Let It Burn

I was late getting home to pick the kids up for CCD and forgot slash didn't have time to stop to get gas. I'd been on E since picking Reese up in Newell so it was already getting dicey. When I pulled into the lane, I called Brad and asked him if he could fill me up from the farm barrel. I typically get a stern lecture complete with a fancy disapproving frown about how I need to be more organized, better prepared, and have stronger time management. These things are never going to happen but its' cute that he still thinks they will. 

Luckily, this time of year, though, he's busy, so doesn't have time for extensive lectures. I was actually somewhat surprised that he agreed to take the 5 minutes to meet me at the gas barrels and fill the car up. 

"Yeah, hurry up. I'm filling up the combine though so you'll have to back up to the tank on the south side."

Hold up.

South?

Back up?

Recipe for disaster in the Brad/Emily dynamic. 

You can't start throwing in large farm equipment, directional lingo, and complex vehicle operating skills and think its going to end well.

Brad, apparently, is ever the optimist. 

I managed to get to the south side of the barrels and combine and (with 2-3 kids bouncing around in my rear view and on the middle counsel--in my defense) I put the car in reverse and started to back up.

Brad is impatiently full arm windmill hand signaling me to "keep coming" as I'm slowly "wobbling" side to side in the reverse, trying to avoid the barrels, the combine, and Brad (less worried about Brad), even though in reality I was probably still 15-20 feet away. 

He also throws in the truckdriver "distance to go" hand signal which means absolutely nothing to me. Could be 20 feet, could be 3 inches.

Brad's thin thread of sanity is gone at this point, btw.

"Come on! How hard is it??" 

"Well I can't see! You're in my way! I don't know what I'm doing! It's really hard!"

I'm actually starting to get a little motion sickness tbh looking back and forth from the rearview to side mirrors, occasionally turning to look out the back window.

"Ughhhhhhhh, come on, come on!"

I put the car in park, jump out, screaming, "You just do it then!!"

Brad gets in my car.

"My God, Emily, did you pass drivers Ed!? Use your mirrors, use the steering wheel, hit the gas." 

Effortlessly backs the car up within inches of the barrel, throws it in park, pumps the gas, mutters to himself about what a ninny his wife is, and then he's off to the next chore. 

He's probably contemplating throwing himself in.

"Love you, hunny."