I’ve been trying to blog every single day this month. Here we are at June 30th and I have nothing to show for it. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve bemoaned to Christopher about it, I would be on my dream trip to Europe instead of sitting in traffic in our town.

+ Another year of VBS has come and gone. I was asked to make a sign that looked like a highway exit sign. I researched the same font used on real street signs to make it as authentic as possible. When Sesame and I were hanging silhouettes of people in various athletic poses in the church hallway, she told me, “Mom, none of the kids are going to care that the rock climbing guy looks like he’s climbing the picture frame.” I had a suspicion they’d have the same feeling about Highway Gothic, but I would know. Despite my best efforts and hours of arguing with the computer and then the Cricut machine, I couldn’t download the font or get the cutter to work. I had to use a subpar font and cut the letters out by hand. I consoled myself with AB’s supportive comment that the kids wouldn’t notice anyway. It looked realistic and neither the Lord nor the children cared about fonts.

+ I’ve had several interactions with mechanics and people in the car business lately. I went to Autozone for windshield wipers for both our cars. The kind lady working asked what brand I wanted. Bosch? Rain-X? PIAA Si-Tech? I’ll take any brand that keeps the rain off and doesn’t smear. She asked the make and model of my car and I confidently said 2010 Nissan Rogue. After that, we rolled next door for an oil change. This was not the same place where I told the mechanic “You look hot” meaning ”you have too many layers on for the current temperature and I’m concerned about your risk of heat stroke” not “I am attracted to you.” Obviously, I can never set foot at that place again. I can keep up with the tires, windshield wipers, and any warning lights but I am horrible about getting the oil changed in my car. I’ll go for five years without once thinking about the oil. We’ve been married for 12 years and Christopher will still ask me when the last time I got my oil changed like it’s something I regularly think about. I never look at the sticker they put on the windshield saying when to come in. The last time we had the oil changed, I stuck a piece of paper with the mileage of the next oil change next to the odometer so I’d stay on top of it. I would not let it pass me by this time! Between the wipers and getting the oil changed at a mere 22 miles over the number on the paper, I was riding high on car pride! Daryl the mechanic asked what year my car was and I said 2010. He looked and told me that no, it’s 2014. After a moment I realized he was correct. We did get it the year AB was born, not the year we got engaged. Why Daryl bothered asking when he could figure out the answer himself was an unnecessary step. I don’t need to be a middleman here. Then Lionel the mechanic asked if I needed synthetic, combination synthetic, or high-milage oil. Again with the questions! If the way I remember what year my car is is to know that it’s the same as a major life event and I get that wrong, don’t ask me about oil types. All I know about that is you shouldn’t use olive or sesame oil in your car.

I also recently drove into a brick mailbox.

I NEVER EVER drive into things. I’ve never caused an accident. I had a very clean record. Our neighbors on the next street over have the same house number as us and we frequently get their mail. At this point, the USPS should reimburse me for the number of times a month I fix their work and do a mail drop at the correct house. There was a dip in the ground I didn’t see when I pulled up to the mailbox, the car jerked to the side and slammed into the mailbox. The brick around the mailbox is a bunker so it’s fine, but my car and my heart/ego are not. I felt so sick. Annabelle was very sweet. “It’s ok, Mom! It was an accident! We’ll tell Dad I did it so you don’t have to tell him you did it! He’ll think it was me!” I appreciate the sympathy but that’s not a story he would buy. When I brought the car to the body shop, the man looked at it and said, “Oh! A Rogue! I love those! Bainbridge?” I didn’t know if he was asking where I got it, if he was referring to a specific style of Rogue I wasn’t aware of or what. What I could have done was ask for clarification. What I did say was, “I don’t know…” He said, “Is your last name Bainbridge?” Not only do I not know the year or required oil type, evidently I don’t know my last name. I will not be answering any questions of any kind from here on out.

+ I bought a hat for the cats at Aldi. When I tell you it has brought AB and I an unprecedented amount of joy, I mean it. Linus only kept it on long enough for this picture, but we’ve created an entire storyline to go with his new hat-wearing identity.He is now Master Linus George Krasinski, a French painter visiting the Lourve.

He needed a bowl of fancy French milk after his day of sightseeing.

+ Finally, in other great fashion news, look who I got back into overalls!