Donut be sad!

Just when I was lamenting to myself that I didn't have anything to blog about, this happens.

It all started when I came home last night, and Jason said, "Let's go get some chicken."

Now, you have to understand - our local KFC has a reputation for not actually having any chicken. And last night, they did not disappoint.

First, Anna Marie ordered the popcorn chicken.

"That will be three-and-a-half minutes, because we have to cook it," she said.

Fine. That wasn't so bad. Then I looked at the pitiful amount of grilled chicken under the heat lamp, and asked about the prospects for, say, some white meat.

"We don't have any," she said. Would they have some coming in a few minutes? No - it would be 20, she said, which is how long it takes to grill.

Which means they hadn't even started cooking any, and it was the dinner rush.

I selected a honey barbeque sandwich, Jason asked for some chicken strips, and we ate.

(Half an hour later, when we left, there was STILL no new grilled chicken, meaning that they hadn't started any even after we'd asked for it.)

Fine. We still had plenty of time to make it to church. Or so we thought.

Thanks to the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act, it took us 45 minutes to go 15 miles. We were already late for church at that point, but I didn't think we'd be too late.

Once again, I was wrong.

Since Jason had discovered at KFC that he'd forgotten his wallet, I was driving. And just south of our exit, I heard a terrible noise. I stopped the car, and Jason got out to investigate.

Yes, from the picture at the top of this post, you can gather that we'd blown a tire. No problem, I thought, but I was about to be wrong YET AGAIN.

After Jason put the "donut" spare on, he got back into the car and said, "We aren't going anywhere."

Why? Because our spare was flat too, of course! Lovely!

I did what any girl would do in my position. I called my dad. He came and brought a small air compressor to air up the spare, and we started home.

Of course, by this point, church was over. A wasted trip! Or was it…

God taught me a lesson, which I wish He could've gotten though to me without the whole flat-tire incident.

I realized when I got home that I hadn't really freaked out. Why? Because I knew Jason was with us, and he could change a tire. If I had tried to do it myself, it would've been a great big EPIC FAIL because I have neither the expertise, nor the physical strength, to change a tire. But Jason? He had both.

I would've been an idiot to try to push him out of the way and do it myself.

(Yes, my dad did teach me to change a tire before I started driving, but that was a LONG time ago, and I haven't really had to use that skill. Ever. And have you ever tried to break free a lug nut that was put on with an air wrench? I have. Not fun.)

Why can't I seem to trust God like I do my husband? Why can't I realize that when I try to fix my problems myself, when I don't really have the means to do so, that I royally mess things up.

I'm thankful that I wasn't alone, that we're experiencing unseasonably cool weather, that it was daylight, and that it was not raining. I'm thankful that the flat was on the passenger's side, so Jason wasn't against the interstate traffic.

(And I'm really thankful that Anna Marie had brought her Game Boy, so she barely noticed the hour we sat there slip by.)

So that's why I "Donut be sad" (Get it? Do not, and that tire is called a donut? I slay me!) about this situation. I'm forcing myself to play the "glad game" and look on the bright side, and see how blessed we really are.

And I'm planning on sending the bill for tire repair to the federal government, since I'm blaming the whole mess on them.