Did I tell you what happened on Wednesday? I don't think I did.
The day started off very wonderfully, I had a playdate set up with the lovely Amy and her two cuties. Although she has left the blogosphere, I have been lucky that she has stayed in touch. I heart Amy!
So there were our boys, playing and mucking around in the sand as boys are wont to do. Something about pirates and ships and big sticks being needed. It sounded cool. Another little boy comes onto the playground, and he has a soccer ball. Our two pirates decided that a soccer ball would be a nice addition to their festivities, and proceeded to snag it.
"No, no," I told Mr. P "only if he lets you have it. You can't just take it away from him!" The little boy's father said it was ok, and we chatted for a minute or two. Then, the father asked if I had a black Honda Accord. Well, yes, I do. It's flat, he kindly informed me. Curse words danced in my head, but I managed to thank him without uttering any of them.
We talked for a bit longer, and then it being time for all of us to head off, started to round up the kiddos. The father offered to come and take a look at the tire with me. And there it was, flattened to the rim. Nice. He hooked up the tire inflator thing we always have in our trunk, and Amy and I looked at each other, horrified, as we heard the audible hissing of the tire loudly refusing to accept any air.
Then, my guardian angel disguised as this man changed my tire for me. And, inflated the spare as it was also flat. Fun, fun times. My dad taught me how to change a flat, but it was so long ago that I am sure I would have done it wrong. And if there is something you don't want to to wrong, it's put a tire on a car. Amy was also kind enough to stay with me the whole time, which turned out to be a decision she probably regretted as her daughter had a bit of an accident during the festivities. Finally, it was ok to go, and I limped off with my tiny spare tire. Those things, they just don't look right on a car, do they? I thanked him profusely, and he just told me to do something for someone else that needed help. Gives you a little faith in mankind again, don't it?
After limping behind a big rig the whole way home on the freeway, I was so glad to be home. It was by no means the worst-case scenario, but the whole thing was still a bit stressful. I reach up to my garage door opener to press the button, and there is no garage door opener. Hubba-hubba had taken it the day before and forgot to put it back. Now, the only way to enter the house would be through the front door. Which required the key to the deadbolted entrance gate. Which I also did not have with me, as I had gone walking with Mr. P a few days earlier, and decided to make my burden a little lighter by separating my key rings. Bad move.
I crossed my fingers and prayed that one of my retired neighbors would be home and that I would be able to borrow a step ladder or something to vault myself over the five-foot wall that surrounds our front entrance. I did finally manage to find one, but as I stood on the second step of the step ladder, I envisioned myself hurtling to the ground on the other side, breaking my ankle, with Mr. P trapped and alone on the other side of the wall with no way to get over. Such is the thought process when you are a mom.
Another male neighbor happened to be home, and offered to get over for me. And I was grateful, but he is a bit elderly, and all I could think of was that please, let him not fall onto the hard concrete of my patio and break an ankle and then sue me. Such is the thought process of a homeowener.
Finally, finally we were able to get inside our home, with Mr. P babbling excitedly about whooshing air coming out of tires and Mama climbing up a ladder.
And I'm sure that Amy is thinking, please, the next time I meet Gina for a playdate, let everything go smoothly and me not have to wait an extra hour from when I was supposed to leave, and because of that have to change my daughter's outfit in a public restroom at a park. Such is the thought process of a reasonable and sane person.
I would so totally not blame her if she decided that she's had quite enough of playdates, Gina-style.