Happy New Year, kids. Hope yours was great. I spent mine working a double before barely making it to midnight before falling asleep. It’s like I keep getting older or something. But no, the reason I was so tired is because I spent the past four days at my dad’s side of the family for the holidays. I’m always beat by the time I get home, but only because those Goedens pretty much invented the saying “Work hard and play harder.”
I’m going to start the year off with a lovely event that just occurred in my life about five days ago (the two illustrations are by Rob–his blog is filled with them; visit it). Here’s the scene: My father, brother, sister, and I have just driven five hours to Yankton, South Dakota, where some of my dad’s family lives. I had been texting my uncle to see what we needed for supper, so we stopped at the Hy-Vee there and got some chicken for the grill. So as we leave the store, my brother is like “Hey, let’s race to the truck!” Now, no one ever races him, because he’s sixteen and working on getting up to six feet tall and like 180 pounds and at the prime of his life, health-wise. But today I thought What could possibly go wrong with giving him a tiny bit of competition? Oh, a lot, crazy thoughts. A lot.
Now that I think about it, I only had groceries in my right hand, but I KNOW, running with a sack of chicken wasn’t my best choice. Don’t worry, this gets better. So I make it up to my full speed, which at this point in my life, no one really needs to see, let alone my family and some random strangers in South Dakota. But just as I get up to it, my brother passes me, and just as he looks back to see where I am, it happens. The sack of groceries decides to swing into my right leg, which is in the upward and forward motion. My right leg then slams into my left, and it’s over. I fly forward. Now, with any other person, they would just fall down and it would be over. But not with me. Nope, not with me. The groceries go flying to the side, I flail forward and somehow fling my head and hands up and back so they don’t hit the ground. This is a good idea, but now I’m beached whale-ing it. On dry pavement. People, I’m not exaggerating here. I slid about three feet. Without ice or snow on the ground. My dad and sister are behind me, so they get to see my feet flip up as I spud it into the concrete. And obviously, I picked this one day to wear my glasses instead of contacts, so those slide under me and break.
They didn’t break in half, but they bent so I’d have to hold them up like the Monopoly guy or something to get them to fit on my eyes. Anyway, after the sliding is over and I realize I’m in the middle of a parking lot with my family so I can’t even curse or lie there in the the fetal position, I decide to just pick up my glasses and storm to the truck in silence. My sister has to pick up the groceries, and I sit down and start putting my contacts in. Now, if you don’t know my family, you don’t understand. The first thing we do when people hurt themselves or look silly is laugh. Then we ask if they’re okay. My brother is sitting up front trying so hard to hold the laughter in that it’s just ridiculous. My father is staring at me in the mirror, making sure my face isn’t bleeding. And my sister (the only sane one in the bunch, really) is trying not to make eye contact while ensuring that I’m okay. So I start laughing and just say “Who DOES that?” really loudly. Then everyone laughs and we tell my dad’s side and they think it’s hilair, too.
Yeah, I have a pretty sweet road rash going on around the stomach area. And I was sore for a few days because I stretched muscles that haven’t been used probably since high school. But all in all, it was really just super embarrassing and funny at the same time. So there ya go. Another insight into me and my awesome-ness.
