There's a notion among army wives that 'if it can break when he's gone, it will. And probably right after he leaves'. This was true in February as my trailblazer battery, sprinkler, garage door and refrigerator all decided to screw with me within weeks of him leaving. And now it's true again.
I ran over something and popped a tire in the truck today. I'm pretty sure god was laughing a little, but not me. As I slowly turned into my neighborhood and slowed the truck to a stop all I was thinking was about how much I hate car maintenance ESPECIALLY tires. I've blogged about it before, actually, that's how much I hate it. I blogged about it 30,000 miles ago when I griped about spending $800 on new tires that would last 60,000 miles. I want my money's worth.
Being Rosie and knowing that I've changed 3 flat tires by myself in the past (I am woman hear me roar) I decided to quit crying and figure it out. Well, ok I didn't DECIDE that because really I wanted to call President Obama and let him know that if he had kept his promise about this damn war my husband would be here to change the tire. Therefore it only makes logical sense that it would be on Obama's shoulders. But, I left his phone number at home. Oops. So then I wanted to abandon the truck. Who needs it anyway? Except I don't have my super cool new car yet, dammit. THEN I contemplated laying in the road kicking and screaming. But the gravel isn't smooth so I realized that'd just be uncomfortable.
All out of better ideas, putting on my Rosie bandana, flexing my biceps and figuring it out was really just a decision by default. In any case that's what I set out to do.
Brian told me I'd find the parts under the back seat or under the hood. Easiest spot to look: under the side of the back seat that doesn't hold william's seat. Lo and behold, I find the jack-crank-wrench-thingy. There was a big sign that called it that, actually. But no jack. Look under the hood, no jack. Well hot dog, of course I'd need to remove the car seat. Why wouldn't I? So there I see it, the jack. Except it may as well have been a mirage in the desert because it is bolted in the truck. Or something. As I resort to yanking on it, cursing at it and crying a nice man stops an asks if I'm ok. I look up and I'm not sure what(ahem: red splotchy eyes) gave him the clue that I wasn't, but I didn't even have to answer. I was slightly consoled when he admitted he couldn't figure out the jack either so he got his.
He worked on the flat as I read the instructions on the spare. In the 3 previous vehicles I worked on, removing the spare was the easy part. This time was different and again I wanted to lay in the road and scream. So I did.
The man helping me (which by the way, he was roughly my age so I feel very odd calling him a man because I don't feel that old) looked at me very funny, but the screaming must have worked because I got it.
So just a few F bombs, alternative words for 'poop', and tears later the truck is now sitting on it's spare tire. And as William is napping I'm writing and trying to find the lesson that our humorous God was offering.
Was he reminding me that Austin and I need to be better about making sure I know how to handle all of these things? Nah. Surely God lives on the notion that there are always good Samaritans.
Was he showing me that even though I miss Austin and feel half empty, I will be ok? No, that'd just be cruel. That's a lesson time alone could teach.
Was he showing me that our tire pressure sensors need to be changed? the truck told me the front left PSI Was at 5 while the rear was at 34...while the rear wheel was practically on the ground. Ok, the sensors are backwards. But that's kind of a pointless lesson. I mean I think I was doing fine before.
Was he reminding me that Obama lies and should never be voted for again?
Yup. Surely that's the lesson here. Because if hurricanes can be George Bush's then dammit my flat tire is Obama's. The only way he could change this assumption would be if he single handedly made Austin walk through my front door right now.
Well, i guess all I can hope now is that God's sense of humor caused a patchable hole on my tire, because I would really like to see it go a full 60,000 miles.
P.s. Austin did not walk through the front door, so please see previous statement about voting for obama.
- manda
No comments:
Post a Comment