K's story about a random stranger trekking through her yard to dodge cab fare reminded me to tell you how I ended up with a strange bike in my back yard. To set the scene, this is a picture of our back gate leading out to the alley (let's all pretend it's May right now...wasn't that so pretty? Now it is covered in a foot of snow. F#*^$#@ing snow. Ahem. Moving on.):
To the right on your screen is our dilapidated, 100+ year old one-car garage (oh, that reminds me, I have a short story about that too, you lucky kids, you). Inside that garage is my car, our bikes, our stroller, and miscellaneous crap Tim can't find a home for. It leans to the left, is rather squat and may topple over with the next big wind storm. Anyhow, I woke up last Monday morning and peered out into our backyard from our bedroom window. From my perch I saw a red bike leaning against the tree back there. That tree up in the left hand corner, yep, right there. Just to frame this for you, our next-door neighbors had a break in about 6 months ago and had their big-ass TV stolen along with video games and equipment right out of their basement and in broad daylight. I can touch their house from my window if I wanted to and I didn't hear a thing. I've been on hyper alert ever since and jump at all sounds I hear coming from the back yard/alley. Somehow I end up with a bike in my backyard and of course I didn't hear a thing.
So I walk outside to investigate (I am a master investigator) and sniff around the bike. It was a pretty nice bike, looked brand new, the front tire was off but sitting with the bike, and there was a U-lock around the frame and back tire. I moved the bike into the garage and that's when I noticed that the garage door lock looked like it was kind of messed with. That pissed me off. I just can't stand that people think they can mess with stuff that's not theirs. The door looked to be fine, still locked when I went out there, so I know they weren't able to get in and take anything. So how do we think this all went down? Was it a prank and the jokesters were going to come back and get the bike but I moved it into the garage too quickly and now it's gone (to them)? Was the rider drunk and thought this was their backyard? Did some bum steal it and couldn't get the lock off so he/she ditched it in our backyard? Tim suggested we put out flyers and someone could come claim it. I suggested that whoever lost it is an idiot and doesn't deserve the bike back. I still think my first theory is on target. What would you do?
Ok, second story about the garage. Some of you have already heard this because it really was my crowning moment. We have lived in this house over two years now and the entire time we have lived here Tim has parked his car (a 4 door Prius for those of you who need a frame of reference) in the garage. We decided that because when we moved in Tim told me my SUV was too big and wouldn't fit. I believed him. So I spent two winters shoveling my car out, through pregnancy and infancy, and two summers sweating bullets because I have a dark leather interior and wasn't ever smart enough to find parking under a tree. Tim luxuriated in the garage for two years without a care to the weather.
So a few weeks ago I was driving home from somewhere (most likely Tarjay because I spend more money there than anyone should) and Noah was starting to fall asleep in his car seat. If he falls asleep in the car there is no possible way he will stay asleep through the transfer into the house and then into his crib. He's 17 months old, not 7 weeks. And there was NO WAY I was going to lose my precious two hours of nap time. I'm singing and clapping and yelling his name and asking him to point out body parts as his head is flopping over, his eyes slipping closed, and his finger in his mouth. I circle our block three times and NO parking spots. This is kind of odd but I chalk it up to some holiday performance at the school down the block and all the spots are filled with parents. At this point I'm desperate and decide to just pull into the alley, nose the front of my car into the garage, get Noah out and into bed, and then come back down to move the car out to the street. I open the garage, nose the car in and decide to keep going. I know most people would be like, um, but my husband, my smart, uber-intelligent, husband, told me it doesn't fit and would stop the car. I am not most people. Nor do I always believe my husband. So I slowly kept going, knowing I would stop if I heard a crunch or bad noise and...nothing. No noise except the overhang of ivy brushing the top of my car. At this point I'm halfway in and decide to get out to make SURE I'm not going to kill my car. People, there is seriously a centimeter of clearance between the garage door and the luggage rails on my roof. SUCCESS! I finish pulling my car in (and yes, Noah is now asleep in the back seat) and run him into the house.
The best part, the absolute BEST part, was calling Tim and telling him he was WRONG. What he finally admitted was that he never actually TRIED to get my car into the garage and he just eye-balled it and decided it wouldn't fit. For two years he LIED to me and it was all to his advantage. The string of expletives that left my mouth was enough to make a truck driver blush. End result: Tim's reign in the garage is over, mine is just beginning, and I hope he has so much fun digging his car out of the snow every morning before work. I'll just pull the covers over my head to drown out all his bad language.