Waving a white flag

Alison to Universe: OK, I get it. I fucked up karmically somewhere along the line recently.

Not in a huge, wipe-out-your-whole-family-in-response kind of way, but more in a small, just-when-you-think-the-long-
list-of-irritations-and-small-tragedies-are-over-well-they're-not kind of way. Because it's been a weird couple of weeks around here for things going wrong. Not huge things, but enough of a run that I have to take notice.

Here's a list of things that have happened to me. I know that it looks like I'm copping out with yet another list as a blog posting; but wait, I figure if I list the things, and count them, maybe the total will be some kind of multiple of three and that I can say "Whew, bad things come in threes, so now I should be in the clear", 'cause to tell the truth, I kind of feel like Meredith Grey in that one episode where she and Cristina were sitting at Joe's bar and Mer says to Cristina, "Let's play a game of whose life sucks more. I'll win."*

Here we go:

1. My vacuum dies in a Hollywood-worthy cascade of sparks and bad burned-rubber smells while I'm cleaning up in order to host a girls' night and I have to borrow my neighbour's vacuum and then go out and buy a new one for myself, which was not budgeted for.

2. I have to have my cat Elvis put to sleep. Much sadness and vet bills.

3. I catch some kind of cold/flu/ebola/scurvy that keeps me couchbound and shivering for 3 days while trying to take care of Leah and Rachel. (Karma relents somewhat at this point and the girls don't catch it.)

4. I back into my garage door and knock it off its runners and dent it, resulting in a panic call to Pynacker Doors and a $75 bill. I know, I know, you're thinking what kind of idiot backs out of the garage without checking that the door was freaking open. But it was open when I put the car in reverse, foot on the brake. Then I picked up the remote and put it back into the holder thingie in the ceiling of the car and must have accidentally pushed the button while doing it, and, distracted by Rachel asking whether cows have penises, took my foot off the brake and reversed, not noticing that the door was most of the way down until the rear end of my car was pushing it out of shape.

5. I come home yesterday after picking up the girls from daycare and we all troop into the house from the garage, none of us noticing that Rachel has forgotten to close her car door. Two hours later, we discover this as we try to start the car to go and visit some friends. The battery is dead. The girls are loudly heartbroken at not getting to visit Shell and her daughters. I call CAA and put the girls to bed while I wait for the tow truck guy to come and jump me. (Stop that. You know I meant my car. Man, do you ever have a dirty mind.) The car starts, and he tells me that I have to go and drive around for 15 to 20 minutes in order for the alternator to charge up the battery.

Um, OK, but who's going to watch the girls while I do this? I don't want to drag them out of their warm beds to drive around in the car. I end up calling my neighbour across the street and explaining and she comes right over to sit with the girls (I am blessed with the best neighbours in the whole world. Seriously.) Off I go, headed down Carp Road. I figure I'll drive to Stittsville, hit the Timmie's drive-through, pick up a couple of cups of tea for me and Arlene and head home, and Bob's your uncle.

Well, no. Just after I go over the 417 the car dies. I manage to coast into the MacEwan gas station. I call my house to let Arlene know that the estimated 15-20 minute return time is, oh, just a bit blown out of the water. Then I call CAA again. They promise me that they will get a truck to me in less than an hour, which I'm skeptical of, since I don't think they actually know where I am -- I called the 'local' number on the back of the CAA card, but I'm on the phone with someone who's sitting in a call centre in Orlando Florida. God! (<- irritable flight attendant impression.)

As I'm aimlessly waiting for the CAA to show up, I see a familiar face coming into the station. It's Arlene's husband Jim. She's sent in the cavalry! Jim gets the car going while I call back the guy in the Magic Kingdom to cancel the call for the tow truck/jumper guy. Jim follows me home and the car breaks down again about 3 km away. Fortunately one more jump gives me enough juice to make it as far as a small garage on Carp Road, where wonder of wonders, someone is still working, seeing as it's now quarter to eleven. We leave my car there and he drives me home. He also picks us all up this morning and takes the girls to daycare and me to work. (Best. Neighbours. EVER.) So it's either the battery or something really scary (read expensive) with the electrical system. I'm waiting to hear. Sigh.

Crap, that's only five. It feels like more. Five is not a multiple of three.

Alison to Universe: Whatever I did, I'm really sorry.

*Please note that I am fully aware that in the big scheme of things, my life is not sucking at all. I am truly lucky. My children are healthy, I have a job, and am blessed with lots of friends. I just wanna vent a bit. So sue me.