Flat Tire

On Sunday night we were leaving a Russian BBQ way the heck in Hollywood with four filthy and grumpy children when James realized after circling to the driver's side that we weren't going anywhere, at least not without a call to AAA, a long wait on the side of the road, and a visit from a friendly mechanic who promised to fix our flat. We passed the time by taking family-selfies, playing car games, singing church songs and pretending that Cora's incessant screaming was not driving us batty. In the end we got home (albeit 2 1/2 hours later than expected) and the NICEST mechanic at California Tire Company fixed my tire for FREE the next morning, so all's well that ends well, right?

There are about a million different directions I could drive with this flat tire tale. I could write about how we felt a little like Elphoba singing, "No good deed goes unpunished" after spending our Sunday afternoon trying to make a difference for the Russian friends in our congregation only to spend our Sunday night stranded in the middle of nowhere. I could take a more Ensign-ish approach and tell you how we had moments of laughter and love in the van that evening and I thought to myself, We're making a memory here! This moment may very well shape who these kids become. I could also tell you about how we nearly ran out of gas on our way home because the long wait sucked our engine dry and we weren't as prepared as we should have been so thats, count 'em, two oxes in our mire.

I'm sure any and all of those could mature into interesting pieces of writing but right now I'm looking at these pictures, feeling a little uninspired, and my only thoughts sound a little like this: That tire and I have a whole lot in common. 

It's been a Wednesday, that's for sure, and I am absolutely exhausted. About halfway through the dinner hour I started placing SOS emergency calls to my Mom and my sister requesting some encouragement; I legitimately needed someone to tell me that I could make it a few more hours until bedtime. At the time the calls were made Cora had been screaming for two and a half hours straight, Quinn was attempting to jump off of the kitchen counter for the umpteenth time, Ever was whining about homework, dinner and life and T was crying because his back-to-school cold has gone to his head and he wanted me to cuddle him and read a story. It was a hot mess of a moment. A LOUD moment as well, thanks to Cora. The boys climbed in bed to read some books, eventually I changed Quinny in jammies and put her to bed with her beloved baba, but I would put in another couple hours of bouncing a P-O'ed baby before the night was through. Who needs a gym membership when my FitBit's 10,000 steps are easily met just by walking the halls with Cokes?! 

Usually I'm pretty good at believing myself when I say that this is just a phase, this too shall pass, the time goes by so quickly, you'll miss this someday, and all the other cliche phrases that actually succeed in offering me hope. But today, not even those offered a silver lining. I was running on empty. Actually, I wasn't even running. I was as flat as that tire on our van. I only hope my luck fairs as well, and by tomorrow morning I'll be patched up and ready to roll again (and if by chance, that patch was in the form of a long, uninterrupted night sleep you wouldn't see me complaining.)

{Written last night, well at least up to the point that I fell asleep, mid-sentence with the computer still on my lap. That makes it twice this week! Published today--which by the way has been SO much better!}