Bailey is more fascinated by death than I have ever seen in a child. She still can't quit talking about our departed canine. And every time we see a skeleton? Yeah, he died. And a graveyard? TONS of dead people. And while she's crazy obsessed with the dead, things are dropping like flies in our household. At least that's how it feels.
I've typed up more entries about car troubles than I have about the weather, and it's quite troubling. Our life is full of many adventures, but those of the vehicular variety? Yeah, I wish we had skipped most of them. And as of last Wednesday morning, we have yet another to share.
My car has been having a few issues lately. And because of those issues, we've been driving him a lot less, mostly just to and from school. We figured it's because of the frigid wiles of winter, so we have left him mostly to rest. Then his transmission has seemed to be failing, not that I'm a mechanic, but this is just a wild guess here. For instance, it's extremely difficult to change gears. And this morning was no exception to that rule. In fact, I had to TURN the car off in order to put the car into reverse and then back in to first. But regardless, we headed out anyway, and less than a mile from the house, we stopped out our favorite intersection, the one we recently had an icy argument with (twice), and from there the car decided to attempt its last breath.
This wasn't the first time it'd threatened such a scene of dramatics. It first started this drama last Monday on our way to ballet and I begged it to cut out the melodramatic fit. And luckily, it did. But this time, it wouldn't let me turn it back on. It would just slightly turn and nothing. It seemed dead. It wasn't going to move. It was breaking up with me without an explanation or a second try. And if this wasn't enough of a hassle, it was eight degrees outside, my husband's cell phone wasn't on (which isn't unusual, it's NEVER on), I didn't have his work number (and still don't), and cars were lining up behind me. The moment it died, I turned my emergency blinkers on so people would realize they should go around me, but they didn't seem to get the hint. And then the woman behind me was LAUGHING hysterically at me as she stared at as I was outside of my car deciding what I should do next. HELLO?! Why couldn't she go around me. Doesn't she have places to be?
The car wouldn't budge. It really was a goner and no matter how hard I begged and how many times I tried to start it, it would have nothing to do with me. I begged. I pleaded. I was totally kissing up. Nothing was working. My attempts were futile. And although I should have feared flooding its engine, at this point, I knew nothing else mattered. It was my teenage romance. There was nothing else in the world. This was it. And then suddenly, we budged.
It would harshly bump forward as I started it, jerking with full force, then died, incredibly loudly. It kept teasing me, moving us more and more into the middle of the intersection, blocking the traffic, putting us in the line of fire of crossing semis and cars. It was a bit scary, indeed. And just as badly as I had wanted it to move from that left hand turn lane, I was regretting my eager wishes. I was obviously being selfish and misguided. I wanted to go back. I suddenly missed the left hand turn lane and realized I took it for granted. But it was too late and at this point, I was ready to cry.
So the begging and pleading returned and I, without realizing it, made a pact out of pure desperation, told the car that if it got us out of such a position, I was willing to let it die. I was willing to let go, just as Kate Winslet's Rose was unwilling to do in that awful movie of Titanic proportions, I was willing to let it go in peace and go our separate ways without any stalking and without any fine print and vengeful lawsuits. I meant it. And just as the words came out, pointlessly and without merit, the car geared up, almost like a race car, ready to win the race, and was on the go, long enough for me to pull into the parking lot of a local gas station, out of the way of the morning traffic and once it did lead us to safety, it was done. It died.
Now we made a deal. We did. But when I told it parking lot, I meant parking spot. And so I had to go through this all over again, trying to coerce it into moving once more and it was going to have nothing to do with such a plea. It was dead. Gone. Almost buried. But I begged. I pleaded. And with much effort and many attempts, it went into the parking spot allotted for us and BOOM. It was dead. It was gone. It was finished.
It was one of the most melodramatic moments of my life. It was very much like a 1900s melodrama, complete with embellished coughs and heavy sighs. Head to the forehead, exaggerating a faint. Dramatic turns. And forced lines. The coughs of death were hilarious, and just when you think the last cough has been coughed, another appears. Oh yes, it was that bad. I couldn't make this up folks. I'm not that creative.
And then it was over after what felt like the longest twenty minutes of my life. It was time to return home. Fortunately, we weren't far from home, but the one snag was that we were on our way to preschool when such a Greek tragedy occurred, and well, it was sharing time at school. Yeah, show and tell. Same thing. Now it may not seem all that important to you, but sharing time is Bailey's most impressionable five minutes at preschool. She lives for sharing time. And I hated for her to miss it, but it was eight degrees out, our car was just short of cremation, and we were out of options.
Then Bailey had another course of action. We could walk to school.
You've got to be kidding me, right?
No. No, she was not kidding me. She meant it. We could walk to school. Yes, I suppose that's an option. I suppose it was an option. It doesn't mean it was one I'd ever take. But one glance at that little endearing face and suddenly, I was inspired. Suddenly I was believing in unicorns and rainbows and willing to climb Everest. And so it happened. Next thing you know, the two of us were making the ridiculous trek to preschool.
It's not like preschool was that far away, but it was far enough in eight degree weather to make me wonder what in the world I was thinking to allow such an adventure to take place. She was a frozen little cube by the time we arrived, and she did make the walk all the way, completely the loyal little trooper, very determined to share at school. We were very grateful that one of her teachers offered to take us home afterwards and also offered to drive Bailey the next day to school. We're very fortunate to have such people in our lives. But I haven't quite decided about sharing time, whether we're so lucky to have that or not. Because had it not been for sharing time, I think we would've been home within two minutes. Toasty and warm.
But what kind of story would that have been?
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