Thursday, February 23, 2012

And By You I Mean I... ROAD TRIP.

You know a road trip is on the horizon when it is 1:30 am and you are waiting for a load of laundry to dry and another to wash and then dry.  You are waiting so you can then pack the suitcases of your sleeping little ones.

The house is quiet except for the snoring of the dog at your feet.

You paint your nails purple blue sparkles as you wait.  You watch American Idol on your DVR.  You hope that funny Asian guy wins.  He is makes you laugh for reals.  He is super smart hilarious.  Plus he can sing like a little Asian angel. 

Family road trips are never complete unless Mommy starts off the trip absolutely and completely exhausted.

Exhaustion makes you extra daffy and slap happy.  Sometimes grumpy.  But it is a road trip so you are pleased.

You feel safe and secure when every member of your little family is trapped in the same vehicle.  It is a warm and cozy feeling to know they are belted in and forced to remain in your presence for the duration. 

You know you will pop a motion sickness pill first thing.  This will ensure a dopey, sleepy and smiley disposition which helps in the not smacking of your children when they freak out in the back seat because someone is touching them.  In addition, you can read your gossip mags without throwing up.

You might not even mind when Maya shouts, "Play the Justin Beiber c.d. again!" 

And then Serena snaps, "I'm sick to DEATH of that stupid c.d. Justin Beiber lyrics are STUPID!  I want to hear Adele,"

to which Bella mutters the biting retort, "I hate Adele.  She is so played out.  You are obsessed. Mom, play Plain White T's."

As all of this is occurs your husband is telling you about how much weight he lifted at the gym that morning.  He reminds you how disrespectful your children are when he is trying to talk.  You nod.  And smile.

You are good at smiling and nodding to soothe his ruffled man feelings. 

He peeks down your shirt as you lean over to adjust Maya's blankie.  You pretend not to notice.  After almost 15 years of marriage you are glad he still wants to peek down your shirt.  When he stops caring about what is found under your shirt you will throw yourself off a cliff.  There is nothing worth living for now.

Before you leave for the road trip to Las Vegas to see your sister you must plan every jot and tittle. 

Jots are easy to forget. Tittles even more so.

You always forget to pack tittles.  You hope the hotel carries complimentary tittles so that you don't have to send your husband hunting up and down the streets of Las Vegas looking for them.

Given the nature of Las Vegas you hesitate in ever sending your husband in search of tittles.

Once you have been on the road for all of 36 minutes Tyson begins to complain of a full bladder to which your husband, in an exasperated manner, asks,

"Why did you not pee at home before we left?"

to which Tyson replies, "Because I didn't have to go then!"

You are proud to have such a logical son.

Your husband then pulls the car over and the two of them take a manly leak on the car tires.  In the world of men it seems one should never pee alone.  There is safety in numbers.  In addition, they can write in cursive together with the stream.  The experience is educational.

You wonder at the injustice of the plumbing that allows males to relieve themselves fairly gracefully on the side of the road.  You realize you could benefit from a liquid release.  You realize hiking up your gypsy skirts on the road side is not a viable option.  You feel cheated.

You hold your fullish bladder for a couple hours until the men feel the need to urinate again. Blessedly you stop at a gas station.

Gas station bathrooms are not ideal.  They boast roaches the size of your left foot.  The natural fumes found therein will clear your sinuses for a week. 

How many strange bottoms of strangers have sat on the throne you now occupy, you wonder.

But you are pleased to be relieved of your burden.  As are your daughters, who also do not have the plumbing necessary to urinate rainbows of gold on the beaten path to Vegas.
You tell yourself you will absolutely not indulge in junk food whilst traveling this time 'round.  You have been running yourself silly on the treadmill and junk food in counterproductive to silly running.

You purchase a package of chocolate ding dongs, a bag of flamin' hot Cheetos and a vat of diet coke.

You will need to pass the time while your children kill each other in the backseat.  Eating cures all ills.  Except maybe obesity.  But perhaps even obesity can be rectified with a ding dong or two.

You will not be back from Vegas until Sunday night.

You will not be taking your laptop so as to take a blog break. 

Road trips are wonderful.  You are so happy Tucson celebrates Rodeo Days.  You enjoy having the kids home from school. 

Yee Haw.

Happy Rodeo, Ya'll!