Gas Confessions

It's shameful! 

I'm a grown woman for crying out loud! 

How could I not know any better?

How can I share a mistake this huge? 

Well, they say that confession is good for the soul.

So, don't judge me.

The truth is... 

(I-ran-out-of-gas-in-the-middle-of-the-woods-with-my-toddler-in-the-backseat.)

Whew! There. I said it. 

Horrible, isn't it? 

Well, let me defend myself by saying...

It all started when my husband took Opie on an overnight canoe and camping trip with a family from our church. He was hoping I could drive up with Peanut later in the day and visit them for a bit in the evening. So, he plugged the campsite address into our Garmin and bid me farewell. 

When Peanut woke up from his afternoon nap, I put him in his carseat and off we headed toward the mountains of New Jersey. As I pulled out of our drive-way, my phone rang. It was my Mom calling, so I strapped on my bluetooth headset to chat.

At that point, I noticed my gas tank was extremely low. I passed two gas stations close to my house, but since my Mom was talking, I didn't want to interrupt her. Besides that, it looked like my drive was going to be another forty-five minutes, so I assumed there would be another gas station somewhere along the way.

And that is where I deserve a swift roundhouse kick to the head.

I am still new to New Jersey. I typically don't veer off my beaten path. And the fact that I was headed into the woods should have been a clue that perhaps this wasn't the most populated route. 

Now, I am quite naive at times and I just figured that somewhere over the mountain and through the woods, I would see a sign of hope. You know, a good Samaritan who just happened to be traveling with a full gas-can in his trunk. Or better yet a rich country estate with it's own gas pump. Hey, it could happen!

I finally arrived at the state park. I almost stopped when I saw the ranger's station. But, then, I noticed I was almost to my husbands campsite. "Why not wait?" I thought to myself. "Dennis and the guys will know what to do." 

(Insert another full roundhouse kick.)  

You see, my GPS didn't actually take me to his campsite. It took me to somebody else's campsite. And up to that point, I had been hopeful. 

Yeaaaah, not so much anymore. 

I got back on "Ain't-Nobody-Livin'-Within-Fifty-Miles-of-Here Road" and tried to keep my eyes peeled for some sign of life. I passed a park ranger and nearly got whiplash trying to do a one-eighty to catch up to him. 

He must have been going a hundred miles an hour, 'cuz I couldn't catch up to the guy going sixty in a thirty-five! (Wait...could that be used in court against me?)

I passed a couple of creepy log cabins, but all I could picture was me duct-taped to a chair, held hostage by mountain people. Besides, I had Peanut with me, and I couldn't risk putting him in danger. 

Out of gas and out of ideas.

And that, my friends, is when I lost it. 

Panic set in. Dreams of being rescued by park rangers, random hikers, or Channing Tatum quickly dissipated. Reality was sinking in and it wasn't looking pretty. I decided to pull over when I noticed my cell-phone actually had a signal and before my gas totally fizzled out. It was here when my decision making skills finally took a turn for the better.

I dialed '911.' (all the while, hysterically crying as if I had been impailed by a spear)

They transferred me to the park ranger's station, where I spoke with a female ranger who asked me the dumbest question I could have imagined: "What do you see?" I slightly hesitated and then replied sarcastically, "Umm, woods...and a river." "Well, we are all busy with other things," she said. Nevermind, I had a toddler in the car with me and the sun was about to set!

To sum up the following two hours, let's just say that I was still sitting on the side of Old Mill Road. Peanut was starving by this point and it was hot. Thankfully, I just happened to have some bottled waters in the trunk and nuts I had grabbed for a snack. (which in and of itself is a miracle because I never remember to grab snacks!) 

Eventually, my husband returned to the campsite from their canoeing expedition and noticed ten missed calls from me. He knew something was wrong since I had not arrived yet. He picked up on call attempt number eleven and assured me that all would be okay. They quickly plugged in my approximate location on their GPS and a few minutes later, my knights in shining Chrysler arrived. 

Boy, was I glad to see them. 

We switched Peanut to the other car and laughed for a second about the crazy ordeal. Best of all, my precious husband never said a word or scolded me about my mistake, and was just glad we were okay. 

He also commended me for leaving a small amount of gas in the car. After all, it came in handy when he drove it to their campsite, that I had apparently passed...two miles back. 

The moral of this story folks? 

I think Channing Tatum would 

make a nice-looking park ranger.