Expect The Unexpected

As long as they don't involve poop, we love surprises around here. Not only do we love the surprises themselves, we're also big fans of the chaos that ensues immediately after the surprise gets sprung upon its victim(s) -- and I'm not just talking about the benevolent surprise party every couple of years. Maybe it's the look of shock upon Biscuit's face just before a well-aimed pair of socks hits him upside the head, or maybe it's the knowledge that Hubby will not let an unexpected wet-willie go unanswered (I still say it was worth it), or maybe it's the way my dad (The Dead-Pan-Straight-Man) jumps backwards and bounces for a bit after I jump out of the closet at him (absolutely priceless-- all three times we've managed to pull it off-- and one of my all-time favorite shenanigans). Or maybe it's just a little bit of the devious fairy in us needing to come to the surface and work some mischief in public. And I know we've overdone it a bit over the years (Mimzi and Dead-Pan-Straight-Man didn't believe there were two babies in the belly until they saw the ultrasound and even then they were skeptical, thinking we'd just Photoshopped the whole thing-- I thought for a minute that maybe we should tone down the surprise-a-thon that is our life and then realized that would just be silly). We get the occasional backfire, like flat tires, pies in the face, and twins, but most of the time it's all good fun. Because you know, it's the backfires that are really the most fun.

Hubby thinks they're hilarious but, sadly, he never gets to witness them. There was the time a few weeks ago when I was getting the Beans into their strollers (we use two singles when going out shopping now-- but that's another post entitled) when Biscuit and I were going to Wal-Mart and while pulling Parki out of her carseat I stepped backwards, tripped over the stroller and landed flat on my keester in the middle of the WalMart parking lot while holding the baby, who was wearing a very surprised expression, up in the air. Biscuit leaned over me spluttering, "Are you okay?"

"MMMMrrgh," I said, and then clarifying, "Yes." I peered up at my son, who dutifully stayed right by Pipsi's stroller and wore a squiggly, squirmy expression on his face that said he was trying SO HARD not to laugh.

"It's okay, you can laugh. I'm sure that looked absolutely ridiculous," He didn't hear the last half of the sentence because he had already fallen apart. Upon reflection, I see that as a rather low point in my life: on my butt in the WalMart parking lot with a twelve-year-old laughing hysterically at me, along with everyone else in the vicinity.

When we got home that evening Hubby asked, "What happened to your leg?" pointing to the long scabby scrape and bruise along the back of my thigh.

Biscuit told him, "Pie bailed hard in the WalMart parking lot! You should've seen it!"

Hubby looked at me. I nodded. "You should have. It was pretty funny."

Hubby looked disappointed. "I never get to see it. I'm always somewhere else when all the good stuff happens."

This is true. He missed the time in college during passing period when I fell forward onto my hands and knees in front of Dwinelle Hall and my heavy backback continued on after I stopped, pushing my head down on the concrete. Lots of people saw that one and laughed, but Hubby did not. Then there was time I was standing outside the door to my boss' office and turned to scoot over to my desk and ran right into the wall. My boss laughed his butt off and rightly so. Hubby missed that one, too. And let's not forget the time I was walking out of a pizza place carrying a gigantic pizza over which I could see nothing but sky, and I slipped in the mud and landed with my legs all akimbo, half-on, half-off the curb. No Hubby around then, but the pizza made it safely home. Oh, and there was the night I was talking to a friend outside a restaurant and when I turned around to go inside I walked right into a pole which made a pretty singing noise when my face hit it. Alas, Hubby was absent then, too. I told him when we first got together that these kinds of things seem to happen frequently and I think that back then I labeled myself "accident-prone" but now that we're older and wiser, I think it's just the universe getting back at mischievous me and keeping the score a little more even.

Take last night for example. Yesterday was Mimzi's birthday. Hubby and I were scooting around trying to get everything and everybody ready to get over to Mimzi & DPSM's house to celebrate for ten minutes before the Beans completely melted down. Already tired from waking up early (and I don't know what was up with that except possibly more teeth?), our little Beans were vociferously protesting their wakeful state and Katie was adding to the mix, sliding up and down the hall after me, before me, around me, and generally just totally in my way, begging not to be left behind this time. It was getting ready to sprinkle outside so Hubby decided we should load the Beans into the Starship Margaret for the five-minute journey (we figured no matter what we strapped them into to get from A to B they were going to scream all the way, so better to keep them out of the rain and separate enough to keep them from thieving each other's Binkies and pulling each other's hair and- I shudder to say it- from biting each other) and I was making my way back down the hall from the Beans' room to the Playground when Katie paused in front of me, looking back over her shoulder at me with one ear up and her tongue out the side of her grinning mouth, so cute I couldn't resist her playful attitude. I started stomping my feet and scampering up the hall toward her, figuring with all the other chaos going on I might as well just go with the flow and at least keep the dog happy.

Suddenly, out of nowhere there was a big THUNK and blinding, crippling, make-you-pee-your-pants pain was shooting up my arm through my torso, down to my fingertips and into my head and coursing throughout the rest of my body. Something clattered to the floor and through the red haze of pain I saw Katie pause, look at the object and cautiously approach to sniff at it. In the brief instant before the tears obscured my vision (which was weird because in none of these other ridiculous situations has there ever been sufficient pain to make me cry-- not even when I was nine and took a softball in the eye or got sort of run over by a Ford Mustang when I was 16) I recognized the offender and realized I'd just been humbled / crippled / PWNed by an Unidentified Flying Smoke Detector. The drum of my heels on the hall floor must have shaken it from its precarious perch in the ceiling and Karma had aimed it directly at my left elbow. Or maybe Karma aimed it at my head and fortunately missed. I spun around and staggered back down the hall toward my bedroom, my right hand cradling my poor throbbing elbow. I heard Hubby behind me in the living room.

"Pie, you about ready? Are you bringing their jackets?"

"MMMglarpfh unh unh, ow," I choked out.

"What? Do you have the jackets? Parki's coming for you,"

Slap, slap, slap went Bean hands on the floor. Thump, thump, thump went little Bean knees.

"Pick up the smoke detector," I gasped, "pick it up!"

"What? I can't hear you. Where are you? We gotta get going. What are you doing?" Hubby finally looked down the hall and saw me squatting in the doorway of our bedroom, temporarily incapacitated by pain. I was turned away from him, so he didn't see the tears spilling down my cheeks. Suspicious and wary, he approached me with caution. He was probably remembering the time I faked injury to get him close enough to mash a Ho-Ho in his face, a ruse, I remember, which worked perfectly.

"Pick up the smoke detector. Make sure there aren't any screws laying around," I instructed. I think I grunted a little bit, too. It really hurt.

Hubby stopped en route to the bedroom and picked up the smoke detector. "What's this?" he puzzled. Have I mentioned that Hubby's a smart guy but a shitty listener? I can't help but think that if he listened a little better he wouldn't miss quite so much-- like Unidentified Flying Smoke Detectors assaulting his wife.

"Where did this come from? Are you ok? What happened?" Cute little confused Hubby was about to receive yet another disappointment.

"It fell down and hit me," I whimpered. Hubby came around me, over the threshold and into the bedroom. "It really hurts, " I added, just in case the tears and grunts weren't enough to help him draw this conclusion for himself.

"Oh, wow, Pie." He said, looking at the mess that, for better or worse (and this was definitely worse-- a slobbery, runny-nosed, mascara-smeared worse), he was married to. "Do you want me to get you some ice?"

And with that, Hubby went into Mom mode. The Beans were screaming since he'd put Parki in the Playground before coming down the hall, so I went and climbed in with them to calm them down. Hubby fixed an ice pack and applied it to my poor little winglet and then called Mimzi and DPSM and invited them over, explaining that I'd been victim of yet another freak accident but damn, was it funny. He was walking into the kitchen to put a couple stray cups in the Deeshwasherator when he started to chuckle mirthfully.

"This could only happen to you," he said.

"You were right here! You didn't see it happen?" I couldn't believe his terrible luck.

He came over to the Playground. "Do we need to take you to the hospital?"

"Not at the moment." The Motrin he'd brough me a little earlier were already helping but it still hurt A LOT.

Mimzi and DPSM arrived and looked at me, holding an ice pack on my elbow, surrounded by toys and Beans.

"You okay?" asked my dear father, DPSM.

"Uh-huh." I replied.

"So the smoke detector fell from the ceiling and hit you in the elbow? You're lucky it wasn't your head. You need some mollies?" Dead-Pan-Straight-Man turned to talk hardware with Hubby. I watched him talking earnestly about how to keep this from happening again and thought that there's only one way to prevent this or any other situation like it from occurring and that's to quit with all the surprises. Will that ever happen? Not in our household.

While it might be nice to live in a world where poles, walls and smoke detectors all stay put and don't jump out and whack us every once in a while, it would be awfully boring. I wouldn't want to raise my kids in that world. Even though it's often annoying, inconvenient and occasionally requires an ER visit, life with surprises teaches kids to keep their eyes and ears open and be ready for anything and that's a good thing. Because you never know when you're going to get a BIG surprise-- like two babies at the same time.