Note to self… “Self, it’s called a GAS CAN…”

So, let me recap my afternoon for everyone. (If you really don’t care, don’t worry.  I don’t care that you don’t care.  Continue reading.

I have two babies that I am taking care of today. We have to pick up Julian and Jaime at their school and then my boys at their school. Well… what happens when you think that your husband put gas in the truck last weekend but, turns out that it was the weekend BEFORE?
DING, DING, DING!!!! You run out of gasoline right in your very, own driveway!
You fill a SUBURBAN with a gallon of gas and it does NOTHING but, get you to the end of your street.
But, it’s a SUPER way to meet your very nice neighbor, Andre, who has just a bit of gas in his can. He gives it to you. You make it about 1/4 mile down the street as Andre passes by you, honks and is on his way to go fill his gas can to get your moronic ass back on the road.
Enter the nicest, female police woman that I have EVER met. Most are total biatches. She waits with me until Andre gets back with gas to make sure that the idiots don’t honk and/or hit you as you sit on the side of the road.
Enter Karen’s friend, Kelly, who was kind enough to wait with J&J until I could FINALLY get to their school to pick them up.

I am home. With SIX kids and a pounding headache.

And, did I mention that Andre did not WANT me to take his gas can and refill it? As expensive as gas is and this total stranger is telling me that it’s not necessary. Oh, yes. Yes, it is. I literally yanked the gas can and told him that I would bring it back this afternoon.

And, why is it… even though you KNOW that you had not done anything wrong, your heart pounds when a cop pulls up behind you?

I am so glad to be home and now it hits me… for the first time in my life, I had this many kids at my house and I am not going insane. I guess old age really does soften a person. Fuck, I HATE that.

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