“The Boss”

Sometimes I think I have my life in some semblance boring routine. I had a list. It had stuff like dinking enough water, and yoga and devotions and household chores that I was ambitious enough to think I could get done in one 24 hour day living with 5-7 children. Just as I tacked another nice little daily checklist on my fridge on morning last week, my tablet began to ding.

In the course of two simultaneous Facebook messenger conversations I happily agreed to:

1) travel across the country with 7 kids- my five and my brother’s two,  and two of my siblings to give the children a chance to meet my grandmother, who would purchase the plane tickets for us to do so. (More posts about my amazing grandmother to come)

2) Assist a friend in withdrawing her son from public school and enrolling him in our satellite school.

Over the next few days, official letters were written, testing took place,  and travel plans were finalized.

I was feeling slightly smug yesterday as I drove to pick up my older children from the Friday homeschooling coop they attend. Everything was under control, and I was THE BOSS. Until Maggie, who had stayed home with me,  said, ” I’m  going to throw up”. I turned to look at her, just as I was supposed to be stopping for a traffic light. My foot slipped off the brake, and I rear ended the person in front of me. Though it only looked like a ding on the bumper, it was a BRAND NEW car, and the driver was not happy.

We pulled into a nearby gas station and I apologized profusely. My beast car may have taken another dent to the bumper, but it’s hard to tell, I hit things a lot. I scrambled for my insurance card. Where was my insurance card? I found every registration for the past ten years. I found the previous owners insurance card. I found  fast food wrappers, Sunday school papers, a missing Bible, several shoes, a dirty diaper. I was now late picking up the kids from co-op.By this time, the driver of the other car had observed my distress and my rather distressed car and agreed to just exchange contact information until I got home.

I jumped into the car, worried about the time. And I backed into something–a concrete post and sign–at the gas station. I looked behind me briefly and determined whatever I hit wasn’t too important. I would come back and confess AFTER I got the kids.  As  we made our way to the church where co-op is held, I saw an ambulance racing in the direction of the gas station. I tried to push the million worst case scenarios out of my mind until after I picked up the kids. What  if the older gentleman in the other car had a heart attack? What if that post I hit was something more important and the whole gas station blew up? What if I had run over a person and didn’t know it?

I finally  arrived at co-op. Emily had already gathered her little sisters and was brimming with news about a good grade on a science quiz. Deep Breath. “See, it was all ok,” I too hastily thought.

The kids were hungry and tired. I had moved carsick Maggie up into the spot where my four year old normally sits. Four year old threw a fit. Other people began to take interest in the pandemonium surrounding our car. I walked away and splashed some water on my face.

When I got back, Millie was in her seat. We went to the gas station, and I confessed to   hitting what really was a concrete post and a sign. The attendants did not  seem to   care. I spoke with the gentleman I rear ended on the phone after speaking with my insurance company, and he was kind.

I am NOT “The Boss”, but somehow, by the grace of God, we get by.


5 thoughts on ““The Boss””

  1. Kim, I think you are pretty amazing. Thank you for words and honesty and perspective and for sharing your life here. It reminds me that I am not alone in my own versions of chaos-fest, and I, too, am not the boss! Hugs and love.

  2. I think you must be a super hero mum in disguise. As for the ding – everyone has days like that. And the ambulance – yep I’ve been there. It must be a woman thing. Glad to see you survived the whole lot with your patience intact.

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