While pulling into the school parking lot the other morning, I saw the food truck at the curb. Oh crap, I thought. The truck makes it difficult to pull into a parking spot like normal. So, I did my normal thing when the food truck is there, and pulled into the spot backwards. And in hindsight, I believe a guardian angel was watching over us and made that timing so.
The kids spilled out of the car, and into the school we marched.
I dropped CC off just fine, and then went to say good-bye to Ben in his room. While I was in there, a fellow K parent said "hey, your passenger front tire is low."
Oh, really?! I whined.
Do you think I have to fill it now?
I wouldn't drive too far on it.
Crap. Well, my drive to work is about 20 miles, so I figured I needed to make a bee-line to the gas station. The last thing I want to do in the morning, in my already planned-to-a-second routine, is to stop at the freakin' gas station to get freakin' air in my tires. You pilot wives know what I am talking about when it comes to routines. We have our routines down perfectly when our pilots are away. And any variation of that routine just throws the whole universe off.
But, I wanted to heed the warning from the fellow parent. Not to mention, I had thoughts of that guardian angel which motivated me. You know, that truck didn't have to be there and I didn't have to park backwards...
Steve! This is your fault! kept playing over and over in my mind, while I was driving to the gas station. Was Steve even around? No. But, of course it was his fault. Sort of reminds me of my post 'Don't be a whiny bitch'. It was his fault because he is the man of the house, and should be the one doing all things car. Yeah, yeah, I am fully capable of filling my tires with air, but just like I like when a man opens my car door, I want my man to answer my distress calls.
When I got to the station, I maneuvered to the air thing, popped in my quarters and started to do what I needed to do. As I was adding the air, I kept thinking about how I was going to blog about this. I do this often when I am in a midst of a pilot wife 'disaster' as it helps keep me sane in the situation. As my internal dialogue was going, the word "isolation" kept popping into the dialogue.
In a busy station where there were people all around me, I couldn't help but feel isolated. Steve wasn't around to help me. Steve wasn't in the same state, not to mention the same time zone. Steve is never around. And when he is, he is so busy with this and that, that he doesn't even look at the tires. I always have to do everything with the cars. I hate this. Why am I the one to have to fucking do this? Why did I ever marry a man that is gone all the fucking time? He is supposed to always be able to rescue me and answer my distress calls. This is bullshit. I am tired of having to fend for myself. I married a man to help with all this. Not be gone all the time. I married a man to be a part of my life, not distant from it. Whah, whah!
The air stopped. Really?! What the fuck! My 5 minutes expired and I still had one tire left. Fuck! Back into the car I went to gather change, and then into the building to exchange the dimes and nickles into quarters. I was just pissed off and annoyed really good at this point. And then, back to the car I went to finish the job.
...and then, I saw a familiar face...
It was one of Steve's friends from college. And you know what, seeing him, somehow, put me back at ease. We exchanged hugs and pleasantries and then he instantly offered to help me once he knew what I was up to. A man answering my distress call! That is all I needed! I turned his polite offer down, because, really, I am fully capable of filling the tires with air.
We chatted a bit, and all was good. Do you know why he put me at ease? Because he is Steve's friend. Not mine. He is a college friend, as I mentioned, that I didn't know at all in college. He is a part of Steve, and I am sure Steve is a part of him. In a weird way, it was like I was connected to Steve...and didn't feel so isolated anymore.
I am sure that may sound weird to some people, that I found a connection to Steve through a friend, but it isn't unusual for me at all. When I miss Steve, even if it is when I am missing him because I am pissed he isn't there to help me, I find myself trying to find some sort of connection to him. It could be smelling his pillow, or his bath towel. Or watching Family Guy at 11pm, because that is what is always on when he is home. Or looking through old pictures on his facebook page. Or looking up into the sky at contrails.
So, if a guardian angel protected me from blowing a tire at 70mph on a highway, perhaps another one put a familiar face in front of me to give me strength, and not feel so isolated anymore.