Check tire pressure

We had an eventful morning. Sort of. It could have been worse.

It could have been forty below zero, and I could have had my eight kids with me instead of the three that I do have. Although, it's not likely to be forty below in September, and I can assure you I am NOT having eight kids.

I was minding my own business driving my five-year-old to preschool.

Suddenly the car told me to check the tire pressure. My car does that.



I'm finally almost comfortable with the fact that I drive a Cadillac.



HEY! It was cheaper than a minivan! All I wanted was a car that would fit three kid carseats and have a light in the trunk!!! So leave me alone, OK!???

(cough)

When my car tells me to check the tire pressure, I don't use a tire gauge.

From my luxurious, leather, Cadillac seat I pushed a button. Left front 33 psi. Right front 33 psi. Left rear 32 psi. Right rear 16 psi. Uh oh. I let off the gas, and wondered if we would make it 4 miles more to school. Right rear 12 psi. I started braking. I had enough time to say, "Well, kids, we get to change a tire!" Right rear 0 psi. Whomp, whomp, whomp.

It's been a loooooong time since I changed a tire.

I don't know how to get the rims off the car.



Now how did I manage to blow a hole like that in my tire (two holes, actually) without even knowing I hit anything?

So I got started.

The jack looked simple enough. Now, where to put it. The car has these fancy silvery things along the frame. So maybe the real frame is behind that? I'm looking and feeling my muddy car. I found a spot that seemed nice, then changed my mind.

Distracted, like always, I decided that we were (no question) far enough away from the road to let the boys out of the car. They wanted to watch.

"Boys, this is called a jack", as if I know what I'm doing.

They already know what a jack is. This is likely the tiniest one they have ever seen.

I look at them. I wish I had a picture of them standing side by side, motionless, staring at me. They had expressions that seemed to say, "Yes Mom, that is a jack, but do you know how to use it?"

I don't have a picture, because that would mean I remembered the cell phone, which might possibly also have been a bit helpful.

A very lucky thing happened next. I realized the word "JACK" and an arrow, were imprinted on the bottom of the silver stuff under the frame of the car. Hiding under some mud. Of course.

Shouldn't a Cadillac change it's own flat tire?

I got the car jacked up, and felt pretty confident that I had the whole thing under control. Aside from wondering how to get the rim off. One step at a time here.

That was when the black SUV drove past.

I briefly wondered if I looked pitiful with my two little boys standing there watching me.

I certainly didn't need to be rescued. I am superwoman.

The black SUV came back.

I must have looked completely incompetent.

I don't have a picture of the kind men who finished the job. Because, you know, that would mean I had my phone.

And the rim? It comes apart. I found out there's a tiny little spot to pry off the middle. The part that is called the hubcap. Imagine that. It pops right off ever so nicely.

I called my husband after we got back home, and left a message saying, "I had a flat this morning. Do you want me driving on it or are you going to pick him up this afternoon?"

I hung up, and immediately realized how silly that sounded.

I called back and left another message, "I mean, do you want me driving on the spare. I did not drive on the flat."

Because I am not THAT incompetent.