Still snuggled in the pre-dawn warmth of my cozy bed, awake, but only sort of, my reverie was blown clear to hell when a roaring clatter of wailing children tore down the hall chasing two escaped parakeets on suicide missions. Bean was clapping with glee, the likely culprit for having set the birds free, Abby was screaming at her brothers to not step on the birds, and Jeff was bawling that he’s already buried three dead parakeets, if Bean causes any more to die he’s gonna kill him. The birds, having bird-brains, immediately flung themselves against the giant picture window in the front room, and lay stunned on the couch, which made Jeffrey turn his fury on Bean, sure his last birds has bit the dust.
I’m pinballing down the hall trying to pull my clothes on so the whole neighborhood doesn’t get a scary dawn peepshow while I examine the poor stunned birds. When I reach for them, they pop back up and take off again, and the whole fun circus starts again. The sun wasn’t even up.
It was noon when we finally caught them both.
Then I got a call from my home-teacher. I’ve ben trying to sell my Suburban on Craigslist (talk about another circus) and have had a running cavalcade of people coming to look at my giant gas-sucker of a beast. I’ve had several offers, but I’m not idiot enough to give you my bullet-proof suburban for your 14 year old whooptie with 200 thousand miles on it, thank you very much. (No, not even if you give me extra money. Go away. No.) Last week a couple came and looked at it and they were nice, and normal and offered me a fair price. We shook on it, but I told them I needed to find something before I let them take it.
I had until 6 p.m. today to find something. At four, my HT called and told me he had a friend with a collision repair shop, and he just happened to have a car that I should go drive. A few hurried phone calls, and I headed out in search of the the shop. The couple wanting my Suburban met me there, and they handed me the cash for my car, and I turned around and handed it to the shop guy. Within mere moments, I had sold the Suburban to a very nice family, and I had a new-ish car.
Because the man is old friends with my HT and because the man had recently remarried, and because his new wife had been a single mother for nine years, he gave me a screaming deal, patted me on the back, and wished me luck. I got a 2004 car with only 50 thousand miles on it for the same price I sold my 1997 Suburban.
The kids have already had a fight over who sits where, and Jeffrey is disgruntled because he liked the gas-sucking giant (I did too, truth be told, and might have teared up the tiniest bit when it drove away). But this car is perfect for us, and gets almost triple the gas milage that I was getting- and it has a radio that works. The ‘burb’s radio died about two years ago. So when the kids started fighting? I just turned the radio up, and let the Rolling Stones serenade me about not getting what I want, but sometimes getting what I need. I smiled, held my hand out the window in the rushing summer air, and took the curves on the road home a little too fast, singing along.
I need more days like today.