Friday, April 20, 2012
The scene: Wednesday night. We're driving to church on the small, busy, four-lane highway that goes from our neighborhood to the village in which our church is located.
Trouble: one of the tires is losing air. Quickly. Philip keeps driving on this destroyed tire in order to pull off from this busy road (which has no shoulder and would therefore be dangerous for tire changing). It's a bumpy, tense ride. Polly is offering suggestions. Sweet Pea is squealing in the back.
Philip eventually gets the van to a side road. I whip out my cell phone and call my parents (already at church) to see if they can come get the kids and take them on to church (which is approximately 3 minutes away but it's too far and too dangerous to walk) while Philip changes the tire.
Gram (my mom) arrives just a few minutes later. We move the baby and her carseat over to Gram's car. I tell the other girls to get in. Polly & Sweet Pea jump right in. Tigger does too but before I close the door she asks, completely befuddled, "Why are we riding with Gram?"
Now bear in mind: Philip is already wrestling with the jack, the destroyed tire and such.
"Because of the the flat tire on the van, Tigger," I told her, just a hint of exasperation in my tone.
She looked up at me, shock evident on her face. "We have a flat tire?!"
And that, my friends, explains a lot about life with Tigger.