FOR BETTER OR FOR WORSE
I love my husband. I hate the car. [Repeat 3 times.]
After a nice weekend, we realized something was wrong with the car about halfway through the trip home yesterday. I won't pretend to know anything about cars, but something was obviously not right when Erik lifted the hood and diesel was shooting up into the air. Erik immediately located a junk yard using his phone and we were able to limp over there to search for parts a few minutes before closing.
Nothing compares to breaking down with small children. Even though I was really mad at the situation, I knew I had to keep my cool or things would get worse. I pretended that it was totally normal to hang out in 90 degree weather in front of a junkyard in a seedy part of Fresno... and the kids believed me.
I am no stranger to breaking down on the road. There was the time my college roommate and I sang Neil Diamond songs for an hour on the side of the freeway until a friendly old couple rescued us... the time that I blew up my engine on the way down from Flagstaff to Phoenix... and that wonderful time that I had to take a 12 hour bus ride from Parowan, Utah to Los Angeles just to get home.
If you are ever looking for a good time in Fresno, take your kids down to the Pick A Part and let them throw trash at "Yermo," the six-legged octopus. After a while he starts looking a lot less creepy.
Or tell them that the lines on a picnic table are tracks. Find random trash to turn into pretend trains.
Or teach them how to pee in the bushes. [Sorry, no picture.]
Anyway, Erik eventually found the part he needed and saved the day. I still hate the car though, but love the husband.