They come in 3’s

Isn’t that what Grandma or Mom or somebody used to say? Everything comes in 3’s? Or bad things come in 3’s? Honestly, my brain is so fried right now I can’t remember what the saying is… For my sake, I will pretend it is that bad things come in 3’s.

I have been having a really rough few weeks. In my last post I had talked about the many emotional highs and lows of August so far. We have been insanely busy, this week there hasn’t been a single day that I have actually stayed at home. It’s driving me crazy. I would, honestly, be a recluse if someone would just enable me. Like those TLC shows where the huge fat women lay in bed while their skinny husbands bring them food… Wonderful Husband won’t enable me, so here I am, only slightly over weight and leaving the house on a daily basis. Sad really.

Saturday I had an Arbonne party to go to, Sunday was Drew’s funeral, Monday was Little Darlings shots, Tuesday was an eye appointment… the list goes on an on. However, we didn’t make it to the eye appointment. The truck broke down.

As if we haven’t been having enough ailments with our current vehicles. Tuesday morning I was up and dressed and doing my morning routine while prepping to be gone all afternoon. Dinner was stuffed safely into the crock pot, the toys were gathered up and put away. At 12:30, we got in the truck to head off to eye doctor. I haven’t been to the eye doctor in years. Probably close to three or four. I have the same glasses that I got my freshman year of college, they are broken and super glued together, like some sad female Harry Potter. The only reason I have been able to keep up with contacts is that the last eye doctor I went to messed up the date on the prescription and it looked like 2015 instead of 2012 so 1-800-Contacts let me keep ordering. When they notified me in April that it ran out in July, I ordered like 6 boxes of contacts to get me through. However, Wonderful Husband has some banging insurance with his job so we now have fabulous eye insurance that I have been instructed to make sure I get our money worth out of. I was pretty stoked to get new glasses and an updated script (things seem a bit blurry lately).

Driving down the road, singing to the radio and carrying on a one sided conversation with Little Darling, I randomly heard a *ding*. Almost as if your running out of gas, or didn’t put your seat belt on or something. I looked at the dash and saw the little words CHECK GAUGES in bright red. A quick scan of the gauges, and I realize that the temperature of the truck is through the roof. Like literally, the needle couldn’t go any higher, it was past the red line or danger. I let out a string of curse words that I am none too proud of and I certainly hope Little Darling will never repeat. I grabbed the phone to call Wonderful Husband. I mean seriously, what do you do when your vehicle starts to over heat? I had a car once that used to over heat randomly and my dad always told me to turn the heat on full blast, but it was already like 90 some degrees outside and I knew LD was sweating in the back seat as it was.

Wonderful Husband said he had no idea why the temp would be so high, but I might want to pull over and check it out. When I expressed my doubt at being able to fix anything underneath the hood of the vehicle, he responded that perhaps I should just drive it til it explodes. Helpful. So helpful.

I finally saw a gas station, so I pulled over to check it out. By this time WH had lost his cell service and we couldn’t get calls through to each other. None the less, I turned the truck off, popped the hood, and pretended to know what I was looking at. A lot of scary emotions come at you when you are stuck on the side of the road with a broken vehicle and an 8 month old. I was desperately hoping that someone would come help me, but I was terrified that there was serial killer lurking at the gas pumps and we would end up on next weeks episode of 48 hours. Isn’t that how they do it? They look for unsuspecting women in compromising situations and then the cops find their bodies years later? I started to get sweaty, not just from the heat, and dialed my mom.

As if mothers are born with innate knowledge of how to fix a Dodge.

She had me check the radiator fluid, explaining where it should be located and what it should look like. We both found it kind of strange that the container for fluid attached to the radiator was empty. Surely something is meant to go in there? She suggested I call her fiance who was actually pretty close to me visiting his parents. He is knowledgeable about vehicles, and worst case scenario maybe he could come rescue me. When he picked up we went through the same things I had already done. Pop the hood, check the radiator, what do you mean its empty? He had me lay down and check underneath the truck to “see if anything was dripping”. HA. HAHAHAHAHA. It looked like a can of Mt Dew had exploded underneath my vehicle. There was green goo dripping everywhere and puddles were pooled on the ground. When I described the scene to him, he “hmphed” like perhaps this was less than good. At that moment, a Good Samaritan came over from the pumps to ask if I was ok.

He was normal looking guy. Heavy set and balding. He asked if I was broken down and I responded with a shrill laughter that was somewhat comparable to the Joker. Was this guy going to snatch me and stuff me in his car?? Is this it!!? Then I looked where he was walking from and saw an older lady pumping gas into a Kia Sportage, they had mountain bikes on their roof. Certainly serial killers don’t mountain bike? I told Moms fiance that I would call him back because there was a guy coming over to help me, and hung up. I explained to the guy that I was, in fact, broken down and the radiator seemed to have exorcised itself off the front of the vehicle. He went over to gas attendant (and really, why the eff was the gas station attendant not coming over to help me? At least he is wearing a uniform and works there and is probably not a serial killer, or would at least try to finish his shift before kidnapping someone) and got him to turn on the hose on the side of the building. He pumped some water into the overflow tank and then looked at me. His look conveyed that I was, in fact, in some deep shit with this vehicle.

He told me there was nothing else he could do and offered to give me a ride home. No thanks, Good Samaritan, I don’t know you. I have my daughter in the vehicle, its hot outside, I am not wearing good clothes to be identified in later when they find my body. Thanks for the help, but I am not getting in your vehicle.

I did sincerely thank him for his help, I probably would have been there a while before figuring out to put water in the radiator, and if he hadn’t been there to explain the truck wasn’t drivable there is a distinct possibility that I would have just gotten back in it and driven home. So, really, he helped me out.

I called Moms Fiance back and asked him to come save me. 30 minutes later he showed up with a roll of duct tape and a plan to rig the radiator to at least get it to a dealer to get fixed. After about 10 seconds of looking at it, he decided that there was no way either of us were driving this vehicle anywhere. So we left it. He drove me and LD home, and when Wonderful Husband finally got some service to call me back I explained what happened.

So, now the truck is back in the shop getting its radiator replaced. Wonderful Husband did some fancy water filling and driving and got it safely to a shop down the road. It should be done today. I am driving the Subaru now which is road worthy but still needs its suspension replaced. One thing after another. I am not even sure if this counts as coming in 3’s, the truck has definitely been to the shop more than 3 times this month..

Lets all hope and pray that when it comes back it will stay in one piece for at least a little while.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s