Beep Beep Beep Beep

We just recently purchased a twelve passenger van. It is a utilitarian vehicle to be sure, with the only bell/whistle being sensors on the back that go beep beep beep when you throw the car into reverse and there is something back there. It's a handy safety feature and I'm grateful for the added precaution against running over anything as I adjust to maneuvering what feels like a large brick on wheels. I appreciate the car's "Heads up." warning.

In real life, I'm not nearly so gracious.

Spousal esp annoys me.

Back in 1993, I decided I needed to take on a bigger challenge than mere motherhood. (I was a newbie and in to foolish notions like the idea that there is any bigger challenge). Thus, I started graduate school.

The university of my choosing was of course, three and a half to four hours of hard driving distance away. Did this stop me? No. I hired my younger brother to babysit for the day while I drove like a maniac to take classes from noon to ten at night, after which I would crash at my other brother's for the night and drive back with equal speed to return home by noon the next day once a week.

Before beginning one such journey, my beloved spouse went out of his way to say, "Take your time, watch your speed." So you know I got busted going 87 up 290 to Austin.

It took all my wifely discipline to tell him.

My poor husband, the modern day Cassandra, issued another clarion cry after our third child.

It was in January, and we got absolutely incredible beautiful weather, the kind of day that beckons everyone to be outside. We loaded up our now three children, the stroller priam, and two bikes. It took two cars. We both drove to the park with the vision of getting a bit of exercise and enjoying this unnatural gift of warm weather.

Having recently recovered from having a baby, I was feeling flabby. I wanted to work out. The park had stations for stretches and muscle tone, heart rate measurement and other nifty tips on getting fit. I decided to do them as we walked.

We were having a great time.

Then, we came to the monkey bars. Most women over 30 know better than to climb on monkey bars. But I am not like most women. For much of my adult life, I have studiously avoided common sense, even when provided helpfully by my beloved husband.

"I don't think that's a good idea Sher..." he started as I began swinging from rung to rung to...no rung. I fell. I fell hard. I tried to get up and almost blacked out from pain. I had torn ligaments in my knee which was swelling up like a grapefruit.

My husband had to marshal the kids. He took them to his car, transfered all three to their car seats and begged a soccer referee named Samuel to watch them while he returned across the soccer field past the playground to crumpled me. He then got a woman and her son and their very big dalmatian to watch over my foolish self while he made the second trip to load our second car with the tricycle, bike and collapsible stroller.

He then came back for me. Carrying me across the soccer field in his arms, he kept saying, "Please don't be hurt. Please don't be hurt...and if you're hurt, I'm really mad at you."

The next three weeks, I spent bumping down the stairs on my rump with my newest daughter in a baby carrier.

But I learned my lesson.

So this morning, when my sagacious husband said "Don't lose your keys." out of the blue, all I could think was..."Beep beep beep beep."