Serving Time
For seven years we functioned as a single car family. When I worked my schedule was shaped around dropping my husband off at work, then swinging by and picking him up at the end of the day. Once I stopped working, using the car was no longer an option. Adam started working longer hours, often leaving before I woke up in the morning, leaving me little choice but to make the best of my days at home.
By the time that Nora showed up, I was pretty used to being home all day and didn't question the early years (much) of being trapped at home. Friends would marvel. "I don't know how you do it. I could never be home all day with a baby/toddler/preschooler."
I would laugh it off. It's not so hard if it's all you've ever known.
Eventually we would borrow the car once a week so Nora could start story time at the local library and I could get the grocery shopping done. It was like a gateway drug, that freedom. I became obsessed with the idea of what life would be like if/once we had a second car. Finally, around Easter, all of our saving and budgeting paid off and we got a car. Let me qualify; I got a car. A shiny green Goddess, tiny and smiling, that I named Absinthe, the little Green Fairy. We shortened it to "Abby" and Nora and I took off.
Story time, skating, parks, grocery shopping, spontaneous play-dates and indoor playgrounds - we did it all. Nora would place reverent kisses on the hood of Abby, telling her "thank you" for another wonderful day. All of my fantasies became reality, with dreams of even bigger days, better trips peppering my thoughts. Opening Nora's world with new experiences and adventures.
It was our first venture outside of our local area. We'd driven to a town an hour away to meet up with an old friend of mine for lunch. It was my version of a test run, because that Saturday I was planning to road trip to New Orleans (a five hour drive) to meet with one of my friends who primarily lives in New Zealand these days. I was doing it! I was being brave and fun and ready for anything.
Unfortunately, on the way home from our lunch an hour from home, I smashed my little Abby into the side of a passing truck.
Nora and I were fine. The people in the truck were fine, but all of my big ideas got squashed in the one poorly timed accident. Abby needed heavy cosmetic fixing and there was no choice but to file with the insurance. Which means the cost will go up.
And our deductible is hefty, more than what we have just lying around. There goes adventure money for the rest of the year. No more random lunches, or little gifts. No more pretending I could drive us to Austin for the afternoon. Because I've proven myself to be a menace on the road.
Now I'm back at home with a preschooler. OMG. I now understand why my friends looked horrified when I said I stayed home every day. It has been one week since the car accident, with two more to go before I get my car back, and I'm ready to scream. Every day my sweet girl asks, "Can we go somewhere today?"
No. Because I smashed the car and we're broke and part of me is a little scared to get behind the wheel because I've never been in a car accident before and I don't want to be the reason you get hurt, little one.
Only I don't say that because that would be a really shitty way to communicate with my kid. I usually mumble something about "not today" and give her hope that we can still have fun at home. Luckily she buys it.
I'm having less fun.
Having a car for three months, only to have it yanked away for nearly another month, makes me feel like I escaped an abusive relationship, only to realize a couple months later that I had no choice but move back in because I was out of money.
It will definitely make me appreciate having my car back, not that I wasn't oozing gratitude before. I need to let the guilt go and carry on. It would be so easy to let this set me back, pre-therapy, and I worked so hard to be this version of myself it would be tragic to slip back now.
Carry on, carry on.
By the time that Nora showed up, I was pretty used to being home all day and didn't question the early years (much) of being trapped at home. Friends would marvel. "I don't know how you do it. I could never be home all day with a baby/toddler/preschooler."
I would laugh it off. It's not so hard if it's all you've ever known.
Eventually we would borrow the car once a week so Nora could start story time at the local library and I could get the grocery shopping done. It was like a gateway drug, that freedom. I became obsessed with the idea of what life would be like if/once we had a second car. Finally, around Easter, all of our saving and budgeting paid off and we got a car. Let me qualify; I got a car. A shiny green Goddess, tiny and smiling, that I named Absinthe, the little Green Fairy. We shortened it to "Abby" and Nora and I took off.
Story time, skating, parks, grocery shopping, spontaneous play-dates and indoor playgrounds - we did it all. Nora would place reverent kisses on the hood of Abby, telling her "thank you" for another wonderful day. All of my fantasies became reality, with dreams of even bigger days, better trips peppering my thoughts. Opening Nora's world with new experiences and adventures.
It was our first venture outside of our local area. We'd driven to a town an hour away to meet up with an old friend of mine for lunch. It was my version of a test run, because that Saturday I was planning to road trip to New Orleans (a five hour drive) to meet with one of my friends who primarily lives in New Zealand these days. I was doing it! I was being brave and fun and ready for anything.
Unfortunately, on the way home from our lunch an hour from home, I smashed my little Abby into the side of a passing truck.
Nora and I were fine. The people in the truck were fine, but all of my big ideas got squashed in the one poorly timed accident. Abby needed heavy cosmetic fixing and there was no choice but to file with the insurance. Which means the cost will go up.
And our deductible is hefty, more than what we have just lying around. There goes adventure money for the rest of the year. No more random lunches, or little gifts. No more pretending I could drive us to Austin for the afternoon. Because I've proven myself to be a menace on the road.
Now I'm back at home with a preschooler. OMG. I now understand why my friends looked horrified when I said I stayed home every day. It has been one week since the car accident, with two more to go before I get my car back, and I'm ready to scream. Every day my sweet girl asks, "Can we go somewhere today?"
No. Because I smashed the car and we're broke and part of me is a little scared to get behind the wheel because I've never been in a car accident before and I don't want to be the reason you get hurt, little one.
Only I don't say that because that would be a really shitty way to communicate with my kid. I usually mumble something about "not today" and give her hope that we can still have fun at home. Luckily she buys it.
I'm having less fun.
Having a car for three months, only to have it yanked away for nearly another month, makes me feel like I escaped an abusive relationship, only to realize a couple months later that I had no choice but move back in because I was out of money.
It will definitely make me appreciate having my car back, not that I wasn't oozing gratitude before. I need to let the guilt go and carry on. It would be so easy to let this set me back, pre-therapy, and I worked so hard to be this version of myself it would be tragic to slip back now.
Carry on, carry on.
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