One: My plan for the evening was simple. Come home, make dinner, go the gym. Simple.  I was standing at the counter that faces our driveway, chopping vegetables for homemade pot pie. Michael had been standing in the yard talking on his phone when he popped his head in.

“That van that just drove by,” he said. “Was that the van from the other night?”

Since I was chopping, I hadn’t noticed. I brushed it off and got back to work.

Minutes later I looked up to see the van in our driveway and a man getting out.

“MICHAEL!” I yelled as I grabbed my phone, ready to call the police in case crazy van man had a loaded .45 on his hip.

Uh…yeah. So crazy van man? Turns out he was not stalking me. He was looking at the boat. And had a thousand and one questions about it for Michael. Somebody should really tell him it’s weird to just pull into someone’s driveway and if he is going to check out our boat, maybe he could do it in less creepy way. OK? Thanks.

Two: After van man left and Kodiak stopped whining at the window (good watch dog!), I was eagerly anticipating the pot pie, practically drooling at the yummy smell coming out of the oven. Just as the timer buzzed and I opened the oven door, Michael’s phone rang.

It was his grandmother, hysterically rambling how one of the children his mother is fostering had hit her repeatedly in the eye and the mother was taken by ambulance to the hospital.

I looked longingly at the steaming pot pie, knowing that dinner would have to be postponed. Luckily, the mother had to have some tests and since we live so close to the hospital, we were able to shove some food down our throats before heading out.

We were met in the ER by a now-calm grandmother, who immediately launched into the story of what happened. Minutes later, his mother returned from her CAT Scan, only to burst into tears in Michael’s arms.

The next hour was spent waiting to see if her face had been fractured (thankfully, it hadn’t), icing her ever growing black eye and discussing what will happen next. This was followed by a somber ride to pick up the younger child, who kept asking repeatedly where her sister was and when she was coming back. It was heartbreaking.

Needless to say, when we arrived back home after nine all thoughts of the gym and vacated my mind.

Three: There is no three. At least not yet. But stuff like this always happens in three’s, right? What could possibly be on its way?