Sophia is a mild-mannered child. She rarely throws a tantrum and is just all-around pleasant to be around. She's the baby in the nursery that I want Grace to watch and learn from. Or until this week, that is.
Sophia's not taking to the role of a big sister in a now-family-of-four so well. In fact, she does not want anything to do with her little brother.
This week, at the doctor's office after his check-up, her mom packed up new baby Elliot. Sophia looked directly at him. "Bye-bye Baby." she said. And she grabbed her mom's hand and headed for the door.
Her mom scooped her up while trying to stifle her laughter. "Sophia, I'm sorry honey, but we can't just leave him here."
We bribed Grace to hold her hand out for this photo (the full version is in a previous post) by offering her a forbidden cell phone to play with!
The idea (my sister-in-law's) was to make a cut in the printed photo on top of her hand & below her hand and insert a lollipop so that it would look like Grace was handing the recipient a lollipop. This would have been super-cute, but I ran out of time and someone ate all the lollipops that I bought for this project!
So, they will just have to settle for irresistible cuteness.
You see, this pothole has been in this location a very long time. I knew it was there. But, today, I hit it. Today there was an oncoming car in the other lane and stopping was out of the question, so in that split-second decision between pothole and hitting another car head-on, I chose pothole. I probably made the wrong choice.
The thud as my car landed back onto the ground after sailing in the air was as deflating as my tire (and my wallet and my pride and well, you get the point) was about to be.
I pulled over to get out and survey the damage. The tire had already sunken. Panic set in as I called my husband (who was 4 hours away from me). He didn't pick up.
Then, I looked up. Like a mirage in the desert, there was a tire place right beside where I pulled my car off the road. I carefully rolled it into the parking lot.
After waiting about an hour, I learned that I would need a new rim and four new tires. Apparently, the tires in my year-old car were so worn down that all of them needed to be replaced. They could have it back to me tomorrow.
Problem. I work an hour and a half away from home. No one could come get me or take me home. So, I paid them a $10 fee and let them put my spare on.
Going 50 miles an hour makes my ride home completely unbearable. Everyone passed me as if I was standing still. I had to set my cruise so I could successfully suppress my lead-foot urges.
I finally got a hold of J, who called the dealership. They could work me in, so I limped into the parking lot a couple of hours later. Okay, maybe just two hours, but going 50 miles an hour will not only put me half to sleep - it puts my sense of time way off.
4 hours later (and this time I'm sure about the time), the service guy came and gently broke the news to me that my rim was dented beyond repair by the dealership. He recommended a specialty place in the hopes that we could save the outrageous expense of ordering a new one.
So, now I'm in a rental car for who-knows-how-long.