I save one day per week to try to cram all my undesirable chores into a single waking nightmare. I despise cleaning and hate running errands almost as much. It is busy work, and it must be done (at least until I hit the lotto and hire people to do these things). That day for me is Mondays. I mean, they are unpleasant anyhow, right? So I do my grocery shopping, laundry, cleaning, meal planning, etc., all on Mondays.
I try to minimize the time, doing it all at once, so I can enjoy at least six-sevenths of my week. Sometimes it exhausts me a little too early in the week. Sometimes it helps me start the week clean and fresh.
This week … well, let’s just say it is the middle of the week and I think I’m still recovering. It is typically the moment I feel like I am getting things accomplished that it all goes to hell in a hand basket. And THIS was one of those Mondays.
I’ll start my bizarre tale explaining that I truly hope no one was taping this or watching me. I’m sure some passers-by noticed. But, again, if there is a YouTube video going viral later about some insane mother, welllllll … that may be me.
In my rush to complete my errands, I managed to get down to one last stop to the local box craft store. Owning an art studio, I frequent the location weekly. Since I’m on the run, before I duck in I am also trying to inhale my lunch, an ever-so-healthy $1 burger from the drive-thru. I take one last sip of my drink, and honestly, my hand to God, check my pockets for my keys. Yep, they’re there, so I’m a go.
I make my purchases in said craft store, and return to my truck. I drive a Honda Pilot. It is over 10 years old, and rather beat-up, but I love it. It’s a very TALL and large SUV.
As I push my cart to my driver’s side to unlock the beast, I fumble for my keys. I reach into my hoodie and find the set … sans truck key. I see my house key, my business keys, and even the carabiner that is intended to hook my set to my purse. But, no Honda key.
I’m digging into my purse, into my pockets … anywhere, desperate to find that key that opens my driver’s side door. (Yes, I must unlock my door manually since my beater is still a truckin’ but down a few basic features.)
Then, I see it. Unfortunately I see it in the center console next to my drive-thru trash and drink. Since it was a lovely sunny day, I had my windows cracked and my sun roof ajar. Thank God. I had a chance. I knew I had to figure this out on my own. Yes, there is a spare to my truck, but, let’s just say it is in pieces and resembles more of a computer chip puzzle than a key.
Regardless, I don’t have anyone home that can run the key (and its pieces) to me anyhow. My husband is at work. My friends, too, are gainfully employed. I was stuck. Being on a more-than-tight budget (aka broke), calling a tow truck or roadside service was also out of the question.
Have no fear. I cued Super Mom. Using my MacGyver Brain, I quickly come up with a plan. Taking the carabiner from my key set, I break back the lever, creating a large metal hook. Thankfully, my Vera Bradley purse (thank you, thrift shop finds) has an extra-long strap, which I decide to deploy as a "fishing line” of sorts.
Now came the hard part, the part that I truly hope is not floating around YouTube. I should likely mention that I’m 5’10” tall, tall for a girl. I am also, however, let’s just call it majorly overweight. I’ll spare myself mortification and not share the scale’s scary figure, but suffice it to say a doctor would call it "obese.” I typically do not mind my figure. I’m a curvy girl. But what I no longer am (I swear to God I once was) is athletic, or flexible, or, um, dexterous. I can confidently say that at no point in my life would anyone call me "nimble.”
Nevertheless, there I am, mega curves and all, prepared to scale my mountainous truck. One foot on the driver’s side wheel, I knee up onto the hood. I really don’t want to add to the dents and dings with my own oversized butt, so I’m trying to carefully choose where to distribute weight.
A second foot on the hood/windshield edge, I hoist myself to the roof. Trying to utilize the full length of my arms, I lower the fishing line (yes, created by the strap of my purse and a now-hooked carabiner) down to try to hook the keys.
Picture it now, oversized redhead, draped over her own windshield and roof, trying to craftily snag her key by going full-on Mission Impossible from the sunroof. Yes, it was ridiculous. Yes, it was embarrassing. But, also yes? It worked.
I was able to obtain said key, let myself into my own truck, and head home with errands complete. Why I am I sharing this insanely embarrassing moment? Just to remind all the moms out there: No one is perfect. We all have "those days.” Just hang in there. And when all else fails, forget your grace and save yourself.
