For some reason, I thought that scheduling a dentist appointment for Daniel at 8 AM today made perfect sense on our first day of vacation. Our previous visit, while not unsuccessful, hadn’t been without difficulty. We had barely prepped him for this visit, and I worried how he would handle the cleaning since teeth brushing can be frustrating for us.
And as usual, I shouldn’t have worried. He was in a great mood even though he hadn’t eaten anything, and I had rushed him out of the house in order to get there on time (although we were still 10 minutes late). The hygienist told me I could sit down in the parent area several feet away, and I did with a little trepidation. Daniel did a great job. The hygienist was able to polish his teeth and floss them – with a few interruptions. Even better, the dentist said he was doing a good job brushing his teeth and had no cavities.
I’m so used to being by Daniel’s side for everything that it caught me off guard that he was old enough and mature enough to handle a routine dental appointment without me. I suppose this is the first of many times that I will be ushered out of the way or able to stay in the waiting room. My baby is growing up.
On Tuesday, I did something I had never done before. I put air in my tire. More accurately, I attempted to put air in my tire. Yes, I’m 36-years-old and had never put air in my own tires before. Jimmy had declared it a necessity the night before but was unable to do it because he is on call, so with much trepidation on both our parts, he gave me the tire gauge, $1 in quarters and drew me a diagram.
I promise I’m not as helpless as that makes me appear.
So I dutifully turn into the BP and head to the air area Tuesday morning. I read the instructions, get out my gauge, take the pressure and insert the quarters. I hook up the air nozzle thing-y. As instructed I keep checking the pressure every so often. The gauge hasn’t budged. Perplexed and convinced there is some sort of user error, I scrounge up another 4 quarters and try again. The gauge still doesn’t change. I’m frustrated, but I’m sure that the sight of me bent over my tire for 5 minutes was fun for the BP customers, especially since I was wearing a skirt.
I’m forced to conclude that either I’m a moron who cannot manage to put air in her tire or there is a leak. Truthfully, I’m not sure which scenario is the better one because while I will feel like an idiot if I somehow failed to properly fill my tire, I’m not great talking with mechanics either, and either way, I hate looking and feeling like the stereotypical clueless girl.
In between my 4 meetings on Tuesday (ugh), I squeezed in a visit to a mechanic near work who Jimmy had vetted. I asked them if they could look at my tire. It was pouring and chilly outside, and I was afraid that instead of coming off as an idiot, I came off a little bitchy. Isn’t it fun being female?
20 minutes later, the mechanic informs me that I have a nail in my tire. Hallelujah! They are able to patch it for $15 and I’m on my way, relieved it was a legitimate nail and that I was not a moron.
Although I think we will practice putting air in my tires this weekend 🙂