Single Mom | Single Mom Blog | Ms. Single Mama » ford fiesta

The other side

mssinglemama — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 16:26:20 +0000

I spotted my first fallen leaves in the grass of the baseball diamond near my post office last Thursday.

The bag over my shoulder was bursting with little brown packages. Each containing a silver or bronze new leaf necklace destined for one of you. I make this walk to the post office, with Murphy in tow and sometimes Mr. Benjamin, at least a few times a week. And still, two months after quitting the day job, these post office trips are my favorite part about my new job.

The walk itself is the last step before the necklaces will be around your necks. I’ve sent packages all over the world now. One even went to Saskatchewan. Another to Argentina and yet another to Great Britian. On these walks it all comes full circle. I feel like a bearer of hope, sending little packages of it one by one to each of you who so generously chose to support my little blogging career by buying one.

When I saw the leaves I stopped for a second to digest the sight of them. August, I thought, it’s still August but I guess Fall is almost here now. I gave Murphy a little whistle and we kept walking. Now about thirty feet from the busy street I had to cross to reach the post office and with the building before me, I started thinking about her.

The first time she processed a pile of my packages, stamping them all and tucking them away under her counter she asked me what was inside.

“Necklaces,” I answered.

“Well, you’re not allowed to send jewelry to Canada,” her words were cold as her hands rested on one of my brown envelopes destined for a single mom in Ontario.

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know why,” she said. Still as cold as ice.

“What happens if I send it and they catch it? Do they just send it back?”

“Yes.” She looked annoyed now and ran her hands through her silver gray hair. It was long, falling past her shoulders. I decided she either hated me, hated being here, hated life or hated her job and then I made another decision – to send the necklaces anyway. It sounded like a stupid law anyway.

“I’ll take my chances.” We proceeded as if she didn’t know anything about the contents of my little envelopes. I paid and I left.

The next time I went in with some packages for Canada I saw her behind the counter and I cringed. Damn it. She asked me again about what was inside and I answered truthfully. She shook her head disapprovingly and we ran through the drill. I paid and I left. Even when I brought Benjamin she was still cold. One time another postal worker tipped me off, telling me to call them accessories.

The last time I had seen her, before I saw the leaves, maybe a few days beforehand she spied my brown envelopes marked with the “CAN” and said, “and what’s in them?”

“Accessories,” I answered.

“And we’ve been over the accessory thing before, right?” She asked.

“Yes,” I said politely.

I looked behind my shoulder to take a quick look at Murphy who was tied up outside and obediently waiting for me.

“What kind of dog is he?” She asked. For the first time ever I noticed a sparkle in her eyes.

“A Wheaton Terrier.”

“Oh, how cute!” She was completely lit up now and then slipped me a stack of little green customs forms. “Here just fill these customs forms out about the accessories and next time bring him in so he can have some treats.”

“You have treats?”

“Yes, we always have some back here.” She tapped her counter and was still starring through the window, unable, it seemed to take her eyes off of my dog. I paid, thanked her and then left.

I remember calling John Bear to tell him that “the mean postal lady finally smiled. It was a minor miracle.”

In spite of her wishes for me to bring Murphy in I left him tied up outside. He jumps and I saw a bit of a line in the post office, shoulders neatly stacked in a long row of bodies, hands clutching packages and envelopes. When I took my place behind them I noticed she wasn’t there. And then I piece of paper taped to the edge of her counter, the type blown up by a copy machine. It wasn’t until a few moments before I went up to meet the man standing in her place that I realized the paper was an obituary.

“Is this for the woman with the long gray hair, she used to be right here?” I asked the obvious question, the words trailing out of my mouth when I saw the man’s eyes were clearly stressed. He nodded his head as I quickly scanned the obituary.

53…Suddenly at her home.

“A heart attack?” I asked him. And she was only 53? She had looked much older.

“Yeah, a heart attack, it’s been rough.”

“I’m so sorry.” But I was mostly sorry I hadn’t made her smile sooner, I should have given her a necklace.

On the day she died Benjamin and I were on Fiesta Movement Mission 4.

Every agent picked a charity, I chose to volunteer at a senior center because I knew, without a doubt, Benjamin would brighten their days just by being there. And he did. Check the video out.

We only spent a few hours with the seniors but in that time I learned that each and every one of them, many over 80 and even some over 90, were happy – optimistic, relaxed and enjoying their moments.

I’m not saying every grumpy person out there is going to die of a heart attack but maybe making some time to just be happy, maybe trading a few material things (like that fancy car or purse) and choosing to work less hours would actually lengthen your life. There’s nothing wrong with spending a lot less because you’ll start living a lot better.

It’s not something you can do tomorrow, I understand that – it took me two years to get to the point where I could work from home – but it can happen. Maybe someday I’ll be able to tell you how to do it … need more of that thing called time, keeps slipping away, through my fingers almost. One thing I can tell you… only buy what you need. Save every penny and don’t live beyond your means.

For inspiration on how to make some extra money at home and in how you can channel your creativity browse Etsy.com, most of the items for sale here are made by work at home moms. And also visit SwapMamas.com where moms are saving big money by trading stuff they don’t need or use anymore. Mommy Pie started that site a few months back when she got laid off from her job.

Big things, mamas. Big things. Dream big, okay? And for God’s sake – smile, would ya? Oh and don’t die on me. I don’t like that when people just disappear. Freaks me out.

The Trip Story: Part 3

mssinglemama — Sun, 23 Aug 2009 15:22:54 +0000

John Bear jumped out of bed at 7:00 am to feed Fiesta Dave’s meter.

We’d parked in a haze of exhaustion. After spending the entire day in New York City we hit a monstrous traffic jam on the way into Philadelphia. Between reading our iPhone maps and asking cab drivers which turn to take next we couldn’t help but notice the city surrounding us. Smartly dressed couples walked slowly down the sidewalks but it was the magnificent buildings, many of which bore witness to the birth of our nation, that commanded our attention. Our heads zig zagged from the left and to the right, taking it all in and feeling immediately humbled.

“Now this is my kind of city,” I had said as we pulled into our fortunate meter directly in front of the hotel. Minutes later we were fast asleep, barely able to roll over and kiss each other good night. In the morning I felt like someone had hit me square in the head with a sledge hammer. I knew this kind of headache. A smoker’s headache. It must have been the New York City smog or something. Or maybe the stale air in the hotel room. I wasn’t sure but I did know one thing – I needed caffeine, immediately.

“Can you grab me some coffee while you’re out there?” I mumbled to John Bear as he ran out the door.

“Yeah, no problem.”

That’s the thing about John – he’ll do just about anything for me at any time of day or night without complaint. Because of this fact, I reserve the asking only for special occasions. This was definitely one of them.

“We should get going,” he said when he came back in, the door slapping loudly behind him and the hot coffee in his hands.

“Why the rush?”

“You should see it out there. It’s awesome.”

And in less than 20 minutes later I was able to completely agree with him.

We found Philadelphia much slower paced, more our style and could have stayed all day but we had to get back on the road. My ex had called earlier to tell me Benjamin was really “missing Mommy.”

Just minutes after leaving the city I called my little brother, Eliot, to check in on his wedding. Just a few days away now, he was telling me about something pretty important when I hit a gargantuan pothole on the Pennsylvania Turnpike’s Toll Plaza. It wasn’t even a pothole, more like a chasm or a crater. I screamed and my brother heard it all go down.

“What the F*&% was that?”

“I don’t know,” snapped John, “Just get back over into the other lane.”

“Oh my God, that couldn’t have been good.” I said into the phone.

“Hello?”

“Oh, sorry El. Listen, I gotta go. We’ll talk later.”

One hour later after John had been driving for a bit I took over again. But before we even got out of the parking lot I pulled over.

“There’s something wrong with the car,” I said. “It feels totally weird.”

I jumped out to check the tires and found the right front tire completely flat. After a few calls to Ford Fiesta Movement Mission Control they decided to put us up in a Bed & Breakfast in the nearest town while we waited for a new tire to be shipped over. My model of the Fiesta takes custom summer tires, not stocked readily at every Ford Dealership in the country — so, we were stuck, indefinitely, until the tire arrived.

The Fiesta had landed in Bedford, Pennsylvania – the home to George Washington’s headquarters during the Whiskey Rebellion but the place is best known for its healing springs. We made our way up into the Bed and Breakfast, Oralee’s Golden Eagle Inn. John knocked on the door, once, twice and then three times. A few slow country minutes later, Oralee herself greeted us at the door.

And led us up through the upstairs screened in porch

to our room

As soon as we dropped our bags John Bear cued up a scene from Groundhog Day on his computer and started laughing.

“Stop it, at least we have the Internet,” I said, “Besides you don’t have to be at work until Friday.”

“Yeah, but this place gives me the creeps.”

“It’s not creepy, it’s just old and it’s so romantic,” then I think I pummeled him with a kiss because he didn’t complain about our extra night of vacation again. And when Oralee whipped us up a breakfast fit for a King, I think John Bear came around to the charm of the Golden Eagle Inn.

Turns out the Mission Control people are just as awesome as their car because the tire arrived at Bedford’s Ford Dealership soon after our breakfast. The Bedford Ford guys there were so excited to see the Fiesta they had to test it out. Brian jumped in first.

But can you blame him? Really? Have you seen this car?

I forget sometimes how lucky I am to be driving one.

After whizzing by Cumberland, Maryland we zipped down to West Virginia and then up into Athens, Ohio where we found my little Benjamin. When his father handed him over to me he was barely even using words, just mumbling and crying out for me. My heart sank into my feet as the guilt fell over me. Once a year I leave him with his father for longer than his standard 36 hour visit and every time I do, I regret it terribly. His hair was a mess, his hands and face were covered in dirt. Back on the road again and on our way to a restaurant, I looked at John Bear as this boy in the back seat growled and hissed at me, literally, and then said through tears, “Where is he? Where is my Benjamin?” I wish I was making this up.

His father loves him and Benjamin loves his father, but Jesus, when will he learn how to care for his son properly? When the food came Benjamin devoured every bite, actually filling both of his little fists and stuffing them both into his mouth simultaneously. His father is unemployed again, I haven’t had a penny of child support in two months now and I wonder out loud if he has money for groceries.

I continue in my thoughts, some in my head and some out loud. Maybe I’m just the mess and I’m being overly paranoid. Maybe Benjamin had been playing outside in the dirt and had also skipped his lunch. And maybe he was just acting like this because he was copying the actions of his six-year-old semi step-brother. Suddenly I remember John is bearing witness to this entire mess, my mess. The one I bear responsibility for every day of my life – wearing it proudly but also wondering, often, if I even know what I am doing.

Typically I would rather hide than allow someone else to see my scars so wide out in the open like this but unlike any other man I’ve been with, John has never once asked me, “Why were you with that guy? Why did you marry him?” He doesn’t live in the past or hold mine against me in any way, and for that I will always love him.

We arrived in Columbus as the sun set over the skyline. John Bear snapped this blurry picture

and then we were home, but not for long.

After only one full day back we were off again… this time to Athens and my brother’s wedding. Little did we know the snafu of all snafus was waiting for us, and that John and I would finally reach our breaking points.

Get a sneak peek with pictures in the wedding photo album. I haven’t labeled the photos on purpose.

Catch up:

The Trip Story: Part 2

mssinglemama — Thu, 20 Aug 2009 02:42:36 +0000

As we drove in to New York City and out of the gorgeous Poconos mountains, John Bear and I started wondering if we should have stayed in our peaceful cabin. But we knew his little brother, Patrick, was overdue for a visit. Easily one of the nicest guys on the planet, Patrick gave up his room for the couch so John and I would have a place to sleep. His room, about the size of a walk-in closet only had a few inches surrounding each side of his futon mattress.

We dropped our bags on the mattress and headed out for a drink in the Bronx and on the way home spotted a mysterious trunk waiting to be picked up with someone’s trash. Patrick and his wing man, Thomas, decided the odds of the trunk containing a body were slim to none and picked it up.

At home, with the help of Patrick’s roommate they busted the thing open.

There were so many young dudes around I felt like I was in a college dorm again, only this time I felt entirely too old to be there so I acted the part and told them to tilt the trunk-wardrobe-suitcase thing upright to make a neat hallway dresser.

“And look, you would each have your own little drawer,” I said. So old. Such a mom. Can’t turn that part off, no matter how hard I try. And when I think about it, I’d rather not.

The next morning Patrick let John and I shadow him on his commute into the city for work.

After 35 minutes of subways, trains and much walking we popped out of the darkness at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge.

We followed Patrick up to his office for a quick meet and greet with his awesome co-workers at Mammoth Advertising.

I think Patrick was really happy his big brother was there to see where the magic happens. By the way, follow Patrick on Twitter @professortruth.

After a few hurried instructions from Patrick we headed out to brave the city on our own. First we tackled the bridge of all bridges.

At this point in the morning the temperature was probably in the upper 80s, maybe creeping into the 90s but by the time we crossed the bridge, if you want to call it that, our jeans were clinging to our legs, the sweat was dripping down our backs and I think the temperature was into the upper 90′s with a heat index over 100 degress.

“A store, we need to find a store, to buy some new clothes,” I said. There was no way we could head back to Patrick’s to change, we may as well been blindfolded in a jungle.

“Okay, but where do we find one?” John Bear asked.

We hadn’t the slightest idea of where to go next so we wandered around the Financial District with a bunch of other tourists and dodged the speeding New Yorkers. I began to wonder why they were all in such a rush. A few minutes later after an incredibly rude visitor information booth guy gave us a map and a curt direction to Times Square I decided they were probably all trying to get away from each other. At the onset every New Yorker we met had a rough exterior, but as soon as we talked to them (typically when they were forcibly seated and calm, like on a Subway) they were nice, and it seemed almost craving friendly human interaction. Or maybe, and more probable, this Midwestern girl just can’t cut it around tough city people.

After a quick outfit change we did what every good tourist, yuppie would do and stopped in Times Square.

You can’t tell from the photographs but Times Square stunk. A few of the smells were so strong that even John Bear could pick them up, and that’s saying something.

There I met the two nicest guys in New York City.

“You’re not from around here are you?” one of the one on my left asked.

“Hell, no!” I said.

“It’s that smile. You are actually smiling from ear to ear, that’s how we can tell you’re not a New Yorker.”

So sad. To live in a place without smiles freely flowing. By now the heat was beating down on us. Even in our new outfits we felt like we were walking across the Sahara. The Sahara with the smelliest, stinkiest odors oozing out of every corner. Puke. Garbage. Sewer. Rotting food. It was bad and the heat made it worse. John Bear wants me to tell all of you that I have a super human sense of smell, so my opinion may be ultra biased.

After Times Square we started looking for Central Park and after a while finally made it to the shade and the trees. Utterly exhausted, we took a seat on a pocket of the park filled with sweet, young couples.

And then I realized we were one of them too. A couple. I often forget I am one of a couple now. There is an us instead of an I. A we meaning us three, instead of us two. I snapped this picture before leaning back into John, using him as an impromptu chair.

Up against my make shift chair I mapped our subway course back to the Bronx. Turns out there are two trains and two stops at Woodlawn, for the Woodlawn Cemetery, a 400 acre cemetery 30 minutes north of Manhattan and home to monstrous tombs, many of them larger than my apartment. Rather than take a cab or a bus to the right Woodlawn exit we decided to walk. But being so desperate to escape the people, the noises and the smells we chose to walk through the cemetery – the walk, the guard told us, would take 20 minutes (at least). We took it, gladly and enjoyed our first few minutes of relative quiet in over 24 hours.

That night we busted out of New York City, vowing to come back with more time, more patience and a more agreeable weather forecast. Rather than drive out the same way we came in we decided to spend our last night of vacation in Philadelphia. After the hideous New Jersey turnpike dumped us onto the the Philadelphia freeway we hit a traffic jam and stayed still in the Fiesta for 45 minutes. We sat there in silence, out of words and patience for one this busy world we’d entered.

By the time our heads hit our pillows at a hotel for business travelers, sterile and cold – it was nearly midnight. We slept like babies. Me dreaming of being back with Benjamin the next night and John Bear dreaming of heading up to Cleveland to grab Murphy. But all of those plans were suddenly derailed when we ran into an unexpected pothole the next morning.

To be continued…

[Get a sneak photo peak at the next chapter here and then here in the Wedding album. Hint: scroll down to see the latest photos, they're all in chronological order]

Related Posts:

The Trip Story: Part I

mssinglemama — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 03:12:51 +0000

We got lost on this road, three times.

Twice in the dark and once in the daylight when we were running on empty and desperately trying to find a gas station within 10 country miles. We finally did thanks to the kindness of our cabin host who happened to be on the road just as we were passing.

After we found gas we spotted signs for a fair.

He won me a prize and I gushed like a school girl and I realized this was a first.

“No one has ever won you a prize at a fair before?” He asked while taking in the sight of his girlfriend giddy as hell and even jumping up and down a bit. ”Geez… who you been dating?”

“Not the right ones,” I said back.

We got lost on the way home, again. The directions were one road off and our iPhones were dead, as they’d been for days. Finally we made it home to our cozy cabin

that we realized was looking incredibly messy – evidence that we just didn’t have to care. A good place to be, no doubt.

I whipped up a delicious cabin feast that impressed John beyond belief, prompting him to call me “a natural” in the kitchen. My little sister, who may be reading this, probably just choked up the exquisite gourmet dinner she just made. But hey, this looks pretty darn good doesn’t it? Huh? Huh? Come on, Anna, you should call me now and tell me so.

After dinner John Bear, a city boy through and through, built his first fire without burning himself. I was proud.

Finally we both sat down with our wine.

We gazed into the flames and daydreamed about what it would be like to bring Benjamin and maybe some other kids out here someday.

“But they’d all be sleeping in the guest cabin,” he said.

“Definitely.”

And then, within minutes of each other, John and I both spilled wine on ourselves. We weren’t even slightly tipsy and I think it may have been at this point in the trip that I realized we were running into one too many fated snafus. All of them were minor, barely even changing the course of events or bearing any major consequences but each one a tiny test on our patience as a couple.

The forgotten CDs and book, the getting lost thing, the wine spilling thing and something else I have entirely neglected to mention – the teaching your boyfriend how to drive stick in a pink car with flowers on it thing.

By the time we traded this bridge

with this view

for this bridge

with this view

we were ready for whatever New York City wanted to throw at us, but mother nature and a giant pothole decided to screw with us instead.

To be continued…

[If you missed the complete round of photos from this series in the story - click here to view the photo album. There's an entire new round of photos and another post on the way.]

Makeover

mssinglemama — Fri, 31 Jul 2009 02:30:19 +0000

John Bear and I both got new looks last week.

And I think you’re going to love the video… there’s also a back story about our first date.

[My favorite part -- how he can't talk after I kiss him.]

Thank you Fiesta Dave (you’re an absolute dream) and special thanks to Kevin at Dr. Mojoe.

New roommates

mssinglemama — Mon, 13 Jul 2009 15:23:58 +0000

Within just a few weeks of dating, John Bear had bought Benjamin a Transformer, saying “I couldn’t help it. I hope it’s okay. I just can’t believe he doesn’t have one.”

And why would he? I’m a chick (in case you hadn’t noticed) and now that Benjamin is becoming a boy I’m realizing I don’t have a clue about boy stuff. His father is French Canadian and aside from the Smurfs, I don’t think we watched the same cartoons. In fact, I’m fairly certain his dad didn’t watch any cartoons at all, which had nothing to do with his Quebecness and almost everything to do with his mother.

Nervous Benjamin’s head would explode at actually receiving a gift from a man, I made John Bear keep the new Transformer and its accompanying DVD hidden in his car for another few weeks. I would move the little gift bag into the back seat on date night, leaving it there and wondering just what to do with the thing. The only solution would be to just give it to him and find out. Sometimes parenting is a big ball of trial and error, the only thing you can hope for is that the errors don’t permanently mess up your kid and that, as John Bear’s father says “they come to your funeral.”

After I thought Benjamin could handle the spoilage I let John give him the present. When he opened it Benjamin squealed and then laughed hysterically when the thing transformed into a robot and he has yet to let the car out of his sight.

It goes everywhere with him, constantly in the cusp of his little hand. He’s learned how to do everything, even ride his bike, one handed to account for the car. Benjamin’s Transformer collection doubled last weekend when John Bear (who Benjamin now believes is the master of the robot universe) pulled these guys out of his mother’s basement. Two new freaky little robot guys to bring home.

Our new roommates, now I think there are six or so, have crushed Thomas the Tank and even Elmo. Even Woody and Buzz Lightyear haven’t moved. And I’ve become all too aware of the fact that apparently I’m not the only one who has been lacking a man’s attention and affection.

We had just woken up when I took that picture, so to be fair to John here’s a picture he took of me drinking out of a doggy mug.

“Ha. You’re drinking out of a doggy mug.”

“Yes. I am. I am drinking out of a mug with dogs on it, now buzz off silly man and let me finish my coffee.” Now you all know what I look like at the crack of dawn with a doggy mug shoved in my face. I was giving my e-mail a once over after neglecting my virtual world for most of the 4th of July weekend. After doggy coffee and Transformer play time we went to breakfast with John’s parents, who have been completely understanding of my reluctance to bring Benjamin too close, too soon.

John had invited us up to his uncle Marc’s 4th of July cookout weeks in advance but I just couldn’t make up my mind. I went back and forth and then finally decided that morning that we should just go. I was hesitating out of worry, again of the what the unkown would bring. The biggest one being, would spending an entire weekend with John and his family confuse the hell out of Benjamin and in turn, send me into freak out mode. But on that beautiful Saturday morning Benjamin had just finished up his pancakes and me the laundry when I realized my decision was being made out of fear. I called John, “have you left yet?”

“Nope.”

“Can we come?”

“Of course! I’ll be over in an hour.”

Then we were off to his awesome uncle Marc’s cookout and later to his parents house where we spent the night. And guess what? It was ridiculously fun. And guess what else? All of the fears that have come to fruition in past relationships have yet to surface. John is incredibly understanding of my wounded bird syndrome and he’s not going anywhere. With that said, I have some work to do so I can keep my freak outs, my fits of fear that turn into short-tempered anger, at a minimum.

After breakfast with his parents we headed to Lake Erie, which up until then I had envisioned as a giant dirty version of Lake Michigan. Clearly I was mistaken.

I didn’t bring a suit and then I got upset. Like a little kid I had to swim. So I took off in John’s car while he watched Benjamin trying to hunt down a swim suit shop but I couldn’t find one. Instead I returned with sunscreen for Benjamin and John, some water and a big frown.

“There are some mesh shorts in my trunk,” said John.

Ten minutes later I was in the water in his mesh shorts and my tank top marveling at how amazing a good man makes you feel, especially when he always seems to have just what you need. What we both need.

The road ahead is looking pretty darn good my friends.

[And I'm also happy to report that my fears that John Bear drove like an old man were put to rest when I used his Focus to pick up the sunscreen. I've been driving Fiesta Dave for so long that I forget what it's like to drive normal cars with no pep.]

Which would you rather see?

mssinglemama — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 02:19:56 +0000

Seeing yourself on the front page of the local Sunday paper’s business section is nice.

Definitely. Very nice.

But seeing this

is even nicer.

He has no idea what he’s in for… more pictures from this weekend are in this album, scroll down for the most recent.

[Sorry I've been scant. Cooking up a few very exciting things for you.]

My Kick Ass Christmas Contest!

The wow factor.

mssinglemama — Mon, 27 Apr 2009 02:47:36 +0000

There are few material things that ever really wow me.

Here are two.

Benjamin’s new “water boots”.

For the first time in three years Benjamin’s father bought him a pair of shoes.

He had no way of knowing this but I’ve been trying to find a cool pair of puddle stomping boots for months. But they never had Benjamin’s size or they were just too cartoony. These are perfect.

We’re about to enter week three of our two nights a week arrangement and with each week my ex is being more responsive, more engaged as a father and even more attentive to my concerns and my needs. I’m not over analyzing it, wondering why now or what next. I’m just enjoying this and fanning the flames of hope.

The future doesn’t have to be so frightening. I make it frightening as a defense mechanism. It’s a bad habit to break but I’m working on it.

My Ford Fiesta.

I am absolutely divinely head over heels in love with my new ride.

I just got home last night but Benjamin and I were out and about all day cruising.

Now I’m wiped out.

I have a lot of video to edit, some posts to write and a secret self-induced single mama mission to tell you about. I just had to go rogue and get a jump start on this whole mission thing. The story will have to wait until I sleep and catch up on everything else.

Until then check out my Fiesta Movement Training Flickr pictures. Start with this picture of me on Lake Michigan in Chicago. Sigh. Then head over to Morgan’s Flickr of the trip because she is actually a photographer. Her shots are, as usual, out of this world.

Fiesta Fever

mssinglemama — Sun, 05 Apr 2009 22:10:23 +0000

I’ve finally made up my mind.

On Friday afternoon after the voting closed for my Ford Fiesta graphics with a virtual tie between black flowers and no graphics I was still torn. As hard as I tried I couldn’t picture myself in a car with flowers (albeit cool bad ass funky flowers).

When I picked Benjamin up from school and buckled him into his car seat the first thing he said to me was, “Mommy I want flowers!”

I know my son isn’t telepathic and that he had probably just been talking about flowers at school but still – it was weird. And tie or not over 60% of you cast a vote for my Fiesta to have flowers of some kind.

So when we got home I pulled up the clean/no graphics Fiesta and the black flowered Fiesta on my computer screen. And then I asked Benjamin which one he wanted.

And it appears the universe, all of you and my little nose picker are trying to tell me something – that I should be driving one of these…

and besides how many times in your life do you get to drive a car with flowers? To hell with it, it’ll be fun. I’m picking my little Fiesta up on April 24th in Chicago.

Can. Not. Wait.

Any name ideas for this puppy?

—-

If you’re wondering how I won a Ford Fiesta click here.