“OH MY GOD DON’T RUN OVER THE PINK ROLLER SKATE!” She wailed.
“What roller skate? I don’t even see a roller skate!”
I braked hard, because I was going to hit the garage, the crunch of running something over in the garage throwing me off of my already inexperienced parking in the garage game. Street parking? That’s my jam.
Screams. Cries. AGONY in the backseat. Jamie yell-asking me what I ran over in the garage.
I backed up. What the heck did I run over? The roller skate was still intact.
Maybe I hit the lawn mower?
More screams. ‘The roller skate is fine guys. RELAX. No. Stop screaming!’ I yelled at the kids, wanting to cry out of frustration because today had just been enough.
‘Stop the car. Just stop. Get out. I’ll park.’ he said through the kids screaming.
I got out of the car and spotted one of the kids’ broken golf clubs, something the kids probably left on the floor of the garage the third time I told them that they weren’t allowed to play in there because there were things everywhere. I also got out to a glaring Jamie, unimpressed with the dent the driver head left in the side of the car when it crunched.
He parked the car. Examined the dent, seethed at me when I didn’t acknowledge the big deal that is running over crap the kids left out, and apparently destroying the entire left side of the vehicle with a half inch scratch, all while the kids screamed and the new neighbour across the alley was likely wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into when he moved into the house.
I compared the dent to the small bit of damage from a car rolling over in front of us in Calgary and hitting us with debris. I said I wouldn’t even really call it a dent, it’s more of a knick, at most.
He questioned if I even knew the cost of fixing the dent, and told me I was too nonchalant about destroying the under a year old vehicle. I still feel like destroying is a bit of overkill, I mean it’s not like I back up onto curbs frequently… (ahem, he does).
I corrected him, told him that the Flex is just over a year old as I followed Jamie into the house from the back yard to our best friend neighbor grilling dinner. Still irate about the dent, or maybe just the entire trainwreck circus that had ensued, he didn’t really appreciate it when I mentioned that there was a bright side to this whole situation, at least it wasn’t one of his golf clubs. I laughed because she said something funny, and really, there is nothing else you can do when your family is performing a train wreck circus in the alleyway.
Olivia was still screaming because I had broken her favorite golf club. That was until she walked into the house, found another one sitting on top of the deck box, with tears that instantly dried as she claimed that one to be her ‘real’ favorite, but we had to get her a new driver.
Violet was screaming for a reason I can’t even remember. Screeching even. This whole getting the kids to bed at a decent hour to get on track for the school year was failing. miserably.
Jamie and I continued to argue about whether or not I was paying attention well enough while I was driving in the garage. I poured a glass of wine because there’s really nothing else that you can do when your family is performing a trainwreck circus in the alleyway.