The Healing Power of the Car Wash

I had to have my son at school early this morning for a field trip. It was dark, I had no caffeine in my body and I never saw the large dead animal in the road. My son swears I ran over a mongoose. My daughter says it was a werewolf. I'm going with previously killed cat. All the same, it's such a gross feeling running over a dead animal. I'm certain that running over a live animal would be much worse, however. I will head to the car wash later today to remove the werewolf parts from the underside of my car. The car wash is therapy for me. It's a place of healing and wellness. It really has nothing to do with cleaning my car. For $7 I can pull forward into my own special place where the cares of my world will be washed away. I put on some Van Morrison, pop a soda top, and sit back and relax as bluish green oozy bubbles cover my car and wash away what ails me. For an extra dollar I can can get a crystal clear top coat that should protect me from all the evils of the world - like werewolves and mongooses (mongeese?). It's cheaper than a therapist and no appointments are needed. When the world becomes overwhelming, my family knows where to find me.... in stall #1 selecting my options.

For the last two weeks I've been fighting a headache and nothing has cured it. I've tried pressure points and soothing thoughts to no avail. I am forced to call the doctor for some type of pill to relieve the pressure. I planned on a relaxing weekend letting my head heal and having some "me time" until my daughter announced last night at bedtime that she wanted to be in a Beauty Pageant...  IN TWO DAYS! Nothing like last minute decisions. Unfortunately, I do not have the skills needed to do big hair, but I do have a good understanding of outsourcing.  By 10:00 p.m. I had secured a dress, a make-up artist, and a hair dresser.  Thank God for beautiful nieces who pity me for my lack of girly genes.  We have evening wear, sports wear, and I'm scouting out a make-shift cat costume with rhinestones and other sparkly things we can put together for a quick talent act. I'm taking head shots with my cell phone and blue-toothing them to my printer. I figure by noon on Saturday, I'll be sitting in a darkened auditorium in a post narcotic haze watching leaping cats and tap dancing wonders blurr across the stage. By Sunday I'll be back in the car wash as friends drive by commenting about how often I clean my car. Little do they know....

Working Moms' Mornings

Somewhere back in time, women stood up and said they wanted it all. They wanted to be mothers and wives and executives and business owners. To have all of this would be great, but what they forgot to mention was that it still required having a wife at home or at least a husband that could cook, clean, do laundry and more. At our house, a common expression heard is "I can't do it all!" Now, my husband says this and we all laugh. I say it and people disappear from sight. My version is a little more scarier and intimidating because I actually am doing it all. My husband moves the dishes from the table and piles them in the sink and exclaims that he has cleaned the kitchen. He wants a thank you and a pat on the head. I actually load and empty the dishwasher, scrape up the hardened remains of red suckers from the floor, bleach Kool-aid stains out of the counter, sanitize the liner of the freezer, fish refrigerator magnets out of the cat food bowl, and sweep up bird seed that the Parakeet who lives in our kitchen has tossed out of his cage in acts of rebellion. Now, that's cleaning the kitchen! The toughest part about being a working mother is the mornings. Working mothers around the world shudder at the sound of the alarm going off. It's not because they require additional rest, but because they know what awaits them in the next two hours. Mornings at our house could drive the most grounded woman mad! I strive for order, but it just doesn't come. Our daughter has a menagerie of pets that she cares for. She is very responsible in her pet care duties, it's just that there are so many of them. She loves them equally, but it takes a lot of time to hug and kiss 4 kittens, two cats, a caged bird, 4 fish, a flying squirrel, a dog she claims is a wolf but isn't and a pet deer. This morning as I was gluing together a model of the skeletal system, my husband managed to shut the door on a kitten's head - don't worry- the kitten is fine. Pete, the rebel Parakeet would not stop his incessant chirping (he's obviously just gone mad living here) and my daughter's hamster, July, who is the Houdini of the rat world, escaped again and kept darting across my kitchen with stolen almonds. I informed my husband that I had to go to work early, so he would have to take the kids to school. He informed me that his boat was hooked up to his truck and he had a flat tire. He didn't mention the unpleasant smell of deceased bait fish that was coming from the boat, but we were sure to notice this before too long. The cab of his truck was filled with hunting and fishing gear (note hunting season ended two months earlier) and there was no room for passengers that didn't want to exit the vehicle smelling like fish bait or deer scent. I had a board meeting to get to and the parenting duties had to fall to my other half. The kids were out of luck. They were going to school in the Deliverence truck. "Just pretend it's a ride at Six Flags, I told them." As we all headed out of the driveway to school and work and play, the belt on my car slipped and began screaming, the bird was screaming, my daughter was hanging out of truck screaming, and the voices in my head were screaming. My husband is limping down the driveway with one flat tire, still pulling the boat, as little dead bait fish fly out of the tank with each wobble from side to side. When I was in elementary school and drew the picture of what I wanted to be when I grew up, I don't think this is quite what I drew!  It's even better!

Happy New Year

The new year approaches and the craziness of the holiday season will soon be behind us. Somewhere between buying smoked hams and mountains of electronics, we lost touch with the real meaning of Christmas. There were moments I found myself slipping in and out of insanity. During one particular holiday outing, I was standing in line to buy dog food when my debit card was declined. Like any working mother, I check my account daily and know the balance down to the last purchase at McDonald's. As the cashier announces over the loudspeaker that your card has been declined, you are acutely aware that the eight people in line behind you are sighing in disgust that you have no money. I moved out of line quickly to allow them to proceed with their purchases of tiny dog clothes and kitty toys. I called the bank only to find out that they had suspected fraud. Hmmmm.... I had just used the same card to purchase $700 in electronics, but they protected me from a possible fraudulent purchase of $8 in dog food! What! - I ask you! Somehow they are not making me feel better. After safely procuring my case of ALPO, I headed to the next store for more Christmas goodies. After loading the car with a 42 inch tv, a case of tasty dog treats and an assortment of gifts, I ran across the most amazing Christmas tree that played music while the lights beamed bright and faded in time to the music. It was hypnotizing. It was therapeutic. If my debit card worked... it was mine! And it was - There was already no room in the inn or my car and somehow I squeezed a 6ft tree into the vehicle and still properly closed all doors. Granted, the front seat passenger rode home with a smoked ham and a case of ALPO in their lap and a shiny Christmas star poking the top of their head. Ah - the joy of Christmas. Christmas day arrived and Santa was good to the children and we all ate until we could pop. People came and went and while it was wonderful to see everyone, it was exhausting. My living room was a maze of ribbons and boxes and tiny Nerf darts. There were plastic wire Barbie restraints strewn all over the floor. Do they really think it is necessary to secure every Barbie digit to the box? This is sending a twisted message to our daughters. All of this chaos never seems to bother my husband. He steps across the boxes, takes a dart to the head, and meanders out into the cold talking to himself. As the last visitor prepared to leave and I made my dash for my flannel PJs, my doorbell rang. Why would anyone come back, I thought to myself. But, it was that last visitor of the night who asked me to come out into the cold to hear something. This was truly the last thing I wanted to do. The flannel fat pants were almost in reach and now I had to go outside! But.... I'm glad I did. For in the dark of a cold Christmas night, there were two lovebirds perched in my tree singing to one another. They had escaped from the local flea market and had somehow found their way to my house where all the children and all the injured animals always come. They sang their Christmas song and I knew that all was right in my world. We were now ready to move on to the new year and all it brings with it.