Our mornings are on autopilot. It is not easy getting myself, two young girls and a fish dressed, fed, and out the door. Fine, I don’t have to dress the fish but you get the point.
We just go. Sure, there are giggles and cuddles and laughter, but we are moving. Wake up, get dressed, go potty, brush your teeth, eat your breakfast, grab your backpack, get in the car, buckle up, go, go, go. I seriously don’t even have to think about it. I am on autopilot and we are outta here. Our mornings are like a scene from Groundhog Day.
I had barely glanced over my shoulder in the car while mumbling, “Are you buckled, Maddie?” A thought flitted through my mind as my eyes darted to the rearview camera on my dashboard: That looks odd. No time to register the thought. Go.
The jarring sound of crunching metal was the only thing that made me stop.
I had reversed right into the garage door with the back door of the minivan still open.
The girls and I stared at each other. Oops.
The whole incident cost me a forty dollar service call to the garage door repair company, a few scratches on our trusty minivan, and arriving at work an hour late.
You might call it carelessness or an accident. I call it divine intervention. Someone is telling me to slow down.
I got it, Universe, I got it.