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.

Goodness Gracious, Grape Balls of Puke

grapes-of-wrath

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!