Today was Adventure Day. Meaning, yours truly was whining yesterday morning about how we never do anything interesting, we're not spontaneous enough, blah blah yakkity blah. Geekster, being the intelligent and survival-oriented mammal that he is, chose to nod and look solemn while I complained in such a way that only women in their third trimester can successfully pull off. Later on, he surprised me with a grand idea: We would have our scheduled barbeque with Geekster's friend that evening (Two years in the making! Procrastination lives here), get a good night's sleep, throw the gremlins in the van in the early morning and see where the road could take us.
Exciting!!
Gutsy was the first awake, of course. He poked my shoulder until I woke up and helped him get some cereal. Blurry-eyed, I made my way into the shower stall and attempted to shave my legs. In a shower stall.
Did I mention that it's a shower stall? I had to balance precariously on one foot while reaching over my sizeable middle to shave hair so long I could have made false eyelashes out of it. I only cut myself once, though. Impressive, if I do say so.
So we piled into the van and, under Geekster's navigational skills, I piloted the family toward a small town.
Unfortunately, we didn't quite make it there. We took a wrong turn somewhere. Instead, we made it to another, less-small town. It had some big country jamboree going on (Yeehaw!). We parked the beast and walked down the main drag, searching for somewhere to eat. Of course, we found exactly what we were looking for: a greasy spoon kind of place. I love local eateries. This fit the bill nicely, as it was aptly named 'The Eating Place'. I kid you not. If I had a camera, I would have taken a picture. Cheesy names make for a happy Maven.
Gutsy was fairly well-behaved by low-blood-sugar standards, I guess. We only had three meltdowns, four attempts to climb under the table, five or six times of standing up on the bench and three 'Please don't take the curtain rod down from the window' warnings before the food got there. Once he started stuffing his face, we were able to relax. I must say, he was a gem after getting a dose of ham and brown toast into him. As he would say, 'I am being have!' And I wouldn't have been able to argue with him.
After eating our greasy breakfast in the greasy spoon with greasy people and greasy, er, country music (I've never seen more cowboy hats in one place this far north before), we continued our walk down the strip. Absolutely every retail store was closed on Sunday. I can't remember the last time I've seen that. Stranger still, people didn't seem to care. They rode their bikes and walked their dogs and did things other than shop. I don't quite understand the concept, but more power to them.
Back into the van we went. I was starting to break out in hives from looking at the 'Sorry, We're Closed' signs hanging in every window. My credit card was getting so warm in my purse it was bound to catch fire if we didn't get it into a dark, cool place quickly. Geekster guided us yet again (stand by your man and his directions is my motto) and we made our way south to another fairly small town. We didn't know exactly what we were going to do there, but it didn't matter. The Gods figured it out for us: For lo and behold, we found ourselves in a glorious movie: Maven and the Chocolate Factory.
Home again, home again, jiggety... well, I can't really jig right now. I waddle. But I thought of jigging, which must count for something. I took our our sweet horde of sugar and placed it into sacred stainles steel containers reserved for just such an occasion (must remember not to show The Madre where said containers are). There they sit, beckoning me with their scent. I'd like to say I've been 'being haved', but I haven't, really. What good is discounted bulk chocolate if you can't eat it like it was discounted and bought in bulk?
The majority of women will understand exactly what I just said. If you're not a woman, go ask one and she'll either explain it to you or she'll roll her eyes, say something sexist about your gender and go stuff her holier-than-thou face with discounted chocolate in bulk.
We played in the sprinkler once we got home. I squeezed myself into a now-too-big-for-me-normally-but-not-maternity-so-thank-goodness-it-actually-fits bathing suit and splashed around. I had an even greater time when I realized how ridiculous we must look to the neighbours: Imagine two grown adults - one a pregnant female - pretending to be airplanes, spinning around like tops and running around yelling 'I'm an apple!'
If you were said neighbours, I bet the next time their cat dug up your tulip bulbs you might not be so inclined to knock on the door and lodge a complaint, eh? Didn't think so.
What they don't realize is that Gutsy and Intrepid were playing a game of 'Simon Says' with us. We were the only participants, mind you. I think we deserve parenting medals for that.
So that's our day and I'm pretty tired now. I believe I might rent the man thing and I a movie, snuggle up on the couch and eat... um.. celery... and carrots and organic hummus.
Yeah...
I might be an apple, but tonight I'm coated in candy.
Exciting!!
Gutsy was the first awake, of course. He poked my shoulder until I woke up and helped him get some cereal. Blurry-eyed, I made my way into the shower stall and attempted to shave my legs. In a shower stall.
Did I mention that it's a shower stall? I had to balance precariously on one foot while reaching over my sizeable middle to shave hair so long I could have made false eyelashes out of it. I only cut myself once, though. Impressive, if I do say so.
So we piled into the van and, under Geekster's navigational skills, I piloted the family toward a small town.
Unfortunately, we didn't quite make it there. We took a wrong turn somewhere. Instead, we made it to another, less-small town. It had some big country jamboree going on (Yeehaw!). We parked the beast and walked down the main drag, searching for somewhere to eat. Of course, we found exactly what we were looking for: a greasy spoon kind of place. I love local eateries. This fit the bill nicely, as it was aptly named 'The Eating Place'. I kid you not. If I had a camera, I would have taken a picture. Cheesy names make for a happy Maven.
Gutsy was fairly well-behaved by low-blood-sugar standards, I guess. We only had three meltdowns, four attempts to climb under the table, five or six times of standing up on the bench and three 'Please don't take the curtain rod down from the window' warnings before the food got there. Once he started stuffing his face, we were able to relax. I must say, he was a gem after getting a dose of ham and brown toast into him. As he would say, 'I am being have!' And I wouldn't have been able to argue with him.
After eating our greasy breakfast in the greasy spoon with greasy people and greasy, er, country music (I've never seen more cowboy hats in one place this far north before), we continued our walk down the strip. Absolutely every retail store was closed on Sunday. I can't remember the last time I've seen that. Stranger still, people didn't seem to care. They rode their bikes and walked their dogs and did things other than shop. I don't quite understand the concept, but more power to them.
Back into the van we went. I was starting to break out in hives from looking at the 'Sorry, We're Closed' signs hanging in every window. My credit card was getting so warm in my purse it was bound to catch fire if we didn't get it into a dark, cool place quickly. Geekster guided us yet again (stand by your man and his directions is my motto) and we made our way south to another fairly small town. We didn't know exactly what we were going to do there, but it didn't matter. The Gods figured it out for us: For lo and behold, we found ourselves in a glorious movie: Maven and the Chocolate Factory.
Synopsis: A pregnant woman and her family happen upon a fabled chocolate factory offering discounted - you guessed it - chocolate. And candy. Pounds upon pounds of almond-packed evil and miles upon miles of artificial-watermelon-flavoured sin, wrapped up neatly in small packages. Twenty-seven dollars later, the family leaves the cursed place, unaware of the weight they are about to put on and the condo payments they shall inevitably be making for their dentist.
Home again, home again, jiggety... well, I can't really jig right now. I waddle. But I thought of jigging, which must count for something. I took our our sweet horde of sugar and placed it into sacred stainles steel containers reserved for just such an occasion (must remember not to show The Madre where said containers are). There they sit, beckoning me with their scent. I'd like to say I've been 'being haved', but I haven't, really. What good is discounted bulk chocolate if you can't eat it like it was discounted and bought in bulk?
The majority of women will understand exactly what I just said. If you're not a woman, go ask one and she'll either explain it to you or she'll roll her eyes, say something sexist about your gender and go stuff her holier-than-thou face with discounted chocolate in bulk.
We played in the sprinkler once we got home. I squeezed myself into a now-too-big-for-me-normally-but-not-maternity-so-thank-goodness-it-actually-fits bathing suit and splashed around. I had an even greater time when I realized how ridiculous we must look to the neighbours: Imagine two grown adults - one a pregnant female - pretending to be airplanes, spinning around like tops and running around yelling 'I'm an apple!'
If you were said neighbours, I bet the next time their cat dug up your tulip bulbs you might not be so inclined to knock on the door and lodge a complaint, eh? Didn't think so.
What they don't realize is that Gutsy and Intrepid were playing a game of 'Simon Says' with us. We were the only participants, mind you. I think we deserve parenting medals for that.
So that's our day and I'm pretty tired now. I believe I might rent the man thing and I a movie, snuggle up on the couch and eat... um.. celery... and carrots and organic hummus.
Yeah...
I might be an apple, but tonight I'm coated in candy.