Thrills and spills(plural)

Ahhhh today... I overslept and woke up with the voice of Mari Windsor(Windsor Pilates) in the livingroom and my bedroom light shining in my eyes.
I looked over and there was a small child holding up three Polly Pockets and talking to me. I blink three times and look again. The Polly Pockets are getting closer. Mama, you be this one, and you have to make dinner. Spaghetti please.
After thirty minutes of Polly play, I finally got out of bed with Mom calling "Get up lazy bum!" "We are going camping tommorrow! "I've already made the reservation, so let's go look in the garage for the gear."
"The garage" is about as scary as "The barn" used to be, for those who know us well. In fact, Mom actually calls the garage, "the barn," half the time. I have already been verbally abused this morning, but I cheerfully snag a granola bar, put some shoes on myself and the girls and head out the door to the garage.
When the door finishes opening, I just started to shake my head in disbelief. I am totally awestruck at the amount of stuff that my parents can fit into a small square space. My Mom proceeds to gracefully leap over stacks of boxes and bags, knocking over chairs and plastic trash cans packed with various things. After ten minutes of this, she realizes that the camping gear is at the very back of the garage and the guys will have to get at it tonight. I am secretly relieved and turn to head upstairs, when I spot Maggie standing next to our jogging stroller and something just feels weird.
I stare stupidly at the fast growing puddle of black liquid and think, "now what am I looking at?" It comes to me after about 4 seconds. It is oil. I garble unintelligably at mom and point to it. She understand in 2.5 seconds. Well after 6.5 seconds almost an entire gallon of used motorcycle oil that my brother forgot to dispose of before leaving for camp, is spilled all over the garage floor. First things first. I think, You-have-got-to-be-kidding-me.
The oil has gone under three tool boxes, one bag of Natalie's stuff, the jogging stroller, Jon's new bike rack and two car batteries (who has two new car batteries sitting in their garage?). Mom quickly heads upstairs for towels and I started to move the various things up and out of the oil. I hear a noise and look up. It is the two Hispanic men that work? at the apartments. All I see them do is continually drive their cart at the utmost fastest pace ever, wildly grinning and holding on to the little poles that go up to support the little roof. I try to look normal as I haul the greasy dripping bag out of the garage. I don't think that changing your oil in the complex is in any way allowed at all so I am trying to be inconspicious. Mom and I proceeded to try and repair the extensive damage done, but it is obvious that the big guns need to be used, so mom headed back up for paper towels.
Just then the girl that rents the garage right next to us and is NEVER home during the day drives up. I try to corral my children and their bikes out of her space while dealing with the emergency behind me as oil keeps on spreading. Oil? what oil?
The girl hops out of her shiny red car, every hair in place, makeup expertly applied, matching gaucho pants and dangly gold earrings that match her dangly gold purse and says brightly, " Oh, Hi!" Hello, I say, trying to put on my happy face (you know the one I mean?), pretending to be in control and attractive-in my T-shirt, flip flops and oily hands, when she looks over faintly horrified and I notice that Maggie is dipping her hands in the oil and Bren has now tumbled off of her bike and bloodied her knee.
Puhlease! Am I the only one? I just want to know. We finally sort of mopped up the mess without anymore incident (except the speeding golf cart going by two more times). I had to give both of the girls baths before we could go anywhere, but we finally got out the door to go grocery shopping, get water and check on the houses. We found out that my brick goes on starting tommorrow, YEA!!!! Mom pulled up to the water store and we filled them up and put them in the back of the car. As we turned onto the road, we heard a thud, and then a glug, glug, glug...Have you ever seen five gallons of water in the back of an SUV? Well Mom and I have.
The most fascinating part is when you raise the back, the first gush actually cascades down over the bumper. At this point Mom and I are soaking wet, the children are yelling "what's wrong? We want to see!" And all Mom and I can do is laugh hysterically. I mean really, is this just the irony that is our lives?