How to Laugh at Yourself: Running Calendar

There will probably be grammatical errors. It’s now 10pm. I woke up at 4:30am after having gone to bed at around 1am. Why would someone deliberately choose such foolishness? My mom had her other knee replaced this morning and I’m the long-standing Holder of the Clothes Bag.

I spent a lot of time at that hospital today, and since I wasn’t worried about the outcome of the procedure– it’s, you know, knee surgery–I got to look around at my fellow Holder’s of the Clothes Bag. I love people-watching; hospitals are a people-watcher’s crack.

I even started two different posts in that waiting room. One funny and one not– but I’m so damn D’OH right now that I’m sitting on the floor in the bedroom that served as both sanctuary and prison, next to the same window that my parents nailed shut (so that I couldn’t sneak out) wondering if 16 year old me hid a cigarette in here somewhere.

Which means part of my brain is actively scanning for possible hiding spots for a two decade old Newport: or worse, a generic Army Issue King-Sized Cigarette.

Yeah, I’m punchy. But grateful, because this also serves as a lovely reminder of why Stephanie don’t want to be birthing no more babies AND I got to have lunch with my college roomie without kids. Which hasn’t happened in… how old is my oldest kid?

Weeeeee—- see that distraction? I need to go to bed. So tomorrow I’ll share the stories* of Bunky Breaks the Trailer, or Little Joe Loves Jail, or Camo Family’s First Elevator Ride but first I need to laugh at myself.

I try to be fair.

This dry erase monthly calendar is not for August 2012. Nope, it’s from last August, and it still hangs on my master bathroom door.

*Everyone of those stories are hand-to-heart true. For about the hundredth time I wish I owned a spy camera.

How to Laugh at Yourself

My headphones delivered the loud BING of an incoming text message right about the same time I began to suspect I was lost.

I carefully shifted my vibrams to my left hand, so as not to dump out the shells I had collected, and…

What? Wet barefoot running shoes don’t make for happy feet, but it doesn’t mean they can’t perform an admirable impression of a happy bucket.

read the incoming message from my husband: “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, got distracted by some shells at the tidal pool. Be back shortly.”

I was peripherally aware that the tidal pool was less than a half mile from our hotel, having mapped out my intended running route earlier in the day.

Twenty minutes later my post-partum bladder upgraded its urgency alert from mild to severe prompting me to send another text.

“Can you go out on the balcony and look for me?”

Several minutes of -“can you see me now”- and he determined that I had missed both our hotel and its loud hip-hop-party-hosting neighbor.

By about a mile.

One would assume that walking from beach to hotel, then hotel to beach, more than twice a day for 3 days would have imprinted the building on my brain.


Or maybe I noticed the bright red boat that had spent the day anchored 200 yards off-shore directly across from our room.


All I could do (continue to do) is laugh at myself. I can even applaud my response as a positive character trait after reading the findings from a small research study that suggests that “laughing at oneself may be the foundation for a good sense of humor”.

Note: “How to Laugh at Yourself” is going to part of a regular series where I share my embarrassing ADHD moments and how they taught me not to take my mistakes (or myself) too seriously. I hope y’all enjoy them!