"Somebody help me! I'm being spontaneous!"

Name that movie. I'll give you a cyber-hug.

So. I'm not an especially spontaneous person. I like having a plan. Or at least time to plan. Then even if I don't use it wisely I can say "Well, it's my own fault. I had time to plan." Anyway, I'm really not a "just do it" kind of gal.

Which is why, when I'm at work and I get a text from my husband at 2:30 saying he's had a rough day and that he would like nothing better than to leave at 6 and go camping, I have a small freak out party in my head.

"Where are we going to go camping?"
"Won't it be dark when we get there?"
"What are we going to eat?"

So I text back: "is there anything besides camping you would like to do? something that might require a little less preparation?"

To which he replies: "I can't think of anything. And I really don't think it will be that much preparation - I just want to get away with you. We'll come back in the morning."


So I agree.

We stop by Wal-Mart to get some stuff for breakfast, and go to Wendy's in Payson for dinner. The drive is pretty nice, and not too long.

We get to the campsite well after dark and Dallin sets everything up. By this time, I have to...you know... go. I am prego, after all. I tell Dallin of my need, and he responds by pointing the flashlight off into the woods. Ha. Right.

We had driven by some restrooms while in search for our campsite, so we make a trip back. While they certainly aren't pleasant (aka gag me), it was better than going to pee in the woods in unfamiliar territory in the dark, so I suck it up.

We are already pretty tired by this time, so we play a quick game of Skip-Bo and hit the sack.

Let the fun begin.

I have claustrophobic tendencies. I blame my grandma. I don't know if claustrophobia is hereditary, but I still blame her. I shouldn't...that's not very nice if it isn't her fault. Anyway, mine isn't nearly as bad as hers. I can sleep in a sleeping bag. Heck, I can sleep in a sleeping bag inside a tent. But put me in a sleeping bag inside a tent in 80 degree heat with a boy right next to me who wants to snuggle with me, and I kinda start feeling like I'm never going to escape. Snuggling became outlawed, which was unfortunate.

Also, sleeping bags are difficult to roll over in. A pregnant woman sleeping on a hard surface needs to roll over 763 times during the night, give or take. This led to much discomfort and frustration.

And large, beetle-type bugs kamikaze-ing into the outside of your tent as they try to get into the inside of your tent? Well, they don't exactly lull you to sleep. They make you feel like you have little pesky thingys all over your body.

Sleep came sporadically.

My first thought when I wake up in the morning - if you can really call it waking up when you've already been awake about 12 times before that - "I have to pee."

I don't want to drive down to the nasty restroom. I also want to prove to my hubby that I can pee in the woods. The thing is, I can't pee in the woods! Like, it doesn't happen. Not without stripping down. And I don't want to do that.

So I start getting creative. The solution?

"Hey Dallin?"
"You want to go get one of those Wendy's cups out of the car for me?"

No, I don't go in the Wendy's cup in our tent, thank you very much. I go in the Wendy's cup in the woods.

Because if there's one thing a pregnant woman can do, it's pee in a cup.

After that excitement (well, during it, since it still took freaking forever because I'm lame like that), Dallin makes us a yummy pancakes and bacon breakfast. Dallin does most of the packing up, and I make trips up and down a decent-sized hill to load the car up. I only fall once. And it was graceful. Ok, no it wasn't. And I'm going to have a bruise.

Then we walk down to the river and explore a little bit before heading home.

About 7 minutes into the drive, we pull over so I could brush one of the large, beetle-type kamikaze bugs OFF MY LEG.

When we get home, we take a nap.

Because you know, getting away is tiring. And spontaneous getting away is downright exhausting.

But hey, it was nice to get away, and even nicer to do something that my sweet, thoughtful husband really wanted to do.

Especially because now he owes me.


Four days ago...

(Side note: the reason I have to write about something that happened four days ago is because I have been unnaturally busy. It's just that time of year, I guess...)

(Side note for the side note: I know it was early in the post for a side note, but for some reason I felt like my delay in getting this post up had to be explained.)

So anyway, in case you forgot where we left off (and really, who could blame you?) - four days ago...

Thursday night. Katie is driving home after a long day at work. Every day at work is long, and Katie was extremely excited to get home, see her hubby, and maybe go out and do a little Christmas shopping. She had called this hunky husband of hers to let her know she was on her way home. She had called her dad to get some gift ideas for her older sister. And where our story begins, Katie was singing along - loudly and shamelessly, I might add - to whatever version of "O Holy Night" was on the radio at the time.

Just as Katie is about to reach the climax of her private performance, she suddenly hears a sound that just ruins the song. It's kind of a "thump THUMP thump THUMP thump THUMP thump," you know? Not only that, but Katie's ride suddenly gets a little bumpier. Katie slows down, pulls to the side of the road (unfortunately the left side, since she was in the left lane...) and soon her worst fears are confirmed.

Yes, I had a flat tire.

Here, I must pause and give myself props for not freaking out about the whole thing, because really, I didn't. No screaming, cussing, or crying. Just pulling over and stopping. Just so you know...this is rather uncharacteristic of me, so I had to point it out.

Anyway, just at this exact moment when I pulled over, my dad called to give me some ideas for a gift for my sister. I told him what had happened, and he insisted on coming to help. Then I called Dallin, who also left immediately to come to my rescue. I hung out with Mickey (this is my car's name, duh) for a while as I waited for my helpers. Dallin got there first, and started pulling out tools and stuff to fix the dang thing. Then my dad got there, and, since my services were obviously no longer needed, I went to wait in Dallin's car. Yes, perhaps I should have stood outside to gain some kind of knowledge about how to change a flat tire...but it was cold, people. COLD.

This was the only picture I got, taken via phone.

Long story short (ahem) my spare was flat. Dallin and I took off to get a new tire and fill up the spare, and my dad kept Mickey company. We came back, they fixed the tire, and we all went our separate ways...except of course for Dallin and I who went to the same place...since we are married....

How I wish this was the end of the story!

Dallin had a stop to make before he came home, so I beat him. An odd smell met my nose when I entered, but I thought nothing of it...until I walked into the kitchen and felt water under my feet. Our kitchen sink was overflowing. The stars must have aligned. They must also have hated us for some reason.

Dallin called the apartment complex people, and they sent a guy over. Dallin and I went to get In-n-Out, and then met the plumber man back home. He tried several different things, and the problem was not solved for a couple hours. Apparently the apartment above us had had a clog the day before, and when whoever helped them "fixed" theirs, he really just shoved everything down to us. Yummy.

Needless to say, it was not the relaxing night I was looking forward to.

Whenever my family would go on a vacation, we always seemed to have little incidents occur. You know - the rental car place screwing up and giving us a compact sized car for 8 of us plus luggage; locking the keys in the car in Massachusetts and having to spend 2 hours in a gift shop waiting for AAA; driving the wrong way down a one way street in Boston; being kicked off a bus in the middle of nowhere in Italy left to find your own way to your hotel. That kind of stuff. My mom referred to these "incidents" as "adventures." Adventures indeed, mother.

So I guess Thursday night marked mine and Dallin's first married "adventures" together. Unless of course you count getting on the wrong plane on our honeymoon.

But that's another story.