Two Kids, One Mom and a Junk Yard

"Um..yeah, if you could just pick up the plates and EZ-pass at the collision place tomorrow that would be great....." I have now succeeded in making H sound like Lumbergh.  I asked him if there were any other items in the car and he said, "Maybe a box. That's it."

So I went to the collision place today- eesh. On top of going to the grocery store, trying to get some work done- blogging and otherwise, building a volcano, calling the cable company, insurance company, doing laundry and cleaning the house.  I'm leaving this week for a business trip and there is loads to do before I head out on Wednesday.  I feel like I'm forgetting something. Right! The kids. I also made sure they didn't run in traffic, burn themselves on a hot stove, fight each other to the death and act like wolves.  OK, so they acted a bit like wolves and The Comedian did bite her sister. Again.  But they are still in one piece despite their whirling dervish of a mother.

H left out a few things though.  Like money.  There was money in the car.  An umbrella, a box full of CDs for work it seems, a glove compartment full of stuff including sunglasses and just a plethora of junk that needs to be sorted through. 

When I got to the collision center I told them I was there to pick up the plates for a '98 Corolla.  The receptionist looked at me as I shifted The Comedian on my hip and asked, "Do you need a screwdriver?"  Um..what?  "Why would I need a screwdriver?" I asked.  "To take off the plates" (insert the silent word, "Dumbass" here.)  I snarled smiled sweetly and said, "If I had known I had to take off the plates myself I wouldn't have brought two kids. I thought they were at the front desk with the keys and a box of stuff." More smiling on my behalf.  "Nope, it's all in the junk yard.  You have to go get them."

YES! Just what I wanted to do today! I totally woke up this morning thinking that I wanted to haul my four year-old and sixteen month-old into a junk yard of broken down cars, dirt, shards of glass and twisted metal.  Can I please? Huh? Huh? Can I?!  Luckily a manager stepped in and said, "Ma'am we can send someone out to get the plates." 

Which was true.  Except five minutes later I still had to claim my items as the mechanic unscrewed the license plates. I put both kids in the backseat of the Corolla and ripped apart the car collecting all the items H had left behind.  Then the nice man toted the box to my car for me too because after scrambling from the front to the back to the front to the back seats just to grab a squealing Comedian out of the car in my falling down materinty capris (WHY CAN'T THEY MAKE A PAIR OF MATERNITY PANTS THAT DON'T SHOW PLUMBERS CRACK?!) I sort of needed some help.  TD was content to run around in the dirt during this production looking at the various shards of glass and asking ninety bazillion questions about our impending doom via junk yard car or jagged metal.  To say that the phrase, "Your father...." didn't escape from my lips at least once would be a lie. 

I said goodbye to my old, trusty friend the Corolla and that was it.  The car that took me across country more than once is no more.  Tomorrow we pick up our new car that we purchased this weekend.  Another chapter closes as a new one begins.