La la la . . . did you think I wasn’t coming back?
Guess what, though?
I had a talk with my family. We talked about how much time I spend on this blog and about our plans for the summer. We talked about the fact that Mark will not be working from home this summer and about how Maj and Kallan need me.
I need the girls.
Comments are closed for the summer.
I know . . . insanity.
We are in the car, driving on the freeway, our new-to-us boat on our new-to-us trailer behind us. We have about two hours of our two-and-a-half hour trip home still to go, which means we should get home at about 4:30.
I know this because Kallan is pissed at us. She is supposed to be at a birthday sleepover for a friend at 4:30, and she is going to be a little late. Kallan does not do pissed quietly, in case you were wondering.
Our first lesson as boat purchasers has been this: Everything takes longer than you imagine it will take. Do not promise your younger child that you will be able to drive up to Olympia and buy a boat and then get the boat back home in time for her to be somewhere at 4:30 pm. Boat shit takes time.
Not bad time.
So I am reassuring Kallan that she will only be a little late. Fashionably late. I will call the birthday girl’s mom in just a bit, and I will explain how it is all my fault and I will apologize and it will be fine.
I turn to smile reassuringly at Kallan, but my attention is drawn by a sudden loud noise and I look past her and out the back window of the minivan.
At large black strips of rubber flying from the trailer through the air and into the traffic behind us.
Ooooh . . . that’s not good.
We don’t have a spare tire for the trailer with us because of words I spoke to Mark earlier in the day, words that now flash through my brain as Mark slows the car and heads awkwardly for the next freeway exit, “Mark, we have to get going. There is no time for you to pull the spare tire off of the soapbox trailer. Seriously? What are the chances we are going to need a spare tire the very first time we use this trailer? These tires look fine to me. Get in the car.”
Mark does not say a word about that earlier conversation.
Miraculously, although the tread of the tire has completely come away, the tire itself is still inflated.
So we limp along to a gas station and then from there to a tire place, one side of the boat held up by what amounts to an inner tube.
Also, if you are thinking that Kallan took this tragedy lightly? You would be mistaken.
Mark goes to talk to the men with the tires, and I sit in the car with Maj and Kallan.
Kallan is screaming and I am offering helpful advice . . . FUCK! There is nothing to be done, dramatic child of tragedy! Get your shit together and calm the fuck down!
I don’t say that, by the way. I just think it at her with great intensity.
Kallan does not get her shit together, but instead turns in her seat to stare out the back window, “WHY IS THIS FAMILY SO STUPID????”
Maj leans forward and speaks above the frenzy into my ear, “Mother, when I grow up, I am going to open a spa. To help people relax in times of stress.”
And before I can comment on the strangeness of this bit of news?
Maj whirls and gives Kallan a hard smack on the butt. A hard smack.
Kallan is shocked into silence, “Did you just HIT me?”
Maj speaks calmly, “That was a free sample of the services my spa will be offering. Deep conditioning butt smacks.”
Kallan is astounded, “I believe that you just HIT me!”
Maj reaches and smacks Kallan’s butt again, “You’re lucky you’re here on free sample day. Deep conditioning butt smacks are one of my most popular items and they are quite expensive.”
Kallan stares at her sister for a moment, “That’s ridiculous and now my butt hurts.”
Maj explains, “Yes. The pain is all of your tension oozing away.”
“OUT OF MY BUTT?”
Maj giggles, “Not everything at the spa is pretty, young lady. We do what has to be done.” She sticks her butt out in Kallan’s direction, “Try it! You’ll see . . . the tension will ooze out of me.”
Kallan does not hesitate, and she smacks her sister hard.
Maj sighs happily, “I feel so much better! Although I think there may be a little tension still stuck in my butt. Hold on.” She rummages about on the floor of the minivan and comes up with an old shoelace, which she then threads over her pants but between her butt cheeks, “Sometimes, butt flossing is required to loosen the stubborn little chunks of tension.”
Kallan is giggling hysterically.
The two of them make plans to open a spa together. A spa at which they will spank people and then floss their butt cheeks free of oozy stress build-up.
I am dying.
I call the birthday girl’s mom to explain that we have been delayed.
A man comes out to inspect the trailer tire.
A deal is reached.
Mark opens the car door and looks questioningly at Maj and Kallan, who are taking turns shoelace-flossing their butt cheeks, “You guys want to walk over to the Hostess store across the street? Get a treat or something?”
The girls scramble out of the car.
Leaving me alone with Jack (I forgot to mention we brought Jack along for this trip). I climb out of the car to take him for a walk. I don’t get far before I hear, “Ma’am?”
I turn to speak to the tire guy, “Yes?”
He is apologetic, “There’s been a little hiccup.”
“Is this hiccup of the Going to Cost More Money than You Thought sort?”
He laughs nervously, “Yes, ma’am. Yes, it is.”
Mark and the girls are back then, and Mark hands me a package of Snowballs. I giggle and gesture at the man with the hiccup, “Babe, you know those cartoons where a snowball rolls down the hill and gets bigger and bigger and bigger?”
Mark stares at me blankly.
I open the package and peel off the marshmallow coconut goodness from one chocolate mounded boob-shaped cake. I roll it up and eat this sugary rubbery thing as we listen together to the sad hiccupy story.
A story that results in the purchase of two tires (hiccup . . . hiccup) and one wheel (hiccup) and the plan to spend more money on replacing a part of the trailer bracing system that somehow snapped when the tire fell apart and the trailer lurched (hiccup).
Mark bought this used trailer cheap and apparently missed a few things in his “inspection.”
But I don’t say anything about that.
Instead, I turn to Mark and I laugh and raise my marshmallow-sticky hand in the air, “High fives on being boat owners, babe! We are two hours in and we are kicking nautical ASS!”
Mark giggles and high-fives me between bites of his Hostess cupcake.
Eventually, we are on our way.
I call the birthday girl’s mom again and let her know Kallan will arrive at about 6:30 pm.
I hang up the phone and Kallan begins to scream and wail, “6:30?? I can’t get there at 6:30!! That’s two hours late!!!”
Maj speaks calmly, “Do you need another deep conditioning butt smack, Kallan?”