Post Wreckage Wisdom

Before this past Saturday, the previous car accident I participated in was in 1999 in Anaheim, California.  Thankfully I have been fender bender free for 14 joyous years. (However, in my current state of narcotic use, I could easily and most probably be missing large periods of my life in my memory banks.)  When one meanders through life without hitting other vehicles, you tend to forget many important facts regarding collisions.  This morning, at 4:06 a.m., I am here to inform all those who need informing on said subject.

1.  Accidents happen when you least expect it and when it is not convenient in your life.  In my case, I was casually  heading to Bed Bath and Beyond to purchase a much needed shower curtain liner for the main bath due to visitors who were scheduled to arrive at my home in exactly four hours.  My daughter and two friends were descending upon our house for Spring Break from college in Tulsa, Oklahoma, a mere 14 hour drive to Phoenix, Arizona.  Two days after their arrival, three Canadian relatives were also visiting for a week.  Hence, the new shower curtain liner was MANDATORY.

2.  Teenage drivers are a danger on the road.  Out of a neighborhood shopping center driveway (right next to Charming Charlie’s purse/accessory mother ship store) a small white vehicle came flying directly into my lane from the right without any warning time, hindering me from doing all those things you know you should do when you figure out you’re are going to hit another car, i.e. brake, scream “Sweet mother of God!”, brace yourself so as to increase muscle injuries, curse the driver’s day of birth, yell at your kids “Hang on, Mommy’s going to hit someone!” or any other such nonsense. I glanced at the car and slammed into it.  That is all.  I never saw the driver’s face as she was looking to her right the entire time she was entering the four lane road, planning on crossing two lanes of traffic.  The kind police man asked me how long I had between my visual awareness of the other car and impact.  “One second.”  I have since wondered about her actions.  Did she just find the queen mother purse to match her favorite hot pink and cheetah print shoes, and couldn’t wait to get home and unite the two, creating the perfect ensemble?  Did she just eat at the Mellow Mushroom and was in a pasta induced coma with garlic permeating from her pores?  We will never know, dear reader.

3.  When the kind police man finished my inquisition and then glanced in the back seat of the van to witness a tear-stained little Latina child, he should have used his kind policeman voice and asked a politically correct question like, “Who is this little sweetheart?” or “I see we have a princess in the back seat.” or “Honey, are you ok?”  But NO.  He got the wrath of the blubbering adoptive mother when he blurted out, “Who is THAT?” like I picked up an illegal alien down by the border and was transporting her color-coordinated, well manicured dimpled self like a criminal. I will admit I answered a bit tersely, “SHE’S MY DAUGHTER!!!!”  My tone set him in his place and his kind police man voice surfaced as he praised her for being in her booster seat and wearing her seatbelt.  I am a protective mama first, and an injured car passenger second. Don’t ever forget that!

4.  Auto injuries are curious beasts.  Due to the impact of the airbag underneath the steering column of our van, my shins took a real beating.  I did not know there was an airbag under there, nor was I aware that it was hinged from the bottom and the molded plastic cover was capable of shaving your legs so thoroughly upon explosion, you might never need to shave them ever again due to the absence of several layers of skin and hair follicles.  Thank God I was wearing jeans.  As was predicted by my ER doctor friend, other injuries will surface when the most intense injuries subside.  After four days of lying on the couch with my legs elevated and iced every hour around the clock, I was able to stand without tears accumulating in my eyes.  Then I realized my right shoulder was not working as well as it had been performing before the white car jumped in my path.  Yesterday x-rays were had and after two days of icing my shoulder every hour around the clock, we will hopefully have some answers tomorrow as to my gimpy limb.  When that is concluded, I do not know what will make me cry next…. the seatbelt bruise line across my entire torso?  Or some other area still in shock waiting to surface.  I will surely keep you posted, even though I am aware of “women’s tea rules of courtesy” of not speaking of sickness or operations.  This ain’t a tea…. it is my blog, and where else can I complain with my sense of humor intact for the enjoyment of others?

5.  God takes care of His children.  When God found our new-to-us van on November 30, 2012, He was testing my thankfulness at receiving such a good and perfect gift from Him, despite it being red.  Red is my least favorite color.  But I WAS thankful for the van… the low miles, the reasonable price, the stow-n-go compartments to haul more junk, the awesome air-conditioning, the radio controls on the back of the steering wheel, etc.  And I was content knowing that I couldn’t see that it was red while I was riding in the van. I imagined that it was a purty royal blue color.  So I am pretty sure I passed the red van test and now get another new-to-us van that is not red.  I will keep you posted.

Currently my pain meds have once again done their duty and I am ready to drift back to a psycho-dream filled sleep.  Good night for now.

Lions and Lambs

If March comes in like a lion, it will go out like a lamb.  I know this is supposed to be concerning the weather, but I’m hoping it also applies to our family stress level.  It is our turn in the big Farris wheel of life for the operator to stick the ride on super-high and leave us flinging through the air without any control of life’s circumstances.  We can barely catch our breath and our hair is in our eyes.

I haven’t blogged much lately because we are busy coping.  In the past week there have been several disturbances in the force.  We’ve had an Auntie pass away, another Auntie get run over by a car, a nephew desperately crying out for help, a bank error that caused hundreds of dollars to disappear from my account that required an investigation, my hubby in a three-car accident that totalled his car and the vacuum died.  But the vacuum dying was so much less significant because of the week it happened in.  We almost didn’t notice. 

My four-day scrapbooking retreat had been planned for over six months… on the exact weekend that God knew I needed a break from mothering and family news.  After hearing about my husband’s fender-bender, one of my scrapping friends asked if I was still going away for the trip.  OF COURSE!  Usually when on scrapbooking weekends, I get massive amounts of pages and photos done.  Not this past weekend.  On Friday I did nothing.  Nothing.  Well, I did patronize some stores up in the sleepy mountain town and I took in at least three movies.  I read my Bible and I sat in my chair.  It was sublime.

As you can imagine, I look forward to March going out like a lamb.  Not the lamb that is lost and bleating loudly for its mother.  Not Little Bo Peep’s sheep either.  The fluffy white lamb curled up in blissful peace next to Jesus’ manger.  Please, oh please.

I’ve Officially Hit PB&J Meltdown

That’s Piled Bits and Junk, not peanut butter and jelly.  Slowly but surely we’ve been bringing more stuff into this house than we’ve been taking out.  It eventually got to me and I started looking around at all the stuff… now I’m not one of those pack rats with piled newspapers from 1946 forward, shoe boxes of twist ties and every rinsed out can we’ve ever opened.  Nothing like that.  But toys are so overrated.  They were neatly stored in labeled plastic bins… but I finally clued in that no one has played with them in four blinkin’ years. 

My meltdown was quickly followed by a plan of action.  I gathered the boys, ages almost 10 and 12, into their rooms with garbage bags and empty packing boxes.  Nothing was safe.  I yanked every last Lego and Star Wars figure out of that closet and asked every single time, “Do you play with this?”  90% of the answers were no.  I didn’t even argue if they said yes.  I put the 10% back in the closet, still in their labeled plastic bins.  The garbage bags were filled with broken, missing part and written on toys for the dump.  Embarrassingly, two large bags emerged.  The still-could-be-played-with toys went into boxes for a garage sale. 

Where did it all come from?  That is the question.  I asked the boys periodically where they got certain toys.  Seems they came from gifts or other garage sales.  THERE IS THE PROBLEM!  Why in the world are we buying other people’s junk so we can bring it home to be our junk????  We don’t go garage saling very often, but still.  It just got crossed off my list of family-friendly activities.

And can I just say that my boys don’t need another Hot Wheel car for the rest of their lives?  They started in small plastic tubs…. and as they accumulated… they advanced several times until reaching the largest uner-bed plastic box that we own.  Good grief.  BUT, the mother with PB&J meltdown says, they do play with them regularly.  Don’t tell, but I did get rid of quite a few that had evidently had fender-benders or mishaps with a hammer and/or Sharpie pen.

Whew.  I feel better with the junk gone.  Now to hit the game closet, the craft closet, the linen closet and our closet before the BIG garage sale day when we sell our junk to other people so they can take it home and claim it as their junk.  :o)  This is recycling at its best.