From Inmates to Playdates

Just like most of y’all who live here on the East Coast, we’ve had more than our share of snow.

I, for one am sick of it. Especially since we live on a big honkin’ hill with a steep curve.

On Friday, I worked the Book Fair at Stevie’s school for a few hours and then headed home. As I made my way up the big, honkin’ hill, it dawned on me that the hill was much worse than it was two hours earlier when I took Stevie to school. I made it half-way up the hill when the trouble started.

It wasn’t me who started up the big, honkin’ hill singing along with the blaring stereo to Selah when the van decided it was the little engine that couldn’t. It also wasn’t me who sat frozen with my foot on the break while summoning the courage to make another attempt at getting the van up the darn hill.

Shortly after deciding I did not possess the knowledge courage to get the thing up the hill, it wasn’t me who sat in the passenger seat mentally calculating how long I could possibly sit in the middle of the road before someone would need to get past me. Seconds later, I did not quickly pick up the phone to call McDaddy to ask him how in the heck I was supposed to get the van up the big, honkin’ hill.

After being instructed by him to turn the traction control off, it was not me who put the petal to the metal just before the thing started to slide BACKWARDS TOWARD THE LAKE. At that very second, it wasn’t me who silently thanked the sweet soul who decided to install the guardrails around the lake last fall.

So, it couldn’t have been me who cried out to McDaddy that “I JUST SLID OFF THE ROAD AND ICANTDOIT AND CAN YOU PLEASE COME DOWN AND GET ME!!!!”. And as you can imagine, it wasn’t me who recalled every bad thing I’ve ever said about McDaddy’s heap, er, I mean Jeep, as I watched it round the corner coming to my rescue.

When he arrived on the scene, it was not me who could have kissed him right in the middle of the road because hello? he is hot and he is mine and he would most certainly get the van safely out of the ditch without incident. When he began to back the van down the big honkin hill, it wasn’t me who smiled while thanking God that McDaddy was working at home on that day instead of 300 miles away as he does 2-3 per week.

And it wasn’t me who felt my eyes bug out of my head when McDaddy asked if I felt comfortable driving the van while he winched it up the hill.

No sir. Not a chance.

Twelve hours later, it was not me who sat in the passenger seat of that very heap, ahem! I mean Jeep when McDaddy slid it off of another big, honkin’ hill after a fun evening at our friends’ house. And once again, it was not me who was so very thankful that McDaddy is a skilled driver who kept his family safe in spite of the snow and the ice and the slush.

We weathered another storm, me and him, and I couldn’t be happier that he is mine!

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