In the middle of my never ending to do list are two seemingly simple items:
Put care seat together.
Make sure car seat fits in the car.
The first one was a piece of cake. I've cleaned upchuck and stale goldfish out of car seats for six years now. I whipped that baby together in no time...at least once we found all the pieces. Moving those shoulder straps to the smallest set my stomach flip flopping. How are they so tiny?!
The second item I am refusing to acknowledge, because, well...My first attempt was a complete and utter failure of physics. I panicked. And now, without an act of God, I'm not sure that all three kids' seats will ever fit in my Outback backseat. Yes, I only tried once, but my fear has kept me from trying again. Holy cow! What are we do if it doesn't fit?!
I could drive Bubba's car, which I know holds three seats. It is my dad's old car, and has carried throngs of grandchildren. But it also has almost 250,000 miles on it. I could buy a new car, but I love my car. And more importantly, it's almost paid off. No, I must shuffle, contort, and pray that the seat will somehow stretch to my will.
Bubba is much better at packing things into a set space than I am. (Just ask him. He packs the car even when I go on vacation with my family without him!) If I really can't figure it out, I will enlist his help before I strap one of the kids to the roof like Mitt Romney's dog. Until that box on the to do list is checked, I will cry, panic, and try to ignore the issue.