Well, it's been a little over a week since the incident and I've gotten up the nerve to share my story with the world. Since the Wells Fargo truck has begun backing into the driveway to pay the people taking care, transporting and teaching our children, I have started trying to find a way to solve and consolidate our stress. Lillee Grace started going to school last week mon. through thurs. Baxter started last Tues. and Thurs. Our sweet angel Mrs. Joy of course, takes LG still each day - we love that woman. However, there was a question about dear Baxter. My figurings led me to suggest that Mary needed to learn to drive. I thought I was doing something good for all mankind. Two different days last week we drove down to the Methodist church for some tutorial driving lessons. She was a little nervous but did surprisingly well. We looped the circle, stopped, backed up, went through the carpool two different days. Note - there was no one on the premises. So on the 3rd day as we cruised down the straight-away she slowed as we were to make the turn into the carport. Turning right, I advised her to slow down a little. She did not. Neither did the wheel slow on the turning. Oh no, Tony Stewart just kept on going right into the cement column. As the 1st column went under my truck, she panicked, hit the accelerator and rammed the 2nd column. It went down and we were headed into the preschool building. Luckily, the screaming and hand motions I was giving her made her press the brake at last. I put it in park and here comes the lawn service guy. Yes, the children were in the car. Lillee Grace said, "Mommy, what was that bump?" I turned on Dora and got out calmly to survey the damage. Looking back now, I was so incredibly calm. The grass guy suggesting calling the police. Not in this lifetime. The bad part was when I called Scott. He was, of course, in Valdosta for the night. He wanted to advise me that our children would be in the care of DFACS since he couldn't bail me out for 4 hours and neither could my parents be here for another 4 hours. Scott supportive, no way jose. Mind you, this occurred at the end of the month - coming up on pay day. When the cement dust had cleared, I thought Thank you God for us all being okay and no one was hurt. Next I thought, DARN, I WAS PAYING FOR MY CURTAINS TOMORROW! With my hands shaking like Ali's, I tried to write down my name and number and leave for the church. So before anyone could call the police or 911, I jumped in and headed to take Mary home. Oh yeh, the truck is driveable. When I backed out of her driveway, both kids were nodding off. As soon as she shut the door, the heavens flooded. I do not do well with crying and it was not a pretty sight. It's tough thinking, someone fix it now! Who to call? Mr. Wes. Not only is he father of the year, he also wears carharts and can fix any situation, no matter what it may be. He went to check the wreckage and thought the car was going to need lots of rubber mallot care.
Probably the worst part of the ordeal was Scott being so far away. As he enjoyed turn down service, facial and happy ending massage at the Motel 6 in south Georgia, I put the kids to bed, ate a gallon of ice cream and watched a Bridgett Jones marathon on TBS. How depressing to think a 54-year-old woman cannot keep a 12 inch diameter steering wheel on a straight and narrow path?
Well, we're back to Mr. Omar, our cab driver coming each day, Mrs. Joy here at 8:20 Mon. through Thurs. and some really nice lady I met at my school coming at 8:50 on Tues. and Thurs. We might as well have a BP station in the front yard as much fuel as we're supporting.
The church is not sueing. Mary's neck is not hurt. The kids are fine. Mary will never drive another car I own again. The preschool director did not kick us out. Mr. Wes is fixing everything. Oh yeh, and I've ordered my fabric for curtains.
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