Screwed. Twice. And Somehow, We are Still Married

The day started out nicely. Beautiful weather. A grand plan for taking care of our individual business before we head up to Lafayette to be ready for Ali’s day of orientation and class scheduling. 

Jeff was going to hit a few softballs; Ali had another grad party to go to – this one in Greenwood – and I was going to get ahead of next week’s work given my day away.

Then, Jeff discovered that he’d misplaced his wallet and his driver’s license along with it. He hadn’t left it in Andy’s car (his softball buddy) nor was it at the batting cage they’d swung by.

While tearing out his hair over the missing ID, he found a screw had wedged itself in to a tire on his Subaru – the car we’d planned to take to Lafayette and which he’ll need for work on Tuesday.

Without a wallet, he was without his credit card. So, I powered down from my current work project and followed him up to the tire shop and made sure he could pay for his new wheel.  As I drove, I noticed a “whump, whump, whump” kind of sound to my right. It was kind of like when you’d put a card in your bicycle tire to create a little two-wheel excitement. I made a mental note to see if Ali had properly closed the passenger door and went to rescue the Captain.

He was still annoyed about his wallet and was planning to spend his wait time calling around all the places he’d been between last night when he remembered last touching his wallet and this morning.

I sped home, packed for Lafayette and went back to work, noticing, being annoyed by but not picking up the stuff flung in the yard when Jeff tore apart his car looking for his wallet. 

Jeff wasn’t home before Ali had to go to her party, so I powered down again and packed up, planning to work at a Starbucks while she was at her party. As I backed out of the garage, I heard a crunch. It was then I remembered that I’d found my trunk door open earlier that morning – another part of Jeff’s trail of destruction as he tried to assemble enough tools to replace his tire before giving up and heading to the closest Firestone. 

Ali got out and found that I’d driven over my jack, which Jeff had flung on the garage floor along with the rest of the contents of my trunk.

“Hmmm,” I thought. “Hope that didn’t do any damage.”

Ali started to get back in the car when she stopped, took a few steps and called out to me.

“Uh, Mom,” she said. “You have a flat tire.”

Turns out that I, too, had a screw wedged in a tire.

I closed my eyes thinking that the jack must have had a sharp side to it and then remembered the “whump, whump, whump” sound. I sighed and started to retrace my drive to the tire shop. Ali called Jeff who I could hear through the phone with the top down demanding that I not drive to the on my saggy tire.

I met him at the tire shop where his frustration over the wallet had been well seasoned by his wait and then my disregarding his suggestion. His car still wasn't in the service bay. He was super annoyed that I hadn’t replaced the contents of my trunk, which would have allowed him to put on my little emergency tire. I opted to not tell him I'd driven over the thing.

I pointed out that there's a Speedway service station three businesses south of the tire shop. I prepared to head there for air. He debated aloud whether I should drive it. He was giving me directions to the Speedway as I pulled away.

He walked down to the station and aired up my tire as Alison started calling her friends to see if anyone in our part of the city had yet to start driving to the Greenwood grad party she wanted to go to.

Knowing Jeff was still waiting for service on the Subaru, I didn’t want to wait even longer at Firestone. I asked him if he’d checked whether a nearby Auto Zone has tired. He listed off the myriad places he’d checked before landing on Firestone. Auto Zone was not among them.

“Did you check Auto Zone?” I asked, preparing to call.

“I don’t know!” he said.

Afraid he was going to list off all the places he’d checked, I just called the store. No go. But the guy suggested Walmart, just a couple miles north. I called and hurrah, they have the tire I need and can install it.

“Thanks. I’m on my way,” I said, ended the call and looked at Jeff. “Want a ride?”

He declined and Ali and I sped up to Walmart while the air lasted.

An hour later, Ali hadn’t found a ride, but Jeff’s car was at least being worked on. I took a stroll to get a Starbucks tea and returned to be held hostage at the Walmart Auto Center where a Gilligan’s Island marathon was playing. I started singing the theme song to Ali. She gave me a dead fish stare and turned up the volume of the music on her iPhone.

I had little sympathy when her battery died a short time later. We were two 3-hour-adventures before Jeff called to say he was coming to get the girl to get her to her party.  

About four minutes after they left, I receive a secret text from Ali. “Wallet located,” she reported. 

I ask if it was in his pocket.

“Worse,” she texts back. “Softball bag. He put it in the “wrong” pocket, so he didn’t see it.”

We LOL.

As I awaited my own wheel servicing, I’d been working diligently but getting up periodically to peer out the window to see if my car had made it to the repair bay. I’d hop up, not see it and go back to minding my own business, working away in my holding cell. At one point another customer tried to begin a conversation on the merits of Gilligan’s Island. I smiled and agreed with whatever he said but went back to my work, island shenanigans as my background noise.

By now, Don Rickles had stolen money and jewels from the Howells and Ginger before escaping the island and leave the others behind; Gilligan thought he was Jekyll and Hyde and there was fear that headhunters had invaded the island. Just as a body double for Ginger joined the castaways, I heard another sound that my brain registered as being important.

I looked around, noticed nothing other than the dual Ginger and went back to work. The noise sounded again, louder this time. 

“Crap!” I said, realizing what the sound was.

I ran to the service bay door. It was locked for my own protection and no Walmart associates were to be found. I don’t know where they were, but they were not sitting with their tops down in the middle of a downpour like my Mustang was.

Thankfully one of the Walmart guys ran out and drove my car into dryness. They made me put on safety glasses to put the top back up, though why they wanted that I wasn’t sure. There were puddles in the back seat, but it’s been soaked more thoroughly.

I bought a bundle of Day Glo green towels and went to the counter to ask permission to go back out into the service bay to sop up the water. “Which is your car?” an associate asked. Three people said, “The Mustang.” Apparently, the crew liked the car.

“When do you want to sell it?” one of them asked.

Three hours and $97 dollars later, I was free to go.

I’m now awaiting the rest of my crew. The Captain still has to pack but otherwise, I think we’re ready to hit the road for Lafayette. There’s a Triple X burger in my future, but I’m also packing a cooler with a treat for the hot tub.

There’d better be a hot tub.

Fathers Day ...

Jeff's Fathers' Day began with bacon and a gift Ali and I managed to acquire and smuggle out of the Biltmore during our Spring Break trip; turned next to a trip to the Talbott Street Art Fair where we almost bought a $1400 painting but instead shared an ice cream taco sundae; then traveled down to the Vic for a baseball game where I didn't get ice cream; and is ending with a gathering of his fellow beer nerds.

Not a bad way to spend a Sunday if you're Jeff Reed. Or Ali and Cheryl Reed for that matter. We had made sure that our presence in Maine was felt even though we weren't there to help with chores. our portion was lunch, which included lobster rolls for Gary and his work crew of Jen, James and Peter. So I guess it's a good day just to be a Reed.

It was a great day. After sweating ourselves stinky, Ali and I are holed up in the house with air conditioning while the beer lovers are comparing this pilsner to that mead to a stout or a sour.

My first interaction with the early crew had me gagging on a beer they all loved (thus risking my welcome) and my last was after I'd made them let me take their picture.

As I returned inside with photos in hand, I heard the Captain say, "I like the nose on that one far better than the taste" as the others responded with either agreement or disagreement, I'm not sure.

I am sure that I'm more suited to what's inside the house and my only discussion of it will be: "Mmmm."

My champagne will be awesome, and it would have held up well to the ice cream sundae Jeff and Ali found while I waited in line for a gyro. Don't get me wrong, we spend much more time perusing the art. Ali and I fell in love with a red and black cape with vintage buttons and was soft like a lamb's ear.

I was just thinking that we should bring it home when its designer came by to tell us all about its uniqueness and explain the $440 price tag had a bit to do with it being cashmere.

It was nearly as beautiful as the bursts of color at a booth with the $1400 painting. Ali like a couple with one zero removed, but we moved on and didn't make it back. We were driving my car, which even with the top down wouldn't have accommodated the large piece, and we had baseball to get to, anyway.

 

It was a slightly breezy, sunny day. Perfect for baseball. Until the sun breaks through the sunblock and you have to flee to the shade. The Tribe won its first game of a double header forced by a rain-out yesterday.

We dropped Ali at a graduation party for one of her friends while Jeff secured the last items for his beer tasting and picked her up on our return. We're all aware that these are the last of our days as a pretty tight threesome.

Ali got a little weepy when she and Jeff were waiting for a monster movie to start. A trailer for a superhero movie came on and she thought "Hey, that'll be fun to see with Dad." Then she remembered that when it comes out, she'll be at Purdue. "The tears just fell," she said.

Jeff had already told me about this story (which had made me tear up) so I was prepared when she told me about it. I kept my cool and reminded her that we can always drive to Lafayette and catch a movie and dinner.

"I know," she said. "But ..."

Things are changing. We keep having the conversation of "We knew it was going to happen. We've raised her to be able to fly on her own." But it's hard. I told a friend the other day that I'm pathologically good at compartmentalizing, and I'm working pretty hard at keeping my weeping to a minimum.

Jeff learned last week that he's got a work trip coming up that can begin the very day after we drop her off at Purdue -- which is 58 days from now, btw. It's to Denver, and he thinks it would be a good idea if I tagged along.

We told Ali about it, and I told her that a friend of mine had suggested that I could drown or smoke my troubles away. She looked at Jeff and then she looked at me and frowned.

"If I come back after four years and you two are stoners, I'm going to be very disappointed."

Party of Two... emphasis on the party

I've been getting a lot of advice lately about what to do come August when Alison takes up residence at Purdue University and Jeff and I have to remember how to live as a party of two again. 

Some veteran tell me it's terrible and warn of a great depression heading my way. Others say it'll be bad for a while then we'll get used to things. And then: she'll come back and it will be strange to have her back for the summer. I don't doubt we'll have an adjustment period. How could we not?

If the past weekend is a judge, we apparently are going to be taking the "party" of the "Party of Two" phrase seriously. We started at the Pride parade - happy to again be allowed to walk with our Ogden friends as part of the downtown YMCA contingent. That event is always a fun time and ends up at the festival which is even more fun.

But we ended Saturday with a bourbon share that included some of my friends who don't dabble in hard liquor like many of Jeff's friends.

I'd planned to have my friends sip champagne and make fun of the bourbon tasters as they ruminated over the "nose" the "legs" and whatever lingers after imbibing what to me always tastes like a blend of gasoline and lighter fluid. (Not that I've mixed those liquids but I can imagine.) Instead, we all kind of mingled and toasted or roasted each other as the occasion arose.

Some of us sampled more than others.

For my part, the thing that kept me lingering in bed had more to do with walking miles downtown than with the bubbly.

Speaking of downtown -- we had another great Pride experience. I swear it's the happiest day in Indianapolis. We ran into Jeph and Justin and a handful of other friends on the parade route and in the park. Other than the few protesters, the throngs of folks were happy to celebrate.

Someone estimated the crowd to be about 80,000. So imagine our surprise when Ali and I sat down to listen to some of the entertainers and found Jenna Tokash and some of her friends sitting to our left doing the same thing. It was super fun and another indication that Indianapolis is just a spread out small town.

Sunday was spent mostly in recovery, although Ali and I did manage to get to the gym. She's got another respiratory challenge so we went to the doctor's office where she was weighed and wasn't happy with the result.

"You have GOT to get me back to the gym," she said.

I apologized for her genetic code and the vagaries of life and then reminded her that she'd had popcorn and quesadillas after dinner, along with bits of European dark chocolate she'd been hoarding.

"It just gets harder, kiddo," I warned her.

She's working at Herron, helping with a summer gym class, so I'm sure she'll be back to swim condition in no time. I, on the other hand, will probably gain her Freshman 15 before Christmas.

For those of you keeping track, the 60 tacos we ordered for Alison's grad party were gone within 90 minutes. The gazillion sauce packets that came with the crunchy treats are still taking up space in my pantry. Let me know if you need any. I'm tempted to return them but I suspect they'll be trashed and that seems like such a waste...

Most of the party has been put away by now. There are a few balloons still hovering a few inches from the floor as Ali debates whether to inhale the helium or see how long they can float. She had a hit the other day and was disappoint that her squeaky voice didn't last long. Guess it was low-grade helium...

This should be my last post about Alison's robed departure from Herron High School and it's more of a thank you than it is another tribute to her moving from one milestone to the next.

She's working on her own thank you notes. Let me know if you deserve on and don't get one. She reminded me yesterday that I'm her parent, not her friend. I asked her for a definition.

"Well, I like you like I like my friends, and you can be friends with my friends," she said. "But you're my parent so I have to do the stuff you tell me to do. I don't have to do stuff my friends tell me I have to do."

I'm using that belief for as long as she has it. Hence: let me know if you don't get a deserved thank you note as she's been instructed to get those out this week.

In the meantime, here are mine. Thank you to:

• Everyone who gave my little graduate a positive, passing thought.
• Everyone who ignored the weeds in my flower beds.
• Neighbors who have watched Ali grow up and came by with hand-made gifts that were perfect, unexpected and wonderful:
• "It gets cold up there," said Jerry from next door who knitted an infinity scarf
• "I would have changed some things if I had to do it over again," said Patty who embroidered a huge bath sheet with Ali's name and the Purdue logo.
• Those who came even though the Captain forgot to mention it to you. (Men!)
• Those who gave things that Ali squirreled away before I saw them.
• Whoever broke the pinata before Aunt La decided she deserved another turn. #Dangerous
• Lois, our newest neighbor who let us use her tree for the pinata and has yet to find candy in her grass. (I think we got most of it, but the green Jolly Ranchers are tricky buggers.)
• Everyone who came and brought awesome books and tee-shirts and helped fund Alison's next adventures. Fingers crossed that I'm more excited for her than sad for me as it unfolds this summer.
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