My arms are still shaking a little bit.

Ahh, the joy of car ownership. It's like having a kid, really ... in a way ... wondering if they'll be safe, listening for every little change that might indicate a sickness, spitting on a finger to wipe away a bit of dirt so they'll be socially presentable ...

Only difference is, when a kid less-than-seriously damages themselves, they tend to heal themselves. Cars you have to pay obscene amounts of money to have fixed.

Husband's car is being lent to a family member without a car of their own, so my car is the family vehicle. '97 metallic green Mazda 121 Metro shades. My little jellybean, as the old lady I bought it off calls it, and I will keep calling it, because adoption law says now that adopted children have a right to their previous lives ...

Husband is going to drop the kids off at school and go to work. I say goodbye at the door and wander inside. Seconds later, I hear a very loud expletive from the driveway. To be honest, I thought "Oh no, he's run over my cat." I ran outside and Husband says, "I did a very stupid thing." He had started reversing before Miss Five had shut her door, and the edge of it scraped against the brick pillar. He stopped and leaned back to shut her door. He couldn't reach her door from inside so he opened his door to shut it from the outside. As he was leaning out his foot came off the brake, still in reverse, and his now-open door collided with the brick pillar, accordioning the hinge of the driver door into the side-front panel and rendering it unable to be shut.

Miss Five looked like she was on the defensive, ready to fight if she was blamed. Miss Eight had tears in her eyes, she loves Jellybean and knows her mum does too. I just stared. We had to force the door shut so he could drive to school/work, amidst much loud metallic grinding noises and bent panels changing shape. I cringed, and Husband looked pitiful, saying "I'm not happy about it either." I just said " ... Climb out the passenger door so you don't have to open it again." and waved goodbye in a detached kind of way.

My poor little car. I suppose I should be thankful it wasn't my cat, but I'll do that when my arms stop shaking.