The Bloke of the House went away on Thursday for a very long weekend of fishin’ and man stuff, leaving me home alone with the Big Kid and the Little Kid. That in itself doesn’t make me go “grargh”.

Well, it does a little tiny bit – but only because the kiddies and I can sorta, maybe just a teeny-tiny little bit, get up each other’s noses on a weekend when we’re left alone together and there’s housework and grocery shopping and all those other bits and pieces that need to be done about the place. Although they’re more than happy to have the consequences of these bits and pieces, all they really want is a piece o’ they mama! Even if it’s the YELLING Mama

So I thought to myself very carefully “I knows, I will do all the housework at night, then I can play with the kiddies on the weekend, and there will be no need for yelling and maybe, perhaps, you never know… Some FUN could possibly be had.

Except I did not factor in the thing that made me go GRARGH!

The Big Kid came to work with me for a couple of days last week (as a side note, he was PERFECT, and compliments were received from the childfree along the lines of “if all children were like the Big Kid, more people would have kids”) anyway, Big Kid and I returned to the Big Red Car after a hard day’s work – Bags in, seatbelts on, off to pick up the Little Kid and get some tasty take away for dinner…

Except for the whole NOT actually going anywhere part. No ‘brrrrrrmmmm’ when the key was turned in the ignition because the whole key would NOT turn. Not in gear, not in anything and NOT going!

GRARGH!

Big Kid is under control, but the Little Kid? Has to be collected and soonish – WHAT would Ferris Do?

Call the Auto Club, of course.

So I called the Auto Club who confirmed what I thought… The key is stuck in the ignition.

 He hotwired it for me and got me going (yay!)

But he forgot to tell me how to turn it off (oops!)

 I had to call them again to find out how (and they are not supposed to hotwire cars like that, apparently, so the poor bloke is in trouble for doing me a massive favour) and they sent another man to turn the car off for me.

So here’s how I see my weekend… Driving around with a car with NO casing on the steering column, key stuck in the ignition AND whipping a screw driver out of my handbag to start and stop the car…

Of course, I couldn’t actually get it to start with the screwdriver when I tried to do it… Anyway, the Bloke has a Very Handy with Cars mate, so I gave him a call. He, being Very Handy with Cars and all that, was able to confirm that the key was indeed irretrievably jammed in the ignition and that I needed a new ignition barrel. Stat!

He started the car, laughed at my wussy girlie wrists that were incapable of turning a screwdriver in a teensy hole and starting a car, and parked it up behind the roller door for me.

He also laughed at my fear of car being stolen in its whole “doesn’t have any casing on the steering column and look! There’s a very handy screwdriver sitting on the seat” state of glory.

GRARGH!

Anyway, aforementioned Handy Mate located a sparkly new ignition barrel for me – and all I had to do was collect it.

Not a problem, load the kids in the car and drive casually over to the spare parts man and pick up the spare part.

Not a problem at all… Except for the whole “can’t turn the screwdriver because of the wussy girlie wrists” thing. Oh, and the “auto club guy turned the car off by unplugging the fuel pump and then I’ve parked the car on a slope all night and the fuel tank is at the back of the car” thing.

GRARGH!

Oh, and the parts shop shuts at midday, I haven’t had a shower and it’s 10.30am.

GRAAAAARRRRRGGGGH!

Showered, dressed, in the car, roll it down the hill and onto the flat. So far, so good (and nice to know one can actually roll an automatic if one needs to). Then I try to start the stupid thing…

Nope. No starting. Car No Go.

GRARRRGGGH!

I now have less than one hour in which to get this part. Breathe, breathe… centre oneself and calming thoughts and WHADDERYOU KNOW! It started.

YAY!

Turned the car off, bolted inside and bundled the kids out to the car. Inserted my trusty screwdriver into the slot and…

Nothing.

Sweet F.A.

NOT a peep. Just the sound of a car refusing point blank to turn over… And we’re down to 45 minutes.

Kids back inside whilst I called the Cavalry (hey mum????) But the Cavalry were off to the races, and were headed in the absolutely opposite direction.

I went back to wrestling with the car (plus I didn’t want my kids to see me CRY!) Still nothing. So, wiping tears of frustration and rage and general misery from my eyes, I called the Auto Club again…

NINETY MINUTE WAIT…

Then I really cried!

Then I calmed down a bit, called the parts guy and sent a taxi to collect my part with 23 minutes to go. And like magic, the plan came together and I had the part in my hot little hand. Yay!

Mission accomplished.

Of course, I managed to start the car the very instant the Auto Club arrived, because that’s what happens. So I moved my freshly started car, swapped it with the trusty ute and the stupid bloody thing is going to stay right where it is until Handy Mate arrives to replace that ignition barrel and I don’t look like a trainee car thief when I try to start it!

And what was the icing on the cake? What was the thing that really managed to completely and unequivocally made my day?

The sodding washing machine broke as well!

GRARGH!