I have a grainy photo to share with you today :)
I don't know whether you can see it or not, but on the top right corner of the page, it says "Final Test," and in red ink in the middle of the page, I wrote, "Perfect! 100%" because my boy totally aced his final exam from Math-U-See Alpha.
Because he passed (which I would have accepted anything around 90%), he earned himself a new toy. It's a Leapfrog Didj, and he's absolutely thrilled with it. Little does he know that the Indiana Jones game I got him to go with it will only supplement and reinforce his math learning - muah ha haa haaaaa....
I'm pretty proud of him right now. We've had some serious struggles with math over the last few months, so seeing him finally be able to "get" it is very fulfilling.
I had another moment of pride on Tuesday.
I say that with great sarcasm and embarrassment.
I got my van stuck in my front yard. Not just a little stuck, either - STUCK stuck... the kind that requires big, strong men, a huge tow chain, and a very large truck to pull it out, and then the men step back and wonder how on earth one medium-sized woman can get a van that stuck in the mud while she hands them beer as payment and stands around looking useless and sheepish.
I didn't do it on purpose... obviously, one would hope... and if I *had* meant to do it on purpose, I sure wouldn't have picked this week to do it.
Why is it these things always happen when your spouse/significant other/only person you don't *mind* helping you out... is out of town?!?!? The last time something like this happened was last spring when I locked myself out of the house for almost the entire day. Oz was five hours away, in another state. The day that I got dragged by my car, Oz was three hours away, in another state. Two days ago, when I got the van buried in the mud, Oz was four hours away, in another state.
I think I've learned humility, God... now can ya cut me a wee bit o' slack? Please??
So how, you may ask, did I get the van stuck in the mud in my own front yard. Since I've already admitted to the doing of the deed, I figure I may as well share the rest of the story!
M1 and I had gone to Wal-Mart. He has outgrown his pants - again - and needed new ones (my 7-year-old son now wears size 10 slim pants, by the way), and we needed groceries, so off we went. This is not unusual for us on a Tuesday. I usually try to run errands on Tuesday. It's what I do.
So we went to Wal-Mart, got the groceries and the pants, paid for it, choked at the cost (as always), loaded it all into the back of the van, and headed home.
Now... as you know, it's been a bit snowy here lately, and it's been melting. I like that it's melting, but it does make my yard into a bit of a bog, a fact that I completely and utterly forgot while driving home from Wal-Mart.
So I pulled into my driveway, and the only way to back into my garage is to turn around in my yard and back in. This requires me to go a bit off the driveway. This would not have been a problem if my van was rear-wheel drive, but of course it isn't, and my driver's side front tire instantly got stuck. Nothing daunted, I got out, pulled a cardboard box apart, stuck it under the front tire, and figured I'd be able to get out.
I'm nothing if not resourceful and independent.
No such luck, however. The cardboard flew spectacularly up in front of the van, and I went precisely nowhere.
Still undaunted, I decided I'd see if I could go forward a few feet and then throw the van into reverse and give escaping the mud hole one last good shot.
So I put the van into drive, gunned the engine a bit...
... and flew forward like a bat out of Hades. Since I was facing a good old-fashioned pipe fence, I had to steer very quickly to not hit that, and the next thing I knew...
I was stuck. Forward, backward, and ranting all got me nowhere. I got out and took one good look at the now mud-filled tires, got back in the car, and just wanted to die.
But I couldn't do that, because I instantly realized that if I died, who was going to get M2 from school in three hours? Who was going to get M2 from school? That was the question.
Have I mentioned I love my in-laws? I called my mother-in-law, who said that she and my youngest brother-in-law would be out to help as quickly as they could. So I hauled all the bags out of the back of the van, fixed M1 and I some lunch, and posted a rant about my day on a forum. No sense in having a bad day if you can't share it with someone.
My in-laws showed up, and my BIL tried to pull me out using a brand-new tow rope.
The van didn't budge.
He turned his truck around and tried again.
It was time to call in the cavalry. So my MIL placed a call to one of her friends, my BIL went to get M2 from school, and the friend arrived with his heavy-duty Dodge, a very large tow chain, and complete incredulity at the way I'd managed to bury the van so well. Did I mention that the way the van was positioned, there was no way to push from the front? The nose was almost on the ground.
If I'm gonna screw up, I'm gonna do it right!
An hour later, the van was out. As mentioned, beer was offered as a poor means of payment to the guys who had been laboring over (and probably cursing at) my van for a good chunk of the afternoon.
There are still very large scars in my lawn from where the van was pulled out. I'm leaving them to show Oz when he gets home so I can explain to him why he should never leave me alone again, to which he'll probably laugh, give me a hug, and tell me he's flying out next Thursday.
Or something like that.