I can't make this stuff up.

I've always wished that I was witty or quick with comebacks.  I'm not.  At all.

In fact, even in a fight my argument is usually worthless.  Darren and I will be arguing (yes, shocking, I know, but it happens) and he will make a valid point and then mine is usually like, "Well.... well... that's stupid.  And whatever."  And then three hours later I'll think of about a paragraph of really good points that I should have made.  But I'm not quick on my feet.

So you know that when I tell you the following story, there's no way I could make this stuff up.

On Tuesday, Brooklyn was sick.  She'd had a rough weekend, and she kept getting worse.  She was having muscle issues, and falling down a lot.  Then she started holding her belly, doubling over, and screaming.  I took her to the pediatrician's office, but not our pediatrician because she is healing children in Africa right now, but the one filling in for her.  She felt like Brooklyn was really sick and was at risk for some damage to her organs if her body started to shut down from her metabolic issues complicated by the fact that she wasn't eating because something in her belly was bothering her.  So she said she wanted to direct-admit her to the hospital.

I drove her over to the hospital, and of course before we got there she had a massive diaper explosion and quit crying (presumably what was inside needed to come out) and seemed somewhat more content, even though her muscles were still fatigued from the stress on her body.  The wonderful attending physician there (sarcasm, of course) said she looked fine to him and he discharged her.  We just love that physician (again, sarcasm).  I refrained from throwing any punches and took my lethargic child home.

In the meantime, Savannah's bus driver forgot to stop at our house on the way home, at which time she started screaming bloody murder until the driver realized her mistake and turned the bus around.  I never have to worry about that kid speaking up for herself.

Savannah had a soccer game, so I took an unconscious Brooklyn with me to that (I figured if she was going to sleep on my shoulder anyway, I might as well see the game).  On the way home, with two children strapped in the back seat, I saw red and blue lights in my rearview mirror.  What followed was this conversation.

"License and registration please ma'am.  Do you know why I pulled you over?"
"No."
"Ma'am, you were driving 44 in a 55, and your lights aren't even on."
"You would not believe the day I've had."
"You would not believe how many times I've been told that."
"But this is legit.  My daughter was in the hospital today and a guy valet parked my car.  I guess he turned my lights off of "auto" and it really isn't dark yet... just dusky... so I didn't realize they weren't on.  I never turn them on because they always come on by themselves."
"So why were you driving 44 in a 55?"
"Because I thought the speed limit was 45 and you were following me."
"I'm going to run your license."  pause  "Ma'am, have you ever had a ticket before?  you have a lot of positive points on your license."
"No.  I've never been pulled over before."
"Well, I'm going to let you go.  But you need to turn on your lights."
"Thank you.  And I promise I'm not lying about the hospital thing.  My husband is an officer and I wouldn't lie."
"Okay.  Turn on your lights and have a good night."

We arrived home and I had the following conversation with Savannah.
"Did you find your lunch box at school today?"
"Yes!  It was in my cubby where I left it on Friday!"
"Oh good.  Where is it now?"
 "Well, I didn't bring it home.  You just told me to find it."


Ya'll, I can't even make this stuff up.