The Car Accident

The girls and I were in a wreck today.

No one was injured.

But our '97 Subaru wagon won't be joining us on any more adventures.  Poor girl was hauled off on a flatbed truck to the junkyard.  Her sacrifice will not be forgotten.
Two other vehicles were involved, and both drove away from the scene while I stood in the midday sun, sweating along with my babes, waiting for and then watching Zack the tow truck operator load up our mangled chariot.

My first call was to 911.  Both girls were crying and Peach was complaining that her chest hurt.  During the course of the call, the crying and complaints subsided, but I wasn't confident in my judgement.  Send an ambulance, just in case.

My second call was to my husband.  We're all okay, the car looks bad, we'll figure something out.  I think I repeated the word "okay" in several contexts, probably trying to convince myself more than anyone that it could have been worse.  Apparently, my default operating system in a crisis is forced calm and optimism.  He called and sent messages every few minutes to check on us and offer guidance.  I'd never been in a car-totaling accident before, and he knew I was shell-shocked.

I've been repeating the split-second scenario of the moments before and during impact, trying to decipher exactly what happened and how, but I'm still completely baffled.  It simply should not have happened.
I had just retrieved Peach from preschool, and was planning to take both girls to visit Daddy at a nearby hospital where he was being treated for his chronic condition.  Peach was having a fit about wanting to choose the order of the afternoon's planned activities, and was emphatically arguing that the library should be the first stop.
We were moving, and then we weren't.  I noticed the brake lights in front of me, and reacted accordingly.  There's no way I didn't hit my brakes in time to avoid a collision.  We weren't even going fast enough for the airbags to deploy.  It's as if the brakes just didn't engage, despite full pressure from my panicked right foot.  And yet, the front end of our workhorse vehicle was fully smooshed, hood folded and lights crushed, fluids leaking and engine exposed.  Thank you, Japanese engineering, for making a smooshable car that keeps the passengers fully intact.
I want answers.  I want CSI-style skid-mark analysis.  I want to inspect the black box aboard my craft.

Instead, I get to enjoy my citation for "failure to yield" or some such legalese term for "dummy rear-ended a stopped car", as well as a four-year-old daughter who will never let me forget how much she "doesn't want to hit any cars this time" during subsequent travels.  She really wanted to ride in the ambulance that was sent.  I'm thankful that wasn't necessary.

Once the wreck was cleared away, the attending officer, Amy, kindly chauffeured us to the aforementioned hospital, where Daddy's station vehicle was available to receive both kiddos' car seats.  On the way to there, I learned that the blast-force A/C in a fully-equipped police cruiser does not adequately cool the back seat, as it is fully obstructed by a bullet-proof pane.  So, while thrilling for Peach, the ride in a police car was torture for hot little Pimento and is overall not an experience I'll choose to repeat.

We spent a few languorous hours with Daddy in his hospital room, soaking in his sanity and sating our nerves with Spongebob and single-serving snacks.  Peach didn't want to leave, but Pimento was struggling to cope with her combo teething/vaccination pain (Oh yes! Did I mention little P had her 6-month checkup and shots this morning, too?  It's truly been a joyous day.) and I needed to get in gear for the evening's impending bedtime routine.
Peach was apparently still expecting a stop at the library.  Sweet naivete.

It was a poorly-timed departure.  We pulled out of the hospital parking garage and into rush-hour traffic, compounded by construction and extra drivers, diverted to our route by a grass fire.  It took us the better part of an hour to make it home, which was less than five miles away.  Add an insect-induced anxiety attack from Peach and factor in non-functional A/C, and you'll understand why I was at the brink of tears for twenty minutes once we were home.  (I called hubs, and he talked me down, like I knew he would.  Thank Jeebus for that man.)

And now, a prayer.

Dear Universe,
Thank you for keeping my family from harm today.  I solemnly swear that I've learned whatever lesson you were trying to teach me.  Please let tomorrow be better.
Amen.