Blessing or Curse

For four long years, Wade has been ward clerk. It's a position that requires some time commitment on Sundays, but never really any other time. For that reason, it's a good calling to have. However, for four long years, I've been in charge of getting Josh ready for church. A lot of Sundays, it's been a struggle. Now, with two kids, it's even more so. Coupled with my calling as Relief Society Secretary, Sundays are chaos at the house.

This year, we moved to the 9:00 timeblock. There are pros and cons to the 9:00 timeblock and I'm not sure where I stand in the debate. For whatever reason, I cannot get myself up in time to make it to church by 9:00. I need someone there to help me. I'm grumpy and uncooperative. I realize this and feel (slightly) bad about it. However, I love the fact that church is done by noon and I can each lunch and take a long afternoon nap.

The ward split a few weeks ago, and Wade was released. This means that I have him back to myself on Sunday mornings. No more meetings. I'm confident that he was released solely to be my waker-upper on Sunday mornings. It's a calling worse than ward clerk and I feel for him. I wouldn't want to be my waker-upper either.

However, the elation of Wade's release was hampered when he was extended the calling of Scoutmaster. With him gone two nights a week with school, plus the nights spent doing homework and the basement and the baby, I was a little hesitant about adding something so big to his (my) plate. Another night gone a week. Weekends on campouts. Scout camp in the summer. But I realize the calling for what it is and so I gave him my blessing. I'll try to not lament the fact that he's gone so much as it is.

On Sunday, we were joking with the bishopric that Wade wasn't qualified to be Scoutmaster because we don't have a car big enough to haul boy scouts. When you think of Scout leaders you think of guys with Suburbans driving unruly 12 year olds around. We don't have a Suburban. Our cars only fit 5 people max. I might have even suggested that God would smite our poor car and then we'd be forced to buy a new one.

So fast forward to last night when Wade arrives home from work. He casually mentions that one of the cars is acting up. Something to do with the tire or axle or something. I'm not really paying attention to the details because it's all Latin to me. Just that he's taking the other car to work and to be careful if I choose to drive the broken one.

As I'm driving Josh to preschool I get to thinking that maybe it's not such a great idea to drive the vehicle at all, especially with two kids in it. For starters, if a wheel were to pop off, that would be bad. And then I'd have to haul myself, a newborn, and a three year old off the road and presumably have to hike to somewhere with a phone because mine is at home on the piano.

I called Wade when I got home and we got to talking. The gist as I understand it is that we probably shouldn't drive the vehicle on the freeway in case something bad were to happen at such a high rate of speed. That pretty much limits me to the county. We should also exercise caution when driving it on the highway to the grocery store. Um...where does that leave me now? Homebound. Of course, I could stay home, day after day, and I wouldn't die. Just wither up into a former shell of my once vibrant self. Come summer, I can hook up my bike trailer and bike with the kids into Wal-mart for our weekly groceries, buying only that which I can carry in a backpack. (True story: That's how I did it in college. Bike to the grocery store and then buy only stuff that could be transported back on my bike. Made for some very interesting meals. But I didn't gain any weight.)

The car has 215,000 miles on it, so this doesn't come as such a surprise, but still, it's a pain.

We started adding up the cost of fixing the vehicle and found the figure to be astounding for how little it's worth (If we were to take their advise and take the worth of the car minus the cost of repairs, we'd have to pay someone to take the vehicle off our hands). And then I recalled that last summer, I came home from Salt Lake one day and announced that I would not drive this car through another summer since the air conditioner is broken. Granted I was pregnant and a little more heat-sensitive than I normally am, but remembering my poor three year old's beet-red face, I realize that I have to stand firm on this. I certainly can't put a baby through that kind of heat.

And so now we're at a crossroads. Part of me is worried about the economy and threatened lay-offs and I would rather wait until the basement was finished and paid for. A large part of me is worried about being homebound and trapped inside a house that feels like it's closing in around me, relying on kind neighbors to ferry me where I need/want to go. But there is a part of me that says that it's stupid to be driving around in a car praying that a tire doesn't just fall off or the steering doesn't jam up, putting you and innocent people at risk. When it's in print like that, the choice is obvious. We either have to ante up the money to fix the car or we have to get a new one. It'd be negligent to be driving something that we know is going to give out any day now. Besides, cellphones are foolproof and how would I carry a three year old and a newborn down the highway when it does go out. There are a lot of dead spots between here and the city where there's no reception.

Better women than me have made the sacrifice to be a one-car family and relinquish their freedoms so their husbands can go to work. I could do it--I wouldn't die--but I just can't imagine myself doing it. I'm filled with dread just thinking about the possibility of not leaving the house. Not being able to load up and go to the grocery store or to the library or to the doctor's office.

Maybe this is our first blessing of accepting such a time consuming calling. Maybe it's time to upgrade our 10 year old vehicle to something more stable and safe.