Or, to be more truthful and realistic, we watched Footloose while taking a shot every time we called it Flashdance and wondered where the strippers came into the story... and whether or not, if in the history of the world a stripper has ever actually become a ballerina.
But that's a whole 'notha life that I will deny to my parents. They still don't know I've ever watched Flashdance because I was told specifically not to watch it. And I always do what I'm told.
Also, eventually, my girls are going to be able to read and I'll have to explain to them some things. Like why it was okay for Mommy to throw down an f-bomb into the webiverse, but they can't say it when they're asking me to pass the mashed potatoes. I know.... life is unfair. And then you get pregnant twice in two years, and then can't lose the weight. SUCKS, HUH?
Anyway, pre-kids we had a Sonata that I drove when I had to, and Benny had his "dream truck" (more on that in a future post) - a Toyota Tacoma. But more importantly, we also owned five bikes and a Scooter by the name of Roxy. Those days were amazing. When I didn't ride my bike to work, I rode the scooter to work. And when Benny didn't ride his bike to work, he had the dream truck to fall back on.
And then we had Hazel and things got real. The Sonata was a great car... but not great for putting a carseat in. There was little-to-no leg room in the back.... depending on who was driving. Because, for those of you who haven't seen it first hand, Benny likes to roll like a gangsta and lay the seat all the way back while he drives.
Anyway, we ended up selling the "dream truck" and getting a more family-friendly Honda Pilot.
And just like that, our principles left the building. Sure, when I was starring in Footloose, I had no use for SUV's or Mini-Vans. In fact, I openly scoffed at them and TOTALLY passed judgement on the people who had no concern for Mother Earth. But then I had a baby and OMG... THERE ARE MANIACS ON THE ROAD. I NEED MORE SECURITY. AND OMG, IT IS SUCH A PAIN IN THE ASS TO TAKE THIS CARSEAT IN AND OUT OF THIS TINY CAR.
Yep. So long principles. Hellllloooo convenience and peace of mind .
And that's how we've been operating for the past three years. Benny drives the Sonata to-and-from work while I drive the Pilot with the girls. We sold the scooter to some neighbors who promised to take good care of her. We're down to four bikes, with one of them on the market. All in the name of growing up.
But, as of late, it seems like we need a new game plan. If Benny ever has to pick up the girls, we have to coordinate our schedules with the accuracy of a gold-medal-winning relay team. And let's just say that Benny's not down with the way I treat the car. He doesn't see the charm in the girls artwork that sits in the console of the Pilot that I have neglected to bring in to the house for 2 months. He doesn't get how keeping bills under said artwork will (eventually) remind me that I need to pay them. And he really doesn't understand the virtue of both cupholders being filled by two cups... one with Coke and one with iced-tea... that have no lids. Because this means that there's an 80% chance that underneath the artwork and the bills is a sticky, slimy mess. Because one of the girls needed something while I was driving - for the sake of argument, we'll say they needed a pound of flesh - and WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO? NOT SWERVE WHEN I HEAR THEIR SCREECHES? What am I? A robot?
Anyway, I say all this to preface what went down a couple of weeks ago... which led to what went down today. And, I guess that this whole mess that you're about to read about is actually my fault. A few months ago, I was talking with a friend about thinking about wanting to get a mini-van (not a typo... I was actually thinking about wanting one. I'm nothing if not thorough.) but worried that I would then have to invest in the mom-jeans that we all know are a requirement for mini-vans (calling it a swagger-wagon only makes it cool for the first few days, and then on go the jeans). But, around Thanksgiving, I witnessed the absolute beauty of the mini-van in action at a family reunion. And seriously... I GOTTA HAVE ONE OF THESE THINGS. Doors that open by themselves? Seats low enough for the kids to crawl in on their own? Do you have any idea how much money I could be saving each month by not having to go to Crossfit just so I can lift my kids into the car 15 times a day without hurting myself?? That's half the car payment!!!
So, I broached the subject of
We weren't in a hurry by any means. Since we had to replace our roof and a fence the blew over during Utah tornado season (January for those of you not in the know) we've had to keep the purse strings pretty tight. So, adding a car payment to our budget just wasn't a top priority.
Two weeks ago, Benny decided to make a quick run to the liquor store for some
The next day, guess who was a co-signer on a Toyota Tundra? Yep. (Oh, don't worry. I also went ahead and asked them to roll the cost of my shoes into the loan. So, we all won.)
Benny has been driving that truck non-stop. He even found an excuse to drive it to Escalante for a work trip, rather than taking a work car. We've taken trips to the Uintah's and thrown the bikes in the back for a quick bike ride with the girls along the river walkway in Ogden. Let's just say, although it's a bit of a learning curve for him to drive such a big truck (and I've yet to see him park it straight on his first attempt), I've only seen the man this happy twice before. And that was the births of both of our girls.
That's right, our wedding day doesn't even make the top three, now.
But a funny thing happened yesterday. We started to notice an odor in the truck. An odor that only someone with experience in identifying a certain disgusting smell or stain with her eyes tied behind her back can determine and treat. This job called for a mom. Let me tell you about my nose. It can smell through a stainless steele fridge door and determine that Benny has opened a can of corn, placed it in tupperware and put it in the back of the fridge. It can smell the exact moment that The Bean has dropped a load even when she's 15-feet away playing in the sandbox. It's that good. So, upon examination, I proclaimed that it smelled like rotten milk that had been sitting in a coffee mug for several days and had been spilled somewhere in the truck. Further, there were notes of where someone had obviously rubbed the scent bag of a skunk all over the cab of the truck.
But the exact location? Impossible to determine.
And because we're from the generation that lived and breathed the genius of Jerry Seinfeld, both Benny and I immediately concluded that the car dealer whom we'd bought the truck from had somehow hidden the smell with something in order to get us to buy it... and basically had sold us a Seinfeld Smelly Car. Which is why we got such a smoking deal on it.
This morning, it was even worse. The girls didn't seem to mind, though, so we made our way to the river to play. I was busy mentally calculating the cost of getting the car detailed to get rid of the smell and how that would affect me getting new workout shoes... and wondering if we could take it back to the dealership and Lemon Law them when I heard Hazel ask:
"Where are my worms, Daddy?"
These worms she was speaking of were the worms we had helped her dig up at the park the previous day. Which, unbeknownst to me, had apparently left the park with us. And, if you've never seen an ephiphany take place on someone's face in real-time, it's strikingly similar to an "O" face. But way more sexy.
"Oh! That's right! I put the worms in the truck yesterday. That's what the smell is."
"Worms. The worms are what is stinking up the truck."
"You put the worms in the truck? Like... in the truck?"
"Yea. In the ashtray."
"No. Babe!! C'mon! I'm a fisherman."
And when we got back to the truck, he proceeded to show me the worms in the ashtray which had been cooking in the car for a day or so. And I now have added cooked worms to my odor identification list.
So, that happened.
In a way, I'm glad it happened. Because while I may have the occasional spill in the console of the Pilot that leaves a sticky mess, it's far from the gooey mess that was in that ashtray. I expect that Benny will be keeping his mouth shut about such things for a long time.
And if he doesn't, I'll go all street on him.