You know how you know your husband has just left on a trip for work? It’s Sunday, and the “service engine” light comes on in your truck.

I dropped the truck at the local auto shop a half mile from the house Monday morning. Then, because I wanted to feel that I had done something worthwhile while Tattoo Man’s away (aside from fixing the truck), I went home and bought an online monitoring program to help manage the kids online internet use, time online, etc. I downloaded it to my main desktop and restarted the computer. I felt fierce, like I had just defended the gateway of my children’s minds from predators and unsavory websites. Check.

By 10 am, the auto shop called back and said the words “refer to dealership.” Not good. “Refer to dealership” means CHA-CHING… big problem, big bucks, no wheels for a couple days. No worries, I think to myself, Tattoo Man’s car is down at the pier, we’ll just go get it. Except I can’t find any keys.  An email into the Atlantic Ocean confirms that he accidentally took BOTH sets of keys with him. Pffft.

Tuesday morning, I dropped the truck at the dealership, and my sweet neighbor picked me up. I helped the kids with school, taught my classes, and then got ready for the evening activities. Another neighbor down the street took Jet to gymnastics. A THIRD neighbor loaned me her van to pick up Jet from gymnastics and drop Mem at choir. (I have the most amazing neighbors.) While running the loop, the dealership called and announced, “If we’re lucky, it will only cost $1600 to fix the truck…or maybe $2000…or maybe a new engine with a three-year warranty for 6?” Her voice is WAY too perky. Is this multiple choice? Can I do a write-in? I don’t need a three year warranty that will run out while I’m in JAPAN. I tell the dealership to go ahead and pull the engine apart—let’s see what’s going on in there at least. She told me it would take a couple days. *sigh*

I’m only half-joking with my neighbor when I told her I should go down to the pier, break into Tattoo Man’s car and hotwire it, so I have wheels for the next few days. I don’t know how to hotwire a car yet, but I bet I could you tube it. It’s not illegal to hotwire my own car, right? It might look a little fishy if any of the military police or good-neighbor-sailor-types happen by, but I’m willing to risk it. While I am contemplating options, a friend with no knowledge of my transportation drama texts me and lets me know that the stables are selling horses this weekend (she knows about my daughter’s obsession). I laugh uncontrollably and text her that I may need one by Saturday.

I actually went home to run an internet search for hotwiring videos last night, only to find that the sites are blocked. I have fiercely protected myself from all sorts of unsavory things, and apparently, hotwiring is not savory. Who knew? Today I better figure out the internet safety program I bought or I won’t know how to take apart my dryer when it blows after lunch.

Laugh with me now (especially my military spouse friends), you KNOW this has happened to you too the minute he steps on a plane/bus/ship. So thankful this morning for God (who sees and knows and provides) and friends who help and a sense of humor so we can laugh together when Murphy visits.