Purging the frustrations

I knew I needed to jump back on the blogging bandwagon slowly. I needed time to mull over recent events, decide which ones to feature and in what order. I needed time to come up with some catchy titles and witty observations.

When my mind started racing, and I had filled up a small notebook with several topics, I vowed to limit myself to one post per day. I figured that at that rate I could easily entertain my audience for at least a week and that would hopefully get me through my recent, yet unintentional, hiatus.

But there's one topic I need to get off my chest, right here, right now. Thank goodness for cribs (Carson), re-circulated toys (Spencer), and late evening naps (Sophie). Except that I'm just kidding about the late evening naps. Everyone knows what monsters children (and some adults, like myself) typically become when waking up from late naps. Anyways, I find myself with a few minutes to spare, and a forum for venting. So, I'm breaking my rule. I'm posting twice in one day, so that I can purge my emotions.

About vans. My van. The 'nasty' van. The almost-paid-off-and-falling-apart-by-the-minute- van. The van that I hate to admit I love. It's dying on me, a slow and expensive and painful death, and I find myself unable to cope with it.

I'm not going to bore anyone with the long list of previous illnesses suffered by my van and subsequently my bank account. I'm just going to tell you about today. As I was driving to work, I noticed the ABS light on. Knowing that the van leaks brake fluid, I'm familiar with lights on my dashboard. But its usually the light that says "Brake!". I grabbed the book, looked it up, and understood pretty much none of it. I put a call in to Jason, then my dad, my dad called the mechanic, called me, etc. At this point, we were hoping to add break fluid and having the problem go away. Taking it in for the diagnostic testing was next. I bravely drove home with the emergency brake clear and ready to be pulled if my breaks suddenly failed. Though I'm sure that chances of that are insanely slim, me and my over active imagination like to be ready.

Then I noticed that something didn't look right. One of the arrows wasn't moving- I caught myself wondering what MPH stood for. Ah, that's right, Miles Per Hour. As in, how fast the vehicle is moving. No worries, I'm almost home. I'll just follow the flow of traffic. Then I realized that there was no one in front of me. Little panic set in- but again, I'm not too far from home. About two blocks from 9th and I notice little green dashes instead of numbers filling the odometer. Again, over active imagination takes over and I start preparing for instantaneous combustion. Luckily I pulled in the driveway just in time. As in, just in time before the full on panic attack started. I have some serious fears of cars breaking down while I'm in them.

After a few frantic phone calls, we're planning on making an appointment to take the van in. Life happens, right?

But why does "life" always seem to happen in May. Right before vacation. The yearly vacation that we start counting down for the day after we get home. This is probably the 5th time in 6 years that we've had car issues in May, or whatever month proceeded vacation. Last year, it was Jason's tires. Year before that, we rented a car. A few years before that we had to drive my parents car. So maybe the gods are trying to tell me something...

I'm just pretty sure my parents won't let me listen.