the door.

Luckily he had other plans in mind. He kept avoiding all the guys in the back yard who were trying to wrangle him and get him back in the trailer and off to his new home. But at this point, Horny and Little John Bull decided they didn't want to miss out on the party. They lumbered out of the trailer and joined in the chaos. Daddy B and the farmers from down the road ended up having to lead them on foot to their new homes. This might have been the first time I recall asking, "Is this real life?"

The One Where Emzy DIDN'T Have to Clean the Whole House

For the first three years we lived in Colorado, Emzy and I rode the bus to school. But then she had to get all grown up and move on to middle school....the middle school that was just behind our house. Needless to say, she walked to and from school for sixth grade.

On the third day of the school year, Mom watched through the kitchen window as Emzy limped home. Upon her arrival, she asked Mom to wrap up her foot. But as soon as she started, Emzy screamed bloody murder and said she needed to go to the emergency room.

Now, Emzy might be overly dramatic at all times, but when she asks to go to the doctor, you know it's serious. For example, a few years ago she passed out in the shower while I was visiting her in Baltimore for spring break. When I insisted that she go to the emergency room she said, and I quote, "You don't know how to get there and I don't have to tell you." It wasn't until I threatened to call an ambulance that she couldn't afford that she became a little more cooperative.

But back to middle school. Mom had been cleaning the house and getting ready for some sort of Army Wife get-together the following day. And when Emzy asked to go to the ER, Mom (in what I'm sure she would say today is not one of her most shining motherly moments) said, "Emily Jane, if that foot isn't broken you are going to clean this whole house!" Might not be a shining Mommy moment, but I still think it's hilarious.

Because it turns out that her foot actually WAS broken. So Emzy didn't clean the house and spent the next few weeks awkwardly hopping along on crutches. But within the next 14 months Emzy managed to fall and get herself back on crutches twice more. Once while trying to catch a lizard a week before we left Colorado and again at the church Halloween party a few months after we moved to Alaska.

So you may not think this story is overly hilarious. Just wait. You see, the reason she fell in the first place on her way home from school as that she wasn't paying attention to where she was walking and stepped in a hole. Why wasn't she paying attention you ask? Because she was busy singing, "I like big butts and I cannot lie......."

The One Where Emzy Wore the Yoga Top

I can't even decide where to begin on this one. It is one of the most epic of Emzy's tales. But I'll take my cue from Fraulein Maria and start at the very beginning. Which is, of course, a very good place to start.

This story dates back to the summer of 2007. Both Emzy and I were working at camp - me for the summer and she for her full time job. During the week of staff orientation, we had a special evening that we cleverly named "Staff Fun Night." This year we went all out and rented a blow up jousting arena and water slide. I even bought an ice cream cone costume to wear while handing out various ice cream novelties. Kind of cannibalistic now that I think about it....

But anyway. Somewhere throughout the course of the evening, it started to rain. It went from torrential downpour that's perfect for summer-playing-in-the-rain to a light sprinkle and every level in between. And since I love playing in the rain, I was quite content. I hadn't planned on going on the water slide since I had just finished college and lost my health insurance (thanks a lot, Tricare...what an awesome graduation gift!) so I clearly didn't want to chance an injury. But I was already wet from the rain so why not?!?

And as it turns out I quite loved the slide. I couldn't get enough. Which is why I kind of missed the commotion that ensued. While I was waiting in line to climb back up the slide, Emzy went down the slide in tandem with one of the Australian girls. As the other girl went to stand up, her knee came up right into Emzy's chin. Emzy stood up and stumbled a little before proclaiming that she was dizzy.

If you've ever met her, you know that she's a tad bit dramatic, especially when it comes to illness and injury. But it wasn't long before I realized that this time, it was for real. I mean honestly though, ONLY EMZY would end up needing an ambulance from a BLOW UP WATERSLIDE. So this was slightly scary for me but also mildly amusing. Cause although Emzy is overly dramatic when she is hurt or ill, she doesn't want anyone to help make her better either.

So she was fighting off the EMTs and trying to tell them that she really was gonna be okay..she just needed to go to bed. HELLO CONCUSSION! One of the counselors ran to the cabin to get me dry clothes and a change of clothes for her and we were loaded up in the ambulance and on our way.

They didn't wait long before they allowed me back into the trauma room. Em was in and out of consciousness but relatively lucid when she was awake. The exact details of the hours we spent there are kind of fuzzy, but what I remember most is the following conversation when it came time to get her out of her wet clothes and off to radiology:

Nurse: Okay Emiy, we might have to cut off your clothes - is that okay?

Emzy: My shorts should come off easy. You can cut off my shirt. It's just a yoga top.

Nurse: Alright we'll see if we need to.

Emzy: Really it's okay - it's just one of those yoga tops. I only paid $3 for it.

Nurse: Okay - what about your swimsuit?

Emzy: Oh, no - you can't cut that - it's expensive. But my yoga top is not. You can cut that if you need to.

Me: Really Em?! Mom will buy you a new swimsuit if they have to cut it.

Emzy: But I don't want a new one - they can cut of the yoga top. It's just a yoga top. I don't really need the yoga top. But I have to keep the swimsuit.

Nurse: I think we'll be okay, Emily.

Emzy: Okay but it's really just a yoga top. It's okay if it doesn't last.

ENOUGH ALREADY WITH THE YOGA TOP....WE GET IT!!! That was my internal monologue.

And seriously. Only Emzy would be simultaneously concussed and concerned with educating the world on what kind of shirt she was wearing.

Oh, and then we went to Sheetz on the way back to camp. Yummy.

The One Where Emzy Sliced the Mangoes

Today I hosted a Pampered Chef party. We had a fabulous time and ate a lot of delicious food. I spent last night and the majority of this morning prepping the food. Which I absolutely love doing. It's kind of my secret (not anymore) life dream to be a caterer. But one thing I'm not so good at is cutting up mangoes. They are just super tricky.

And since I don't eat a whole lot of mango, I'm not so skilled in them. Emzy, on the other hand, L-O-V-E-S mango. So she is quickly becoming a professional mango slicer. Knowing that she had to take an online test today for the anatomy class she is taking, I didn't want to ask her to do a whole lot. So the only food-related thing I asked her to do was slice mangoes.

She got out of the shower and was wandering around in her towel. I reminded her that I really needed her to slice the mangoes. She asked if she had to be dressed to do so and I responded with the sentiment that it didn't make a difference to me what she was wearing as long as she got them sliced so I could finish making the sweet lemon stuffed taquitos.

I guess she decided that it was a good idea to go ahead and slice them before getting dressed. She was moving along nicely and I decided to take a quick sit-down break until she was finished. As I was sitting in the living room with Garrett, we hear, "crap crap crap!" followed by, "don't come in the kitchen!" This made Garrett sneak a peek into the kitchen only to realize that her towel had fallen to the floor.

Awkward.

But it gets better. Because after the mango was sliced, she was still wandering around in her towel. Mostly because she was in the midst of telling a story. And then I hear Garrett say, "Emily, towel. TOWEL!" Yep, you guessed it. She was flashing her nether regions to the world. But luckily at that moment the world only consisted of me and Garrett. Needless to say she went and got dressed quick, fast, and in a hurry!

The One Where Emzy Made French Bread

As if freshman year of high school isn't painfully awkward enough already.

If you know Emzy today, you would probably never believe what I am about to tell you. She started learning French in the seventh grade and by high school was well on her way to being a fluent speaker. By the end of her junior year she had developed quite a talent for the language, but if you ask her she'll never admit. Just like she will never let on that she was a very adept flutist at one point in life.

But I digress.

As a freshman, Emzy was already in French II. Which is cool from a proud little sister's perspective. But from where she sat, she was the only freshman in a class full of sophomores, juniors, and seniors. And when it came time for a group project, I think she was equal parts excited and terrified. You see, Emzy is one of those people who is happiest breezing through life unnoticed by others. She prefers to go about her business without drawing attention to herself. And she is still embarrassed if my voice and laughter get a little on the loud side in public.

The class project was to work together to make a traditional French meal, share it with the class, and talk about it in class. In French, obviously. I don't really know what the other kids in her group made, but Emzy was tasked with making French bread. She was standing with her group in front of the class, having memorized her lines and waiting her turn to speak.

It is this point in the story when I wish I had also been a student in the class. The presentation was going along smoothly. The other students were occasionally stumbling over their words, I'm sure. And all of a sudden it starts raining French bread. Because Emzy was standing there, nervous as hell, and next thing she knows, she's on the floor and there are pieces of bread EVERYWHERE.

Like I said....as if freshman year isn't awkward enough already.