Freaky Friday

When people see my scars, they usually come to their own conclusion that they are softball battle wounds or from my xxxHaRdCoRexxx days of blading. (Rollerblading for all of you that don't know what that sweet sport on wheels is. Plus, I didn't want my grandma to read this and tell me about the time she saw the report on KSL about the Emo generation and cutting.) But now the real story of them will unfold.

There is a rumor in our family that once when we were camping with our cousins as small children, Sarah pushed Jais into the river. To this day it is still denied, but now I am reminiscing a lot of memories that lead me to think it true. The Shook's were our neighbors that lived down the street from us. They have two daughters that our mine and Sarah's same age and we were always playing together. I am sure when we announced we were headed over there, our mom was delighted because she could now have two hours displaying her breakable Precious Moments before we returned home and they were re layered in bubble wrap and put back in the child/fireproof safe. Well back in the days when it was safe to let your children roam around outside, Sarah and I walked out of the house and headed off down the street. I usually chose to drive my big wheel but due to some complications it was in the shop. We were carefully trying to keep about six inches in front of each other because it was always a race to see who would get to ring the doorbell, and with my six cylinder being replaced by twelve inch legs, I hardly stood a chance. That was such a treat for us, for some reason when you are little, pushing buttons that made high pitched dinging noises was almost as entertaining as "accidentally" putting a spoon in the microwave just to watch it explode. And you know that you never hit the doorbell just once when you were little. You would push it once and if the door didn't open by the time the bell was done chiming you would hurry and hit it again because it should just never take longer than one and a half seconds to answer the door. My parents eventually wised up and put in a door bell that chimed the Battle Hymn of the Republic. We lost patience after the first two minutes. Anyway, to get up to the door, you had to walk along their deadly front walk that was lined with rosebushes that we imagined opening up to the center of the Earth and swallowing us. We half ran to the front door and I was half a step ahead of Sarah, it was such a rush to feel for once, my little finger hitting that golden doorbell button before her. When I turned to do a victory dance, it was quickly ended by a hipcheck that sent me sailing into the rose bushes. Rosebushes are like quicksand, the more you squirm to get out, the worse it is. I thought that I had never experienced anything worse than the time that I broke a big wheel peddle but believe me, this was definitely topping that. I learned a couple valuable lessons from this: one - never have rosebushes that close to your front door, 2- if you are ever needed to bandage up a small child that has just encountered a rose bush you will need a Costco sized band aid box, and 3- never EVER beat Sarah to the doorbell. I will eventually be posting dates and whereabouts of Jaislyn and I's book tour to promote our new auto-biography, "Living With "Accidentally" Being Pushed"