I don’t drive very often anymore, perhaps for good reason.

Somewhere, not too far from here, my husband is sitting in his cube not-so-quietly cursing about my latest debacle.

As I was coming home from ShopRite yesterday afternoon, I was trying to console Jack in the backseat and ended up clipping a curb as I tried to make a right turn. I ended up blowing out the tire and Jeff had to come and change it—in the rain. Ugh. I feel so awful because not only is this an unexpected expense to replace the tire, but it’s now become a huge inconvenience because the tire is a “special order” since it’s a newer car.

flat-tire-clip-art

No matter how many times I say ‘sorry,’ I know Jeff is so disappointed/outraged/livid, which makes me so sad.

Nevermind that I would’ve liked to grocery shop sans toddler—just once—or the fact that I could’ve walked to the grocery store today instead of Sunday or that maybe I should’ve begged Jeff to come along to help me with errands since I was exhausted to tackle it on my own, or that I could’ve taken a different route home, no matter how you dice it, it happened and noone was hurt–just the tire of our newish car.

I obviously make mistakes all the time and I have no problem admitting it, but damn, why must these catastrophes happen at times like this?

Taking trains, unexpected expenses, eyesore for a spare tire AND we leave for vacation and Kris’ wedding in a week— all while trying to hatch a plan on what to do about the “Little Old Lady’s House” that we’d like to buy (more to come.) Grrrrr. Why now!?

So, maybe when and if we do move to the suburbs (if Jeff doesn’t divorce between now and then) we can forgo getting a 2nd vehicle and just get me a bike instead? Clearly, I have no business having a mom mobile (or desire for that matter)

No, for real.