When the Dave Ramsey Van Died

So did you want to hear the story of my Dave Ramsey van's kapow kachunk the end?

You don't?

Oh, well, sorry, I need to vent it.



That lemonade cake, a few posts back proved to be really destructive.  I wasn't even sure I had time to make it for Daniel's party and I had his favorite, root beer floats all ready.  But what is a birthday party without cake?  I berated myself, and off to Fareway I ran with about an hour and a half to spare.

Exiting the store with my one little sack of ingredients, I put the key in the ignition, turned, and. . . . . sputter. . . nothing.

That has never happened to my faithful, steady van.  It runs and runs.  I have sworn that we would drive it to our children's high school graduations because God wants the humiliating exterior of that van to refine my character. 

I put in a call to Daniel, who luckily was home and available (of course, since we were having his birthday party)  "Surprise, babe, for your thirtieth, I present you with a broken vehicle!!"  I ground my teeth, hating the way this was turning out. 

He quickly (and I might say, correctly) diagnosed the problem as the fuel pump, which he emphatically said he was not replacing and since he didn't have time to deal with the van, just gave us a ride home.

Not having time to deal with the van is a gross understatement.  I am not sure I know anyone busier or more booked than my man.  Or maybe that's just because I know him really well.  But at any rate, after a week and an apologetic call to the manager of the grocery store, plus numerous comments from friends (is your van at Fareway??  Still??), Daniel enlisted me to help him tow our affable bumbling van to our our mechanic.

I thought  my job would be driving the van.

No, apparently my husband didn't think I was capable.

"You can tow me," he said with absolute confidence.

"I have never done that before."

"Oh, you'll do fine.  I really think you can do this."

Unbeknownst to us, we were about to commit a crime with an impressive fine attached to it, which might explain the angry glares, gestures and honking we received, but I get ahead of myself.

With everything properly attached, cell phones set to speakerphone on mode, I climb into Daniel's truck with one last plea:  "Can't any of your guy friends do this?"

Apparently not, and on we went.

"I'll just coach you," my husband says through the phone.  "Turn wide when you leave Fareway and just go slow."

I go slow.  I turn wide.  This creates a sling shot effect and isn't recommended by veteran tow-ers.

Frantic screeching from my calm man.  "Don't turn wide -- JERK-BONK-- that was a bad idea!!  My bad!  Don't ever turn wide again!!"

Ohhhh-kaaaaay.

More coaching.  "Never brake."

Uh huh.  Except if there is a car in front of you, probably brake then, wouldn't you say??

Approaching big hill, which we must descend, with multiple curves.  I put my foot down, quite literally, and refuse to tow down the hill.  "Can't you coast?"

My man thinks this is an excellent plan, and unhooks our towing paraphernalia.  "I still need you to be right in front of me.   You lead me through the 4-way at the bottom, okay?"

So I inch ahead of him,  trying to see if he can coast through the normally deserted 4-way at the bottom of the hill.  Uh oh, approaching SUV at the intersection. 

"Can I go? Can I go?" screeching from the speakerphone

I'm trying to judge who will make it to the 4-way first.  If I get there first I can hog the intersection, right?  "Just a sec, I don't know."

"I need to know!"

Yes, I make it.  Yes (so sorry, silver Toyota SUV, I am not normally like this) I hog the intersection.  The van coasts safely on through.

Jacob:  "Mom, I have prayed several times already."

Uh huh, you and me both, pal.

The end of the story is that I did a great job and glowed under the praise of my man as he bragged on my mad towing skills until dinner with friends one night where we were informed that this story could have had a $600 fine attached to it. 

This has since been confirmed to be quite illegal and I share this story here hoping no one will report me to proper authorities but instead just tuck this lesson away for future reference. 

So my van died, and the search is on for a replacement.  The longer and more cheerfully I wait, the nicer the replacement gets.  I'm planning on cheerfully waiting until we drive a 2012 Chevy Suburban off the lot. 

Hee hee hee.