Saturday is a Special Day

Have you ever had one of those days (weekend, in my case) that makes you feel like a complete moron isn't your best? Saturday was one of those days. It actually started the evening before when I was making a special breakfast to be put in the oven the next morning. It involved cutting english muffins, but I didn't want to do it on my wet cutting board. They were just going to have an egg mixture dumped over them, so I don't know why it mattered that the cutting board was wet. I thought, "I'm a Home Ec teacher. I can be safe about cutting it in my hand if I'm really careful." Apparently, everything I had taught about kitchen safety was lost on...myself. The safe cutting lasted through four of the six muffins. The exclamation that followed was, "Ouch! Idiot!" That's what you say after you slice two of your fingers with a bread knife. On the joints. Idiot.

On Saturday I went to my Usborne meeting and became concerned as I backed out of my parking space. I couldn't see my stroller behind the back seat of the car and I always can. I called my parents to see if I left it at their house. I called work to see if it was there. No luck. I was convinced that it had been stolen. Eric went outside to look for it in the garage and found it. In the back of the car. Right where I'd left it.

Saturday also included a bit of a fender bender in the Target parking lot, but I was merely a passenger. I didn't need to feel like an idiot for that one (and I don't), but I'm a little irritated that neither insurance company will pay for it when the other person ran into us. But we're not hurt and that's good.

On to Sunday. I agreed to lead the music for sacrament meeting and was even there on time, a rarity since the baby was born. There was no organ music, which was a bit of a surprise. After I changed the numbers so everyone could see what hymns we were singing I sat down in my little chair and became increasingly anxious. The bishopric came in and looked at me, asking if there was an organist, if I play, or if I knew of an organist. Nope. I nervously offered to play if there was someone else to lead. I say nervously because I'm not that good. Really, really not that good. The first counselor went off to find someone (or so I thought) and I went to the piano to attempt some prelude. Not very good is better than none, right? Wrong. The first counselor came back and thanked me for playing the prelude music. As I was busy botching up the second verse of I Stand All Amazed one of the sisters came on to the stand behind me to relieve me. I asked if she was playing the piano for the meeting. She said she didn't know, but that someone had asked her to take over for me. The way it was said made it clear that it was not the counselor that had asked her. Someone in the congregation must have (mercifully) asked her to end the assault on the ears that was my attempt at prelude. She was a lot better than I am. An organist showed up as the meeting was started and everything turned out.

Here's to a better and less "special" week to come than the weekend I just had. It's a good thing embarrassment of this type doesn't stick with me long.