We’re used to crash bang around here. I’m always breaking something, Graham is always banging various objects together, Violet is always crashing through the house, our cat (the least graceful feline on the planet) is always knocking something over. So when we were rear-ended yesterday Violet merely wondered aloud, “What fell, Mommy?” Graham didn’t seem to notice.
Everyone is fine; I’m a bit sore from whiplash, but generally unscathed. I haven’t been in a car accident since college. There was the one where I smashed into a gas truck. I was mostly concerned, upon regaining consciousness, that the hand patting my own was missing several fingers. What concerned the drivers in the next accident I was involved in was where they could hide their weed before the cops showed up. No one seemed to noticed my bleeding head wound. This time, however, was possibly more disturbing because my kids were in the car. Can’t stop thinking about the “what ifs”, or the person who caused this accident and fled the scene.
All of this happened on the day that we were getting our windows replaced. Our 30-year-old-aluminum-broken-falling-out-of-the-wall-unopenable windows. So I spent most of the day trying to talking to the insurance people with shrieking power tools and shrieking kids in the background. Crash bang. Headache.
Thank goodness for brothers who drop everything to help out and for husbands who come home early to take you to IHOP and do all the evening chores so you can lay on a heating pad. I’m all sorts of lucky that way.