Showing posts with label funny. Show all posts
Showing posts with label funny. Show all posts

Wednesday, September 19, 2018

In Honor of Back to School Month: A Diary of a Sanders Vacation in the South of France


Dear diary (Day -1):
We are finally going on vacation. After giving birth, packing up our house, and moving, we are going on a much needed family trip to a Christian center in the middle of nowhere down south. Goodbye concrete, hello sun. I can't wait to get this trip started.

Dear diary (Day 1):
By I can't wait to get this trip started apparently I meant I could wait. It took us 2 hours to get out of Paris between vacation traffic, nursing a newborn, and a last minute stop at Decathlon for travel sleeping bags. Once on the road the adventures were far from over: after 10 years of backseat driving I lost the toll booth ticket at one of the rest stops. Ever the brilliant problem solvers, Matt and I decided to turn around and go back to look for it...not realizing that meant exiting the highway. The fine for losing a ticket is to pay the rate for the entire highway. It occurred to us 5 minutes after said paid fine that it might have been a smarter idea to go as far as we could before exiting rather than pay the entire highway's worth after only a half hour of highway driving. Just a thought. It was an exhausting day; we managed to make progress but really only at a snail's pace due to stopping to feed Ruben all the time. And as (bad) luck would have it, there are two suburbs of Macon with the exact same name and only a couple kilometers from each other. The only difference is, one had our hotel and the other didn't. I knew when we pulled up in front of that school that something had gone a little haywire.

Note to self: remember not to pack all our extra condiments and food for the trip next time in the newborn travel bath. And especially, do not put a bottle of vodka in it for some mixed drinks you plan on making once the kids are in bed. Bathtubs are slippery things and when stopping at the gas station they just might slip out when the trunk is open and then specified vodka will be in a million pieces all over the ground.
Additional note to self: don't pack the baby carrier next to slippery bathtub or it too might end up on the ground with the wet vodka and now every place you stop afterwards will have your son smelling like vodka.

Dear diary (Day 2): It's a darn good thing we decided to break this trip up by stopping at Macon for the night because I'm not sure how long we would have been driving before arriving otherwise. The kids were thrilled to discover McDonald's for breakfast and we were thrilled to discover a restaurant where they couldn't break anything. After very slow but admittedly steady progress, we arrived at the village of Entrepierre. The center is a center for people or families in ministry and we were immediately in awe of this historic village and it's mountainside surroundings. 2 things decided to greet us upon our arrival besides the village and its scenery: Noah-worthy rain and a small scorpion on our doorstep.

Dear diary (Day 3): Although the scorpion didn't survive, today I found another intruder in our living room. Ever the quick thinking bug killer, I took the closest empty jar I could find and stuck it on top of the beetle, hoping that my toddler wouldn't go investigating for at least another 48 hours. The girls were anxious to explore the pool so like any good parents we smothered them in sunscreen and blew up Lord knows how many floaties and walked to the pool. Life was very good for a short lived while. The problems started when I decided to take Ruben (in his bouncy chair) back to the house to nurse. The door clearly was against me and after struggling in vain with the key for 15 or so minutes, I decided it was outright hostile. So back I went to the pool to get Matt to switch me places and help. That was when Isaline decided it would be a good idea to start training for a marathon, poolside. I tried to tell her off but she couldn't hear me because she was too busy faceplanting. It became clear from the blood gushing from her upper lip that she had cut it open and that blood wasn't going anywhere but out. Thankfully Isaline is okay and while I'd like to say she learned her lesson today, she's a toddler so we all know how that'll work out.


Dear diary (Day 4): In the interest of keeping things kid friendly today, we decided to plan a picnic at the center and visit the local berry farm in the afternoon. The picnic went fairly well but then afterwards I had to go and get all pedagogic. I believe that was my downfall. You see, when we arrived, there had been a bowl of fruit on our table to welcome us and it turns out that it had come from the center garden. I was right in the middle of a really great teaching moment explaining to the girls where the fruit had come from (the mirabelle tree we were standing underneath i.e. not the grocery store) when it started raining beetles just inches from my face. Unfortunately for me, these beetles were not the kind that I had found in our house a few days prior--that one was an inch long at best--these, however were 2 1/2 inch long black beetles falling on me. That left only one course of action: jump up and down while screaming in fright like a 2 year old. I'm not entirely sure if my girls retained much from the lesson.

Later we decided to check out the farm which apparently had an "activity trail" which was like a guided tour which led us around the farm. Of course by "kid friendly" they really meant more like triathlete friendly with it's steep drop off, near kilometer trail, and scorching sun. It became appropriately nicknamed the 'farm from hell' because, well, two bawling kiddos and a newborn...enough said.




Dear diary (Day 5): Today we thought that since 'kid friendly' had failed us, we might try 'adult friendly' and get all cultural. We hiked around a mountain top town (what they call a 'perched village' around here) but the only problem is that it really truly was on top of a mountain. I think I used up most of my mommy nag cards and just about peed my pants in fright every time the kids got near a ledge. Deciding after the fact that it was a bad idea to attempt site seeing with young kids, we started hunting for an easy place for dinner. Attempt number one led us on a 45 minute goose chase that ended with a closed restaurant and me sitting on the side of a country highway alone with our children and nursing Ruben. Thank you Waze. Attempt number 2 was McDonalds but before we could get there we stumbled onto an asian buffet that looked just about perfect at the time. Of course if we had known that it would cost us Livia's future college tuition to eat there or that Isaline would accidentally fall off the booster chair, grab the tablecloth, and take down half the table (including our drinks) on her way down, we might have reconsidered. Despite cranky parents and a 2 year old that smelled like diet coke for the rest of the evening, we did manage to make it to dessert with only half of the restaurant staring at us.


Dear diary (Day 6): Back to picnics and a nearby water play area. The natural wildlife has unfortunately been getting to Livia this week--she has now developed a paranoia of all things small and alive. The worst are the bees but even butterflies have been making her drop everything, scream "peur, peur, peur!" (fear, fear, fear) repeatedly and latch onto my arm. If she would stop doing it while I am either nursing her brother or spreading something on bread I would greatly appreciate it. She also has developed a Dora the Explorer obsession and keeps yelling "backpack" and "we did it!" at the computer screen.


Dear diary (Day 7): Today decided to get started with a bang. A literal one. Lighting struck our house and we lost power temporarily as we were trying to pack up. Next Matt lost his bank card. Thankfully he found it before we had to leave. We made it back to Macon and stayed in the same hotel we had stayed in the first time on the way down there. Admittedly, it was a less than ideal setting to watch France play in the world cup game. Even less ideal because we had gotten McDonalds again to go this time but they had left out a few important pieces like straws and whatnot. The cherry on top however was that we once again found ourselves in the middle of a thunderstorm and as a result the electricity went on and off the entire evening and even into the morning because lightning had struck the hotel. I say less than ideal because despite only mediocre cheering from the Sanders clan (I was mostly busy yelling at the girls to not get ketchup all over the bedding), France still won.

Dear diary (Day 8): We're back in Paris now. After surviving beetles and scorpions, I think I'm up for surviving the Paris metro now. Despite our adventures, vacation was still worth it. But I have to admit, I'm glad to be home :)

Thursday, May 25, 2017

Chaos and mayhem and pasta




Anyone had one of these days recently? Being a pastor’s wife, Sunday often has me outnumbered in the fight for a civilized world. 



I do my best to counteract it—lunch is hummus and picnic goods and dinner is always pasta and spaghetti sauce to keep my sanity afloat. 


Back in the dark ages (okay like 6 months ago) I used to slave away Sunday morning trying to scrounge up some form of after church meal Martha Stewart worthy until my husband finally knocked some sense into me and convinced me that while our children might not suffer too badly forgoing a weekly pot roast (and let’s be honest—three fourths of the time I’d forgotten to either grab the meat out of the freezer to thaw or to actually prepare the crockpot more than five minutes before we walked out the door) , they just might suffer from dangerously crabby mom syndrome. Can I please get an amen?



 So simple and repeated meals became the law of the land and I haven’t look back since. Except, maybe, when I see Isaline covered in red sauce despite all my best full body bib efforts. Alas. Sigh. Momma said there’ll be days like this. 


Monday, June 9, 2014

Its raining men...oh wait, not really


No joke we got the most awesomest-possumest storm last night. I'm chatting on skype and suddenly I hear what sounds like firecrackers out on the street. Golf ball sized hail!! Glad we weren't out for a walk :) It didn't last long and you can't really see it on the video but I tried to capture a bit of the essence of the storm... Later that night Matt and I were sleeping with the windows wide open to get a little fresh air in the apartment when the storm revved up again. Good thing I was paranoid about getting struck by lighting with our windows wide open (go ahead and make fun of me, I would...) because just after we closed our windows (french windows don't have screens), gumball sized hail started flying about and striking the window just where our heads had been moments before. Oh Paris weather, how random you are...

Friday, August 23, 2013

Heave Ho


Well God just has a sense of humor, now doesn't he? I guess that might be because he created humor in the first place... Ok, moving on to my actual point (yes, every once in awhile I do have one!). Here I was getting ready to whine a bit about how I've felt so uninspired to write lately, poor me, yada yada yada when God just up and decided to give me a bit more material. You see I went kayaking with my mother in law this week. 

Let's picture it, shall we? We pull up to the beautiful, scenic view pictured above ready to kick some kayak butt. It's slim pickin's as far as kayaks go (due to going in the later afternoon) but our spirits our high. We confidently reassure kayak girl that we have had previous experience and that all will be fine. Heck, I took a class in college--while maybe not making me an expert, it does remove me from the realm of the ridiculous, right? 

I'm a little shaky getting in and I definitely had forgotten about the whole butt first rule, but I'm thinking--give me a few minutes and it'll all come back. Well it does, in theory. In practice... hmm. We could use a bit more work. 15 ft out and I'm already turning in circles. Ok, honestly. I start doing 2 strokes on the opposite side for every 1 on the turning side. Now this is getting personal. I try in vain to catch up with Agnès, who is by now light years ahead of me. Somehow I manage to fervently spin over to her.

At this point she says something like "wow, look how low your kayak is sitting in the water compared to mine". That's when I realize that she's made a good point:  I've got a whole kiddie pool going on next to my legs. It must have been from all that splashing and turning. We quickly decide to row for a nearby shore where it'll be easy to empty it. 

I'm 10 ft away when I start capsizing. 

It's at this point in time that I remember my first experience in Canoeing and Kayaking Class when my foot got stuck in the drifting kayak and my other foot, well, stayed on the dock. That day I got as close as I'll ever get to doing the splits before a full dunking in the Seattle canal. And then there was the time where I got distracted and flipped the canoe. Perhaps this would have been a good thing to remember from the get-go. At least my disaster training kicked in (that would be funded by the A.E.C. [Awkward Experience Club]) and I quickly prioritized the essentials: my shoes. Then paddle and semi submerged kayak, of course.



Wonder women that we are, we manage to get the kayak turned and emptied. Agnès very nicely trades kayaks with me because we're convinced that mine has issues (the guy who used it before me had had issues as well). Then it's back to business and out on the water again. This time things go better for about 30 seconds longer. I resist the urge to scream and attempt to patiently better my strokes in an effort to stop the merry go round. 
No such luck. Agnès, while occasionally stopped by a push from the current for the most part breezes onward. "Sit up straighter" "Not so intense" "Pull from far in front" I try all the advice; nothing helps. Nothing like eating humble pie every now and again, I decide (for the sake of my sanity). 

Then I start capsizing again. Only this time, I'm in the middle of the river under a bridge. 

With a feeble yell at Agnes I start swimming for a ladder I see attached to the side of the bridge's bank. This time emptying out the kayak won't be so easy. Being one who likes a challenge and the occasional stupid idea, I decide to climb the ladder and empty it from atop the bank. I am kayak woman, hear me roar. Minor detail: there's about 5 ft of distance from the water to the top of the bank. No prob, I think. Very carefully I edge the kayak up each rung of the ladder while Agnès steadies it below. Gently I slide it off the ladder and rest the tip of it on the bank's stone edge. Turning it requires some awkward straddling and hugging but I get 'er done. Little do I realize that as I'm emptying my kayak, I'm actually pouring it into Agnès' kayak. Thankfully, she has less of a talent for capsizing (it must be my spiritual gift, really) and she remains afloat. 

Just about the time when we had finally gotten the kayak emptied, upright, and waiting beside the ladder, I realize that there is an old man with his wife next to me on the side walk taking pictures of the whole darn ordeal. I must be more exciting than fishing, I guess. I manage to give the guy my best drowned rat of a smile and get back in without diving in for a third time. We decide to head back to kayak girl and just as we're coming around the bend of the bridge I see another fellow member of the A.E.C. who has also biffed it--in front of three girls no less--I smile to myself, feeling a bit less alone, and wonder how in the world I passed Canoeing and Kayaking Class with flying colors. 

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

A little drama for your life

I'm back! Happy 2013 everyone! If the beginning of the new calendar year is a time for reflection, then how much more so maternity leave. Heck that's just about all you're authorized to do really. I, for one, have learned a few things about myself. For instance, I am way too addicted to Pinterest. I'm sure that psychologists will come up with a name for the condition one of these days. I also now understand why house arrest really is a sucky punishment (don't kill me but I used to think "That's not so bad"...not sure Paul, Queen Liliuokalani, or Aung San Suu Kyi would agree with me...). But my crowning self insight is the realization that I apparently must have a deep seeded desire to create havoc and mayhem in my life when I feel it is slightly lacking in outside input. 

Take today's lunch for example. All is going well; I've got soup heating on the stove when I smell something funny. This is not such a rare occurrence in my kitchen so it takes me awhile to investigate. There is a fire under my big soup pot. My first thought is literally, "How in the world does a stainless steel pot catch on fire?" 

It takes a bit for my genius IQ to kick in but I do realize that there is something under my big pot and on top of the hot gas burner. It's a cork hot pad. Under my soup. You see, apparently last night when I had set the freshly made soup on the counter (on top of a cork trivet of course) the cork decided to stick to the underside of the pot while being transferred to the fridge. The mooch that it is clung on for another free ride right onto my burner... 

Matt and I then followed our family emergency fire plan to the T: 
  1. Get Matt's attention with lots of "hmm....oh shoot. Oh man. Oh shoooot!" 
  2. Throw dish towel onto flaming stove while convincing Matt that dowsing it with water is not the solution. (before you judge, know that yours truly did that a couple of years ago, thus how I "found out" that it's not the world's greatest idea...)
  3. Matt runs in with giant beach towel which helps quell majority of flames.
  4. Take picture of burning stove for the blog. 



5.   Peek under towel only to discover stove is still on fire. 
6.   More frantic snuffing.
7.   Take a pic of the ensuing mess. 




8.  Eat slightly charcoally soup and think about alternate vacation destination plans for this summer :)



Friday, April 13, 2012

Oh yes, I did...


I've just got to confess and come clean. There are some embarrassing stories that you keep to yourself (although I rarely seem to do that!) and others that just need to be shared with the world no matter what the cost to your reputation.Thankfully, by now I really don't have much of a reputation to protect so it makes the choice to share my embarrassing story with you all that much easier.

Picture the scene: it's my Monday morning (really Tuesday because Monday is a holiday in France) at about 7:00 am. I am frantically finishing a few last report cards in our spare room before I have to head off to school . Now, our spare room is uuuughly. It has become the dumping ground for anything and everything. It is where my unsuccessful seed attempts are. Where I get crafty and creative. Overflowing with scrapbook paper. Lined with books that we have no bookshelf for. So it should be no surprise to you that when I crouched down on the floor and hooked the laptop up to the printer (yes, there was so much stuff on the printer that I couldn't put the laptop on it) that I sat down on something. Only imagine my surprise when I realize that whatever I'm sitting on, it's getting very cold and making an odd noise. Unfortunately, I also fairly tired so the reaction time is a little slow going.

At last my brain tells myself that sitting on something that is not a chair + odd whizzing noise + very cold butt cheeks by now = not normal. So I jump up only to discover a little on the late side that....yes, drum roll please.....

I have spray painted my own butt in a lovely shade of metallic silver.
When they say coverage on all types of surfaces and easy application they're not kidding folks!