Barely making it

At the end of June, I received a text from my cousin in South Carolina asking me what my plans were for July 1st. I thought perhaps she meant to text the 4th, but before I could reply, she mentioned that she and her brother were throwing a surprise birthday party for their mother and would I be interested in attending.

Uh?

Let's clarify. South Carolina is two states away from Florida. Straight up the coastline, eight hours, give or take a couple. That text came not even a week before the 1st. So who did she think she was texting? Super Woman?

Me: "Kind of late notice, isn't it? What was I? An afterthought?"

She assured me I was no afterthought, admitted her brother had thought of me, and was most likely shocked when I responded with an agreement to be there before the big day. Luckily, for her or for me, not sure which, Darcy had the upcoming week off, and the two of us had been wanting a change of scenery.

Me: "Well, guess what, princess? Darcy and I are coming, so kick those kids of yours out of their beds cuz Cousin Cara needs somewhere to sleep."

I love road trips. When I'm not in charge. This means when someone else is responsible for any sort of car maintenance. I know nothing, zippo, about cars and their inner workings. I am the one the mechanics spot a mile away and rub their hands together, dollar signs in their eyes. I had a father who took care of all car responsibilities, and I was hopeful I had married someone like that, but alas, that was not to be. Not that the man doesn't know more about cars than yours truly. He just doesn't understand why he should be the one to deal with it.

Tom: "How hard is it? Take the car in."

I wanted an oil change before I headed off. Tom hates paying for that. He argued that he had recently done it. I thought about that, checked my oil life percentage (I have no idea what that means), and shrugged it off. Whatever. My Dad would have been all over that car checking tire pressure, oil, belts, hoses, etc., before allowing me to drive eight hours through three states, but the hubby? Everything would be fine.

And it was--up until the time Darcy took over driving. We were about twenty minutes from our destination when she casually mentioned that a light shone brightly on the dashboard. I looked up said light, a picture that closely resembled some sort of underwater submarine, and the book said things like, "Dire. Pullover. Trouble! Trouble! Find help. Break the piggy bank." I may have freaked out a tad.

Darcy: "Mom freaked out! She went nuts."

We made it, however, to my cousins without incident. Said cousin told me the Honda dealer was up the street if necessary, and we unloaded and ignored the light for another twenty-four hours. I mean, we had a party to plan, a house to decorate, and a celebration to partake in. Also, it was a Sunday the next day, and no dealership is open on the day of the Lord.

I worried about that damn light the entire mini-vacation. I mentioned it constantly, trying to find a male, or female, with mechanical knowledge to just peer under the hood of my van. But, instead, my cousin's husband poo-pooed the light.

James: "It's nothing. Those damn foreign vehicles with the emission systems are all a conspiracy theory. It's nothing. If anything, you'll blow out all that emission crap and have a better vehicle."

My cousin assured me all would be well.

Jason: "I drove months with lights flashing in my car."

Despite the reassurances offered up, I worried during down times when my brain conjured up various traveling scenarios, all of which had us on the side of the road in the desert heat and humidity on a holiday-packed interstate. As a result, I slept minimally but did enjoy the vacation and time spent with family.

We set off on the fourth of July to head home. I had to get back that day because I had family arriving the next morning from the other side of the family. That side of the family is my Dad's. The side I now realize would have been under the hood of my van within one minute of my driving up that night and mentioning the light. They would have gone over that van with a fine-tooth comb in the dark.  It would have been repaired, and the light would have been gone, and the van would have run better than ever. Definitely, one difference between my maternal and paternal extended family. Just saying...

James: "Please. I'm telling you, there is nothing wrong with your van. You'll be fine."

We were. We set off in pouring down rain. The kind of rain that comes down in sheets and obscures your vision. Darcy was behind the wheel for that because, in my wisdom and to preserve my own sanity, I thought her driving when we weren't on the interstate was better. Going to SC, I did most of the driving, and we crossed over the state immediately and drove the coastline. This time we cut over earlier, which meant less interstate. Every time the kid got behind the wheel, we had rain.

She drove most of the way, including the interstate. She was a trooper and handled it like a pro. The good thing to come out of this trip is I'm done being nervous while she is at the wheel.

An hour and a half from home, she told me another light had joined the other on the dash. This one was a dripping oil can. I went to the manual. It said, "DIRE! DIRE! If this isn't low oil pressure, pull over immediately and see page 457 for towing information. DIRE! DIRE! DEATH! DESTRUCTION! WARNING! WARNING!"

I might have gotten a tad worried.

Darcy: "Mom lost it. She went totally nuts. Freaked out."

I texted the husband. I called the husband. I finally had to track the man when he responded not at all. He was swimming somewhere near home. I texted my cousin. She relayed the information to the two men who had done nothing in terms of the first light.

James: "It's blowing out the emissions."

Jason: "Pull over and put in some oil."

Darcy kept on driving--through the pouring rain, over the bridge, and I worried and prayed we would make it home. We did. Home never looked so good.

And by then, the battery light had begun glowing. We shut off the engine, unloaded, and kissed the ground. The van is now at the shop. I've moved on to my next mini-vacation, picking up our family at the airport in Darcy's car.

Me: "Let's plan to visit SC every July 4th holiday."

Darcy: "You have got to be kidding me! Do you want to drive again? You barely made it through this road trip."

Me: "Oh, please. We made it home safely. We'll be fine by next year."

Hmmm...maybe there's more of my mother's family in me than I thought.