My first guest blogger... Jumble Mash!

Jumble Mash has been gracious enough to be my very first guest blogger. I asked her to do it because she was my very first follower who wasn't already a friend or family member, and because I just love her to pieces! She is wise well beyond her years, so go check out her blog if you haven't already. If nothing else, you have to go over there to check out my new "guest blogger" button I gave her. I think it's pretty cool, if I don't say so myself.

So, on to the post! I asked her to come up with a funny story about one of her parents (since I have so many about mine), and this is what she came up with about Dad over at Unsound Reasoning, who really is her father. Enjoy! I know I sure did! Thanks again, JM.


First of all, a huge thank you to Krissy for allowing me to crash her blog today. I asked her to give me a topic, because I only think I should be allowed to roam freely on my own blog. I’m the type that needs supervision.

So she asked me if I could think of a funny story about one of my parents.

Piece of cake.

I’m of course going to pick Dad. He is the one with the sense of humor anyways. I sat here and thought about some of the funny stuff he has done and I can’t remember a single time with my dad being unfunny. Even at the hospital with Lil Sis over the weekend, he made the doctor draw him a diagram of what was going on inside of Lil Sis and then he proceeded to educate everyone that came to visit with said diagram. It was hysterical, but he was very proud of his little drawing.

I finally (with the help from Dad) decided to go with a night that was more than hysterical and we still look back and laugh at it often.

Setting: College Basketball Game on a cold, cold night.

Year: 2003ish? I was about 17

Characters: Dad, BFF, and Me

Our team had won the game and the three of us were as hyper as ever. We started (for some reason) talking about military tactics and Dad decided to teach us a thing or two.

So we walked out of the coliseum into the bitter cold and our sole mission was to get to the truck without freezing to death or getting attacked by rouge basketball fans.

Dad, being the military man that he is, was our commander. We all had fake walkie talkies, (a.k.a. our closed fists) and stealthily made our way through the huge parking lot.

“Return to Mother Ship. Over.”  Dad said into his fake walkie talkie and then made the pssssht noise they are so notorious for making.

“Baby bird to Big bird. Baby bird to big bird.”  I walkie talkied from behind a tree.

 Dad: Go ahead Baby Bird.

 Me: Suspicious personnel near Mother Ship. Please advise. Over.

             Dad: Big Bird to Baby Birds...proceed with extreme caution. Please confirm.

             Me: Baby Bird to Big Bird. Confirmed. Over.

             BFF: Confirmed. Over.

             BFF and I then proceeded to dart behind trees and actually roll on the cold cold pavement to reach the Mother Ship. Dad stayed in the shadows as well, but was smart enough not to roll around on the ground.

                Now you all have to keep in mind that a basketball game had just let out and so there were people everywhere.

                Dad: {Starts truck with remote starter} Come in Baby Birds. Mother Ship is leaving without us. Move. Move. Move.

                As low to the ground as we could get without crawling, the three of us zoomed between other cars. I’m pretty sure Dad even rolled over a random car’s hood.  BFF suddenly sprouted an imaginary hand gun and of course I had to go bigger and better and was suddenly armed with an imaginary shot gun.

                Dad: Big bird to Baby Birds. Enter Mother Ship with caution. Over.

                Still low to the ground we all crept towards the truck and grabbed the door handles. We all slid into our seats and hurriedly turned off the dome light.

                We were safe. But wait. We still had to get to the home base. The entire ride home, Dad drove as if someone where tailing us. Weaving in and out of traffic (safely) and still using his military voice. We arrived home safely without incident and were honorably discharged from duty.

                When I emailed Dad to ask him to help me remember the story clearly, he said

  “I was providing you expert instruction on tactical movements...high crawl, low crawl, tactical roll, and combat rush while maximizing the effective use of cover (protection from enemy fire...a car, a building, etc.) and concealment (prevents detection by the enemy of your location...but does not stop bullets...such a bushes, a billboard, a tree, ravine)...all to prepare you for survival from the terrorist threat!!!”

Am I my father’s daughter or what?

 P.S. That year, Dad bought BFF and I REAL walkie talkies for Christmas.