I’ll take the shit storm behind door number three. Thank you very much.

It’s been a shit week here at The Manor. Monday started with a yucky, but necessary, legal appointment to deal with matters long left unsettled. I love my lawyer dearly, he is Loren’s godfather and a long time family friend, but I don’t like dealing with legal stuff or sitting in the office that used to be my father’s. Too much and too sad. Then later that day Loren was diagnosed with cracked ribs from a weekend ski accident. On Tuesday I thought the children and I might perish as we drove to Devon’s OT appointment because it appeared my front and rear wheels weren’t communicating. After a tow truck ride and a few hours of diagnosis, my dreamy VW fellows informed me I have been driving around with a frozen emergency brake on for the past couple of weeks. (I guess that must have been the slight grinding sound I thought was ice built up in my wheel wells.) So now I am out a bunch of money because of my dumbassedness and have a stress induced sinus cold. This afternoon it all became a bit much as I looked around the room of preschoolers and thought to myself, “I got nuthin’. Nothing to give or share with little people.” So I traded days with another teacher and came home to hide in my bed.
I hate January. Hate the cold. Hate the ice that creeps into the bowels of my wee car and freezes up the brakes even if the warning lights don’t say as much. I want it to be warm and slightly humid. I don’t want to wear wool socks, or any socks at all for that matter. No layers. No mittens. No scarves. Is that to freaking much to ask?

This Baby Beluga, my wee car, being towed by new BFF Victor. Victor seemed rather flummoxed by my sincere appreciation to him for rescuing us by the roadside where I waited for him in a tearful ball of feminine silliness. He might have chalked it up to my being a chick, but I would like to think he fancies me as a friend now. Sort of like how my car repair fellows feel about me.