Yesterday was one of those days.
I ran out of gas.
Remember when I RAN OUT OF GAS in the same car, approximately three weeks ago, and had learned my lesson forever?
I didn't learn it.
And this time when I ran out of gas, it was in the big city, with all THREE of my children in the car, when it was 105 degrees outside.
I felt like Mother of the Year.
Fortuitously, the Lord intervened in my behalf (it's like he knows the dumb things I'm going to do before I do them), and we stalled and started rolling down the big hill only about a block away from a gas station. And I just happened to have packed the stroller while loading the kids up to teach Musical Theater. So we got out. We hiked up the big hill. I got my offspring safely across the most insane intersection in the history of the world. The nice lady said "Those gas cans are so expensive, let me see if we still have an old one in the back you can borrow." And she did. We made it back through the intersection. Down the hill. Cars passed as my tomato-red children sat fussing and sweltering in the sun and I poured gas in. A fire truck zoomed by. I spilled gas all over my feet. I turned on the car. It protested heavily, absolutely irate that I would do this to it again. It finally got idling. I reloaded children. Then the car would not shift into Drive. It would go into reverse, just not drive. I prayed. It went into drive, and we puttered into the gas station. I thanked the nice cashier profusely. I put in some gas. We said a prayer. We chugged back onto the road, and the car just is having a hard time shifting gears, but I had faith we would get home. It was sweltering. Then the car started overheating, so we turned off the air and rolled down a window. By the time we got home, something was smelling absolutely horrible. K.J. just couldn't get over it. "That smell is so yucky, Mom! What is that smell? Yuck! Ewe! Gross! Sick!" To which I replied as calmly as I could "I DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT SMELL IS, K.J." Olivia and Katelyn were asleep, but Liv popped back up during the smell conversation. Then she piped in, too. "What is that yucky smell, Mommy? I don't like it! Oh, gross!" Poor Katelyn was practically fuchsia, and was soaked in sweat. I felt like a decroded piece of poo. So I gathered her up and took her to her bed. She woke up a little, whimpered, sighed when I put her on the cool sheets, and looked at me while I handed her her blankie, like "What is the matter with you, woman?"
I got K.J. and Livi some lunch and we all collapsed under the nearest air vent. I felt very sorry for myself. Deeply, deeply sorry for myself as I laid there on the bed and let myself know under no uncertain terms just what I thought of my own intelligence.
I kept thinking, "I need a Valium, Stat!"
I tried calling my Mom for sympathy. No answer. I called my Dad. No answer. I called my sister. No answer. I wanted to call my Granny, because she'd feel so bad for me and have a very excellent level of concern, but she is currently unavailable. I was about two seconds from calling my Aunt Jan so that she would feel sorry for me and tell me all was not lost when my Mom called me back.
She did feel sorry that I felt bad, but she also told me not to go around with less then half a tank of gas anymore. Which honestly, is excellent advice for MaRetard.
I laid there and ate my weight in Chocolate Covered Raisins from Costco. Why are those so good, I ask you?
The Double B got home and listened to my sad tale and laughed at me a little and said not to worry about the kids, as they all appeared to have survived the ordeal.
Later, he headed off to watch the NBA Draft so we could see what our beloved and beleaguered Jazz were going to do, and as soon as Katelyn woke up, I followed with the kids. I reversed out of the driveway and then THE CAR WOULD NOT GO INTO DRIVE. I put my head on the steering wheel. I longed for a two-by-four to beat said head against. Many neighbors, including my brother, were outside. Just as Jon was coming over to see if he could save the day with his manly presence, my friend Shawna leaned in the window and said "Is your parking brake on?" And lo and behold, it was. I took it off. The car went right into drive. She laughed at my self-loathing.
After the draft, I told the Double B all about my latest ordeal as we walked out to the car.
And somehow, in a bolt of unfortunate lightning, I realized what that terribly stinky odor was on the way home from St. George.
It was my emergency brake.
I killed it. I tried to kill my car.
I am not proud, but that is still what I did.
I am happy to report, that rather then eat me alive as he perhaps should have, the Double B burst into hysterical laughter. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed as I leaned my head against the car. He laughed some more. He admitted "I don't know if I'm laughing near you or at you!!!" Then he laughed some more.
Just as he was drifting off to sleep last night, he reached over and patted my leg. "You realize, of course, that you will have to write this on your blog."
Your Special Friend.