A month or two ago, I committed a crime. I drove my van without the proper registration. (see: owing Missouri property taxes and thus avoiding all routine vehicle paperwork) I was apprehended within walking distance of my favorite thrift store, and I probably coulda run for it, but I took my medicine like a good criminal.

This was my second ticket. The one before was in 2001, when I drove into an 18-wheeler. But enough about that. This one was for a whopping 38 dollars, which I had every intention of paying.

See, my dad lived on the edge. He considered most rules as suggestions, like speed limits, mandatory car insurance, and licenses for computer programs. He got speeding tickets on a semi-regular basis, and then he would pay them if he felt like it, or if there was a surplus of cash and it was a ticket Mama knew about. (disclaimer: Daddy was a pirate, but he loved Jesus)

Sometimes, Daddy went to jail. Sometimes, we'd bail him out. It was an unconventional way of paying court fines, but then nobody ever called Daddy conventional. Ever.

Anyway, this ticket was due while we were in Texas for Thanksgiving and I forgot about it. Therefore, when I got home and read the due date, I realized that I very well might be headed for the hoosegow, otherwise known as the Slammer. I purposed in my heart to pay the ticket, when I found a checkbook, and an envelope, and a stamp. That never happened.

Today, I drove to R2's doctors appointment with the Law hanging heavy on my conscience. I exceed the speed limit by 5-7 miles regularly, and obviously I drive with an expired registration, but never in all my days have I been actually arrestable.

On the way home, I saw a police van in front of me. Immediately, I broke out in a sweat. What should I do? I read once that police actually pay more attention to people who are super-cautious about the exact law, because that's suspicious. A guy driving a couple miles over, casually, looks more like he's got nothing to hide.

So I was in a quandary. Do I sip my drink casually and try to stay behind him, driving 5 miles under the speed limit, or do I act natural and pass him at 42 in a 40? I tried both, sweating all the while. Finally, he turned off and went to bust some other criminal soccer mom in a minivan, and I drove home and paid my ticket. Sheesh.

Sometimes, in the morning when I am especially boring, I think, "I will wait until something interesting happens and then blog about that." Often, when I do this, either a)nothing comes to mind or b) something interesting takes up the whole afternoon.

Yesterday, we planned on the MOG leaving on a jet plane around 5:30. So that was ideal because we could have a normal day and R2 would get home from school and we'd all leave together and have dinner and drop Daddy off at the A-port. As is the case with all seamless plans, it didn't happen.

First, the hub found out his flight was several hours earlier. So we re-adjusted the plan, and then we didn't do that one either. I packed somewhat frantically for 10 days.... hope I remembered everything. Then his stuff (whatever he does in the basement, involving large cases and cords and computers) took longer than the plan, and so we hurtled out to the van with just enough time to drive, at naptime, without lunch.

Readjust- Sonic instead of sitting down. No Sonic on our route? Readjust- McD's drive through. Bean is asleep? Feed her later. Drop Daddy off, and head out, confident because all I have to do is STAY ON 71.

I have driven this route a lot, and the key is, stay on 71. Even when there are no signs and 3 freeways. Just stay the course. So I missed one exit, to stay on, and ended up in the ghetto. I live in the ghetto, but this was a different one. So I'm all like, hey, I'll just turn around and get back on. But nooooooo, there's crazy construction and wavy lanes and confusion. Then I remember, hey! I have a GPS!

Now, maybe you're like, uh, why didn't you already have that on? I'll tell you. My GPS is a TomTom. I got it for Christmas. By January we had figured out it's a little hit-and-miss. So I keep it in my diaper bag, and if I have already mapped out a route on Google Maps, and have the basic idea, then I can type the address in my GPS and follow it pretty closely, except when it deviates from what I KNOW to be the truth. So then I take off on my own, and C3PO (my GPS voice) repeatedly cries out, "Oh dear, Master! Turn around as soon as possible!" over and over and I get so annoyed I just turn the thing off and put it in my bag again.

So anyways. I got it out yesterday and told it to take me home. It led me through all the streets in the ghetto, like a tour with Paula Abdul. Oh, and the other thing it does is say, "Turn left now." and it means like, immediately NOW. So I have to yank the wheel and coffee is spilling and the children are yelling don't drive crazy mommy and so on.

Anyways. I am shooting along on the course it has for me, way, way that way over there, and I rocket past a sign for 71 S. (sigh) So I ignore C3PO and turn around in a scary, scary parking lot and get back to that sign. C3PO gets on board and tells me to take the next left, so I do. Only my robotic buddy actually meant the left after that. U-turn again, and finally get on 71. I start getting the warning beep that I am exceeding the speed limit. I depress the power button. I no longer need assistance. On one hand, I am grateful to Tom and Tom for actually getting me out of that neighborhood. On the other hand, I wonder where he was taking me. Is there a kidnapping plot? I guess I won't know until I get lost again, next week when I am going downtown.

I make it home a long time later. I want Apple to make a stand-alone GPS device. It would work.

So, what's the point of blogging at this late of an hour? Well, if for no other reason, to entertain Nate, who is bored out of his mind at the rodeo. He's working there, y'all. Normal attendees would not be bored, and neither would bullriders. But Nate is neither of those. So here you go.

I began this morning by- well, Richy began by dropping himself off at his class, and then I took the wheel. Much like Jesus in the proverbial song. I then missed the freeway entrance and drove 30 minutes in the wrong direction before the ol' light came on. The brain light, that is... waaaaaaiiiittt.... this not 71 to airport... this 470 to Wichita... what I do now??? ...........

Call to the MOG, exit, u-turn... drive for one forever to the airport. Successfully drop Mama off and find the correct freeway, and spend the next 20 minutes on course. Then, I took a detour to some large water industry district in Kansas. Good times.
Another call to the MOG who had by this point spent a lot of class time out of class. He hung up to map my coordinates, and before he called me back I randomly chose the proper direction and found the correct road. Made it home, folks. HOURS later.

But we only had time to catch an episode of Barney and then we had to pick up Daddy and head to the DMV. Say it slow, because that is appropriate. Deee.........emmmmmmm.....veeeeee.....
We eventually got Missouri drivers licenses, and simultaneously got poorer. Highway robbery.

Then we went to the office of the party of the first part to get our van registered. And waited. Did I mention we have three children? And did I mention that Toby is TWO? He got our tax dollars worth of climbing chairs, over, under, around... meeting passersby and frightening strangers with a smile... anyway. We were number 7. I heard them call out 6, and then moments later, 8. Being a pretty Smart Egg, I reasoned something was amiss. I of the floating freeways, had been skipped. I rose and cried out for justice, and I was heard. Eventually. So the party of the first part said I needed documentation of such and such and wrote things down and sent me over to the party of the second part, who directed me to the back of the line. You won't believe this, but we were all getting a little tired of the ol DMV by this point. To cut a long, long story, shorter.... they couldn't make the computer work, the supervisor wasn't around, blah blah handwritten document, back to the P of the 1st P, who almost registered the van, but sent me out empty handed and said come back with a current Missouri inspection tag.

We did some other stuff. Now I'm home for one hour before my home group. If you want to talk to me, fill out these fourteen forms in triplicate and fax them to the Ukraine. I'll be right with you.