Road Trip Misadventures.

We just returned from a road trip to Minnesota.

The kids, the German Shepherd, Chris and I all piled in the sedan like clowns.  We willingly headed north toward the prairie.

Let's backtrack.

The discussion of a road trip began when the Wisconsin Badgers landed themselves in the Rose Bowl.

I care nothing about sports, and bowl games only screw up the viewing schedule on network television.   The husband cared, though.

He cares a LOT.

The more I thought about it, though,  I was up for THAT sort of road trip:  through deserts, mountains, and ultimately Orange County (which I have a bit of fondness for.  It began before Real Housewives of Orange County.  Honestly).

Orange County morphed into Minnesota.

A leap?  Why yes, it is.

We would mooch off of family.

I began warming to the idea of Minnesota in JANUARY.

Then I dusted off my jeans and tried them on.

W.T.H.

Perhaps it was that I have worn  elastic band pants for three years.   Damn those evil elastic waistbands:  they are so COMFORTABLE, yet they hide that one has put on 20 pounds in relative comfort.

 I had NOTHING to wear.

And...a coat?   What coat?  We live in Florida.  I sold them all before we moved here.

We set out, me in inappropriate clothing.   Of COURSE a cardigan and a scarf would keep me warm.  

I had blocked Minnesota cold out, much like one blocks out childbirth and colonoscopies.

We left Orlando after my brother's wedding on a Friday night.  

Within ten minutes we were lost and screaming at each other.  

The toll that was supposed to have been $1 turned into $4 as we backtracked.   Our exit was missing because of road construction.

MISSING!

We tried again.   The kids had found something to hit each other with.  There were feet flailing.  Someone accidentally kicked the dog.  There was yelping.  

This was a ROTTEN idea.

They eventually fell asleep.  When they woke up, we were in the Midwest covered in dog hair.

Perhaps it was all of the dog hair, or the entire tub of Pringles that Wes ate in, like, TWO SECONDS.  But somewhere in the Middle, we heard moaning in the back seat.

"I have a stomach ache."

"What," I screeched.  "What kind of stomach ache," I demanded.  "Do you have to go to the bathroom," I asked.  Or, the horrible, horrible alternative:

"Do you have to throw up?"

"I think I have to throw up," Wes whimpered.  

We opened all of the windows to get air moving, and at the next "safe" area, I pulled the car over.

We sat for several minutes with a ten year old dangling out of the back seat,  unsuccessfully summoning the contents of his belly.

We tentitively continued on.

Not five minutes later I heard wretching.  I looked back and Wes was bent over and throwing up on the floor.

Chaos ensued.

"Get a bag!  Get a bag,"  I yelled.  There was no bag.  Anywhere.

I was swerving, hit gravel and flung stones at the startled minivan behind us.

I rolled his window all the way down.

"Throw up out the window,"  Chris yelled.

"There's a car behind us.  He can't do that," I screamed.

Swerving.

More swerving.

"Throw up out the window," Chris repeated.  Pathetically, Wes stuck his head out the window while vomiting.

A portion of the vomit showered the car behind us, but most of it hit our car and flew back in all over Wesley's shirt, the back window.

Swerving.

Swear words.

Mass confusion in the minivan unfortunate enough to be directly behind us.  

The drive to the next exit was interminable.  As in, we drove at LEAST 25 miles in the middle of no where to find a gas station.

Chris walked in and bought paper towels, Lysol wipes and trash bags.  The small town gas station attendant eyeballed us suspiciously from her place behind the cash register.

Wes stumbled out of the car covered in vomit.  Chris handed him a change of clothing and a trash bag and ordered him inside to clean himself up.   Chris, my angel, cleaned up the mess in the back seat.

We started on the road again a bit more defeated, knowing that our destination was still about 8 hours away.

Driving straight through always seems like such a good idea.  The trip was about 25 hours total, and that included stops.

I distinctly remember how much easier these marathons were for us in our 20's.  We would drive and drive and bounce back.

The German Shepherd and the Norweigan Elkhound sort of got along....

We arrived home yesterday.

I loved every minute in Minnesota and was so happy to spend time with my husband's family.  Not everyone can say that about their inlaws....but I am blessed beyond belief that I definitely can.

I was able to hold my twin nieces that I hadn't seen before, and watch Maggie play with her cousin.  They are both three and fought like cats and dogs... both of them challenged by the concept of "sharing."

They sled together and played "house."   They took videos and pictures of each other on the  Mac's Photo Booth.

The first night home, I crawled into my bed....so happy to be home.  Only to be woken up by hacking and croupy coughing from Maggie.  Then my husband kept waking me up to tell me to stop snoring.    Each time I would wake up, I would be covered in drool; I was sleeping so deeply.

Chris suggested that this could be a yearly thing.

I looked at my hands that are chapped and dry, my sinuses were dry and are painful ~  my skin is flaking.  I have cankles.

I think I need a year to recover.

We'll discuss it in 2013.

The divas:  no photos!

The Childbirth Secret No One Tells You and Celebrating Joy

Two years ago at this very moment, I had just shat myself on a delivery room table.

My helpful husband informed me of this.

I probably did it with the first two kids, but no one felt compelled to let me know. It was information that I had been blissfully ignorant about for years and years.

Upon my mortified further investigation, it apparently happens all the time. Often enough to not receive a big reaction from the doctor.

Because he ALSO let me know that the doctor was "very professional" about the whole thing.

"She was very matter-of-fact and professional about it," explained my husband. The doctor apparently did her job well. As in, didn't gag or barf .

The last two years have been very different with a baby girl. And because she is very vocal, our house has also been very loud.

I recently heard of an old wives' tale that girls "steal your beauty." I completely buy into it.

"What's up with your face," my brother asked today as he gave me a hug. He visited , along with my parents, to celebrate Maggie's birthday.

"What do you mean?"

He gestured to my forehead area. "That whole thing."

"I've had this for TWO years," I explained.

I didn't add that it was caused by the oral contraceptives that I had to take after Maggie was born, because it would probably freak him out.

Another fact that people don't generally disclose (along with the unpleasantness of crapping during childbirth): Oral contraceptives can make you fugly and make people wonder to themselves "What the frack is wrong with her skin?"

Except, apparently, for immediate family members. I suppose they are supposed to point out the obvious ~ the food in the teeth, the booger in the nose, the dark spots on the skin. You know, helpful stuff like that.

I made a mental note to hound my doctor for some industrial strength fade cream.

Another obvious change after the birth of my daughter were my tastes in food.

I would hum and practically acheive nirvana when I dove into a pint of Cherry Garcia. Now I get a similar reaction feta cheese and soy sauce.

I ask for extra jalapenos; I eat sauerkraut "just because~" I don't even need a polish sausage, although that scenario would be highly preferable.

I honestly think I would stick my face in a vat of full-fat, chunky blue cheese salad dressing if it wouldn't ruin my fine reputation as a completely rational, sane person. It would also probably cause undue horror and result in social suicide.

In addition to the skin and cravings, I have a new relationship with deodorant powder. I also "get" the leaky faucet bladder commercials on television.

But Maggie is a joy. She has brought a breath of fresh air to our house.

She has given us a new sense of unity and brought our family closer together.

She's a brilliant, sweet and beautiful little girl who loves balloons, Elmo and pickles. She squeals with joy and has her own language.

Hopefully we'll speak the same one very soon, because I want to understand her thoughts and her dreams.

I want to protect her and not let the world in to chip away at the innocence that God gave her.

I want to watch her, now, as she sleeps in her crib filled with silky blankets and her favorite stuffed animals and dolls.

I want to thank God for our special gift that was sent to us two years ago today.

Ikea and Xanax

I fully acknowledge that I have an abnormally short fuse. Couple this with a personality that incites (sometimes artificially creates) anxiety and I assure you that at times I can be a party to be around.

Just ask my husband. Or my kids, or both. There wouldn't be much of a debate.

Yesterday we went to Kissimmee. My father and mother-in-law are house sitting and visiting the area for six weeks. We decided to drive down to spend the day with them.

The process of getting three kids around, dressed and out the door is sometimes excruciatingly arduous and complicated. It doesn't seem like it would be, but it is. Inevitably someone is lolly-gagging around or not paying attention when I announce that "we are leaving in ten minutes."

Because I guarantee you fifteen minutes later a child will still be in his underwear or crying about not being able to find his socks. I GUARANTEE you.

It is even worse when there is luggage involved. I don't know why this is, but sometimes it is enough to put me over the edge. Even the dog runs and hides when he sees we are getting luggage out of the closet.

Thank the LAWD there was no luggage involved yesterday because even with NO luggage, I still had to take a pill. My insides were crawling with anxiety by the time we all piled into the SUV to head south.

I have to give props to the husband because he is more helpful and attentive than 99.7% of the other husbands out there. I'm sure of it.

I once had a co-worker tell me about her daughter who had married a complete douche bag. As this girl gathered the children, diaper bags and gear and loaded them in the car, the DB would routinely sit and wait for her for her IN THE DRIVER'S SEAT.

Now, I believe that God leads us to our spouses for a reason and I am very thankful that God didn't lead me to that particular spouse because I am certain I would have clawed his eyes out. I thank God for Chris every day.

"What can I do to help," Chris asked quickly. It was only 10a.m., but I saw the wheels turning in his brain. He was undoubtedly calculating just how long he was going to be shut up in a confined space with a strung-out, anxiety ridden bitch.

The Xanax had kicked in and I developed a faintly detached feeling along with a laissez faire attitude that would have made it heaps easier to slow the car down and drop kick one of the offending brats out of the car. You know, if push came to shove.

Oh, I am just kidding. Whatever ~ I would have stopped the car completely.

To "save time" and avoid downtown Orlando we decided to try the toll road.

We pulled up to the first toll booth and handed the operator a twenty. He glared at us hostilely and shook his head. Chris and I looked at each other with the WTF looks. I mean, we had pulled up in the "bills and change needed" lane.

We didn't INTEND to be rude about the twenty, but we had to stop at Suntrust because neither one of us had any cash. We would have stopped at a gas station to purchase a pack of gum if we would have known it put the tollbooth operator out and/or ruined his day.

My anxiety level shot up again, because....well, this sort of thing stresses me out. I hate it when someone is obviously annoyed at me and I don't know why.

"The light," the attendant shot at us, pointing to the way we had just come in. "The light. What color was it? Was it green?"

"Um, I don't know," Chris said. "I think so."

We looked in our rear view mirror and there were about five cars lined up behind us by this point.

"I'll take this," he said as he waved the bill. "But I am closed."

"Okay. Thanks," Chris said. He took $18.00 in ones that the operator shoved at him.

"What the hell was that about," I asked.

"I think he thought he had turned his light off," Chris said. We looked in our rear view mirror again and there were no less than ten cars lined up. Obviously, his light was still green.

We discussed how much it must suck to be a toll booth operator. Really. Because think about it: People are forced to stop their car to pay a fee that they are most likely not wild about paying in the first place. I'm sure it brings out regular pissiness in people.

We had a nice lunch and then decided to go to Ikea.

If you ever have any concerns that your child might be a brat , just take a trip to Ikea.

Because I assure you that you will encounter an even brattier child. Your mind will be put at ease about your own offspring and poof!! You'll feel like an instant rock star.

My impression from the trip to Ikea was not of Ikea; however, it was of the Mercedes dealership on the way there. It was hard not to notice this little gem. A girl can dream, and believe me ~ I did. I would look so uber cute in this, no one would even NOTICE the extra fifty pounds. I'm certain of it. I'd be rocking it in my new highlights and sunglasses and people would shout "Elin! Elin!" Because you know...I TOTALLY look just like her.

The anxiety level of the trip home was surprisingly minimal. Aside from filling up the car at a gas station surrounded by no less than ten bail bonds businesses, it was pretty darn uneventful.

We listened to "Maggie's" playlist on my Ipod. "Maggie's" list includes songs like "O Mio Babbino Caro," "Three Little Birds" by Bob Marley, and "Allegro" from Mozart's "Eine kleine Nachtmusik."

I venture to say that the ride home was peaceful, even. Peace is hard to come by in our house, particularly with three children.

We tried to savor the moment as we could and we all sang "don't worry...about a thing" together.