Posting early, because my SIL is coming with her kids, and while I love her dearly, I would also like to keep my super-secret blog super-secret. Also, this weekend is going to be a complete shitshow, so I’m not sure I will be able to write much tomorrow or Sunday.
I don’t believe in luck, as I’ve already made abundantly clear, and I’m not a superstitious person, although I am a person of faith. Also, there has been a storm brewing for a while, the clouds have been gathering, and there was some lightning and strong winds yesterday. One can only guess whether we are going to be dealing with a Category 2 or Category 5, but we will be ready either way, with out water bottles and dried goods and flashlights. Maybe we’ll even invest in a generator.
I think I’ve pretty much strangled the life out of that metaphor, so…
In other news, the police recovered our stolen car. That’s how our Friday the Thirteenth started, with a call from the police department. We went to the impound lot (HW didn’t think it was a great idea for me to go alone with two small children, but I’m sure it would have been fine) and signed the paperwork. The people there were extremely nice. I attempted to practice my Spanish (I must sound like a toddler), and they offered our kids lollipops and croquettes, and great sympathy when we explained what had happened. Their kindness really made a big difference and changed the experience, and I am grateful for that. We walked out to see the car, and it’s not in great shape, but it’s not totaled, so we had to have it towed to a mechanic, where our insurance adjuster will determine what to do next.
I’m not sure what I expected to see when I saw the car, or what I expected to feel, but I was surprised that I felt a little bit sad. The passenger door doesn’t really open and the back side door doesn’t work properly. The car seats are all missing, a few personal items were strewn around, and they even emptied our special organic baby-safe soap bottles. I think it really hit me for the first time that this was the car I took my children in and out of for most of their lives. I have so many memories with them in that car, climbing around the seats, flipping a backward seat forward for the first time, taking long road trips all over the country, often with our giant dog between the middle bucket seats. We all have a lot of great memories in that car, and our children will be truly sad to hear what happened to it. I also have some not so great memories in that car, and honestly, I will miss those too.
That was the first new car I ever owned. My stepfather generously helped me with the down payment and to qualify for a good loan, but I made every single payment myself until it was paid off. Some months that was challenging, some months it was an afterthought, but it always happened.
I doubt we will keep the car. It was pretty severely damaged, and while I’m sure they will be able to fix it, I’m not sure I would ever feel safe in it again. We also really don’t need two cars. Most days HW walks to work, or we drop him off and he walks home. It didn’t make sense to get rid of it before, but I think it probably does now. It sort of feels like the end of an era.
When I looked in the front passenger seat, there was one thing, one thing in that entire car that was left without any damage. It was a photo of the two older kids, our daughter’s arm around her baby brother, in a silver frame, with a glass cover. The photo and frame are in one piece, and there isn’t even a single scratch on the glass. I don’t believe in luck, but I do believe that’s a sign, and I see it as a sign that we should take our good memories, and move on with thanks.
Be kind, friends.