Stealin' and Four-Wheelin'

I am not a risk taker.

And so, every year I turn down the opportunity to go four-wheeling in the woods surrounding my college roommate's central Pennsylvania cabin.  My husband usually goes out and I did go with him once.  I didn't dare drive.  I rode behind hugging him tight and clamoring through clenched teeth, "I don't like it.  I don't like it."

But this year, I was motivated to go again by jealousy and a beautiful day.  See, I completely trust my husband and while he is far from an experienced four-wheeler, I didn't hesitate to let him take our daughter out for a little ride. When they returned they excitedly showed me the view from the top of the hill behind the house and I knew I wanted to see it, too.

The view I just had to see for myself.

And so I went.  Camera strapped tight to my back and helmet strapped tight to my head, the hubs and I made our way through the trees that glowed golden in the fresh autumn air.  At the top, we stopped to take pictures and relax a bit, finally on vacation from our kids and our cares.  

City girl four-wheelin' in the country.

Enthused by reaching the summit and comfortable with our girls safe at the cabin with our friends, I actually asked for more.  We headed off back down the mountain and found a large corn field to explore.  After awhile we stopped again to get artsy fartsy with our camera because that's what you're supposed to do when you go four-wheeling, right?

Artsy fartsy feed corn.

And then, before I really even knew it, I plucked this and another ear of corn as a souvenir.  We don't grow much corn in Baltimore and I ignorantly believed taking two ears of feed corn was akin to picking two dandelions out of the cracks of someone's driveway.

It is not.

Within seconds of hopping back on the four-wheeler, a red sedan screeched off the road and approached us on the trail.

"Who are you?" the woman demanded as she emerged from her car.

"Uh, uh," my husband stammered, "We are friends of the..."

"Kellers!" I offered, remembering my friend's parent's name first.  I pointed back in what I thought was the general direction of the cabin.

"Eh heh." The woman grunted.  "I see.  I also see you have helped yourself to some corn.  Eh."

I clutched the ears, a bit buttered with guilt.

Chivalry is not dead and my husband came to my defense.  "Oh.  Well, we just thought they would be nice for decorating."

We did?

"Heh.  Fine."  Flashing us one more threatening hairy eyeball, she left.

It is unclear where she came from, but she certainly ended our fun.  And I am not sure whether she taught me to take even fewer risks or to take a few more.  But I do know that our door looks smashing this season.

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A not so noble steed

Do penguins have lips?  This is a question I found myself pondering Saturday night while driving home from a date with my husband.  I don't think they do, but the penguin toy we bought for our dog while out together seems to.  He is really cute (our dog, the toy and my husband.)  We haven't bought either of our girls any Christmas presents yet, but Ben (the dog) is set.

Do I call the police or a tow truck?  This is an entirely different question I found myself pondering Sunday afternoon while lodged in an off ramp embankment.  Apparently, if you call the police (or let the angel-of-a-chick truck driver who saw the whole thing call them for you) they call a tow truck.  I had never been in an accident before.  It's hardly a bucket list kind of thing, but I suppose I can now check it off for 2012.

I'm not completely certain what happened.  I know the weather was to blame.  I know I closed my eyes right before the car hit the guard rail.  I know I ended up trunk deep in damp grassy knoll.  The rest can somewhat be pieced together by the iPhone footage I had the "presence of mind" (read "wonky adrenaline laden brain") to capture before I even thought to call my husband.  Brilliant. Thankfully, Carissa, the aforementioned truck driver, was kind enough to pull over and help guide me through the remaining process.  

A police officer also arrived on the scene before too long.  As she ambled closer and closer to the car I felt instant relief, not because I knew she could help, but because I became absolutely certain that she was, indeed, a woman.  Never underestimate the power of ascertaining someone's gender.  It really ups the comfort level in these types of situations. 

I should mention that my 3-year-old was with me when all of this occurred.  She, unlike me, stayed calm the entire time, simply noting that despite having to hold on to her car seat very tight her tiara didn't even fall off.  Thankfully, a great friend was able to come by and take her to the birthday party we had been attempting to attend in the first place.  I am grateful her little world kept turning without missing too many beats.

I was also grateful that I got to attend the princess party (the car was towed out of the ditch, but remained drivable) because it meant I was greeted with warm coffee, a huge piece of chocolate cake and smiling faces.  Of course, it also meant I cried all over again as my nerves defrosted off of me and landed in the arms of my friends, moms and dads like me, who just want to get through the day in one piece.

And, somehow, we always do.