Mazes made of corn are fun; however, I'm not a big fan of the maze of boxes that we have now in practically every room in the house. I've already been down this road of unpacking last year, so I know that slowly but surely the boxes will disappear. I just can't obsess over them. It makes me short-tempered if I dwell on it, which isn't healthy for me or the kids. The first night we slept here, my hubby, Charles, asked if I could bring in the fan when I was done putting the kids to bed. I actually remembered, but he was sleeping soundly already. I crept in the dark room groping for an outlet to plug the fan into; but the only one I could find was next to his bed with various items strewn on the floor, making it impossible to find a level area to set the fan on. I decided to leave the fan in the room out of the pathway in case he got up in the middle of the night. I remembered a recessed area where the rocking chair sat between two towers of boxes. I carefully put the fan down, only to have the three-pronged cord flop out into the walkway. I could just picture him tripping over the cord or bruising his foot on the plug. That'd never do. I quickly bent over to pick the cord up out of the way, smacking my lip on the special handle of a stool (it's called a "cat's tail" because the handle resembles the tail of a cat held high in the air) my Amish Uncle made. As my lip began burning and swelling, I began hoping that I wouldn't have a bruise. I hate explaining stupid stuff I do. That's not the only stupid thing I've done lately though.
I now live in Missouri, and the roads where we live are beautiful and hilly. It is easy to go zooming along, and several times this past week I've had to intentionally slow down. My sweet sister-in-law had kept our three oldest children overnight after Awana, and I was headed to Walmart yesterday with just the younger two. I was entering the interstate when I heard sirens go off. I guessed it was an ambulance and checked my rearview mirror, only to see a sheriff car flashing its lights. I immediately pulled over but was puzzled to see that he pulled over as well. My heart started to race when I remembered that my sticker had expired at the end of July. At the time, we had thought we were moving to Kansas on July 23. That was before our buyer backed out, and the deal fell through. I hoped the officer would understand my extenuating circumstances. He calmly told me that he had clocked me going 51mph in a 35mph zone. I was truly suprised that I was speeding. The last time I had seen a speed limit sign, I thought it said 55mph. Unfortunately, at that particular junction it was indeed 35mph (I went back and checked). He also asked me if I knew that my license sticker was expired. I tried to quickly explain the situation, while expressing my dismay over not knowing I was breaking the law...as well as my intentions to get new plates...I had no clue where the nearest DMV even was. He took my new address down after hearing that I had only lived here for 6 days, along with my license and insurance card. He came back with an address for the nearest DMV, and a citation for speeding. My pitiful side wanted to cry out, "Please, I didn't know! I'm new here." My sarcastic side wanted to cry out, "Well, welcome to Missouri! " The practical side of me wanted to argue that I couldn't possibly afford this. However, I was guilty; so I found myself quietly saying, "Ok" when he told me that he had to write me a citation. I confess that the martyr in me insisted on driving slowly the remainder of the day until I could see a speed limit posted (and then I was quick to set my cruise control).
Why is it that we are so self-centered when it comes to being disciplined? We cry foul even when we have done wrong. How many times have I been speeding and not been caught? It's funny, but even now I feel seeds of bitterness trying to take root. Thoughts like, "Well, the police here are jerks," or "It must be because I'm from Illinois" keep coming to mind...its not true though. The fact remains that I broke a law, and I got caught. He could've ticketed me for my expired sticker, but he gave me mercy on that. I'm choosing to be grateful for the mercy I was shown.
Tonight, Charles (I'm sticking with my "Little House on the Prairie" theme here) delighted me by fixing both the uber-slow water spigot on our refrigerator and the leaky cold water valve for the washing machine. He told me he could fix our house repairs, but not my speeding ticket. As I smiled, my lip reminded me of the hit I had taken earlier in the week while my heart ached from the bruise I had taken to my pride. I'm not above the law, like Steven Seagal. I'm just a gal who's grateful for a new home, with a hubby and kids who love me. My lip's still sore, and my pocketbook is soon to be lighter. Since my smile is still there minus a chip on my shoulder, mark it as just another interesting adventure for Caroline.
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