>My husband works his butt off. He hurts. His fingers have split open in several places. His back pain keeps him up at night. Such is the life of the blue collar guy. Working the swing shift. No life. Hard labor. He does it every day so I can stay home with the kids.
Today, I thought, I will help him. I will take care of the hard stuff around the house. He told me before he left, not to bother with getting more wood. He would take care of it tomorrow. Well it started to snow, and I got motivated to take a little work off of his hands. (His poor hands!) I grabbed my four year old and we headed out to the Suburban to drive to the chicken house for wood. (There are no chickens there, membah?) I made a serious effort to avoid all puddles and stick to the hard ground. Jon had warned me that if I did not back in I would get stuck. Guess what? I didn’t back in.
When I came to the point where I should be backing in, it was swampy wet. Hmmmm, can’t go that way. I surveyed the surrounding land and decided to go up and around the watery murk and park perfectly by the wood. I executed this maneuver quite well, and jumped out, proceeded to gather said wood. The wood went perfectly into a cleared out corner in the back of the Suburban. I grabbed what I thought would be enough to get us through tomorrow, then made my way around to the drivers side door. Gideon was sitting patiently in the passenger seat, watching me in wonder.The whole time I was carrying the wood I had prideful thoughts about what a good wife I was. How lucky Gideon was to witness his mothers strength and ingenuity. (Pthbbbbt!) I started the truck, picked the route with the hardest ground, and put it into gear. It went… nowhere. I stopped it immediately and tried to figure out how to put it in four wheel drive. Hmmmm….???? I stepped out and saw that the rear left tire was halfway down in the mud.
‘I’m toast’, I thought. Crud, crud, crud. Then I thought,’I am not THAT blond! I can get out of this!’ I couldn’t. I trudged back to the house, Gideon following behind. He kept saying,’Mom the truck-it’s stuck! Mom!’
‘Yes dear. I know. Let’s go get Jacob.’
The grumbling sixteen year old stressed that HE would take care of this. After about twelve more tries, and googling how to put a suburban in four wheel drive (I figured it out. Manually locking hubs!)-all four tires were stuck. With both of the little kids wide eyed in the truck.
‘We’re screwed!’ I shouted.
‘No YOU’RE screwed. Not me’, said the sixteen year old.
We even threw out the wood, because the side that it was loaded in was the side that was sinking. Nothing worked. The ground looked and smelled like poo. Fresh, fluffy, poo. How did I ever think it was hard enough to drive on??
As of right now: no wood, no vehicle (til Spring I guess), and my shoes are ruined.