Talk about a good time! Gut busting laughter is good for the soul, and for your abs. I'm glad there's a lot of that to go around over here.
"I'm the biggest loser in the world!" I complained into my cell phone. I was parked in front of the middle school where I'd just dropped off my kids. Stuck. My van wouldn't budge. I watched glumly as other parents in big trucks, SUVs and even little zippy cars dropped their kids off and left again.
"You're not the biggest loser in the world," my neighbor consoled, "have you ever had to explain to the police(insert her embarrassing experience here)?"
"No, you're right, I've never done that. I just don't understand why my van is handling the snow so badly!"
We'd been on and off the phone since I'd begun my carpooling journey this morning. I could barely make it out of my shoveled driveway, and got stuck again on our street. The van was acting so funny, that I made a quick check to see if there were any alarm lights or on or anything. Nothing. It was a slippery ride to school, with many a spinning tire. But we made it. And there I stayed.
Before I even knew I was stuck, I called my trusty husband to tell him how terrible the van was driving on the ice.
"Just come straight here to the dealership. I'll have some snow tires put on." (The tires that I had on weren't snow tires, but they were still pretty new. They shouldn't have been a problem.) My hubby's work was only a couple of miles from where I was. I took a quick peek in the mirror. I still had curlers in. No makeup. I had visiting teaching appointments in 30 minutes.
"I can't! I have a day planned, I don't have time for this. I'll just go home, have someone else drive to our appointments, and think about it tomorrow."
I tried to pull out. And then I knew I was in trouble. None of my "getting out when you're stuck in the snow" tricks worked.(I'm actually an expert at driving in a ditch after I've slid into one. It was a useful tool in high school. There's never any snow here, so I haven't needed that maneuver in a while)
I swallowed my pride. I made some quick calls, pulled out my curlers, and submitted to my husband's superior reasoning.
"Babe, I'm actually stuck here. I can't move. It looks like I'll need some help after all."
He came. He sprinkled some ice melt around the tires. Then he took off the parking brake, and the van sprang to life and left its snowy grave.
The parking brake.
Was set.
I'd driven the entire way with the parking brake on.
"You're lucky there was snow, or your tires might have caught fire and burned up the van."
"Hummph."
In my defense, it's MY van. I never set the parking break unless I'm somewhere on a hill, and then I remember to release it, because I'M the one that set it. HE had driven my van last, and set the parking break out of habit. The light for said brake is on a little console that's blocked from view by the steering wheel. I never think to look there.
"Are you mad? Are you mad at me because I set the parking break?" He asked with a smile in his voice.
I couldn't decide. He explained that he always sets the parking break when he drives the van in case some child climbs in, puts the car in neutral and squishes someone. (Which in our family is a distinct possibility) How can you be mad at someone for that?
At least from now until the end of time, I will remember to check the parking brake. And I'll have a good story to tell. That's something, right?
I've been under the blogger radar for a while.
What have I been doing?
Laying on the couch.
Sick.
With a cough.
Hacking up a lung. I actually lost my voice for about a week. I got so sick that I couldn't cook dinner, so I brought home Taco Bell. Ever heard of Delhi Belly? I got Taco Belly. That's right food poisoning on top of whatever else I had. Then my husband was out of town and MY DOG was sick on the carpet. (Tia Juana, I'm SO getting your pet aversion right now!) I'm often accused of getting too gross on my blog, so I'll spare you the details except to say that I want new carpet.
With all this quality time I've had on the couch, I've picked up a dirty, embarrassing, shameful habit. See, when you don't feel well enough to do anything else, you're entertained by things you wouldn't ordinarily be entertained by.
Okay, I'll tell you.
(Drawing a deep cleansing breath)
My name is Earlgirl, and I'm addicted to Hannah Montana.
There I've said it.
Don't judge me, I've been very ill.
At first it was just curiosity. "What IS all this about Hannah Montana?" I said to myself. I watched the first episode and groaned. Then I watched another, and I cracked a smile. Then I watched more and more until now my three year old and I have watched three seasons and sing along with the music.
"You get the BEST OF BOTH WORLDS, chill it out take it slow, then you ROCK OUT THE SHOW....."
It's come to this.
My cousin Eric loves to make movies- movies that have lots of 'action'. 'Action' means guns, fighting, explosions and blood. He also has a killer quirky sense of humor. Getting tapped to act in one of Eric's movies makes my boys' year. Eric is very careful to make sure I approve of whatever level of 'action' a movie, involving my boys, has. There's a lot of blood in this one, but it's hilarious. Good job Eric, it's your best yet!
I got to do something wonderful on Sunday. I sat in the front row and watched my father speak in Sacrament meeting. It was an amazing, inspiring sight. No one in the congregation had any idea how difficult it was for him, how terrifying.
Some of you might remember me mentioning my Dad's special circumstances before. The man that raised me was an ultra-confident bomber pilot. He had positions in the church of responsibility. He was outgoing and friendly, with a bit of swagger to him. He was technical and precise, working as an engineer after he retired from the Air Force.
Then he hit some black ice one day and rolled his truck seven times, hitting his head each time.
His life is so different now. The swagger has given way to humility and tenderness. He needs a lot of help, and he's so gracious and thankful to receive it. He serves in the temple every week, sometimes more. He thrives on his 'grandpa hugs' and has a close relationship with each of my boys.
When my Dad took the pulpit, he was shaking. He smiled and mouthed to my mom sitting beside me, "I can't do this!" And he really couldn't. After hours of study, he wouldn't remember what his subject was. In the middle of a point, he would lose his train of thought. My mom worked with him for hours and hours. She made a booklet of notes for him, each page with a single enlarged word or two, stapled together so they wouldn't get mixed up.
When he began to speak, he set his notes aside, too scared to use them. But he spoke clearly, sweetly and humbly. He made all his points. He needed help remembering a word or two that eluded him, but the spirit of what he said was powerful.
Simply put, my Dad was blessed for his beautiful courage and his faith. He took a step into the dark, knowing he didn't have the ability to do what was asked of him. His capabilities were magnified, he was sustained. It was an amazing, humbling thing to witness.
