The jOYs of Life Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  The jOYs of Life

  Blurb

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

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  Note from Michelle Hoppe

  Excerpt

  It’s very quiet in the house right now. Hubby is off working, James is spending the day with friends playing football, the baby is sleeping, and all is right with the world.

  Well almost all is right with the world. Actually, it’s been raining cats and dogs; okay really big rain falls here in Washington. The dark clouds just keep rolling in and the rain keeps coming down. To think just two weeks ago I was complaining about the heat. Such is life when you live on the Washington coast.

  The local weather reporter reports it’s going to continue raining for several more days. I guess someone forget to tell Mother Nature it’s a holiday weekend. The reason I know it’s a holiday weekend is because of all the RVs and campers crawling past the house for the last twenty-four hours.

  The ‘rush to the beach’ traffic started at about noon yesterday and has continued through this morning. Families packed to the roof tops with BBQ equipment, footballs, sleeping bags, and if the local grocery store is any indication, lots and lots of junk food. Oh the planning, leaving work early, and driving; only to arrive on the local beach to watch rain drops hit the sand.

  What a great time for one and all.

  I cannot imagine a more relaxing way to spend the day then cooped up in a 6 x 10 trailer with three kids, singing in unison, “Mom, I’m bored! When is the rain going to stop?” Right!

  It’s easy to picture said mom, turning to dear old dad and hissing the following, “I told you this was a bad idea. We could be home, in our 2000 square foot house, with doors between us and them, but NO, you had to drag us out here.”

  “It’s ok honey, it’ll stop raining soon, I’m sure of it.”

  “Oh shut up and pass the cookies.”

  Ok I have to confess, I’ve only ever gone RVing once. It was with only one of our children, and it wasn’t raining. Therefore, I can only imagine what these families are doing in those trailers parked side by side, from this end of the beach to the other—six miles away. I’m just glad I’m not in one of them.

  If for some reason I had the desire to travel on a holiday weekend, gawd forbid, it would not be in a RV. Come to think of it, I would leave the kids at home if possible. No, my idea of a weekend away is a nice hotel room, preferably with a king size bed and room service. And depending on how my week was, I might even take hubby with me.

  So, my plan for the three day weekend is to do as little as possible that involves going out in the rain. I’ve rented a couple of movies to watch, I have a fresh pot of coffee, and if the mood strikes I might even eat some cookies. At least mine won’t have wet sand on them!

  You’ve heard of best laid plans?

  The jOYs of Life

  This Author’s Life, Book 1

  Michelle Hoppe

  Published 2016 by Book Boutiques.

  ISBN: 978-1-944003-49-4

  Copyright © 2016, Michelle Hoppe.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of Book Boutiques.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or events is wholly coincidental. The names, characters, dialogue, and events in this book are from the author’s imagination and should not to be construed as real.

  Manufactured in the USA.

  Email [email protected] with questions, or inquiries about Book Boutiques.

  Blurb

  “My life was a sort of series of random disasters.” Claire Tomalin

  I was blessed with the ability to view life through rose tinted glasses. This, along with a twisted sense of humor and a madcap home crew, who didn't always share my sense of humor, made my life more a series of random jOYs.

  This book details my life as a newbie author while also being a wife, mother, business owner, grandmother, and OMG single again! In the words of Erma Bombeck, “When humor goes, there goes civilization!” So, this comedy auto-biography is my contribution to the continuation of mankind--oops, personkind!

  Dedication

  To my family and friends who made these stories possible. Without you all in my life, I would not have had the OYs to become jOYs. Oh, and thanks to all of you for not making me change the names to protect the innocent.

  To Mike Feury, who years ago suggested I start an Author Life page and share my twisted take on life with the world. His encouragement, snarky responses, and brow beating were a driving force in getting this book done. Thanks Mike!

  Acknowledgement

  Editor: Theresa Fanchin

  Cover Artist: Valerie Tibbs, Tibbs Design

  Introduction

  In 1995, my husband and I uprooted our three children, much to their disgust, and moved them to the state of Washington. Our oldest daughter Nicole, age 13, was convinced we’d lost our minds and ruined her life. The middle child, also a daughter Renae, age 11, was at least open to the possibility that things might be okay as long as she got her own room in the new house. The youngest, a son James, age 3, didn’t really express his feelings in full sentences, he just wanted the front seat for the drive to our new home.

  All packed and ready to take the state of Washington by storm, we headed north and settled into small town life. Of course it didn’t take long for the kids to discover they were right, we had lost our minds. Not only did it rain…a lot…it was also very different living on the Washington coast versus the San Francisco Bay area. There were still bridges, although much smaller, and the ocean was still close, but colder! And if you had asked Nicole…life sucked.

  For me, life was definitely easier—no crowds, no traffic, no six hour commutes. But, there was also no opera, no ballet, and no symphony—I’d arrived on another planet. It was like Dorothy in the Wizard of OZ, we were no longer in Kansas. I remember telling my sister we’d discovered the point where the universe ends…and now lived 3 miles past that point.

  It took a few years to adjust. I didn’t grow webbed-feet, I learned to live without the annual theater season, and discovered I had time to indulge my passion for writing. When Renae graduated from high school, I finally had time to wear my fingers to the bone on a computer keyboard.

  My first romance novel was published in 2003 and in the following 4 years, 8 more books followed. It was during this time I started writing snippets about the daily craziness, also known as life in the Hoppe house, on my publisher’s forum in a thread called Author Life. It didn’t take long to build a following of fans waiting with bated breath for the next installment of football, life with a teenage boy in the house, grandchildren, marriage, and divorce. Over the next several years Author Life was a staple part of my writing diet. Many people told me I should put these stories into book form, and after some soul searching and discussions with my family and friends, to determine if I needed to change the names to protect the innocent, I decided to take their advice, and the jOYs of Life was born.

  It is my hope that by sharing these stories, people will see that humor can be found in most of the oy veys life dishe
s out; and if not, at least you can enjoy mine ~smiles~.

  Chapter 1

  A construction company … What were we thinking?

  It’s 6:17 a.m. and I’ve been out of my nice warm bed for almost an hour. Had to get up early to get much needed information out of my husband’s brain so I could get the job invoicing done today, or we would all be eating off the dollar menu at the local quick-stop store for breakfast, lunch, and dinner next week.

  Grumbling about the fact it was still dark outside, I reminded him that as the boss he could change the hours if he wanted to … His new summer hours, 6:30 a.m. to whenever the cows come home—no wait, that’s construction workers come home—are a real drag. He didn’t seem too interested in discussing the issue, so I snapped off another smart-assed comment, while making the bed, which I would much rather be climbing back into. Once the sheets were straightened and the pillows plumped, I headed to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, hitting the start button on my computer along the way.

  Ten minutes later, as I sat at my desk waiting for him to give me the updates on jobs, I realized I should have stayed in bed. The love of my life, the man I married and worked alongside for years, sat at his desk writing out all the needed info on the estimate sheets.

  So, I’m sitting here, fingers poised on the keyboard, waiting for him to give up all the secrets of the jobs. What was added, what the owners decided not to do, what price adjustments were agreed to, and all the while he is furiously scribbling the information between already crowded lines on original documents.

  Silently I wait for him to look up from his desk, glance my way, and see the expression on my face, which I’ve been trying to hold for what seems like hours. I think my face is frozen, a look of wonderment and disgust forever etched there. Finally, he turns to hand me several pages of hand written scribble, “What?” he inquires upon finally noticing the look on my face.

  “I got up at the crack before dawn for this and you have the nerve to ask me what? I’ll tell you what, buddy.”

  As my tirade continued in less than lady-like fashion, he started to smile, stood and walked over to my desk. You would think after thirty one years, I’d have seen all the questionable looks my husband could screw his face into, however the one he gave me this morning was a new one. Maybe he gets up in the middle of the night and practices in front of a mirror. However he does it, I can tell you, at 6:40 in the morning my mood is less receptive to his looking at me like I’ve lost my senses.

  Taking my hands, he pulled me to a standing position, his eyes laughing, he said, “Nope this is why you got up at the crack of dawn.”

  Wow, what a kiss. Okay, so I’m easy, sue me.

  After hubby departed for the job site, I took a shower, drank two more cups of coffee, and in normal fashion … got sidetracked. It was mid-afternoon when I finally returned to the task of invoicing and started trying to decipher the scribbled comments my dear hubby felt compelled to squeeze between the single spaced lines of the estimate forms.

  After many grueling minutes with a magnifying glass, I was able to recreate everything he wanted to add for the owners benefit. The invoices looked perfect, no typos, no confusing language; I tell you they were perfect! All I needed to do was print them.

  Three hours later, the man I call mine walked through the door, looking less than attractive, drywall dust coating his clothing, face, and hair. No desire exploded about wanting to kiss him in that state, so I simply welcomed him home “Hi honey, rough day at the office?”

  “Very funny,” he responded dryly, as his feet swiftly took him to the shower, to remove the evidence of the day’s labors.

  He used every ounce of water available from the 40 gallon hot water tank, and finally emerged from the steam filled room, a towel wrapped around his waist. “Did you get my invoicing done?”

  Thinking to myself, you’re a shit, I instead responded, “Of course, all I need to do is print them and they are ready to go in tomorrow’s mail. I do have one question.”

  Looking rather dashing in his towel, the look on his face was less debonair. “Don’t tell me, I forgot something and now you’re going to delight in telling me how long it took you to get them ready, what’d I miss?”

  While I cannot see the looks on my face, I assure you my hubby claims they are extremely wicked when I catch him in a mistake. So with a wicked glint in my eye, I set about giving him the list I’d made.

  Several minutes later, we finally completed all the change order pricing, and my fingers were flying over the keyboard making updates. It was seconds later when my mate walked out of the bedroom, dressed in sweats, to ask the burning question. “What’s for dinner?”

  Looking up from the paperwork stacked in front of me, I again plastered a fiendish look on my face to tell him, “It’s your night to cook. The steaks are on the counter and I’m starving.”

  Ok, there is really no word to describe the look on his face, I promise. Suffice it to say he was less than pleased at the prospect of doing the barbeque thing. Grumbling under his breath, he headed to the kitchen, as I set about correcting the invoices.

  It was about this time that James returned from his work-out at the YMCA. Upon entering the house, in typical teenage fashion, he grunted his hello to his father, and apparently having forgotten the last time, he dared to ask, “How was your day?” I won’t go into the conversation that followed; let’s just say it was amusing at best.

  Twenty minutes later, dinner was served. As we sat eating, my darling husband looked over at James and announced, “I got you a couple of presents today.”

  An excited look on his face, James exclaimed, “Did you get the engine for the go-cart?”

  “Nope.”

  His face now holding a tentative look, James asked, “Is this something I’m going to enjoy?”

  “Sure.”

  Now with a look of disgust, James boldly inquired, “Ok, what is it?”

  Smiling, the man of my dreams proceeded to remind James of the empty planter boxes in the front yard, which needed soil. “I picked up the manure and peat moss for you to add to the dirt. Make sure you mix it really good with the shovel before you put it in the planters.”

  If I told you James was overjoyed, you would know it to be a lie; therefore, I’ll just say I wasn’t surprised by his tone when he replied, “Gee dad, thanks, I was worried I’d run out of fun things to do this weekend.” Their conversation went on a little longer; however I’ve learned to tune these two out when they get going on such delightful subjects as steer manure at dinner.

  After finishing dinner, I must report I never made it back to the invoicing. I swear, every client my husband has must sit around the dinner table discussing what new and wonderful things they can dream up to create a change order. Just as the last dish was cleared from the table, the phone rang. For the next hour and a half, it was one call after the other, causing a great deal of paper shuffling to get the correct file for the job being discussed at the moment.

  At ten o’clock we finally called it a day and fell into bed. Laying there, the only light the flickering screen of the television, with thoughts of the morning’s kiss coming back, my husband got his revenge for the list and dinner, “Oh by the way,” he said in a sweetly deceptive tone, “I need you to go over to the project house and put a second coat of paint on the upstairs built-ins. If you can get to it in the morning that would be great, ‘cause it needs to dry before the carpet guys get there.”

  The conversation that followed did not include any romantic kisses like those that started the day, the thought of paint brushes effectively driving any desire right out the bedroom door. Several minutes later when I hit the off button on the remote, I kissed my husband’s shoulder and whispered, “Wake me up at five please.”

  Chapter 2

  It’s not English…it’s baby talk!

  Yesterday afternoon, my son-in-law Jeff arrived to pick up my granddaughter. Usually this young man, whom by the way I really like, doesn’t have a
lot to say to me, his mother-in-law, with whom he has very little in common. Don’t get me wrong, he’s always willing to talk if I start a conversation. However, usually when he arrives for the baby, we discuss the last time she ate, when she got up from her nap, and when the last diaper was changed.

  So I was somewhat surprised when he sat down in the chair next to my desk. “Mom, do you have time to talk to me?”

  I turned around, lifted my granddaughter into my lap, and responded, “Sure son, what’s up.” Now mind you I’m thinking he wants to ask me about what to get my daughter for Mother’s Day.

  Instead he hits me with, “Can you take care of the baby tonight for a couple of hours? I want to surprise my wife with dinner and a movie?” I just love that he says “my wife” instead of Nicole, like I don’t know who she is.

  “No problem son, Dad will be home and he hasn’t seen Katie in a few days. This will give them some time to play.”

  I’m not sure exactly what time my hubby got home; I do know it was earlier than usual. He’d been home for about thirty minutes when his granddaughter arrived.

  Katie is a delightful, precocious, thirteen-month-old, who is the apple of her granddad’s eye. When she walked in the door and saw him sitting on the couch, she ran over to him, a big smile on her face. She has learned to say “hi”, however when she does it she tends to really drag it out, “Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii”, with a very soft ending. It’s hard to type that sound, but I’ll tell you, if she still says it that way when she’s a teenager, I’ll have to sit her down and explain the word provocative!

  My husband said hello to his princess, lifted her to sit in his lap and began a conversation with Jeff, who has no problems finding plenty to talk about with my male counterpart; go figure. Meanwhile Katie is trying to tell grandpa about her day. Keeping a running dialogue going, she told him about the new toy she’d gotten and what she had for lunch. All of which was being completely lost because hubby was not paying attention.