the saga of the sunday wog

nothing is better than sundays. (with an actual hot fudge sundae coming in close second.....but that's another blog!) there is just something about getting spiritually fed and taking the sacrament to remind you what our purpose here in life is. the church makes me so happy and makes me want to be better and i am so thankful for that.

not only do i love sundays because of church, but its also a day that dan and i have to hang out at home together and spend time as a family.

dan really is so awesome. dan made homemade tortillas for lunch, (probably because of fast sunday, and he always gets excited about cooking when he is REALLY hungry.) they were delectable! later he painted my toenails. (not something he would want me to advertise i'm sure. but that is true awesome-ness right there!) it was so nice of him to do that for me, but it was pretty comical. we were both laughing pretty hard. he didn't really know for sure how to do it. at one point he was using a technique similar to sponge painting. (doesn't exactly give you a smooth coat, but thats beside the point!) but now my toes are a nice soft pink thanks to a nice little husband!


later in the evening we decided to go on a walk. (we were secretly hoping it would start contractions.........but alas, here i am writing this blog and not in the hospital........) here is the thing though, dan doesn't walk slow. slow is not to be put in the same sentence as. walking. (hence the early period there. ) he calls it his "missionary stride." i have long legs and i used to consider myself a swift walker, but that was BEFORE i met dan. seriously.

so going on a walk with dan is more like going on a wog. he walks and i practically jog. so we are wogging along and dan decides to wog up this mountain. (so its not REALLY a mountain, but it is an incredibly steep hill that goes up towards the mountain.) i could see the light bulb go on in dan's brain as thoughts of contractions, umbilical cords, and hospital gurneys swirled through his head. "what a perfect way to have a baby today!" he thought. "we'll wog up this mountain and suzanne's water will have broken by the time we reach the top! we'll have a baby by midnight!" so that is what he was thinking. what he says is, "so you think you can make it to the top of that hill?" OBVIOUSLY not wanting to be the wanny of the group, i say "of course i can wog up that hill are you kidding me? do i look pregnant to you? i'm not even breathing hard!" (BUT, inside i'm thinking---"i've always imagined giving birth to our first child on the SIDEWALK? lead the way my fearless husband! we shall give birth TONIGHT!!!") but of course i kept that comment to myself. stupid pride........

so the wogging commenced. i even did jog a little to pass dan now and then just to prove that this hill was nothing. the hill didn't own me, i owned the hill! periodically dan would ask how i was doing and would remind me not to over-do it. i felt pretty good actually despite the fact that we were walking up an incline that would have been dangerous to sled down in the winter. halfway up though something happened. {insert gasp here} in mid-wog something happened. dan had a contraction! (not suzanne, but dan.) he paused and said, "i think i'm having a contraction." this was a turn of events. wasn't i the one supposed to be feeling pelvic discomfort? i swiftly assessed my discomfort. nope, nothing. i looked at dan and said "what?" he said again "i think i'm having a contraction!" not to be anti-climactic, but dan's 'contraction' was merely a charlie horse in his left cheek (and we aren't talking facial either.) we laughed and wogged it out. to make this already long story shorter, we both made it to the top and neither one of us had given birth--unless you count charlie's horse--but he didn't stick around for long--and the only water that ever broke was the sweat on our foreheads. so we turned around and wogged home.

the moral of the saga of the sunday wog is this: while wogging up a massive incline is a great way to induce charlie horses in the glutteous maxximus it is not fruitful in inducing the delivery of nova-eous hope-imus. she is content to hang out in womb-ville for a few more days. and that is end of the saga of the sunday wog.