What Does the Title "New Car" Mean to You?

New Car means to me a new sense of safety and reliability. It means that fresh smell that last for about a month (two weeks if you have children, one if you have a husband that likes to fish). It means believing that no matter what may run into you, those air bags will magically wrap around your body like a giant Marshmallow and save your life.

I could go on, but let me remind you that I bought a new minivan just a short 2 months ago. Now, let me add that this cute little addition to our family has been towed twice in the last two weeks. Once today, and once last week while on vacation in "The Middle of No Where PA."

I admire honesty. So when the mechanic looked me straight into the eye and said "I have no idea what's wrong with your van," I almost gave him a hug. That is until he set me up in a Ford Focus as my rental car. I stand 5 feet 8 inches tall. I have driven larger cars most of my life. I suddenly feel like one of the members in the clown car headed out to the center ring, eager to regain feeling in all my joints.

I felt lucky to have finally been able to rid myself of the last nightmare I drove. It was also a minivan (different make and model) with a life of it's own. The steering went bad, and the doors rusted from the inside out. But the real surprise is when it began raining in the car. Yes, I said raining! Every time it rained on the outside, we received similar weather on the inside.

And now I'm the proud owner of this beauty!

I should have listened to the kids: "Mommy, buy the scooter, buy the scooter!"

A Sea of Cooties

A few months back I began to notice an echoing of some type coming from our bathroom. It never bothered me nor did I recognize it during the day. Probably because as long as the sunshine is up, the volume in my home is comparable to most city zoos.

So while I laid there late one night listening to the echoing I decided to investigate the issue. I walked into my bathroom trying to sneak up on whatever was stalking the little sleep I managed to get that week. I took a seat on the toilet hoping to catch red-handed whatever was holding my bathroom hostage. Then...it happened!

The sound which I thought may somehow be coming from one of those creatures inhabiting the pages of my children's library books actually was coming from my bathtub faucet. "A flipping drip," I thought.

Like the good wife I am, I immediately reported the issue to Hubby. And like the good Hubby he is, he immediately took care of the problem......NOT!

I am in year six of a beautiful marriage. I love and adore my husband. I think my hardest lesson and something that takes constant practice is learning that men and women do not work on the same schedule. I get things done yesterday, while my husband will work up to the deadline. It seems the more chaos that ensues, the happier he is. He loves a challenge.

And so the dripping continued. As the time went on, the period between the drips closed in. It began to sound more like a popcorn machine than a dripping problem. Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into into months. Then finally, two days ago, I couldn't turn the darn faucet off at all.

I was innocently cleaning the tub, and obviously I needed some water. When I was done I tried my hardest to turn that faucet off, but it wouldn't budge. After a minute of feeling totally hopeless and cursing the very existence of men that ignore their wives plea for help; I kicked it. That's right, I kicked it. It made a noise that I can even describe, but surprisingly the water had completely stopped dripping. "I fixed it, I fixed it," I yelled.

I knew that was far from the truth. In fact the cold water knob was now lying in the bathtub...CRAP!

A few words to my husband after he came home that night (believe me when I tell you I didn't ask how his day was) and we were finally in business. No he didn't fix it. But he got on the Delta faucet website. I offered to pick up the parts if he promised to fix my bathtub this weekend.

I told my boys I would be using their tub tonight. Potter looked shocked. "Mom, you'll catch boy germs," he said. (Obviously the reason I'm taking a bath in the first place). I calmed down immensely while sitting in their Sea of Cooties. (i.e. bathtub)

It's amazing just how much one can miss their own bathtub. As I sat soaking in Huggies Hypoallergenic bubbles, surrounded by Batman toys and Disney character wash clothes, I longed to be in a place where only Calgon could take me.

Tune in Monday to see: Did Hubby fix the faucet? Is there really popcorn in Mary's bathtub? And finally: will Mary finally find relaxation among scented candles or toy boats and action figures?