Nothing serves to knock you down a few notches on the old "I Have My Crap Together" scale like hitting the garage door with your car.
Except maybe the kids chorusing "OH NO!! WHAT HAPPENED TO THE GARAGE DOOR?" in unison all the way to the grocery store AND BACK, negating any chance you might have had of covering it up.
And then (again the kids) laughing hysterically at the garage door as it refuses to close all the way, stopping with a jerk three feet off the ground every single time.
While I flex my fingers on the steering wheel and wonder how fast I can get a repairman in and out of here.
"OH NO! WHAT HAPPENED? OH NO! WHAT HAPPENED?" A dead-on imitation of my don't swear don't swear don't swear don't swear voice. Riotous laughter. Anybody want a donut? You can have THREE if you don't tell Papa about the door! More laughing. "Mama hit the door!" When did they freaking learn to talk so well?
Later, during the chaos of bathtime. He can't kill me while I'm nursing his child, right? "So...I hit the garage door with the minivan today. It was just the mirror. It seems to be fine. Took me like five tries to close the door after we went to the store, though. There's a bottle of Armor All on the floor of the garage and I didn't want to hit it, so parked too close to the wall. And, uh, hit the door instead of the Armor All. I'm sorry."
James is my human shield. Ryan is a better person than me. "No, problem, now I get to go to Home Depot! Who's ready for jammies?"
The kids giggle. "OH NO! WHAT HAPPENED?" Ryan snickers.
The next morning the door works PERFECTLY FINE despite the huge bent place in the rail. Freaking karma.