A Miracle on Wheels

For our family road trips to be uneventful, it would take nothing less than a damn miracle on earth.  Seriously, put the Nucking Futs Family in a car, and you’ve got yourself some serious drama on wheels.  And I guaran-frickin’-tee you that you that by the time you reach your final destination, you will be reaching for a bottle of something strong and potent to erase the memory of it all.

So this past weekend, I packed the kids up for a long weekend at the grandparents’ house in Indiana.  And let me just tell ya that the trip down there was enough to make me never want to step foot in a car with my offspring ever again.  There was an accidental pooing in the pants, car sickness that resulted in some nasty lateral cookie tossing, and a shit-ton of unnecessary road construction to add to the excitement of it all.  And just when I was ready to hurl myself from the driver’s seat right onto the endless pavement that lay before me?  A ginormously large strip of rubber decided to extricate itself from the luggage rack on top of the car.

Yeah, and believe me, a flapping piece of rubber and 70 miles per hour do NOT go together very well.  I honestly thought the damn thing was gonna bust out the window on my daughter’s side of the car.  It scared the living shit out of me.  I had no choice but to pull into a rest stop (which, by the way, also scares the living beejesus out of me) to try and rectify the situation.  I used my Hee-woman strength to yank the whole flipping piece right off the top of the car so that we could finally get to where the hell we needed to go.  I was never so glad to see my parents’ driveway when we pulled into it later that evening, and I even contemplated shipping all my belongings down there forever just to avoid making the inevitable return trip home.

Much to my surprise, however, the trip home was a lot less uneventful than I had expected.  There were no unforeseen dukes or unanticipated pukes, and I somehow managed to get by with only making three stops the whole way back.  I had to pinch myself to see if I was, in fact, just dreaming the whole thing up.  When my eyes finally focused on the big buildings of downtown, though, I realized that for once, I just so happened to have luck on my side.  I think my kids were in an altered state of mind, as well, since it never even occurred to my son until six hours into the trip to ask, “Where are we going?”  I didn’t even know how to answer him because I was a little afraid about God’s plan for our journey’s end.  You see, we aren’t really used to dull moments in our family.  I sort of anticipated a bolt of lightning to strike us down right there on I-94.  Amazingly, though, we arrived home safely, in one piece and without killing each other.  I guess miracles really can happen.


Just Call Us The Griswolds

Know the great thing about being stuck in a car with your family for 22 hours?  Yeah, me neither.  I wouldn’t want to be stuck in a car by myself for 22 hours, let alone two fighting siblings who have car sickness tendencies and a husband who doesn’t believe in stopping for bathroom breaks. Nevertheless, that’s just what I found myself doing this past weekend as we loaded up the family truckster to make our way down to Florida for spring break.

With the car weighted down with snacks, DVD’s, video games, magazines, and 5,000 bags of luggage, we set off on the 1300 mile trek.  And sure enough, the “Are we there yet?” chants started in before we even made it out of downtown Chicago.  (Ok, so I’ll admit that I might have been a part of the chanting squad too, so don’t judge.)  What the holy hell did we do to pass all that time, you ask?  Well, my son was happier than Tiger Woods at a whore house since he got to play his Nintendo DS for literally eleven straight hours that day.  I don’t know how on earth the kid didn’t develop a permanent crick in his neck from looking down for so long.  My daughter watched movie after movie, while I tweeted away the miles on my phone.  We were all doing a happy dance when we finally stopped for the night in Tennessee.

Surprisingly, the pukes didn’t set in until day two of our journey, when I happened to glance in the back seat to find my daughter looking like Casper the ghost.  I somehow managed to grab a plastic bag just in time to catch her tossed cookies.  And I gotta say that the girl’s a freaking rock star, too, because she downed a McD’s cheeseburger less than thirty minutes later and kept it down the whole rest of the way.  I also shocked myself in somehow managing to read three Us magazines in the car without feeling like I was gonna polish my shoes.

By the time we FINALLY got to Florida, we were all cross-eyed, jelly-legged, and pretty freaking sick of each other, and our car looked like a damn battle field with all the food wrappers, crumbs and water bottles strung about.  But HALLE-FLIPPING-LUJAH!  We had finally reached our destination!  And the thanks we’ve gotten in return for those 22 hours of blood, sweat, and tears?  Two days of clouds and now rain — Mother Nature better get out of her bitchy mood, or I may have to punch a moose in the face.

So Much To Do, So Little Time


     Today’s post is, unfortunately, going to have to be a short one. This is the kids’ last official day of school, although I’d hardly even call it a day when they only go for an hour and a half.  I just dropped them off, and I’m gonna have to turn right back around and get them. As emotional and mentally exhausted as I am with this being the last time I ever drop them off at kindergarten <wipe tear>, I should’ve just stayed there and waited. We are then headed down to the grandparents’ house for a week-long visit. My husband will not be going, so I have the extreme pleasure of road tripping solo with two kids, both of whom, as you might recall, tend to get car sick.  I’m praying that the gods are on my side, and we don’t have an explosion of puke or a poop in the pants to freshen the air in the car for a six hour drive.  If I haven’t lost my mind somewhere along the highway, I will try to post another entry, chalked full of the oh-so exciting details of our trip.  Stay tuned….

Goodness Gracious, Grape Balls of Puke


Well, there’s nothing quite like catching multiple bouts of puke to celebrate a 13.1 mile run!  If you read my last post, you know that I ran an out of town half marathon on Saturday while my husband and kids went camping. On the car ride home yesterday, my calves and quads were really reading me the riot act for putting them through such torture.  They, of course, were not alone in their moaning and groaning because they had some pretty stiff competition from a couple of six year olds in the back seat.  My twins were full of complaints about everything under the sun — they were hungry, tired, bored, etc.  My son, in particular, was a pure bundle of joy, refusing to eat the cheeseburger I’d bought him for lunch and insisting on a great big bag of grapes instead.  Now granted, grapes are certainly a much healthier alternative to a greasy burger, but in retrospect, it probably wasn’t the best idea for him to gorge himself on the entire gallon-size bag within just a few minutes time.  Needless to say, his car sickness kicked in, and he proceeded to spew grape chunks all over the car.  I tried my damnedest to catch what I could with my hands.  I was completely twisted around in the car, feeling every single tired muscle in my body cussing me out for once again inflicting pain and suffering upon them.  This lovely little puke parade happened not only once but twice on the ride home.  The second time, I even had the luxury of it splattering on my sunglasses and in my hair.  I wondered how many of the other 35,000 runners were having as much fun as I was.  Some of them got a trophy for their hard work and efforts…I just got a handful of grape juice and stomach acid!

Chocolate Puke

003_cocoa1I am happy to say that we survived the twenty plus hour car trip and made it home from the family vacation all in one piece.  Granted, the return trip was not without incident — we never have a dull moment in my world!  After stopping overnight in Tennessee to catch some shut-eye, we found the traffic to be horrendous once we got back on the road yesterday morning.  My husband decided to take side roads to get ahead of the interstate “parking lot.” Unfortunately, these side roads were nothing but hills and curves, which we discovered the hard way do not mix well with five year olds and M n’ M’s. My poor son threw up a fountain of chocolate all over himself, prompting us to pull off the road in the middle of nowhere, Indiana.  As we were cleaning up the mess, a scruffy, rather mean-looking stray dog had made a beeline to our car in search of food. Apparently, my son must’ve smelled pretty appetizing because the dog had chased him around to the other side of the car.  It totally freaked me out because I suddenly had all those horrorfic images from the news flashing through my head about crazy dogs mauling small children.  Thank God this dog did not consider my son to be his idea of a tasty lunch, and we managed to get the dog to run off.  We continued to clean up the mess while I thanked my lucky stars that it was just a chocolate puke and not something more putrid, like cheese or milk.  It might sound odd, but I can deal much better with a faint smell of chocolate in a small, contained area for several hours than I can with the awfulness of putrid, sour milk (been there, done that).  After the barf-o-rama extraordinaire, we made it home without any further drama. And with a snap of the fingers, just like that, the days of lounging on the beach in the eighty degree temperatures were all but a memory….