Perfect Timing
You know what we've been needing? Some more reasons to make appointments and accept phone calls and assess our financial situation. John is always trying to go above and beyond accommodating our needs, and so he went out and broad-sided an old lady's car today. Ho hum, he thought, driving along, with our four-year-old no doubt shouting demands for "lack-a-loni cheese" in the back seat, I think I'll ram my small vehicle into the side of this Buick since the 65-year-old driver conveniently decided to pull out in front of 40-mph traffic and provide the PERFECT solution to our boredom and thumb-twiddling of late. Presto Change-O! Now, instead of just sitting around (while magical servant elves pack our belongings and answer the dozens of suddenly urgent phone calls from mortgage brokers and title companies and builder reps who looked at the calendar three days ago and realized, yes, this deal is actually going through next week and we should probably, ya know, process it), we'll have something productive to do! Insurance adjusters to schedule appointments with (APPOINTMENTS! YES! We hardly have ANY appointments coming up in the next 10 days, because the magical elves are going to tend to whatever pesky scheduling needs this whole house-buying thing requires - something about "closing dates" three days apart with a moving van and furniture delivery in between... who cares? I mean, the elves are dealing with it!); rental cars to arrange; claims to submit; body shops to pick; forms to fill out (FORMS! YES! The elves have been hogging all the forms lately - apparently there are a lot during home buying and selling!).
After John slammed on his brakes and heard the deafening crunch of metal on impact, he looked in the rear view mirror at Quinn and asked if he was okay. Quinn wasn't crying and hadn't spoken or screamed during the ordeal, and when John spoke, he said only, "That scared me." John got him out of the carseat and made sure he wasn't hurt, then spoke to the Buick lady, who was fine, but according to John, had ice in her veins. Strangers were running up to John after seeing the carseat in the back seat and watching Quinn's small blonde pre-school sized head climbing out of the back seat while they waited for the police to arrive: "Is he okay? Is your son alright? Should we call an ambulance?" He was fine, but the Buick lady never bothered to ask. John's impact into her car actually pushed it into another, and that driver came over to check on Quinn, too. But not Buick lady. She barely spoke at all. Once the police arrived, she got a ticket. No one else did. Waaa.
Tonight at bedtime in a last-ditch effort to eliminate the chaos, we decided to let the kids fall asleep separately. As we waited for Quinn to exhaust himself and his attempts to lure me back to his room hundreds of times, I noticed myself feeling less annoyed than usual every time I'd hit the doorway and hear "I need to tell you something, though!" Once after several "last" urgent comments, I tried to ignore him and walk out without answering, but then he started to cry. I came back into his room and he asked when Bryce was coming to bed. I explained it calmly for the fifth time, because I realized that sitting on my four-year-old's bed at home and wishing he would go to sleep already was an acceptable alternative to sitting on my four-year-old's bed at the hospital and wishing for the opposite while plotting my revenge against the Buick lady.
After John slammed on his brakes and heard the deafening crunch of metal on impact, he looked in the rear view mirror at Quinn and asked if he was okay. Quinn wasn't crying and hadn't spoken or screamed during the ordeal, and when John spoke, he said only, "That scared me." John got him out of the carseat and made sure he wasn't hurt, then spoke to the Buick lady, who was fine, but according to John, had ice in her veins. Strangers were running up to John after seeing the carseat in the back seat and watching Quinn's small blonde pre-school sized head climbing out of the back seat while they waited for the police to arrive: "Is he okay? Is your son alright? Should we call an ambulance?" He was fine, but the Buick lady never bothered to ask. John's impact into her car actually pushed it into another, and that driver came over to check on Quinn, too. But not Buick lady. She barely spoke at all. Once the police arrived, she got a ticket. No one else did. Waaa.
Tonight at bedtime in a last-ditch effort to eliminate the chaos, we decided to let the kids fall asleep separately. As we waited for Quinn to exhaust himself and his attempts to lure me back to his room hundreds of times, I noticed myself feeling less annoyed than usual every time I'd hit the doorway and hear "I need to tell you something, though!" Once after several "last" urgent comments, I tried to ignore him and walk out without answering, but then he started to cry. I came back into his room and he asked when Bryce was coming to bed. I explained it calmly for the fifth time, because I realized that sitting on my four-year-old's bed at home and wishing he would go to sleep already was an acceptable alternative to sitting on my four-year-old's bed at the hospital and wishing for the opposite while plotting my revenge against the Buick lady.
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