The Seventh Day of Christmas

I'm in the process of giving you twelve days of laughs at my expense.  Generous, aren't I?  Well, I can afford to be this generous, thanks to all the ridiculous situations I've got myself into over the last 34 years.  Carry on!

Today, I'm going to repeat part of a previous post, because the following embarrassing moments are just too good not to share again.   You can read the full post here, if you'd like.

Two Embarrassing Moments: Doctor's Office Edition

#1.  Lily was our most prenatally photographed baby.  Every time we went to see the perinatologist, they took lots and lots of pictures.  When I was pregnant with the other babies, we'd always made a big deal about letting the siblings come along to an appointment, especially if it was an ultrasound.  We were more cautious about that with Lily, considering the circumstances.  


Then one week, I decided to take all three siblings along with me; the baby had been moving a lot, I wasn't scheduled to have extra tests at that appointment, and it seemed like a good day to let them tag along.  (Ignorance can be soooo bliss.)  Unfortunately, we ended up waiting in the waiting room for over an hour--first time I'd ever had to wait more than 10 minutes at this particular office.  I hadn't brought toys or snacks, since it was supposed to be a "quick" appointment.  We were finally escorted to the exam room, where we waited an additional 30 minutes.  


If you have children, you can imagine how things were at this point.  The children were all over the place....over the table, under the sink, inside the bathroom, outside the bathroom, around the expensive 3-D ultrasound machine.  The classic, never-to-be-forgotten moment of that appointment was when I realized Justone was staring, completely transfixed, at the back of the bathroom door.  


"Mom, what is this?" he asked in a tone of hushed wonder.  


"This" was the very helpful poster demonstrating how to do a monthly self breast exam.   I somehow found the fortitude to explain what a monthly breast exam was to my six year old son and his equally curious sisters.  


Thus, I became the only woman on the planet whose six year old son reminds her to do her monthly breast exam.


#2.  Superkid was just over a year old when she and Justone and I went to see her gastroenterologist.  We had a long wait, which never bodes well for the rest of the appointment.  When the doctor came in, I had several concerns that I needed him to address about Sariah's g-tube feedings, comfort, etc.  I even had a video for him to watch so that he could see a behavior we were concerned about.  It was going to be a long appointment.


Superkid was cranky and tired.   Justone was cranky and bored.  The doctor and his assistant were very patient.  They tried to address my concerns over the ever-increasing din of attention-seeking children.  


Justone proceeded to become cranky and bored and hungry.  He was showing me that he was ready to leave in every way that a four-year-old can.  I wasn't done talking to the doctor.  So Justone grabbed my shirttail, and tugged it as he walked towards the door, whining, "Mom, let's GO!"  


The shirt I was wearing was one of those vintage-western types, with mother-of-pearl snaps up the front.....which quickly and easily popped undone at the first tug.  All of them.  Every stinkin' one of them.  And, since Justone was walking away--the hem of my shirtail in his hand--my shirt walked away with him.  


AAAAAA!  I'm still blushing!  The two doctors blushed, too, stammered unintelligibly, and quickly excused themselves from the room.  


Was it a coincidence that we soon moved across the country?  I think not!

The Newsletter

I was quite proud of this year's Christmas card.  Updated picture, nice scenery in the background, fun design, no Disney characters--a great improvement over last year.  Since it is one of the few times in any given year that I get to put my English degree to good use, I have a big thing about our newsletter.  I spend more time on the dang newsletter than I spend shopping for all of our Christmas gifts combined.  It is a sickness.

Naturally, I feel compelled to share this year's literary accomplishment on my blog.  Partly because I just found a stack of Christmas cards and newsletters that inexplicably did not make it out to the mail.  Here's hoping you got yours....and if you didn't.....well, here's the electronic version.

Best and Worst of 2010

Holland's Family Edition

Best Family Vacation Moments: night fishing off the houseboat with cousins, climbing Mt. Timpanogas, hiking in Logan Canyon with cousins, learning how much our dog loves to travel, discovering St. Louis's City Museum, laughing our heads off at Pickleville Playhouse, building sandcastles at Bear Lake.

Worst Family Vacation Moments: realizing the houseboat was built by Hobbits, discovering the climb to Mt. Timpanogas was a bit more treacherous than Dad remembered, losing Endeavor's shoes at Snowbird, watching tornadoes touch down as our minivan was pelted with hailstones, searching for the cap gun Justone wanted all over the western U.S. then finding it at our local Cracker Barrel.

Best Purchase: Bionic Man picked up a battery operated lawn mower to tide us over when our 36” lawnmower needed repairs. Turns out, the new mower is light enough that Justone and Endeavor can use it, and they became our summertime lawn care specialists. (Funny, Bionic Man hasn't felt much pressure to get the old mower up and running again.)

Worst Purchase: the harmonica Justone bought when he was supposed to be Christmas shopping for his sisters. Enough said.

Best Adjustment: Endeavor, Justone, and Superkid all went to different schools this year. Endeavor is a 6^th grader in middle school (yes, you read that right), Justone goes to an accelerated learning program at another school, and Superkid is in first grade at our new local elementary school. Despite all the changes, they have enjoyed their new surroundings, made new friends, and are doing well in school.

Worst Adjustment: Ruth's not quite ready to have the children at school all day, every day. She never knew grocery shopping could be so quick....or so boring.

Best Surprise: Superkid's cardiologist said her “ticker” was working so well, she didn't need to see him again for a whole year!
Worst Surprise: Ruth told the hairstylist she wanted to go “back to her root color” and came home with startlingly dark hair. Much, much darker than she ever remembered having.....after the initial shock wore off, the rest of the family decided they would love her anyway.
Best Days of the Year: Sundays when Dad didn't have meetings.

Worst Day of the Year: Fall Daylight Savings. Ruth changed the clocks before going to bed. Bionic Man got up in the morning, and thought the clocks were still an hour ahead. He was an hour late to his first meeting!

Best Performance(s): Endeavor ran cross-country for her middle school team this year, improving her personal record by more than 6 minutes! Bionic Man set a new personal record at the Indianapolis Half Marathon. Superkid won a huge prize package for perfected attendance in the month of May (the only month she didn't miss any school, ironically). Justone used things he found around the house to make an animated diorama for a school report, all by himself.

Worst Performance: after a summer spent safely hiking in “real “ mountains, Ruth slipped and sprained her elbow while walking with the children along a stream bed....in our neighborhood.

Best New Skills: Superkid learned to read, Endeavor is learning to play the violin, Bionic Man is taking guitar lessons, Justone knows how to fix the van door when it gets stuck (a skill Mom really appreciates), Ruth taught herself how to make slipcovers, and Hunter the Dog can roll over on command!

Worst New Skill: see “Worst Purchase”.

Best: having family members and friends all over the country who mean so much to us! We are blessed to have many wonderful people who show us love and set good examples for us in the way they live.

Worst: wishing that time and distance wouldn't prevent us from spending more time with those we love.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all of You!

Love from Ruth, The Bionic Man, Endeavor (11), Justone (10 very soon), and Superkid (7)

The Sixth Day of Christmas

Happy Anniversary, to the Bionic Man and I!  As of 1 P.M. today, we've been married for 13 years.  Good for us!

Today's sharing of an embarrassing moment, like yesterday's, will commemorate the fact that 13 years ago, I became a wife.

The New Mr. and Mrs. Bionic Man

The Providence Inn, Providence, Utah

The Bionic Man and I were each in our last year of college when we got married.  Naturally, we enjoyed running into each other on campus while we were dating and engaged.  When possible, we tried to take classes together.  This was difficult--if not impossible--since he was majoring in Engineering and I was majoring in English.  But true love always finds a way....we signed up for a religion class together the semester before our wedding.

Our religion instructor, Brother Clark, took great delight in the fact that several of his students were engaged to be married.  He seemed to enjoy teasing the Bionic Man and I, and one other couple, about our upcoming nuptials.  The semester ended, and I didn't give Brother Clark a second thought, because I was too busy thinking about getting married to think about silly Brother Clark.

Until the morning after my wedding day.

Amazingly, the Bionic Man had been able to avoid all of the typical wedding moments that might cause a few blushes.  We had a gingerbread temple instead of a cake, so there was no cake smashing.  I thought the whole garter business was useless and degrading, so I didn't even put one on, effectively avoiding that humiliating display of....whatever.  (I still think it is an idiotic tradition, can you tell?)  And the Bionic Man was clever enough to hide our getaway vehicle really well, so aside from a little silly string, we had nothing to make us blush with that, either.  Off we went to our suite at a local bed and breakfast, to spend the night before we left to honeymoon in a warmer climate.

Since we had to leave the honeymoon suite early, to get to our next destination, we decided to forego breakfast in bed and went down to the dining room.

And who--who?--who would be the first person I saw upon exiting the bridal suite?

Brother Clark, that's who.

Apparently, he and his wife had just spent the night at the very same bed and breakfast.  And what did he do when he saw the Bionic Man enter the dining room, hand-in-hand?

He stood up, and said in his big, hearty voice, "Well, if it isn't Bionic Man and Ruth!  Aren't you two supposed to be getting married sometime soon?"  He winked at the other diners as he grinned at us.

"Yesterday," the Bionic Man mumbled nervously,  "We got married yesterday."

"What's that?"  Brother Clark asked jovially, putting a hand to his ear.  "Did you say you got married JUST YESTERDAY?"

Every eye in the room was on us now, and the room was full of quiet laughter as we blushed furiously under the scrutiny.

"My goodness!"  Brother Clark exclaimed, grinning wickedly.  "That must mean you are on your honeymoon!"  He pulled out a chair from his table, offering it with a sweeping gesture.  "Please, join us for breakfast!  I'm sure you're hungry."  More winking.

"Um, no thanks!" The Bionic Man quickly replied.  "We'll just sit over here!"  (In the far corner of the room.)

Happy Anniversary, Bionic Man!  It still seems like JUST YESTERDAY.

Like this?  You can find the other embarrassingly funny days of my Christmas here:

First Day

Second Day

Third Day

Fourth Day

Fifth Day

I'm linking up this post to The Idea Room.

The Fifth Day of Christmas

Big news:  tomorrow will mark the 13th anniversary of the day the Bionic Man and I were married!  How about that?  So, in keeping with my promise to share 12 Days of Embarrassing Moments, it seems only fitting that I should share one from my wedding day, right?

Don't worry, this is a family friendly blog!  This embarrassing moment happened before the ceremony.

Child Bride

I admit, I was a fairly young bride.  I was just three-and-a-half months shy of my 22nd birthday when the Bionic Man and I got married.  In other words, I was 21.

The morning of my wedding day, I went to the neighborhood beauty salon to have my hair styled by Cindy, who had been cutting my hair since I was a little tyke.  Cindy put my hair in rollers and sent me to sit under the hair dryer for a while, as she put curlers in another lady's hair and gave that lady's husband a haircut.  The lady was under the dryer herself, and her husband had plopped down to wait in a nearby chair with the Reader's Digest when Cindy began styling my hair into a wedding-worthy updo.

As the elaborate hairstyle took shape, the older gentleman put down his Reader's Digest and watched Cindy work for a few moments.  Then he smiled congenially and asked, "Well, what are you gettin' all gussied up for, little lady?"

"Ruthie is getting married, today," Cindy answered for me.

"Married!" the man hooted, slapping his Reader's Digest against his knee.  "Married?  Why, you can't be more'n twelve years old!"

I blushed furiously while Cindy reassured her customer that I was old enough to get married.  I was horrified to think that I'd been mistaken for a pre-teen on my wedding day.

Looking back, though, can you blame the guy?  It's just a good thing he didn't have a chance to see my fifteen-year-old groom.

The Fourth Day of Christmas

If you are late for the party, I'm sharing some of my most memorable moments of abject humiliation for each of the twelve days following Christmas.  I am subjecting you to this because, um, I'm hoping it will make your days merry and bright?  It's therapeutic to share?  Who knows?

Today's tale of embarrassment takes me back to high school.

I Just Have to Get This Off My Chest

I was a sophomore in high school.  There were two boys at my school that I was crushing on.  One, like me, was a sophomore.  The other was a junior who was on the tennis team.  I planned my route from class to class with them in mind, hoping to get a sighting of at least one of them to tide my teenage heart over until the next class ended.

Looking back, I have to believe that if even 25% more of my teenage brain had been dedicated to more academic pursuits, I could be practicing nuclear law right now.

Anywho, Mrs. Johnson's third period Modern World Civilizations class was ideally situated for Boy Crush Sightings.  The junior had a locker nearby.  The sophomore had his fourth period class just across the hall.  It was my favorite time of day.

One day, we'd just finished a huge test in Modern World Civilizations.  I'd studied for it for days, crammed for it during the early morning hours.  I finished the last of the essay questions just before the ending bell rang, handing over my test to Mrs. Johnson.  My friends and I filed out of the classroom, heaving sighs of relief that we'd been able to get through the exam.

At that time in my life, I tended to speak in superlatives.  A couple of my friends teased me about being their Anne of Green Gables.  Let's just say I was slightly dramatic in my conversation.  (Imagine that.)  So, in my eagerness to express my gratitude at having completed a difficult test, I turned to my group of girlfriends with a flourish, intending to say, "Well, that is a load off my brow!"

Very Anne-esque, eh?  Unfortunately, what actually came out of my mouth, clear as a bell, was,

"Well, that is a load off my bra!"

For some inexplicable reason, my expression of relief was uttered at the exact instant that there was a momentary lull in the normal between-classes hallway noise.  So it wasn't just my friends who heard my odd little mis-spoken exclamation.  I clapped a hand over my mouth, blushing furiously, as my friends eyes widened and they began to giggle.  Whirling around, prepared to make a run for the stairway, I ran smack into BOTH my Junior Crush and my Sophomore Crush.

Yep.  To this day, I still cringe when I think about it. 

Guess what, though?  Later on, my sophomore crush was my senior prom date.  He gave me a wrist corsage. 

Third Day of Christmas

Here is another example of my goofy nature to bring you holiday cheer.

A Not-So-Silent Scream

The college careers of my older brother and I overlapped.  Bill wasn't just my big brother, he was one of my best friends.  Sometimes we would meet up on campus and eat lunch together, either just us or with some of our friends.  Bill even showed me one of the best-kept secrets of our campus.

The conference center.

I don't know if it was the mirrored exterior helping it blend into its surroundings, but our fellow students seemed to hardly even know that the conference center existed.  The building was used only for special events and academic/professional conferences, not classes.  So, perhaps most students hadn't had the opportunity to discover this hidden gem right in the center of our campus.

Lucky for me, Bill knew all about it.  Most days, the conferenced center was unlocked but abandoned, providing a very quiet, clean, and comfortable environment in which to study between classes.  Due to the nature of the building, the furniture in its lounge areas was newer and more upscale than anyplace else on campus.  And there was one other perk, besides the quiet and the comfy chairs.

Free food.

When a conference was in session, the lounge areas had tables of snacks, beverages, and even meals available for the attendees between workshops.  So, if you were there anyway quietly studying, no one stopped you from cleaning up after the conference participants left their snacks behind and went back into their workshops.  Bill and I considered cleaning up the leftovers a service that benefited the student employees of Campus Food Services.

One fine day, I was sitting in my favorite corner of the conference center, minding my own business.  A meeting of The Utah Society for Professional Economists was in progress behind closed doors.  A Campus Food Service student employee was quietly refreshing the lemonade and cookies on a nearby table.   Finals were approaching, and I was wading through Shakespeare's Hamlet, looking for hidden motifs.  Alas, the previous night of merriment befell me, and my head didst droop, so heavy were my leaden eyes.

(That's Shakespeare for "I fell asleep.")

Now, there is something about me you need to know if you are going to understand the rest of this story:  I talk in my sleep.  Sometimes I even yell or sing in my sleep;  particularly when I haven't been getting adequate rest, or I'm sleeping in an unfamiliar place.  All it takes is a really vivid dream, and I start talking.

There I was, drooped over a thick volume of Shakespeare, asleep in the conference center, dreaming of Hamlet.  He was chasing me, carrying the horrible skull of Yorick.  The prince of Denmark's eyes were wild and bloodshot, and I ran from him, crying and tripping over the headstones as he reached for me.  I tried to call for help, but I could not make a sound!  Gasping, I stumbled, my hair tangling into the leafless branches of a gnarled tree.  Hamlet's hand was reaching, reaching, and I knew my only hope was to scream for help, so I took a deep breath and

{{screamed}}

which woke me up.

It must have been a real blood-curdler, because the first thing of which I was conscious was that my throat felt dry and scratchy.  So I turned my head, thinking of the lemonade, towards the food tables, just to see if the Campus Food Services student employee was still there.

She was not.

The members of The Utah Society for Professional Economists were there, instead.  All fifty-two of them.  There they stood, quiet and staring, some with slack jaws or a cookie held frozen in mid-air.  Shocked.  Awed.  Stupefied.

I considered my options, as I surveyed the scene before me.  I had too many books to gather up, preventing the desirable hasty exit.  Trying to explain to Professional Economists that I'd just escaped the murderous grasp of Hamlet didn't seem like it would be the right thing to do, either.  So, I just smiled sweetly at the conference goers and turned in my comfy armchair so that my back was to them.  And continued to read Hamlet.  With my eyelids propped open.

Friends, as The Bard wrote, "The memory be green." 

Second Day of Christmas

I'm celebrating the Twelve Days of Christmas with a sleigh ride down memory lane, laughing (and blushing) all the way!

Grammar Star

Several years ago, I was part of a committee that put together a Christmas party for our church congregation's women's group, the Relief Society.  Besides the dinner, the decorations, and a program, our committee decided to make Christmas gifts for each of the women who attended the party.  

One of the committee members came up with a Christmas decor item we could make, which involved a black-line festive image on a background of gold and silver leaf, framed.  Somehow I got roped into re-creating and simplifying the chosen image so that it could be transferred onto the metallic backgrounds.  I was given a deadline to submit the modified image to another committee member, who would then take it and make dozens of copies that would be used in the making of our gifts.

On the day of the deadline, I had completed the black line drawing of Mary and Joseph approaching Bethlehem with a star shining brightly above them.  I was quite proud of it as an artistic achievement, considering it had been a long time since high school art.  

The image was supposed to have a line of text above it, reading, "A star led the way."  After finishing the drawing, I had used my computer to write the text in several different fonts, planning to print out the options in the appropriate size, and give them to my fellow committee member.  I thought she could decide which version of the text she'd like to use.  

There was only one problem.  My printer was experiencing technical difficulties.  I messed around with it for a while, then gave up, realizing my deadline was nigh.  Instead, I used my most artistic hand-writing before running out the door to quickly inscribe the chosen message, "A star led the way".  I delivered the completed drawing, and suggested to the other woman that she should use her computer to print out a computerized version of the text, and paste it on top of my handwritten version before she made copies of the image.

"Oh, absolutely not," she exclaimed at my suggestion.  "This is just exactly what I wanted.  Your handwriting is beautiful!  I'm just leaving it as it is, perfect."

Leaving the image behind, I was oddly uncomfortable.  Something about my handwriting....it just didn't seem right.  I shook it off, rationalizing that since I hadn't been able to get my printer to work, I should just live with it.  

On the night of the party, the gifts were complete.  As I helped decorate, I kept passing the table where the now gold-leafed images awaited their recipients, sparkling in their new frames.  The other committee members oohed and aahed over the lovely gifts we were going to give to our guests.  I just couldn't put my finger on it, but something about those pictures still bothered me.  It had to be the handwriting, I reasoned.  I really would have preferred the more finished look of printed text.

Several days after the party, I was on the phone with a friend who had been there.  She complimented the food, the decor, the program, the music, and then she said, "Everything was just lovely.  Except the gifts.  I just don't know what to do with mine.  I mean, I'm sure someone put a lot of time and effort into making them--not to mention the expense of the gold leafing--but really, how can I put it up in my home when it looks like it was written on by someone who doesn't speak English very well?" 

My eyes, now very large, focused on the small frame sitting on my mantle.  A simple line drawing of Mary and Joseph approaching Bethlehem, a star shining brightly above the walls of the city.  And, written above:

A star lead the way 

Not "led".  "Lead".

No wonder I hadn't been comfortable with the final product.  It wasn't my handwriting, it was my spelling!  My grammar!  My syntax!  My glaring mistreatment of the English language!  

The English major in me died a thousand shamefaced deaths that day.

Now, perhaps this could have served as a momentary dose of humility, which would be nice.  But no, it has become yearly pride smack-down.  Because, guess what?  Apparently not everyone who attended the Relief Society Christmas Party that year noticed my error.  Or cared about it, if they did.  Invariably, sometime after Thanksgiving, that darn gold-leafed picture shows up somewhere.  I walk into someone's home, and it is there.  It gets put in creche displays at our church.  It will be used as a display on a classroom table, when someone gives a lesson before Christmas.  

I cringe each and every time I see it.  

And too this day, if I have to use the words "led" or "lead" in a sentence--particularly if I have to write that sentence--my left eye begins to twitch.

Forget the figgy pudding, thanks to my grammatical faux pas, I get to eat humble pie every Christmas for the rest of my life.