My brother-in-law came down to Florida to visit us this past weekend and while it is always very exciting and fun when we have company, for me, the most exciting part was this: (sorry, Yossi!)
I filled up the van with gas. All. By. Myself.
I know that this sounds completely ridiculous. I've been a driver for a good 17 years, but in New York you only pump your own gas by choice, and in New Jersey, drivers are never allowed to pump their own gas, by law.
It never occurred to me that it might be any different in Florida. So a couple of weeks after we moved, I pulled the van into a gas station with the kids in the back. And we waited. One minute, two minutes, five minutes we're sitting there and so weird - no one is coming out of the little gas-station-house-thing to pump my gas. I contemplated honking the horn but the one thing I did notice about Florida is that no one honks their horn. Almost like cars don't have horns here. I don't know. But I gave the horn a little tap and nothing, no one came. Annoyed, I drove home and figured Josh would go out later on and get gas.
Fast forward a few months, and I am much more at home here in Florida and also, very aware that it's every (wo)man for himself at the gas station. Josh took me a couple of times, and each time he talked me through it. And once, on the way to the airport to pick up my parents, I stopped at a gas station alone but panicked and wound up texting Josh a picture of the gas pump and he texted back instructions.
But this week, I did it and it was all by myself. It's such a small thing, something people do everyday but it terrified me. I still don't love going to get gas - it's all dirty, I don't even want to imagine how many germs are on the handheld part of the hose and will be eternally grateful to anyone who fills my van up for me - but at least I did it.
And you know what else I did this week?
I, by accident, let a rather large Pyrex dish fall off the countertop and smash into a million pieces. If you ever wanted to know what that might look like, well, here you go. And you're welcome. As it was falling onto my ceramic tile floor, I remember thinking - it won't break, that glass is so thick. I was wrong, very wrong.
It hit the floor and I went for my shoes and the broom. And also for a cardboard box to hold all the pieces of glass. I went into the garage to get a box and even though we have many many boxes in there, I could not find one that did not have a hole cut out of the bottom. Wanna know why?
You know I'm going to tell you anyway, so I'm going to make pretend you said yes.
My boys made a pretend yard sale yesterday. And the boxes were used as tables and to store yard sale items and also, as something to cut up because they like to use scissors. So no box for me, but here's a pretty funny (and long) sign one of them taped to his bedroom door, inviting everyone to the his yard sale in his room.
And thanks to Uncle Yossi being here, the kid actually made a sale (!).
Are you a Mom?
Of course you are,
your shirt is dirty :)