More Tales From The Hospital Adventure

So you probably thought you'd heard all about our experience surrounding the croup/pneumonia/hospital saga, didn't you? Well, you would be incorrect. Because there's more to tell.

And since this seems to be "Hospital Week" here at the Superchikk household, you get to hear another story.

This one, however, is a bit different.

Remember when I had to go to Defensive Driving a few months back? It was obviously the highlight of my summer. Ever since then, Husband has teased me frequently about how I should be careful not to "run red lights anymore" and still wonders how I "managed" not to talk my way out of the ticket.

And I continually remind him that's the only moving violation I've ever received, and obviously haven't had as much experience as he has in getting out of tickets. But that's neither here nor there.

So, Sunday morning, Dr. B releases us to go home from the hospital. We gather our things, sign the paperwork, and schlep all of our stuff down to our waiting vehicles. Remember, we had both cars there because we'd come to the hospital separately.

We loaded everything in, I finished buckling C into his car seat and we left, each in our own vehicles.

Now, to say that this town is dead at 9:40 on a Sunday morning would be an understatement. There was hardly a car on the road. Somehow, Husband managed to get out in front of me enough that I got caught by a stoplight he made it through.

I'm not saying he ran a red light. You people with terrible, malicious minds. You should be ashamed of yourselves.

Anyway, I made it home and was surprised to see that C and I had beaten Husband home. No big deal, but we only live about 6 minutes from the hospital and since we hadn't passed him on the way home, I had no idea where he was. But I decided he may have stopped for coffee or something, and he'd be along shortly.

By the time I got most the stuff unloaded and drug into the house, Husband was pulling into the garage.

He helped finish unloading the stuff and then showed me this.

That's right. He got pulled over on the way home. For speeding.

Actually, for going 28mph (yes, that's two-eight) over the speed limit. Granted, it's an easy place to speed, there was nobody out, he was in a hurry to get home, and his car really does tend to fly along.

But 28 stinking miles per hour over the limit? On a Sunday morning? And he gets a warning?

For a moment, I thought I was losing it. There's no way I drove past him, pulled over by a police officer. I know I was tired, but that I probably would've noticed.

He explained that "the slowest person in the universe" (who was probably actually driving the speed limit) was in front of him, so he'd turned down a different street than we normally take.

And promptly gotten pulled over.

So no, I wasn't losing it. At that point in time, that was a tremendous load off my mind; the fact that I still had one.

I'm actually very thankful to the officer who pulled him over and let him go with just a warning. Can you imagine what that ticket would've cost? Or better yet, what it would've done to our insurance rates?

We'd just spent plenty of money on an overnight stay at a place you're not really allowed to sleep. If we'd had to pay that ticket, I think I would've fallen to pieces, right there in my kitchen.

But dang, it might've been fun for Husband to go to Defensive Driving. I know I enjoyed it.