So, we have this big cardboard box of Mason jars in our storage room. And I fully intend on canning something sometime...it's just that when we moved in I had a two-year-old and was swamped with grief (since we moved within a year of Karen's death) and the feeling of just having moved (which can be overwhelming).
And then the pandemic hit and you would've thought that might be a good time to get some canning done. But, believe me, so did everybody else. There were shortages of canning lids (just as there were shortages of flour and yeast for those who took up baking as a hobby).
And then I was in the thick of graduate school and having a new baby.
And now I have a two-year-old...but also my freezer is full of cranberries...so this year may be the year that we break out the canner again.
Anyway, after reorganizing our storage room and going through things, we had space on the shelf for this box of jars that had been cumbersomely sitting on the floor for the past...four/five years. I lugged it over and tried to fit it on the shelf but it would not fit. It was about half an inch too big for the space. Ugh.
But Andrew decided that—although I'm clearly very good at coming up with excuses—enough was enough for that cardboard box. He announced he was going to buy an official container for the jars that would fit on the shelf and everything. So he measured things (rather, he had Rachel measure things) and on the way to piano lessons, he and Zoë stopped by Home Depot to pick up a container.
Zoë wanted to try carrying this ginormous container by herself. She hefted it up onto her head and was walking around with it balanced there (using her arms, too), but Andrew decided (after a few close calls) that he should probably take over. So he was carrying the big box with one hand and ushering Zoë through the store, then through the check out line, then through the parking lot with the other.
When he saw the car, he clicked the unlock button and heard the car unlock, and his tail lights lit up to let him know he'd successfully unlocked the car for sure. He walked over to the door, grabbed the handle and...the door didn't budge.
"What in the world?!" he said, yanking on the handle a few more times.
"Ummm...Dad..." Zoë said.
"This isn't our car!"
"This isn't our car!"
"What do you mean this isn't our car?!"
What she meant was that it...wasn't our car.
It was a white car that looked like our white car...and which was currently inhabited by a very confused—though also very patient—individual, who had only minutes before entered their vehicle and inserted the keys to the ignition (which made the tail lights turn on at about the same time Andrew pressed the unlock button on his key fob).
Next to this white car was a big van. And next to that big van was...our car...which was unlocked and waiting for Andrew to climb (ashamedly) inside.
Andrew waved his hands apologetically as he hurriedly left the scene of his...mistake. The man in the other car just shook his head (according to Zoë's testimony of the events; Andrew was trying hard not to look at him).
At least now I have a nice big box to put my canning jars in...that was definitely worth the price of Andrew's pride.