There's Nothing Ironic About Mud

Over the long weekend, I trekked to with  to rural Minnesota, along with Husband, Preschooler, and Toddler, to attend an old friend’s wedding.  The wedding ceremony and reception were both held outside, so in the invitation we were directed to wear “field appropriate” shoes.  And  by “field appropriate,” they meant hiking boots.  And by hiking boots, they meant galoshes.

These will go perfect with my little black dress.

We should’ve known things might go asunder from the get-go.  Weddings with two kids 3-and-under are iffy undertakings at best.  But, off we went.  A couple hours into the trip, we notice the flat tire signal in the van lit up.  Strangely, we felt safe to ignore it.  The sensors in the van are kind of touchy, and often light up for no apparent reason.  Except this time there was a good reason, as we found out when we got a flat tire a half-hour later.  WHO KNEW?

We attempted to replace the flat with the spare tire.  But our spare is kept underneath the body of the van, and is next to impossible to access.  I know this because this is my fourth flat tire in just as many years. Did I mention how much I love this van? Truly a diamond in the rough.

We were forced to call a tow-truck.  When the tow truck arrived, we realized we had no one to call to pick us up and drive us to the tire store.  So we all climbed Clampett-style into the tow-truck, with the kids on our laps, and illegally rode with the tow-truck-guy to the tire store.  

It was exactly like this.

An hour-and-a-half later, we were back on the road, but we were running late.  We originally planned on checking in at the hotel, and changing there into our wedding clothes.  Now we had to drive straight to the wedding and find a secluded spot to at least put on clean shirts before reaching the ceremony site.

The area the wedding was in is absolutely gorgeous.  There are these beautiful forested bluffs and valleys, with the Mississippi river winding through them like a satiny blue ribbon. But this wedding wasn’t in any sort of state or county park on the outskirts of the bluffs.  It was smack in the middle of the forest.  We should’ve just left a trail of bread crumbs between us and civilization, ala Hansel and Gretel.  Instead, we decided to rely on our Garmin.  I like to multi-task, by getting lost and going insane at the same time. It’s on my resume!  

On we traveled, into the heavily forested bluffs. After a while we were directed onto a two-lane dirt road.  Then we were directed over a one-lane bridge.  Then we were directed onto a one-lane dirt road.  We spent half-an-hour on these dirt roads.  Then we were directed onto a mercifully-paved state highway.  Then we were directed back onto a dirt road. 

DAMMIT!

We finally reached our destination, having been warned that there would be a fifteen minute walk from where we parked to the actual ceremony site. But we didn’t park in a lot, and then stroll down a paved, or even well-mowed path.  We parked on the side of the aforementioned dirt road, and then stared down a gloomy-looking expanse of hiking trail.

In case we were still actually planning on attending, fate turned her hand and it started to rain. And rain.  And rain. We sat in our van parked on the side of an increasingly-muddy dirt road, when it finally dawned on us: There was no reasonable way we could get ourselves to this wedding.  Preschooler couldn’t walk, she’d get stuck in the mud.  We wouldn’t be able to push a stroller through a muddy unpaved hiking trail.  We’d have to carry both kids the whole way, and this doesn’t include the child-wrangling we’d endure during the wedding itself.

We turned around and headed back to the hotel.

Then we took the kids bowling.

It was the logical thing to do.

*     *     *

P.S. For what it’s worth, it would’ve been such a awesome wedding, had Husband and I gone without the kids.  The mud would’ve made for a light-hearted story, in the way of, “OMG, we went to this wedding and it was in a field and there was MUD but it was such a beautiful ceremony tra-la-la-la!”  Husband and I were sad we ended up as no-shows.  But sometimes what’s best for the kids is what’s best for us too.  Now we know, and according to the folklore of the ‘70‘s and ‘80‘s, knowing is half the battle.  The other half of the battle is probably guessing.

Remember That Time My Van Was Stolen At The Zoo, Except It Actually Wasn't? No? Me Either.

I visited the zoo again.  I should know better; this never ends well for me.

I was in good company at the zoo.  One of my dearest friends from college was meeting us there.  After college, Husband and I moved to another state, and then we moved to a different state, and then my friend moved to a different state, and we thought that was that.  Then somehow the planets aligned and we both moved back to the state - nay, CITY - where we first met. Now we are able to see each other EVERY DAY if we want, at least for another year or so after which Husband and I will depart to see the great big world once more.

So, I met my friend and her two children at the zoo.  All went well.  We looked at animals.  I ate a questionable hot dog.  But when we said our good-byes and parted ways, something strange happened.  She went home and wrote a beautiful Facebook post waxing philosophical on the value of friendship.  I, on the other hand, started to feel all cold and shaky-like.  I was glad to retreat to my van.  I wanted to arrive home as soon as possible, and convince my children to nap at the same time, so I could lie down too.

Now, this zoo has a ridiculous parking lot, so to avoid all that tomfoolery I parked on a side street a couple blocks away.

I headed down the street to where the van WASN'T  parked.  Hmm... I thought.  Was it the street over?  I walked around the block.  No van.  Hmmm.... I thought.  Was it the block over?  Off I traversed, pushing Toddler in the stroller with Preschooler in tow.

After walking all the way around four blocks, I did not find the van.  By this time Toddler was asleep in the stroller, Preschooler was exhausted and cranky from walking, and I was pretty sure I was going to die right there on the sidewalk outside a beautiful Tudor home.

I called Husband and sobbed that I was not going to take one step further and he had leave work to come pick me up right then and there or so help me God I was going to have some sort of nervous breakdown and the owners of the beautiful Tudor home were going to have to scrape my remains from the sidewalk and deposit me at the local mental health institute, which at this point sounded like some sort of Nirvana.

One hour later, Husband came to pick us up.  "Where was the car?" he inquired.  I had no explanation.  Either it was stolen or it had been towed.  The latter was more likely.  I had parked in a "two hour" zone, and while overstepping that time limit might not be a big deal elsewhere, the authorities in my town were pretty anal about ticketing and towing.  Home we went, where I could be sick in peace and privacy.

The next morning, I called the police station and towing company, but no one had any record of towing my car.  Uh-oh.  Was it actually stolen?  It was a remote possibility, but I figured that since my car's empty fuel light was on, the thieves couldn't have gotten far.  Suckas!

We decided to take one more cruise around the neighborhood just to make sure, before declaring the van stolen.  Off went zoo, where we found the van.  One block away from the zoo.  WHERE IT SHOULD'VE BEEN IN THE FIRST PLACE.

Oops.

Now I'm not allowed to go to the zoo by myself EVER AGAIN, which is probably for the best.  If I go, I will be eaten by a carnivorous giraffe, and then who will clean our bathrooms, WHO? No one, that's who. 

It's for the best.

This Is Why Doing Things Is Not In My Best Interest. PART ONE.

Monday morning dawned a little on the chilly side, but sunny and bright. 

“I know!” I thought.  “I should DO THINGS.”

This shall be known as mistake number one.

I decided the best use of my morning would be to take the kids to the zoo, and have a picnic lunch at the playground afterwards.  I have taken this type of outing before, and it’s totally doable.  The zoo in Madison is quite small (and quite free.)   So if we get there when the zoo opens, by 11:00 or so we’ve seen everything there is to see.  That leaves plenty of time to eat lunch, play at the playground, and get home just in time for afternoon nap.

So, off we trek to the zoo.

Now, the zoo has a normal parking lot.  But farther away, closer to the playground, the parking goes like this:

I decide to park in this parking lot, because I want to make a quick exit when we’re all done.

This shall be known as mistake number two.

The morning progressed quite uneventfully.  We saw animals.  We ate lunch.  We played at the playground.  Tra-la-la-la.

Soon, it was time to leave.  I return to my minivan, only to find...

I’m stuck.

Now, this is not a situation of, “OMG this minivan is so big, I can’t get out even though there is actually a ton of room, I can’t judge distance, please help me not suck at driving.” No. I can negotiate through rush-hour traffic in Chicago with this van.  I can drive to and from work on while snow falls on icy roads with this van. I can parallel-park this van.*

No.  Behind me, on a street that is maybe one-and-a-half cars wide, is a giant school bus.  This would not have been a big deal if I had some wiggle-room on my right.  Unfortunately, parked on my right was one of those big white utility vans.  There was no wiggle-room. I’m parked in.

“No problem,” I thought.  “I’ll just ask the bus driver to move the bus. Usually these bus drivers just sort of wait around the bus until the field trip is over.”  And this is what the bus driver looked like:

Oh, right. There’s nothing there.  Because the bus driver was NOWHERE TO BE FOUND.

“Ok,” I thought. “He’s probably in the bathroom or eating lunch or something. I’ll just kill some time until he returns.”  So back to the zoo we go.  I bribe the kids with some ice cream, and a half-hour later we head back to the van.

Still stuck.  No bus driver.

Now I’m getting kind of pissed.  “Fine,” I think.  “I’ve seen kids running around in these school t-shirts all day.  I’ll just find the leader, and ask that the bus be moved.”

So, I ask around.  The parents were sympathetic, but no one knew where the leader or the bus driver was.  They tried to describe them to me, but it’s hard to pick some one out of the crowd when they’re all wearing the same t-shirt.

“Why Angela,” you say. “The zoo must have a loudspeaker or something.  Why didn’t you just have them call for the bus driver?”  I DON’T KNOW, THAT’S WHY. 

By now the kids are breaking down, so I head back to the van.  Fortunately, we still had the portable DVD player in the van from when we took a road trip a couple weeks ago.  So the kids watch tv, and soon Toddler is fast asleep. 

“Hmmm... I’ll just let Toddler sleep, and by the time she wakes up, surely either the bus or the utility van will be gone.”

One-and-a-half hours later, Toddler wakes up.  The bus is still there.  The utility van is still there.  The drivers of these vehicles are still NOT there.

Resigning to the fact that my day is totally boned, I figure we’ll just play at the playground until some one moves.  I unload the kids, explain we’re going to play, and we head to the playground.  We get not ten steps away from the van, when suddenly the driver of the utility van shows up.  HE can leave, because the bus isn’t parked behind HIM. 

I tried to explain to Preschooler how we have to go back home right now, but she’s not buying it.  I tried to make going home seem like a better alternative than the promised playground, but I still have to drag Preschooler kicking and screaming back to the minivan. “It’s ok!” I say.  “I’m sorry! We’ll go home and have a popsicle AND a lollipop AND we’ll all play outside together in the front yard!”   

This shall be known as mistake number three.

I loaded every one back into the van, and buckled my seat belt, ready to finally leave the god-damned zoo.  But just as I shifted the van into reverse, the utility van left, and another car parked in its space.  OF COURSE IT DID.

Then I did this:

However, this time the car was a station wagon.  And even though the station wagon was one of those older ones with the wood paneling so it was still kind of big, it wasn’t as big as a utility van.

At last, I was able to work my way out of that parking space and we were on our way home.

“Wait a minute,” you say.  “Just HOW did you break your toe?”  Well let me tell you....





*Now before I get too cocky, I will admit that I can’t change a flat tire on this van, and I can’t drive up steep icy hills with this van, and I can’t drive for more than two hours in this van without needing a serious break involving food and a bathroom and maybe a quick rendezvous to a living-history museum.  BUT STILL.