Common Mom

And I should have taken that as a sign - a sign to drive straight home and crawl in bed with the covers over my head until I had to pick up my kids from school. Instead, I took it as a sign that I should continue with my day . . .

I’m driving down the Interstate heading to work after dropping Keira off at school, when the Jeep starts missing. On most days, I would have simply been annoyed and uttered an “oh come ON” - but today, I was royally pissed. You see, the hubby left for work for a week yesterday . . . so I have nobody to “save” me from my impending doom. Anyway, back to the Jeep - anyone who’s driven an old car knows the feeling - the jerky-cutting-out-engine-pausing jerking that accompanies an engine problem. Being the left-lane driver that I am, I actually merge in to the right lane, certain that the Jeep will die and I will have to pull off on the shoulder to avoid being “that guy” who obviously knew his car was going to quit, but still kept driving to see how far he could get, only to realize too late that he no longer had enough momentum to get off on the shoulder, thus leaving the tail end of his car sticking half way out onto the Interstate, effectively shutting it down for miles and miles. Alas, this did not happen to me. I kept driving, albeit nervously, trying to make it to work. Work was much closer than going back home or trying to drive to the shop. A mile or so down the road, the oil gauge spikes to around 70 . . . it usually hovers around 40-50. Um, I’m guessing that’s not good. Then the overdrive light starts turning on and off, all on its own . . . and the Jeep can’t regulate it’s shifting . . . uh oh! Just a couple more miles to work - please please please make it! Then, finally, the check engine light comes on - turns out I’m NOT imagining this stuff! I make it in to the parking garage at work and head to my desk, bitching and cursing the entire way. I call the shop and they say I can bring it in right away. Now to find a ride . . . thankfully my wonderful friend Queen Taunya is coming in to the office soon. I track her down, explain my plight, and we formulate a plan. A simple plan really . . . she will follow me to the shop, then give me a ride to my house to get the spare keys for the car, which my husband has parked at the airport; then she’ll drive me to the airport, I’ll pick up the car, we’ll both drive back to work, and all will be right with my world. Um - apparently, easier said than done when the ENTIRE FRIGGIN’ WORLD is against you.

At 9:30 we leave work for what should be maybe a 90 minute excursion, if we run in to traffic. We get to the shop just fine, I tell them all about the terrible disease my Jeep has contracted, and QT and I are on our merry way to my house. Hey, it’s a nice sunny day - all is well. We drive the 15 miles to my house and I run in to grab the keys. EXCEPT they’re not on the key hook! My first thought is that Dan took the spare set with him “just in case” cuz he’s a “just in case” kinda guy. Hoping that’s not so, I look in the laundry bin, which is right below the key hook. Whew! Spare car keys. Back to QT’s car to head to the aiport . . . a mere 20 mile drive. We get a few miles from home and I realize “I have no money to pay to get the car out of the airport parking lot.” *&$% We decide to look for a cash machine - then realize, duh - they take credit cards. Whew! Minor catastrophe dodged. We’re cruisin’ along chattin’ away and pull up behind a white pick up at a stop light about 5 miles from the airport. Yap yap yap - WHAM! Rear-ended by a Volkswagen. Are you friggin’ KIDDING me?! So we get out, only to discover that we are car #3 in the incident . . . mommy in car #1 was distracted by crying baby (I do feel for her, really - we’ve all been there) and ran into car #2, which slammed in to us, pushing us into car #4, the white pickup in front of us. So everyone gets out to assess damage. No damage - anywhere - EXCEPT, you guessed it - QT’s car. For those who don’t know, QT is the person who was babysitting my kids when I backed out the garage and clipped the mirror off of her car - yet she’s still, amazingly, my friend. Anyhoo, we assess the damage to her car . . . front bumper smashed a bit, but totally cracked and needs to be replaced. Back bumer scraped up, nothing too terrible, but tail light cracked. Underneath - something leaking - we’re still not sure what. Since there were 4 cars and a baby involved, we decide to call the police. Guy in Car #2, who had run in to us, decides he’s not gonna hang around - gives us a name, phone number, and e-mail address and bolts. Um, OK Mr. Illegal! So the rest of us do our thing with the cops and are on our way. Being the wise ass I am, I tell QT to just let me know if she needs a ride while her car is getting fixed . . . see, she and I have that kind of relationship . . . and we both start laughing so hard we’re crying, because really - this could only happen to the two of us. We did get to the airport and did find the car in the parking lot. I actually made a lap around the car to make sure there wasn’t a flat tire or something. All was well; so I click the door unlocker button. Nothing. I click it again. Nothing. I put the key in the door, won’t turn. I take it out, click the unlocker button. Nothing. Really? FRIGGIN’ REALLY?! I put the key in again and it turns, so I get in, leave, the whole deal. Back to work without further incident - 3 HOURS LATER! I had to file for PTO!!!

The rest of my afternoon was uneventful - the whole 2 hours I got to spend at work anyway I picked up the kids, took them to gymnastics, and walked over to buy a Powerball ticket - I mean, with the luck I’m having today, why not, huh I’m too annoyed/pissed/tired to think about dinner, so I let them choose. McDonald’s wins, of course. All is well with the world UNTIL I take my salad back because they put the wrong chicken on it. I’m waiting for another when I hear Keira crying at the table. She’s totally tired and has totally lost her shit. And do you know why? Because her hamburger is falling apart. The pieces are too small. And why, you ask, are they too small? Because she tore it into a gazillion pieces! She’d asked me to tear it up for her, so I tore it in half like always. But oh no . . . today THAT was not good enough, she wanted 4 pieces. So she tore each piece into 4 pieces . . . and so on and so on and so on . . . until the thing was almost disintigrated. I told her sorry, it’s in a gazillion pieces because you made it that way . . . but hey, there’s my salad . . . you can have the tomatoes. Suddenly, all was right in her world and she skipped back to the table while I got my salad. And THEEENNNNN, there were no tomatoes in the salad . . . they’d given me the right chicken this time, but no tomatoes. THE HORROR! Of course, K lost her shit again and we ate dinner amongst sobs over tiny pieces of hamburger and missing tomatoes.

And, they took away the hot chocolate machine at work. What kind of person takes away the hot chocolate machine?

I’m pretty sure that the next time my check engine light comes on, I’ll turn around, go home, crawl in bed, and wait for tomorrow.

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