IT STARTED HARMLESSLY ENOUGH. I was driving, my phone buzzed, and Kevin reached for it.

“It’s Ash. She says she’s going to the cheese factory in Logan and wants to know if you want anything.”

“No I’m good. Grams might want some cheese curd but I just bought her some. Text her and tell her no but thanks for the offer.”

“I’m going to text her to get some Fumunda cheese.”

READER.

Do you know what Fumunda cheese is?

This is your warning to leave if either:

1) You don’t know what Fumunda cheese is and you don’t care to find out

or

2) You know what Fumunda cheese is and you are easily offended at the mention of it.

Okay. I’ll explain.

Fumunda cheese is, well. . .it’s a slang term from a joke that goes like this, “Would you like some Fumunda cheese?” and the person says, “Fumunda what?” and you reply, “Fumunda the crack of my butt!”

(Or I guess if you want a more graphic description of Fumunda cheese you could always look it up on Urban Dictionary. It’s funny, and just kind of wrong. But so funny.)

I’m no stranger to these types of jokes. Heck, I grew up with my other sister that made inapropriate phone calls to KFC.

So when Kevin texted Ashley that from my phone, I didn’t think she’d fall for it.

Turns out, she did.

“How do you pronounce it?” She texted back.

“Fun-unda. Just with an M. You might have to ask for it,” Kevin replied. At this point we couldn’t stop laughing and Kevin wouldn’t give me my phone back.

“LOL Okay.” was the response he got back.

I started reaching for my phone to text Ashley hints or to explain. “You can’t tell her! You’ll ruin it. Just see if she does it. She hit my car (hush hush, she just bumped it with her license plate, everything’s fine). She owes me one.” Kevin was pretty insistent, and hey, FINE I’ll admit I thought it would be pretty funny. I was trying to picture it. How would she say it? “Do you have any Fumunda cheese?” or “Where is your Fumunda?” or “I’m trying to find Fumunda cheese but I don’t see it anywhere.”

I waited three hours before I got a text from Ashley. “Do the words chocolate pocket mean anything to you?” Upon asking Kevin, we determined she was calling me a butthole.

Rude.

I sent her, “So I’m assuming they don’t have my cheese?” and she replied, “Haven’t even gotten there yet. Jake put a handful of chocolate in his pocket and it melted. He thinks it’s funny. Chocolate pocket.”

We were still in the clear, and I had to wait an hour more before I get this gem.

“Um if you set me up I will kick your this word has been removed by author. Niel says it means crotch and the workers had no idea what I was asking!”

I immediately called Ashley and had the funniest conversation in my life.

Niel was still too upset to really talk, so she wanted to know exactly what Fumunda was.

OH MY WORD YA’LL. Kevin got my sister to innocently ask a cheese factory worker if they had Fumunda cheese.

“Fumunda. . .” laugh, laugh laugh, “the crack”, snicker, “of yo’ . . .” and that’s all I managed before I collapsed on the floor in a heap. I couldn’t breathe for the tears streaming down my face and the stitch in my side was becoming painful. I could hear Ash gasping for air on the other side of the phone, Niel streaming curses and mutters in the background.

They came over later and she relayed the whole story. Mind you, the entire time she told the story we were both in fits of laughter while Niel sat on the other couch, shooting daggers at us. “I looked around the store and couldn’t find it anywhere, so I asked the old lady up front, ‘Do you have any Fumunda cheese?’ She hadn’t heard of it and asked if I had checked the exotic cheese isle. I said I had, so she called another worker, about nineteen years old over and had me repeat the question. The girl got a blank look on her face, and said, ‘Yea I’ve heard of it and no we definitely don’t have it’. All the while Niel was pissy so we went outside, turns out he thought it meant something to do with the crotch area and he was so embarrassed that I’d asked for that! I think I’m going to pee my pants, that was so funny. The best part was I was completely innocent! I had no idea what I was asking for!!!”

Niel may never recover from being severely mortified and embarrassed by the whole thing, but I’m okay with that. Ash sent me a text when she left. “Thanks for the best laugh I’ve ever had”.

All that I can say is that I’m sure one day she’ll get even. We always do!

UPDATE: This was Ashley’s Facebook status last night.

“Gas for our road trip $45.00, amount Niel spent on cheese $83.00, innocently asking the cashier if they sold Fumunda cheese….priceless. Sorry Aubrey, I honestly thought this was a cheese when I offered to get you something and this was your joking request. This is the most embarrassing thing I have EVER done.”

IT’S LATE (Yep. You’ve heard this excuse from me many times). I just uploaded 1,100 photos I took on our trip from my new camera and I have a few waiting on my old one that I took to Six Flags with us.

It’s been an adventure.

We left last Wednesday after work. Just our luck, I had a cold and Kevin had started puking that morning, so six hours in the car sounded pretty much like the equivalent of stabbing myself in the eye with needles just for fun. There’s not much I can say about the drive out there other than Kevin brought a clear bowl to use for emergencies but thankfully didn’t have to use it, I was able to drive and stay awake the whole time and we made it there alive.

So, thanks to Nevada and all it’s emptiness I have nothing to say about the actual drive out so I’ll show you my chat I had about an hour before we left.

Thrilling, I know.

Ashley says:
Hi.
Are you able to play “name this rodent” with me??
It’ll take a minute for the pic to upload, then for me to send it to you.
The mother in me couldn’t kill it.
I know, I’m terrible.

Aubrey says:
Did you really find a rodent and keep it!?

Ashley says:
I was mowing, and it scurried out from under the mower—in the long tramp grass…
I thought I’d injured it,
so I just picked it up.
It squawked at me,
and has long teeth.

Aubrey says:
That’s an Aubrey thing to do.

Ashley says:
Now before you open the picture and go telling me its a mouse…..
I don’t want to pick it back up again to get close ups….
it has two huge teeth on bottom, its tiny enough that I can tell its a baby–like its ears don’t look open,
and it has THE longest claws I’ve ever seen on a rodent.
Granted, it poops like a mouse.
Is it a mouse?
We have these things in our lawn sometimes, that dig it up–that look like moles, and I wonder if its a baby one of those or what.
Or a mouse and I’m just losing it and caring for a mouse that will only end up eaten by my cat.

Aubrey says:
that my dear is a baby vole.

Ashley says:
what the hells a vole??

Aubrey says:
like a mole.
just a vole.

Ashley says:
My heart is glad that I didn’t pick up a mouse.

Aubrey says:
I can just hear Aspen, “nooo mouse!” (Last few seconds of the bottom video).

Ashley says:
it squawked at me when i picked it up
then I thought, “what the hell am I doing?? I have a crying baby inside the house and I’m picking up a baby rodent!”

So there you have it folks.

You now know what a vole is.

(Don’t worry – I’ll give you a real post after all the pictures are uploaded. I have a lot of stories to share with you!)

I’M AT THE HOSPITAL WAITING FOR THIS:

to turn into another little girl like this:

If you can’t tell, she’s a little excited to be a big sister.

I think Ash is pretty excited as well. (Photo taken two days before birth).

I’ll keep you updated on the new edition just as soon as she gets here.

And just as soon as my brother in law gives me permission to post about it. He has this funny thing where he hates cameras, most especially ones that are attached to me on the other end.

On a related note, I may not be invited to the next birthing, so I better make this one count.

YOU KNOW HOW THEY SAY, “sometimes you’re the bird, and sometimes you’re the worm”? Or  “sometimes you’re the windshield, sometimes you’re the bug.”?

Well today, I was this duck.

I mean, I had two legs just like the rest of them…but I just didn’t fit in.

I was a bird of a different color. A misfit. An outcast.

Plus my hair looked a bit, well, ruffled.

I can’t help it – there’s a lot going on in this crazy little head of mine and the chaos was bound to come spewing out when I least expected it. I shouldn’t bottle things in and try to deal with them on my own in the first place, but I do. Because I hate burdening others with my petty drama. Because I hate feeling like a failure. Because I’m scared to say things that may upset others. Because I’m a people pleaser. There are a thousand reasons why I didn’t share what I was thinking and had a bit of a breakdown today because of it.

So I did the first thing I could think of and told Ashley that she was hanging out with me tonight. Aspen was excited to see me, and that helped.

Ashley asked what we wanted to do  – our friend Megan was with us and the first thing I could think of was, “let’s go feed some ducks”.

Once we found out that only the carp wanted our food, Aspen started eating the cereal herself instead.

And I started trying to text/tweet/take photos on my phone.

As we were leaving, disappointed and craving food ourselves, Ashley spotted a group of rather hungry looking birds.

We fed them for a few minutes, Aspen chucking handfuls of Cinnamon Toast Crunch (or was it Fiber One?) out the window and eating a few in-between while I leaned half out the window and contemplated that duck. Was he really a loner? Did the other ducks notice his appearance? Did he notice his appearance?

For some stupid reason, I thought about that duck all night. I felt bad for the duck. I pitied him. I was mad that the other ducks alienated him and didn’t let him play in their ducky games. I was mad that they probably said mean things behind his back and didn’t like his hair-do.

As the night wound down, I did something I wouldn’t normally do. Ash was tired, Aspen was begging me to, and I was sore and stressed so I got into the tub with my niece. (Relax. She’s only two. She won’t remember.) As I was getting ready to get in she pointed at me and screamed “BOOBS!!!” at the top of her lungs, and I hesitated.

Not because I was embarrassed – although I was a bit – no. I hesitated because I felt like that damn duck again, singled out. Why couldn’t I stop thinking about the duck!?

“Come in Auwbrey!” She called. I spent the majority of twenty minutes wracking my brain for any songs that I remembered from my Child Care class, and I realized I was doing it again. There I sat…fully grown, in a tub, trying to impress someone. Trying to impress a two year old.

You wanna know what impressed her the most?

Cold water.

She just wanted me to pour a cup of cold water on her head. Nothing fancy, nothing complicated. She didn’t expect much from me, but she loved me just the same. And you know what I learned? Suddenly it’s not so bad being this duck. I am unique, I am my own color. I can fit in if I want to or stand out if I don’t.

As for the real duck? Well I named him Harold, and I think him and I are going to be just fine.

Me and my homies…at least they were my homies before I posted these photos.