Our family often travels down to Southern California for extended periods of time, and we somehow always seem to pack our minivan to the brim – just barely fitting in our “necessities” and, of course, our four kids. During our visit this past summer, it became clear that our packing reality probably wasn’t the safest way to attempt the 6 to 7 hour drive. Our kids were practically boxed in their seats, surrounded by bags and suitcases, legs on top of golf clubs, and holding their own precious cargo (they each insist on bringing their favorite “guys” on the journey). On that trip, even our beloved “Fairy Garden” that we had made during our stay, was transported on the center consul in the front seat. We took this all as a sign that it was time for adding some extra cargo room to our vehicle for these trips.
In anticipation of our trip to Newport Beach over Christmas break, Justin purchased a Thule for the top of our minivan. Finally – extra square footage for all of our random, oddly shaped gear and for the Christmas presents we would be both taking down and bringing home after spending the holiday there. Justin spent weeks researching cargo box options, getting roof rails and crossbars installed on the top of my van, and determining the perfect cargo carrier for our family. He came home the week of our vacation with the slickest, most gorgeous Thule on top of my van. We loaded it up later that week, drove to Southern California, and were amazed by the extra room this allowed inside the car for the kids and for ourselves.
One week into our vacation, Justin got the flu. It had been a decade at least since I had seen him this sick, and I banished him to an off-garage bedroom at the beach house, in an attempt to keep the rest of our family healthy. He was down for at least 5 days straight, only emerging for fluids and an occasional conversation.
With Justin sick, I launched into “tour director” mode, which often happens when I find myself solo with my four kids. It’s part self-preservation so I don’t go crazy, and part trying to keep my kids from killing each other. We set off one day on an adventure, in an effort to get out of the house, stay away from Justin, and have some fun.
After miniature golf, and some time in the arcade (I start to get frantic after being in arcades for about 30 minutes, but that’s a whole other story!), I decided that I was going to take the kids to Huntington Beach. We piled in the car and headed on our way. I parked in a parking garage upon our arrival, and we had a blast exploring a new area that afternoon.
We returned to our car to head back to the beach house for dinner. I loaded the kids up, and started to drive out of the garage. I thought nothing of it as I wound around the garage. Seconds later though, I heard what sounded like a garbage can being dragged across pavement. “Huh…that was strange,” I thought to myself, writing the noise off to the random echoes and auditory sound oddities that you sometimes hear from underground parking garages as I kept driving for another 10 seconds. And then the obvious struck me like a bolt of lightning – I HAD THE THULE ON THE TOP OF MY CAR!!!!
I immediately pulled over into a parking spot, and jumped up on the driver’s seat of my car in an effort survey the scene. Our gorgeous, slick, black glossy Thule was scraped, and I mean SCRAPED, from top to bottom with thick white paint. I had clearly met my match in the giant, exposed pipe that traversed that section of the parking structure.
It was a mistake. I drive this vehicle every day, and have done so for the past 5 years – never having to worry about vehicle clearance or my ability to park in specific places. And now, clearly, I had new restrictions, and had just flat out forgotten about it. I had just been playing “tour guide,” enjoying a lovely adventure with my babies. And now I was sick to my stomach.
We returned home, where we found Justin in the kitchen, making tea and looking haggard. I decided it was best to wait a few days to tell him about my encounter. But after about 3 minutes of overwhelming guilt, I decided I couldn’t live like that. I blurted out my mishap, finishing with, “…but, it’s really no big deal, because you totally can’t see the damage unless you look at the top of the car. I mean, what are you gonna do?!” Downplaying the damage and minimizing it like an inevitability probably wasn’t the greatest move.
Justin shuffled outside to inspect the damage, returning visibly agitated and muttering under his breath. Grace, ever the peacemaker and anxious to put discord behind us all asked him, “So, how does it look, Daddy?” He stared, deadpan back at her and replied, “Grace, do you want to say it, or do you want me to say it?”
Without hesitation, Grace came in on cue, “And THIS is why we can’t have nice things.”
