A stack of months ago, my little sister, Erica, texted me from her home in North Carolina, “Should we surprise Mom for her birthday?  I will fly in and you can drive up.”  I texted back, “YES,” and then immediately panic-thought, “Crapper crapstick,” because, while I have a lot of great qualities, surprise-keeping is not one of them.

I have a friend named Kelly with either an eidetic memory or a photographic memory – I can’t remember which is correct – who can rattle off everything from movie quotes to specific, detailed historical facts with an instantaneous flip of the switches in her brain.  I, on the other hand, have more than once driven all the way out to my former house in the country before being reminded that I now live in town.  One of the reasons I’m terrible at surprises is that I sometimes…forget.  I forget that a surprise is a secret. 

As opposed to regular secrets that are kept from almost everyone (“I fart in my sleep,” is a secret; “Shhhh, I’m going to hotbox my brother,” is a surprise), surprises are only secrets to a select few people – and, in fact, it’s generally agreed that part of planning a surprise is telling as many people as possible so that they, too, are in on the surprise because people LOVE surprises.  For example, do you know how many people knew Kyle was going to propose to me prior to him doing so?  All.  All people knew.

The other reason I am not good at keeping surprises is because I suck at being surprised myself.  I’m not known amongst my circles as “fun” or “easy-going,” which are the two most important qualities for a great surprisee.  At a birthday past, my husband surprised me by inviting a handful of my girlfriends to join us for dinner.  When they walked in the restaurant, my first reaction was to say, “You turkeys [except I used a different word] went out for the night and didn’t invite me?”  I continued to berate them as they sat down at the table and handed me presents and ordered drinks and wished me Happy Birthday.  It wasn’t until MANY minutes later that I realized that it was I, I who was the turkey.

Anyways, right away I almost got into trouble because we were visiting my parents and my mom mentioned she wanted to go to this certain store and I said, “We can do it when Erica’s here,” and my mom said, “Erica’s coming here?”  And my dad looked at me with A LOOK ONLY A DAD CAN GIVE and said, “Erica’s coming here, Amanda?”  So, I said, “Of course, when they are here to go to the lake in August,” which was a great save, even though my dad’s continued face said otherwise.

My dad – who, like my sister, is a BANGER at executing surprises and who, apparently, had a lot more hope for my own abilities prior to that lake comment – had texted me not long after my sister’s plane tickets had been booked and said, “Tell Mom you have a hockey tournament in Williston the weekend of her birthday.”

That same visit, my mom said, “You know, my birthday is coming up; should we try and get together?”

“WE CAN’T,” I said, too aggressively.  “WE HAVE A HOCKEY TOURNAMENT IN WILLISTON.”

“That’s too far for Dad and me to drive,” she said.  “What about the week after?”

“Yeah, maybe,” I said, noncommittally.

Here was the problem with the Williston Hockey Tournament Lie: there were two other humans involved who were equally sucky at surprises.

“Better tell the boys that we have a hockey tournament in Williston,” Kyle said to me the second we finished reading the text from my dad.

“We can’t,” I said.  “Twelve knows he doesn’t have a tournament and so we’ll have to tell him the secret and he gives up information like candy; and he will for sure tell Eight, who will definitely tell my mom.”

“So, what’s the plan?”  Kyle asked.

“We tell them nothing.  Nothing.  Nothing until I’m in the car on the way to Minneapolis,” I said.

“Good luck,” he said.

In bad luck, my mom came down with a cold that kept her busy for a period of time prior to her birthday – which ended up being good luck for us because all our conversations revolved around her improving health and lessons in hand washing.  That is, until a few days before the surprise when Eight called my mom on his watch.

“Hi, Bubbe!”  He said into the phone.  “How’s your day?”

“My day is good!”  My mom said.  “Are you excited for Williston?”

In the kitchen, my skin collapsed like a paper bag with the air being sucked out.

“Sure am!”  Eight, who lives in an alternate reality.  “It’s my favorite city.” [note: He’s never been to Williston]

The day of the surprise arrived.  I packed up the car, kissed my fellas, and shouted out the window as I pulled down the drive, “I’m off to Bubbe and Zayde’s for the weekend, byeeeeeeeeeee,” which is how the kids found out I was going to Minneapolis.

My dad had purchased tickets to a fancy fundraiser dinner in order to keep my mom busy as my sister and I converged onto their house.  My dad texted us as we were mid-travel, and so we continued texting all the way up to when my sister and I met up at the baggage claim.

“The eagle has landed,” I texted my dad with a photo of my sister and me.  Then I deleted the text because I realized I had accidentally drafted it in our whole-family chat because my mother had ALSO been texting us other random stuff all day and so that chat was at the top of my inbox. 

We knocked on my parents’ door at 10:30 PM.  My dad, who was “busy emptying the dishwasher,” sent my mom to answer it (and yes, I am incredibly concerned that they answered their door without question at 10:30 PM and yes, my birthday gift to my mother is a camera security system).

“Surprise!”  My sister and I shouted.

“Oh, my gosh!”  My mom shouted in a way that made my sister say, “I don’t think we should surprise Mom and Dad anymore.”

“Did you really have no idea?”  I asked her, later.

“None at all,” my mom said.  “That was a very good surprise.”

“Yes, it was,” my dad said.

The photo above is from a lovely trip to the nail salon for my mom’s birthday. We had a very good time and looked very glamorous.

This week on North Dakota Today, we talked about Sheila Peterson, Teacher of the Year and “Stanley Cup” champion, and North Dakota’s Best for Last Club. (Valley News Live)

Dickinson’s Coach Pete Dobitz has won his 500th victory! Plus, that’s a rockin’ photo. (Facebook)

Elizabeth and Todd Medd are our awesome friends and they are working hard on a film festival focused on mental health. (Fargo Forum)

Congratulations to Binford’s Alfred Eggermont, who took a turn at the stove on Gordon and Tilly Ramsay’s “MasterChef Junior”! (Fargo Forum)

Fargo’s Anthony Bryant is sharing his story with the hope of helping other vets struggling with sobriety. (Valley News Live)

The Minot Fire Department pulled a truck in support of Special Olympics North Dakota. (Minot Daily News)

This isn’t about North Dakota nor is it news, but it’s helpful info for people planting a garden. (Facebook)

Kyle and his friends, Corey and Kelly, have a podcast called North Dakota After Dark where they talk about youth hockey in North Dakota.  The latest episode is up and is an interview with full-time beauty Shaun Endres.  Check it out. Bonus: you can watch it on YouTube. (North Dakota After Dark)