ZOMGosh, I totally didn't post anything for Embarrassing Stories Thursdays! I was totally thrown off by Veterans Day and spent the entire day either 1) thinking it was Wednesday. I even said, out loud, that it was Wednesday, more than once, and my husband (weird, someone was listening to what I said? Not normal on weekdays, when I am usually just surrounded by children who only seem to listen when I slip up and drop some above their pay grade knowledge, like the f-bomb when I burn myself, or similar, which they then put into regular, public rotation. But general, useful growing up learning knowledge? No. That they do not hear.) corrected me every time. But I still persisted in my belief that it was Wednesday. Or 2) thinking it was Saturday, which I also did a lot. It actually turned out to be a day that existed outside the normal calendar, in the end. Some sort of mix of weekend and weekday and holiday.
Since it was Veterans Day AND my children weren't currently harboring any sort of visible germ that could fell an elderly person in a single swoop (finally, I've been waiting for a window like this for at least a month) it was the perfect opportunity to unleash us on my favorite veteran (sorry, other veterans): My grampa. He lives just far enough away to normally be safe from our invasions, but today, no. I made large amounts of lasagna and salad to make up for the chaos we bring and the damage we do to his new, off-white carpet, which is more and more off and less white for every one of our visits. The boys LOVE to visit him and he and my husband enjoy discussing the possible causes of traffic and every obscure sports team ever, and I attempt to keep the kids from breaking his stuff.
I think my favorite ever visit was a tandem one where my sister and I both went at the same time and had all 4 kids with us and they were going in his bedroom and he insisted it was fine, there was nothing they could break or get into, and then he paused and went in there to check and came out with a couple of boxes of bullets and shotgun shells and a knife. Hahahaha. So. Visits there = #1. They really are.
But! I owe you, dear and every more volume of readers (where are you all finding me? I love the internet and the fact that it means people in Denmark and South Korea know about my flights of vomit tasting,) an embarrassing story. The problem here is that I haven't been running lately, and when I am in the middle of a long run, THAT is when my brain shuts off and spits out all the stories from my past and puts them in written format. What I am doing right now, instead, is a workout called Insanity, which will probably lead to me being committed with some sort of foot fracture and a blown out knee, but check out my abs! It doesn't lead to zen headspace, but more "watch out for the couch!" and "haha, look at that guy on the screen's face" and "ow" and laughing at the instructor saying, "Rest when needed! (obligated to say that legally) BUT PUSH THROUGH THE PAIN." Which? Which, Shawn T.? I am too sweaty to comb through your contradictions and frankly I cannot do these moving pushups anyway.
Instead of a story I should just post video of me trying to do these workouts: Serious LOL. I am very flail-y and incompetent.
But! Do not worry. I will unearth a story.
So! It's 2008, and the children and I are in Costco, procuring enough food to see us through the apocalypse/ the weekend. It is election fever time, and everyone's all "I can see Russia from my house!" and coming up with elaborate security light configurations to prevent lawn signs being stolen (I am way too lazy for that, which is why our signs got stolen. Twice.) and it's utter madness.
But who is that, selecting a flat of LifeWater or SoBe or whatever, one of those drinks that I don't understand, is a random guy. Who happens to be black.
"Barack Obama!" shouts my three year old, pointing. "Mama! Look! It's Barack Obama!" Joyfully, and, more importantly, at ear-splitting volume. And, MOST importantly, the guy TOTALLY hears him. Unfortunately in this instance, my kid has reasonably good enunciation skills for his age.
So then (after turning tail and zooming down another aisle) I am saddled with the enviable task of explaining how not every black man we see is Barack Obama and, in fact, if the man in question is doing his own shopping at a warehouse store in New Hampshire, it is extremely unlikely to be the presidential candidate. If we are going to see him, it will be at a rally (which we did! And you can point and identify him all you want there, son!) or on television.
This seems to have sunk in, since it hadn't happened again. Although I've probably just jinxed myself. I do that a lot.
I feel like this was weak. I'll either have a better story next week or post video of myself trying to do the Insanity Cardio Pylometrics or whatever. It's only fair.