This weekend was a terrible teaser. My weekend warrior got a pass for the long weekend to come as far as Birmingham. If it weren't for that suspiciously timed snow day that coincided with the National Championship Bowl Game, I too would be enjoying a long weekend. Alas, I'm back to work tomorrow. And if it weren't for the timing belt on the Subaru needing to be replaced, MWW would have been able to come all the way home, probably.
But it is what it is.
Saturday morning, early, pretending like it was a normal school day, I got the kids up and dressed and fed, and we got in the car to make the 2-hour trip to B'ham. We got out the door about 30 minutes later than I do most mornings, but I also had to pack the car with things that I don't ordinarily have to pack (pack n' plays, road snacks, weekend clothes, diapers & wipes beyond what was already in the diaper bag, hubby's clothes that he asked for, a box of goodies for him), so it took a little time. I also had to ensure that the cats had what they needed for two days. Oh, and I had to return a DVD to the Redbox before we left town, so of course the inventory was full for the machine where I rented it, so I had to go out of my way to another machine to give it back. Booo. 7:45. On the road.
I had to stop numerous times. Once I had to pull over to feed Baby Bear and change a diaper. Then I had to pull over to save Goldilocks from the tiny hair rubber band that she had squeezed over her hand and was cutting off the circulation (she pulled out her pigtails within five minutes of being on the road). I pulled over because darn the luck, the sun was shining right on Baby Bear, he really wasn't happy about it, and there wasn't a dang thing I could do about it from the driver's seat. And most fun of all, I pulled over because the "Check Engine" light flashed at me and the car suddenly started doing weird things.
This last one almost had me in tears. Already we had been on the road two hours--you know, the time it ordinarily takes to get from here to B'ham. And we were still 40 miles away. The car was making a tick-tick-tick sound and I knew immediatly that it needed oil. So, to be safe, I went into a gas station and bought two quarts. Turned out I needed three. Yikes. When I went back in to buy the third quart, the old man cashier asked, "It really didn't have any oil in it, did it?" Nope. Another guy pulled up in a Jeep and parked next to me. When he got out, he asked all sorts of "Is everything okay?" sorts of questions. I told him that I just needed to put more oil in the car and then we should be okay. He looked relieved and then confided that he really didn't know anything about cars but wanted to offer the masculine-style moral support so that I wouldn't feel alone. Ooookay. We got back on the road.
And about 10 minutes later I looked down at the dashboard and my brights were on. Had I accidentally turned them on? I got behind a car with a reflective bumper. The Saturn has running lights, so I flipped the switch to turn on my headlights to make sure I wasn't losing my mind, but the headlights didn't come on. Nope. The brights were on and they wouldn't turn off. This same electrical problem happened on the way to Orlando in November and there was a subsequent fire under the hood (honestly, the car has almost 200,000 miles on it). I did the only thing I could: I prayed. When I looked back at the dash, the high-beams had turned off and all was well. I didn't have any further problems out of the car this weekend.
Onward to B'ham, to see MWW!
(To be continued...it's 1o p.m.--already past my bedtime--and I'm spent. Goodnight)
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