Lucky Me

It must be my lucky day.

That is, I’m using the term ‘lucky’ loosely. Granted, the day started out pleasantly enough. We survived the morning’s peanut butter drought; I had demonstrated commendable negotiation skills in convincing Chloë to wear weather-appropriate clothing; and the girls and I were less late than is generally the case on our way out the door. For the most part, it was looking to be a respectable day - a leisurely final few hours before heralding in the weekend. It was all looking good, until a rather regrettable incident occurred.

It happened on the way to kindy. The usual scenario – kids vying for my attention in the back seat, me contending with the school drop-off traffic. The moment itself was incredibly brief, particularly considering how much airtime it’s had in my mind in the hours since. It turns out the woman in front of me hadn’t taken the break in traffic as an opportunity to turn left, as previously suspected. Looking back, I probably should have confirmed this as an alternative to rear-ending her car, but it’s amazing how clear everything is in hindsight.

The most salient part about this scenario was that it was completely my fault, which always makes for pleasant conversation when chatting with the insurance company. I thought I was past an age where I wanted to be older than am, but speaking to them on the phone I found myself wishing I was at least 25 so as to avoid having to pay more than double the standard excess. I also enjoyed my conversation with the crash repairer, who got a kick out of continually commending me on my ‘good job’.

The day hadn’t quite turned out how I had planned. So naturally, I did the only reasonable thing. I found my slouchiest jumper, a jar of nutella, and did a fine job of wallowing. The girls tried to be helpful – Zayla reiterated that I ‘crashed car’ and Chloë advised that I ‘should’ve been more careful’. But somehow their words didn’t have quite the healing effect they were supposed to.

So how has this been my lucky day? Well, there’s a hero to every tale. A knight in shining armour for every damsel in distress. My knight just happens to be the same one who rides home to me every evening (albeit on a mountain bike as opposed to a stallion). He’s the kind of gentleman who’s unfailingly kind, understanding, and aware of the best way to react when his wife tells him she’s disfigured the car.

Not only did he not freak out, he told me that it didn’t matter and he was glad we were okay. He came home early just to give me a hug and help me feel better. He pretended not to notice that the house had gone to ruins while I’d been writhing in self-pity. Then he assumed all parenting duties until the girls were safely in bed. And he made it his mission to make me smile. Typical Nathan behaviour.

Some days are good days and some are just not. But on the upside, days like today remind me of why I love being married to Nate: because even on my unluckiest days, I still feel like the luckiest woman in the world.