We were in Manitoba, on a farm, for a wedding. The sun was hot, the love was strong, the beer flowed like…beer. Also, there was wine.
A beautiful bride, an adorable groom, a cute little baby in a green polka dot dress attending her first ever wedding where she began learning the lessons of wedding dancing so she can carry on my legacy of spinning wildly about, sweating and high-kicking amongst uncles and cousins. I’ll teach her about how you get the best moves much, MUCH later. (Hint: it involves drinking the local brew no matter where you are, which has devastating results if you happen to be in South Carolina and the brew is bourbon.)
For the first time in recorded history, we left the wedding while the sun still shone, with baby up past her bedtime and remaining in a suspiciously good mood. Everyone remarked ‘Wow, she is SO happy’ and all I could think is ‘If this baby goes incredible Hulk on us, you better look out.’ We headed down the gravel road, gazing over the rolling wheat field and the endlessly bright canola.
THUMP. TINK. TONK.
A foreboding sound when driving…we both stayed silent in that glorious moment where you can trick yourself into believing that it was nothing, nothing at all. A knowing look was exchanged. Everything is probably fine right? Besides the fact that it sounds like we just hit the Titanic’s iceberg?
A quick perimeter check assured us otherwise, because I’m no expert but from what I remember a tire isn’t meant to look like a pile of melted tar under your car.
Did I mention this was the hottest day of the summer so far? Also, there were some issues with horse flies. Great.
Dave did car things, I did baby things. Good Samaritans lent a hand, and I am now certain I watch too many Lifetime movies because I kept looking for signs that they might turn out to be murder-y Samaritans instead. Good news, they didn’t even TRY to murder us at all.
Public service announcement: Apparently there was some issue in the past with theft of wheels from cars, therefore the 6th lugnut is some kind of special locked security nut. And the key, if you happen to be looking while sweating buckets, covered in road dust, with a baby on the giddy verge of meltdown, is deep in the glove box under a bunch of plastic forks you keep on hand in case of…a fork shortage. That little clue should save you some time, angst and profanity in front of your infant.
By the time we got back on the road the baby had, in another great first, fallen asleep in her car seat and stayed happily silent until we safely reached the front door. We rode in nervous silence cursing every rough patch and stray stone and listening for another challenge, which we would certainly rise to I can promise you.