Squeak’s Squeals

I have been sick the last few days. Yesterday, my temperature peaked at 103(F). This morning, it was still at 102. The bottom line: I feel poopy.

But life must go on and since I was not spewing forth nastiness from any of my orifices, I went about my daily routine as usual.

• Feed kids: Check.

• Everyone dressed: Check.

• Kids on the bus: Check.

• Car keys: Check.

• Four fully-inflated tires: um… well…

I had a flat. Not just a low-on-air flat. A pancake-on-a-rim flat. In my driveway.

I started digging through the car. I pulled out the dummy tire. I pulled out the pathetic looking little jack from the secret Subaru jack compartment. I looked it over. I put it down. WTF!? I don’t know how to use it. I’ve never seen one like it.

I went inside and called the office. “Boys, I’m gonna be late. I don’t know how late. Just late. Really, really late.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Bull, our resident tech.

“I’m stuck in a catch 22 at the moment. I have a flat tire and a jack I don’t know how to use. I can’t afford to pay someone to change my tire until I get my paycheck and I can’t get my paycheck until I get the tire changed so I can get to the office.”

“No problem,” my savior replied. “I have an appointment out your way in half an hour, I’ll swing by and change that tire for you when I’m done.”

“You, sir, are my freakin’ hero!” I replied.

I wandered around the house, straightening and tidying for about an hour, but there was no sign of Bull. I called his cell… his appointment was taking longer than expected, he had no clue how soon he’d get to my place.

Time for Plan B. The Internet. (Now, I realize with every blog post I write, I prove myself more and more the dumb blond I try NOT to be, but if it didn’t end with me doing something completely bizarre or utterly stupid it wouldn’t make much of a story, now would it?) So, I hopped on the internet and looked up instructions on how to use my weird little car jack contraption.

I changed my tire. All by myself. I was so proud! And all while running a fever that could fry an egg.  Now, if I could just get the grease monkey marks off my hands…..

Humor-blogs.com: More tales of personal achievement from short bus riders.

My face hurts. My ear hurts. My jaw hurts. And, yes, there is a reason for it. I debated long and hard over whether or not to share this tidbit of my life with all of you for one reason and one reason only: It makes me look REALLY dumb. And I’m not, well, not ALWAYS.

I was tucking the girls into bed the other night while Roo was asking me questions about things she did as a baby - she has recently been fascinated by everything and anything she might have done prior to the age of two.

“Mommy, how did I eat pizza when I was a baby?”

I turned my hands to fists and sort of ’smeared’ them around my cheeks and mouth.

“How did I eat spaghetti when I was a baby?”

I proceeded with the same arm movements.

“What about cookies?”

Same thing… except this time I brought my arms up quickly and nailed myself in the jaw - just below the left ear.

I kid you not folks, I nailed myself with an uppercut on one side and heard a pop on the other side. Advil has become my best friend.

Go ahead. Laugh. You know you want to. Did you get the visual on that? A tall, wussy redhead literally punching herself in the face? It’s a retarded visual, I know. But seriously - truly - honestly - I achieved it.

Last week at the sitter’s, I laughed at a kid wearing a “My mommy says I’m special” t-shirt. Now I’m wondering if they make them in adult sizes.

Need more self-punishment?  Try humor-blogs.com!