Trauma on 7

It was a normal day. The Girl went to school, I wrote something and was so tired I gave in and took a nap, then dusted the living room while gabbing to my friend Susan for an hour about swine flu vaccinations, husbands' work, the stupid little bimbo-in-training trying to start an exclusive clique in the second grade at our daughters' school. I contemplated an afternoon gin and tonic but decided that would be a good start down a slippery slope. Normal stuff. I picked up our G's (they have the same name and oddly similar personalities, as do Susan and I. Love her. Wish she would drink with me) from school and headed with my G to meet a potential new flute teacher.
I had to stop for gas. The tank meter stood at a half, and that just isn't good enough for the Girl. She insists the tank be full at all times. One thing about my daughter: she's observant. Another thing about her: she's paranoid. She goes 'worst case scenario' in her head for any given situation. So, we stopped at a station/convenience store. I got the gas started, asked her if she wanted to come into the store with me to get a drink. I gathered my wallet and keys, noticed that a sheriff had pulled into the pumps behind us, was grateful it wasn't Friday night. (Me and my girls, New Moon private screening, yeah baby).
Heard the pump auto-feed kick off as we were about to head into the store, and decided to just get that wrapped up before leaving the car. G has never actually seen the process of gassing up a vehicle. She's always inside the car. When she was a baby, I was so paranoid about the whole "this thing could blow at any time' 6 o'clock news feature, I wouldn't get gas if I had her with me. I, despite what snopes.com says, won't use my cell phone at a pump and make sure I shock myself on the car frame before touching the gas pump. I'm careful, I think.
"How do you get that out?" asks the Girl, grasping the pump handle and peering at the hole in the car where the gas goes. She is almost exactly the same height as it is. I put my hand over hers and we pull it out of the car, just like I have done a thousand times. A thousand times I've pulled that fucking thing out, turned around and seated it in its little holster, pushed the three buttons it takes to get my receipt, and gone on my merry way.

So imagine my shock and awe when about a half-gallon of gasoline spurts out of the tank and nozzle. And hits my baby square, soaking her face, hair, shirt, and ohmygod, her eyes.

Thanks to Karma or God or Luck or Whatever, the Sheriff was still there. And now he was chatting with a guy in a SLFD sweatshirt. I yelled for help, and the sweatshirt guy turned out to be an off-duty firefighter/EMT. He very calmly took G in his arms and propelled her toward the station's water hose on the building. She's screaming, I'm freaking inside but trying to stay calm to not further traumatize my daughter, and he got her to lie down on the sidewalk and hosed her off. It's about 50 degrees today, and after a minute or two, she just couldn't take the cold water on her head and face anymore. The sheriff wrapped her in a blanket he had in his patrol car, and I tried to flap away the useless cashier who wanted me to sign a waiver. We huddled on the sidewalk, soaked and crying while the wonderful EMT made sure her eyes were okay before he sent us home with orders for a shower and to call the ER if her eyes started to burn. But, he said, she looked fine.
I think I asked him his name. I think it was Jim. Jim rocks.

So, a shower (her) and a gin and tonic (me) later, we're okay. She's downstairs playing with her other best friend, a little upset that she'll have to have another shower later and have her hair washed with lemon juice to get the rest of the smell out. Shampoo just didn't cut it. I told her it would make her more blonde, and she seemed a bit more receptive. She absolutely and unequivocally will NOT ever put gas in the car again, and doesn't want me to do it either. This little trauma on pump 7 didn't help her inborn sense of paranoia, at all.

I was really tired this morning. Now, not so much. It could have been so much worse; it was just gas on her, after all.
I don't want to think about the 'worse'.
I don't want to think about all the moms who have witnessed and lived through the 'worse'.
I'm pretty sure I'm going to let her sleep with us tonight, and I will be tired at work tomorrow and it will be okay.
Because she's okay. And this was pretty bad, but not too bad. And it could have been worse.

Not my usual post, I know...

...but they're giving away a kickass bike. I need a kickass bike. I need something in my life that kicks ass. (My apologies to the TodaysMama person who had to read the word 'ass' there three times. Welcome to my blog.)

Mama’s Holiday Wish List Meme (And hey; what the eff is a 'meme'? Is that a pseudo-intellectual word for 'list of questions and answers?')
TodaysMama and Provo Craft are giving away a sleigh full (Sorry, TodaysMama, I can't let the word 'sleighful' onto my blog. It's not a word and I didn't make it up) of gifts this holiday season and to enter I’m sharing this meme (whatever the eff that is) with you.

1. What 5 items are on your holiday wish list this year?
~Case of Hendrick's gin and a cucumber plant.
~An account at the local plastic surgeon's. I'm getting on in years. Things have begun the sag.
~Cabana boy. With a cabana.
~Whirled peas.
~My daughter being thrilled with all her gifts, which I have already begun to stress over.

2. What is your favorite handmade gift you have received?
A scratchy afghan someone's great grandma crocheted for my wedding. I keep it on the dirty, smelly, squashy old chair under the patio by the garage. It's a good cat blanket. Keeps me warm when I sneak out for a smoke.

3. What handmade gift have you always wanted to tackle?
If by 'tackle' you mean throw to the ground and stomp on? I'm going to say all of them.

4. What was the best Christmas gift you received as a child?
Atari, dude. 1983 or so. Original Atari. I wasted SO many brain cells on Asteroid. That, or the time my brother spent the day puking on Christmas. That was pretty nice of Santa too.

5. What items are on your kid’s wish list this year?

~Nintendo DS (She hates video games, but can't stand the fact that her best friend has one and she doesn't.)
~Moxie girl. (The new brainless, anorexic, hair-styling whore on the street. Look out Barbie; she comes with markers).
~Littlest Pet shop cow, porky pine (sic because Awww, how cute she spells!) and bunny. (Because you can NEVER have too many small plastic animals whose heads bob and can break an adult's foot arch when stepped on).
~a Toy Chinchilla (not a real one because her evil mother has said that three rabbits is plenty of caged rodents in one house, thank you)
~Something called a "paper roonys"? I have no frigging idea. Suggestions are welcome.



6. What is your favorite holiday food?
Candy canes. In my peppermintinis, spiked hot chocolate, and just to suck on to cover the booze on my breath so I can survive the holidays with my mother-in-law.

7. What will you be hand-crafting for the holidays?
I very lovingly and carefully pour, shake and garnish some kickass peppermintinis. I put my heart and soul into every one. They'll put a twinkle in Santa's eye. Yes sir.

8. What is your favorite holiday movie?
Christmas Story, duh. That or the old "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" with the horrible stop-action animation and cheesy hippie-free-lovin' song they snuck into the middle.

9. Favorite holiday song?
"The 12 Things At Christmas That Are a Pain to Me".
Okay, and even though it pains me to admit it in public, I mist up every time I hear "Do They Know It's Christmas?". Young Bono, George Michael and all those other yummy British 80's Pop icons on one song. Sigh. It's inspirational.

10. Favorite holiday pastime?
Did you read the bit about the peppermintinis?

Man, I am SO going to win this contest! Kickass bike, come to Momma!

Stuff I noticed today

~If you own a hair studio and you're going to hire someone to stand on the corner and wave a sign at passing cars, it might be prudent to not hire a homeless dude with dredlocks and a ZZtop beard.

~ If you are a grown-ass adult and the samples at Costco get you so excited that you find yourself crammed into the corner between two seafood cases ramming a ravioli down your throat and grunting, or so enraptured by the fudge bar samples that you wander into oncoming cart traffic, it might be time to reevaluate where you are in life.

~ People call them "Weird Cat Lady" for a reason. Buying four tubs of litter and a case of K-Y, holding up the line by showing people pictures of your pwecious beeboo keekees and not making eye contact is not helping the image.

~I'm becoming more and more convinced there is a secret Grocery Store Baggers society that has a multi-level plan to circumvent the attempts of well-meaning shoppers who bring reusable bags. That or they are ALL fucking morons.

~If you work in a consignment store, you have no room to be snotty. You sell used shit. You give people money for their old shoes and then sell them for two dollars. Don't talk to me like that. Snot.

~There's a chance I'm in sort of a bad mood and don't like people today.

Thank the Gods for Girls Night Out.