Yep, we had the magical ultrasound. So, since I like to keep things suspenseful, instead of making it easy on you and telling you what we're having, I'm going to let you do a little scavenger hunt. If you can find my new baby blog (I've mentioned and linked it), you win!
The prize?
You get to know, too!
Yeah. Kind of a lame prize. Sorry. We're on a med student budget.
This was just one of those times that warmed my heart--- maybe I can pass this off as the usual "what my kids are doing when my back is turned".... Right, guys? Right?
Now, it should be known that I don't have a lot of funny embarrassing stories to share. First of all, I don't get embarrassed easily. Second of all, if I do something embarrassing, it's usually utterly humiliating to the point of not being funny at all, just painful.
I mean, I do have a couple of weird little stories. Like the time I said "hi" to a horse as I walked by. In complete and total sincerity.
Or the time I waved at the people in sacrament meeting because in that split second before it registered that they were sustaining something I thought they were waving at me.
Or even the time I was at JB's when I was a senior in high school and tried to order something of the "seniors" menu. The waitress told me it was for people over 60 and I misheard her, "I am 16", I protested.
Or of course the time I fell asleep in my yoga class. While teaching.
But these aren't really extensive gut-busters-- they're the kind of stories you kind of chuckle to yourself over and shake your head and move onto funnier material.
Well, lucky for all of you, I have recently acquired a "most embarrassing moment" that really just tops the charts. The worst part is, it's not anything to do with my body's ability to function properly or bad digestion. It's nothing to do with a dare gone bad. It's just plain, good old-fashioned stupidity.
To preface this story (as if I haven't done enough prefacing already), you have to know that I've always prided myself on my sense of direction and my ability to figure out where I am and know where I'm going and how to get there. I've never thought of myself as the stereotypical "blonde" or the "woman driver". However... well, I'll let the following events speak for themselves.
On Tuesday, I dropped Derek off at the train station in La Plata to head up to Chicago to take the boards on Wednesday. As luck would have it, the tracks had been flooded and Derek wound up on a bus that left 4 hours late, traveled 35 miles/hour and stopped in every podunk little town between here and Chicago. What should have been a 5 hour trip wound up taking 13.
Thursday I was supposed to pick Derek up in Quincy at 10:18 pm. I teach a fitness class from 8-9, so no matter what, I was going to be about 20 minutes late. I left the kids with the sitter for the night and went to my class as usual. We finished and I was out of there and on my way by 9. My mind was elsewhere as I drove over to highway 6 to head out to Quincy. Driving along, jamming to my music (which, by the way, Avril doesn't like because she says it's "gross". When asked what was gross, she responded in all sincerity, "Because it has poop in it! A huge tower of poop!" I still can't figure that one out.) I felt I was making pretty good time. I was checking the signs, watching solely for one that would give me the mileage remaining to Quincy. At about 9:45, I passed a couple of cars. I sped up quite a bit and took a little longer than necessary to slow down. As a result, the cop that passed on the other side of the road pulled me over. Frustrated at both the delay and the potential ticket, I resignedly found my ID and my registration for the officer. While waiting for me to produce said items, our conversation went something like this:
"You were going a little fast back there."
"Yeah, I was just passing those cars."
"Yeah, I saw. Where you headed?"
"Oh, I'm going to Quincy to pick up my husband from the train station."
"...Quincy, Utah? ...Quincy, Idaho?"
"Ummm... no. Quincy, Illinois..."
"Isn't Quincy back that way?" (pointing in the direction I'd come)
"...uh... I don't think so..."
"Yeah, it is, you're heading toward Kansas City right now. You're on west 6."
......
Me, in complete and utter disbelief, "45 minutes in the wrong direction?! $^&#!"
I don't know if it was more the "dumb" or the "luck" in this case of dumb luck, but I didn't get a ticket. And it was definitely lucky that the officer pulled me over-- who knew how far I would've gotten on my own before realizing my mistake? Derek asserts, despite my protests to the contrary, that I would've made it to the Missouri/Nebraska border. I think I would've gone about 15-20 more minutes before starting to get concerned. In any case, I probably made that officer's night. I can just picture him heading back to his car, laughing to himself, just waiting to tell all his buddies about the serious case of the stupids this dumb blonde woman driver had.
I mean, really, our conversation may as well have gone something like this:
"Ma'am, do you know why I pulled you over?"
Looking up with wide and very confused eyes, "No, officer, why?"
"Well, my Stupid Radar clocked you at way over the legal limit. You want to explain what you're doing unsupervised on the road this time of night?"
"I'm heading to Quincy to pick up my husband, officer."
Nodding his head knowingly, "That explains it..."
Around the same time as the previous post, we went to get our car washed.
A: Mom, how come we have to get our car washed? Did it just poop all over?
T: uh...yep...
A: Did it poop all over itself?
T: It sure did...
A: Well, it doesn't really have a bum or a crotch.
At least she knows about functional anatomy.
NOTE: I originally began this post back in February, but I misplaced some vital info and didn't want to post without it. I recently found it, so enjoy!
We went to Columbia on Tuesday and met up with Andrew and Ruth for some delicious Mongolian grill at HuHots. It was amazingly delightful. My favorite feature of this grill is the fact that you don't have to fill your bowl to overflowing to get what you want... You get to go back as many times as you want and design as many delightful little dishes as you can imagine. Worth. It.
Anyway, after that we had a great time playing at Going Bonkers. Crap, that place was fun for Derek and I, not to mention the kids! You can check out pictures here, Gough's online album. I took a few, but I'm not using the compy they're on, so you get these. They have a better camera anyway... I'm seriously coveting it.
So on the ride home, we had an amazing conversation with Avril. It went something like this:
A: Mom, how will we ever go to HyVee?
T to D: I told her we were going shopping and she thought I meant HyVee."
A: Mom! We don't say 'shut up'!
T (surprised): I didn't, I said, 'shopping'.
A: No, you said 'shut up'!
D (enjoying the situation): Yeah, Mom, we don't say 'shut up'.
A (turning on D): Hey Daddy, Mom said shopping!!
D: Holy crap, Avril...
A (in tears): We don't say 'crap' Daddy.
D: I know Avril, there's not much we can say, is there? You're losing it, aren't you? You're hanging by a thread...
A (shouting): No, I'm NOT, DADDY! You're losing your mind!
D: Avril, you're going deaf. You're losing your hearing.
A: No, I'm not, it's stuck to my head!
We got home from the grocery store the other day and for some reason Xandri latched onto a bag of flour and carried it around asking for "bites" repeatedly for at least 20 minutes. Finally, we caved...
