Changed

I'm not sure what came over me, but I seared tuna and changed the oil in my car. On the same day. Both firsts.

I felt like knocking some stuff off my "I wonder how...?" list. I was inspired by my friend Vanessa who is always tackling a project that involves spread sheets, poison ivy (or some such repulsive outside stuff), and a tool. (This week's tool was a sawzall and her repulsive wildlife was a family of snakes.) She just goes at it with the best attitude and I find it so bad-ass that I, too, wanted the bad ass.

With seared tuna, the worst thing I could do was actually cook it rather than sear it. Not a nightmare. Definitely keeping my health and that of my family's in tact. Probably the hardest part was driving an extra distance to a fish store to purchase it with 3 kids in tow who just had ice cream. And they had walkie talkies.

It was just very annoying.

I got home and double checked the recipe and the steps.
Then I did it.
One a wee bit over cooked.
Delicious.
Rockstar status with my middle child.
Moving on.
Shot a text out to my husband

 

(Now, no one get bent out of shape about the line if I "could do it physically"- my car is big and pretty low to the ground, and that shit was awkward with parts being screwed on tight. The man's arms have about 4-6 inches on mine, each.)

The Change Oil Soon light was ablaze in my car and I had a mini road trip planned. In order to not explode my car on the side of the road, I wanted to change my oil and feel accomplished. (I would also learn that needing to change my oil was not synonymous with car explosions on the side of the road.) After assuring my husband I would still love and need him in my life... and that I understood I would be on the garage floor and dealing with dirty car oil...and that, yes, I know he would be happy to do it for me as he loves me and I seared tuna for him...we got down to work. (My badd-assness almost waning during the negotiations because the alternate choice, reading and not being dirty, started to appeal to me as well since it was going on 8pm when I can tantrum more easily.)

Under my kitchen sink, I had the choice between purple or neon green rubber gloves. (Duh. Purple!) Once I shimmied under the car- a process that started with my trying not to lie on the garage floor at all which made shimmying along the floor impossible- I was in. Old dried leaves in my ponytail, a dead bug in my line of vision.
Fine.
Fine.

Rob gathered all that I would need, pointed the parts out to me under the car, and sat back on the stairs to let me get to work, talking me through it. He is a very good teacher (as long as he isn't helping anyone's mom with a computer and/or tablet. That goes wrong, fast.)

(Use the force, you will, with leftie loosey)

Besides almost ripping my right arm out of my socket while over extending it with a socket wrench, all went smoothly. The oil was warm and oozy and messy. At one point it was running down my arm. It was enjoyable, even at 8:20pm. Enjoyable because I had accomplished something I wanted to and because I knew I never HAD to do it again. But could. I also added a new air filter after examining how BAD it was, just like how the Jiffy Lube people loved to present me with my filter. Good times.

(The gloves were the perfect shade of I Am Woman)

Up next....A little web savviness? If we refer back to my text with Rob, he didn't even touch that part of my inquiry. Why? Refer back to his working with moms and their computers/tablets. He wants to pretend I never said a thing....

Oh, how a little bit of learning gives so much.