Missing Christmas

This is the time of the year when I long for Christmas. The smell of a cinnamon candle burning, sugar cookies and pine (even if I have to buy the pine scent in a can from Bath and Body Works). I long for jeans and a sweater (even though in Texas, we don't get to wear sweaters that much. I still have all of my wool sweaters from college in a box under my bed because I just know someday I'm going to get to wear them. I will be incredibly out of style but at least I'll wear some great memories!) I long for the glow of our Christmas tree in the family room and the way the house looks outside with all of the twinkly white lights. I long for the magic of the season when everything seems a little lighter and more exciting (the magic of Christmas is also the magic I feel at Disney World. It's hard to put into words but it's a feeling deep in my soul that if I could bottle up and sell, I would). I long for Christmas cards in the mail instead of just bills. I long for Christmas carols on the radio nonstop and yes, I'm one of those people who would love for them to start the day after Halloween. I long for the rush of the mall and the craziness of Toys R Us (I know I'm mostly alone here but if you park at the very back of the lot and choose to walk a long ways to the door, you will learn to hate the mall and Toys R Us less). I long for the hope of a white Christmas even though we've only had one of those in Texas since I moved here in 1998. I long for being able to threaten my kids that Santa is watching them and that I just saw him peek in the window. I long for a gingerbread latte at Starbucks. I long for the trip to see Santa and watch the kids tell him what they want for Christmas (even if they tell him something that I'm not expecting or haven't even thought of buying and then have to figure out where to buy this new mystery item with only 2 days left before Christmas). I long for the candlelight service at church and the lump in my throat when we sing "Away in a Manger." I long for that Paul McCartney song "Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time" if for no other reason than it drives Hudson crazy and I know all the words. I long to say "Merry Christmas!" to the cashier at Target instead of "Have a nice day." I long for a Christmas Coke and the tradition my Gramps started all those years ago. I long for that M&M's commercial on TV where the two M&M's realize Santa is real. I long to watch "The Santa Claus" (I only allow myself to watch this between Thanksgiving and Christmas every year). I long for the 24 hour marathon of "The Christmas Story" ("You'll shoot your eye out!"). I long to hear the little conversations between Hayden and Owen upstairs in bed about Santa. I long for cooler weather...much cooler. Mostly, I long for the whole season. It really is true what the old song says..."It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year!" Merry Christmas...just a little early!

The Fourth of July...My Second Most Favorite Holiday

My second favorite holiday after Christmas is The Fourth of July. I attribute this to the fact that growing up, my birthday on July 9 and The Fourth of July were always combined into a cookout in our backyard with the whole family. It was complete with burgers and hotdogs, volleyball and tetherball (only it was with a tennis ball...still very fun), sparklers and ice cream cake. I have always loved this holiday and as I've gotten older, I've come to realize it's significance beyond just a fun summer holiday that is close to my birthday.

I love love love The Fourth of July. I love the family time, the burgers, the fireworks with the kids and my parents. But I love this Country more than the fun of the holiday and that's what makes this holiday my second favorite after Christmas. I think that we have lost sight of what this holiday is truly all about. Then again, I think we have lost sight of what most holidays are about these days...Christmas is more about the presents than about the birth of Christ, New Year's is more about partying that the blessing of a new year and a fresh start, Easter is more about hunting for eggs and eating candy than the resurrection of Christ after he willingly and selflessly died for our sins on the cross, Memorial Day is more about a day off from work and the start to summer than about remembering those brave men and women who so valiantly and sacrificially gave their lives so that we can have the freedoms that we have, Thanksgiving is more about football and how much turkey we can eat than about those brave few who came to this country for religious freedom and then dedicated a day to giving thanks to God above for their freedom to worship Him, and we're back to Christmas. The Fourth of July is truly a celebration of not only our Country's birth but of those who so willingly stuck their necks out to declare independence from England despite any personal danger that may come their way for doing so. Brave men these were. Incredibly brave. We as American citizens are the luckiest people on the planet to live in a country that is free in so many ways. Free to worship any way we want. Free to speak our minds whenever and wherever we want. Free to vote for whomever we want. Free to do any job that we strive to do. Free to live anywhere we want. Free to live however we want. Free to go to school and learn as much as we want. Free free free. I know that I take this for granted all too often and I wish that I didn't.

It's not hard to figure out why we have come to take our freedoms for granted. I mean, there's really no one in my generation that has had to live through religious persecution for instance. For the most part, we can't even imagine someone being persecuted for believing in whomever they want to because in today's society, anything goes and must be tolerated. I often think of those living in other countries where worshipping Jesus Christ has to be done in secret...China, Indonesia, anywhere in the Middle East for the most part, North Vietnam, and the list goes on. I've sat in Sunday services at church many times and have suddenly thought of those in other parts of the world that risk their lives to meet with other Christians and learn about Jesus and worship Him. And, here I sit in a comfy, air-conditioned building with other believers and we sing out loud and raise our hands and learn about Jesus without any fear at all. What must it be like for those who don't have this luxury, this freedom.

There's also no one in my generation who has never been allowed to vote freely in an election. We don't risk our lives by the votes we cast on Election Day. I know that our Country has faulted in this area in the past but we have come past that and any American citizen over the age of 18 can freely vote for whomever they choose on Election Day. I think of those in other countries who cast their ballot and then are terrorized for voting the way they did. I am so thankful that we can walk into a voting place on Election Day and not have any fear whatsoever to cast our ballot for whomever we chose. We are so free here that we don't even know how free we are.

My generation has also never had to think about speaking their mind and finding themselves in jail because of their opinions. We can say whatever we choose without fear because we have the freedom to do so. I can't even imagine not being able to freely speak for fear of being arrested. Can you even imagine that? It boggles my mind to think that there are those living in our world who have to muzzle themselves for personal protection and preservation. Truly, we don't know how great we have it.

My generation is not free from the experience of war however. I think, though, that my generation has an "out-of-sight, out-of-mind" mentality when it comes to the wars we are fighting. And all too often, we have become war-weary and bored. We lose sight of why we are fighting and we are often all too willing to just throw in the towel. One walk through a busy airport will remind anyone in an instant that these wars are very real and that there are real soldiers, men and women, who are fighting for us whether we are behind them and their mission or not. They fight for our freedom to think either way. While WE may forget why we are fighting, THEY never do and they carry on day after day and night after night for us, for our protection, for our preservation, and even for those who can't fight for themselves. To say we owe them is the understatement of the century, the millenium, of all time. These are truly great Americans who are heroes in every way but in humility, don't consider themselves as such. How amazing that there are still those even today who love this Country enough to give anything, even their lives, to protect everything that She stands for. It's remarkable.

So what started out as a kid as a love of a super fun summer holiday has turned into an appreciation of all that this holiday represents. I don't want to take this holiday for granted ever again. I don't want to take my freedoms for granted anymore. I am thankful beyond words to those who laid down their lives for my freedom and for those who continue the fight today. I am thankful to God who ultimately gave me my American home. Mostly though, I'm thankful that I can worship Him anywhere, anytime, and that He paid the ultimate price for my complete and total freedom from sin. The Fourth of July is a great reminder of our American heritage and an excellent opportunity to celebrate God's blessings on us and this great Land.

Episode Five: Shopping with Monkeys

Shopping with kids is crazy. Usually I try to do this chore all by my lonesome or at least with only one kid but sometimes, that's just not possible. Yesterday, I had to do the grocery shopping at Wal-mart (Wallyworld for those of you in Southern Indiana), and I swore to myself up and down that I would never attempt that feat again. Then today, we went to Target. I'm a glutton for punishment.

I'm convinced that kids grow another set of arms the minute they enter either Wal-mart or Target. Oh we don't see them but they're there. Things end up in the cart that I never touched or even considered buying. They touch any and everything that is on their level. I remember the first time I bought Peanut Butter Cap'n Crunch (seriously the most delicious cereal ever made. I don't care that it's 100% sugar and the government has banned The Quaker Oats Compay from promoting it to children because of its high sugar content. It's peanut buttery, crunchy and just soooo good). I couldn't find it anywhere on the cereal aisle. I swore that the store didn't stock it. Until I realized it was on the bottom shelf, practically on the floor. Strange, I thought to myself but I grabbed it up and headed back home to eat the deliciousness inside that box. All that said, I totally get it now. Now I'm looking high on the shelf for the cereal with the least amount of sugar and the highest amount of bark-like taste and Hayden is begging to get the Lucky Charms that are stocked at his 3rd grade height. (He swears he eats the cereal part but it's the marsh mellows, come on now). Before I can say "Nooooooo" (imagine me in slow motion, moving from behind my cart to stop him from grabbing it and getting there a second too late), he's holding it in his physical hands and tossing it into the cart with his invisible hands. Sometimes I can convince him that Honeynut Cheerios are tastier (because they are) but other times, I remember wanting Cookie Crisp as a kid and my Mom letting me buy it. I can't say no EVERY time.

Shopping with kids in general is one thing. Shopping with two boys is quite another. Along with their invisible limbs, they turn into monkeys. They'll swing from the cart and hide on the shelves where the paper towels are stocked. More than once have I been doing a mental price check on Bounty versus the Wal-mart brand only to turn around and wonder where on earth Owen has gone. After panicking a minute and thinking he's been snatched, he'll pop out from behind a huge tower of paper towels. (I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I'm THAT mom with THOSE kids. I'm not! I promise). Not only will they hide from me, they'll try to sit on any surface that, to them, looks like a chair. Now I've never been in the grocery before and thought to myself, "Gee, all of this shopping has made me so tired. I'll just sit here on the edge of the cheese case for a minute or two and then I'll get back at it." Boys will though. It's a perfect spot to cop a squat. I even once (and I stress once) caught Owen trying to swing from one of those round clothes racks at Wal-mart. He only did this once because I scared the living daylights out of him by telling him the story of when I did that ONCE as a little girl at The Evansville Store and the rack fell over on me and I ended up with a nasty bruise on my head, I think, and a very embarrassed Mother. (It really is true...what goes around, comes around. He's like a mini-me...boy style). Swinging from a rack, how much more monkey-like can you get?

And oh how I despise the toy aisle...actually it's just the Lego aisle that sends me into a frenzy of sorts. Frenzy is the best word I can find to describe what happens to me on that aisle. The entire time the boys are trying to decide which less than $10 Lego set they can buy, which was supposed to be a reward for good behavior (sounds like they are in prison) while at the store, but has now turned into a way of buying myself some sanity after we get home, I turn into a time-watching, we are in a hurry, the ice-cream in the cart is melting, chose the Lego set now or you don't get one kind of Mom. It's crazy what happens to me in that aisle. I think I'm allergic to it or something because all I can think about the entire time the boys are perusing which kind of Lego set to buy (The City, Ninjago, Star Wars), I start to get this panicky, hurry up feeling. If there was previously chocolate in my cart, it's gone at this point. (Did the security camera just see me open my semi-sweet chocolate chips that I'm buying for homemade cookies later, and eat a handful and then take a deep breath? Please let it be a sympathetic mother of boys on the other end of that camera. Maybe I should wave at her).

What I'm thinking from now on is shopping all alone all the time. (I'm wishful thinking here but let's go with it). I could lazily go from aisle to aisle and seriously consider the difference between brand name cotton balls and generic ones. I could stand in the coffee aisle for 10 minutes trying my hardest to smell the coffee through those sealed bags and wonder which one is best (Dunkin' Donuts by the way). I can look at things like lamps, rugs, and towels without anyone asking "How much looooooonger?" I might even try on some shoes! Wait...wasn't I supposed to be grocery shopping? Food for the family and all? Oooooohhhhhh...it's all making sense now. Yep, I totally get it. I HAVE to take the boys with me in order to strictly grocery shop and not spend their college funds on trinkets from Target for our house. As much as I love the once in a blue moon, all alone, get to look at whatever I want trip to Target or Wal-mart, I love those boys more. So here's to our next outing to the supercenter (imagine me holding up my glass right now) and to all those moms out there who promise this will be the last trip to Wal-mart with the kids. Maybe we should all stop lying to ourselves and learn to love these precious moments (not the little statues) with our kids. After all, we know they won't always want to go shopping with us. Glory be! That will be awesome!!

Episode Four: My Dreams Are Wacky

So my dreams are really out there sometimes. Every time I tell Hudson, "I had the weirdest dream last night," he will immediately say, "You know, you can stop saying 'weirdest' because they're all weird. Just say 'I had a dream last night.'" It's true. I rarely have a dream that doesn't involve a total suspension of reality. And, I have no interest in having my dreams interpreted because a) I'd probably be scared to find out what they mean and b) sometimes I like living in a world where I get to drive a Bentley every once in a while. I mean, who wouldn't?!

I've had strange dreams all of my life and have even been known to walk in my sleep a time or two. Just ask my sister about the time when we were kids and she woke up to me holding the motor to the humidifier in my hand and upon being asked what I was doing, I promptly replied "I'm helping Dad with the swing set!!" I know...what in the world? I guess that was really just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to my dreams as they seem to have gotten wackier the older I get.

I, along with millions of others, have the re-occurring nightmare that the day before finals in college, I realize that I have somehow forgotten about a class and have to cram everything from the whole semester into my brain in 24 hours. I always wake up in a sweat after this one, and heart palpitations that last most of the morning. Good thing I'm not alone on this one. I'm not, right?

I wonder though how many have a re-occurring nightmare about marching band. Don't get me wrong, I LOVED being in the marching band in high school (even though I have friends who make fun of me!), but like all of my good memories, they somehow show up in my dreams in a weird and wacky way. So the way it goes is always the same....I'm home in Newburgh and find myself at a crisp, Fall Castle High School football game when somewhere around the end of the first quarter, Mr. Reese (my band director) sees me in the stands and heads straight in my direction. Once he gets there he explains that one of the flag girls is out sick and that I need to march in the show at halftime. I beg and plead not to do this...after all, I didn't go to band camp, I haven't practiced the routine, and I'm 20 years older than all of the other band kids. How on earth am I going to march a show that I've never seen before or practiced? It doesn't matter because Mr. Reese is relentless and I somehow end up marching and making a total fool of myself. (I even have to wear my old uniform because that's the only one they could find for me. Not sure if this is convenient or just really scary). Who's with me on this one? Someone must have this nightmare...you know you're out there.

I once dreamed that I was, again, back in Evansville and was a drug rep there (most of you know that's what I've done most of my professional life). My former coworker and I had taken some doctors to dinner (back when drug reps could do that) and one of the doctors decided that he didn't want to drive home. He handed his keys to me and asked if I would drive his car home and then bring it to his office the next day. Ummmmm....okay? When I got out to his car...it was a Bentley...except the steering wheel was in the backseat. Having never driven a car with the steering wheel in the backseat, I was reluctant to drive it home but come on...it's a Bentley! Who cares if it's not made like all of the others. (I'm only assuming that this one isn't like the others. Not only have I never driven a Bentley, but I've never even seen one up close). So, I hopped in with my coworker and off we went. Once we got on the Lloyd Expressway (for those who aren't familiar with Evansville, this is the main road/highway that goes from Newburgh all the way through Evansville. It's called an expressway, but it's the only one I've ever driven on that has a stoplight ever mile or so. More like a slow-way than an expressway), I realized that we weren't alone in the car. In the front seat (sans steering wheel) there sat Billy Joel! And Barbara Bush! Since my coworker and I were on our way to a baby shower (??????), I politely asked where they needed to go. Barbara Bush needed to be dropped at the Hampton Inn (of course!) but Billy wanted to hang with us. Whooohoo. I asked if he would sing "Uptown Girl" since that's always been a favorite of mine but he looked at me like I was crazy (starting to wonder myself) and then declined my request. I don't remember much else about that dream except that the baby shower was at Babies R Us (how convenient) and that Billy bolted once we got to the shower.

Last night, I dreamt that Hudson and I were both in the military (for any of you who know me, you know that while I hold our military personnel in high regard, I could never be one of them. I'm not tough and I hate nature. Hudson was never in the military either despite his short, short hair). We were in some far off place on deployment and we were standing at attention when our commander (I know we wouldn't have the same one necessarily but for the sake of this dream, we did) and he started lecturing those under him on the importance of proposing to the one you love and then following through with marriage. (See what I mean? We are off at war somewhere and these are the instructions he is giving us? Not directions on how to survive an air strike or how to foil an evil plot by the enemy, but rather that the men should be making wives of their women). Now at this point in the dream, it's important to note that I had on fatigues because that will soon change. All of the sudden, Hudson runs up to the commander and whispers something to him and off he went....straight across the street to a Zales Jewelry shop to buy wedding bands (because everyone knows that there is a Zales on every corner in the Middle East). As he does this, I notice that long gone are my protective, camouflage fatigues, now I'm in a humongous wedding dress. We ended up getting married as soon as he came back with the rings but the honeymoon would have to wait since we were at war and all.

So I have no clue what these dreams say about me other than maybe I have an active imagination and the uncanny ability to remember these dreams when I wake up. Or maybe it just means that I watch too much TV before bed or maybe I forgot my dose of chocolate for the day and that's what's thrown my brain into a creative, subconscious free for all. It doesn't really matter what they mean, I guess. I've always been quirky so this is just another proof positive of that. Luckily for me, Hudson and those who love me listen to these stories, smile and pretend to be fascinated by my wacky mind. Either that or they are making a mental note to Google "The Funny Farm" and have me taken away by the men in white coats. Either way, I'm sure my dreams will go on being wacky and weird, providing me more material for later blogs. Sweet dreams everyone! Or at least, crazy ones that you'll remember and share with whomever will listen.

Quips and Quirks: Episode Three - Time is Marching On and My Mind is Going With It

Have you ever gotten the feeling that you are losing your mind? Not in the old folks kind of way (although I have to admit that as my birthday approaches this year, I have had to really think about whether I am going to be 37 or 36...probably just wishful thinking because alas, I'll be 37) but in the "I used to have it all together" sort of way. I feel this way all the time. Mostly it's due to lack of sleep or lack of sugar (or maybe chocolate). And at these moments when I'm losing my mind, it's also when I wonder where all of the time has gone. (If I'm starting to sound like your lovable old grandpa who told stories about the war, forgive me...I'm just nostalgic that's all.)

Losing my mind started when I had kids but it has manifested into a full blown disorder over the last few years. I rarely leave the house with everything that should be in my purse...namely my phone. I leave the house at least once a day without my phone and either have to run back into the house to hunt it down (thanks to kids who find it and play Doodle Army on it) or I have to completely turn the car around to go back and fetch it (I live in Texas...it's okay to say "fetch" here). Don't even get me started on when we didn't even have to worry about a cell phone or we kept it stashed securely in the trunk of the car for emergencies. Now it's like a lifeline to the world, to anyone who may need to reach me or may need to send me a Facebook message. Truly, having my phone near me at all times has become a compulsion of highest order. And, along with my phone, I am always searching for my keys as well. I know, I know. You're wondering why I don't have a key hook by the door. Oh I don't know. We've never had one so I guess that's my answer. I'll get in the car without my keys and will dig all the way to China in order to get to the bottom of my purse only to discover that not only are they not in there but I have way too many crunched up Goldfish in the bottom of my purse and enough lipsticks to start my own cosmetics line. So back I go in the house to hunt down said keys which inevitably will excite the dog because even though I've only been gone for like a minute, she thinks I'm home again! Woof woof.

At least, I've never left a child at home. Well, not yet anyway.

We did leave the dog outside the other day in the backyard for over 2 hours because we left to go to the gym and I totally forgot to make sure she was safely tucked away in her kennel. I let her out to do her business before we left and forgot she was out there. Boy was she happy when we got home! See what I mean? I'm losing it. Little by little, I'm losing it, I tell ya.

So these temporary lapses in memory have become so routine to me that I might just start to worry if I didn't do them. And then I start to wonder, how long have I actually been this way and when I realize that I've been this way for a while now, I start to really wonder...where has all of the time gone?! (And before any of you who are in your 40s, 50s, or 60s say "You're just a baby!", remember how you felt when you were three years from 40?) Where did the time go, really? Is it locked away in a bottle like that old song says? It's totally cliche what they say about always feeling like you're 20. Only I still feel like I'm no different than I was in high school or college or when I lived footloose and fancy free in California. It's like time stopped in each of those periods but it also kept marching on as well. (Tracy Lawrence has it right "Time Marches On." I used to hate that song. It came out when I was like 22 and I thought it was just so dumb. Uhhhh...of course I would. I was 22. He's right though...march on it does.)

So what am I going to do you ask? I'll build a time machine! Okay, I'm not that smart and I really hate math so that would never work. Maybe I'll just try to go back in time telepathically. I'm not even sure I know what telepathically really means and I'm pretty sure that I couldn't do it because doesn't that require some serious concentration? Let's not get me started on my lack of concentration these days. Maybe I should just decide to consciously work on living in the moment each day (and tell myself that I only need three things when I leave the house...keys, purse, phone...and the kids of course). So hard to do but a worthy goal. And as far as losing my mind goes. Maybe I'll pick up a Sudoku book or the Crossword section of the paper for some mental exercising. Or maybe I'll try to build a house out of a deck of cards (the Brady kids could do it so it can't be thaaaaat hard). Or maybe I'll just switch to dark chocolate instead.

Quips and Quirks: Episode Two

You know when you're a kid and you swear that you won't say the same things to your kids that your parents said to you? Well, I am coming to the realization that I am slowly morphing into my Mom. Being that we have boys, I assumed that they would fight less than girls. Boy oh boy (no pun intended) did I guess wrong! Growing up, my sister and I would fight like cats and dogs so I guess I always thought it was a sister thing. I've come to realize boys fight over any and everything...the Wii, who gets to be player number one on the Wii and who has to follow along, who can ride their bike faster, who gets to sit by the DVD play button in the car (Seriously? These kids have it so rough. Can you imagine having a TV in the car when you were a kid?!), who gets to lay on which side of the bed when bedtime books are being read, who gets to sit by Mom at dinner (Okay...I admit that I like that one a little. I'm the Mom after all.), who gets to be sprayed with sunscreen first, who gets the last brownie, whose Lego piece is whose.... Jiminy Crickets it's nonstop.

The reason I say I'm morphing into my Mom is because she would say things like, "Work it out yourself. I don't want to hear about it!" and "If you call me at work to tell me you are in a fight, you will be grounded for life." So I can't use the last one for now but I have definitely used the first one. My sister and I stayed home in the summers by ourselves once my sister got into high school or maybe it was junior high, I can't remember. We would just about kill each other during the day on some days, but the minute we heard that garage door go up, we would be saying we were sorry and acting like we had been playing Scrabble all day together.

Another thing my Mom did in order to have a clean house was to print out an Excel spreadsheet with all of the house chores on it with a monetary value next to each chore. I always chose the chores with the highest dollar value like vacuuming the carpet throughout the house. I got $2 a week for doing this chore Monday, Wednesday and Friday. (Are you thinking what I'm thinking?) The other high dollar one that I always did was cleaning all three bathrooms. I got $2.50 a week for this chore and again, I had to do it Monday, Wednesday and Friday. (Now are you catching on?) I also folded clothes for 50 cents a load! Do you know how many loads I folded every week and how long that took? My Mom was a genius. Yes she wanted a clean house but more importantly, she wanted to keep us busy. So, she gave us chores that would take FOREVER to do and had us do them three times a week! Who really needs their carpet vacuumed three times a week (we didn't have a dog so this was crazy!) and the bathrooms barely had a chance to get dirty before I was busting out the Scrubbing Bubbles again. So what have I decided to do? I've decided to put together such a chore list for my boys. Not that they don't already do chores but having control over how much money they can make each week is more motivating and it will keep them busy busy busy which may mean less fighting? We'll have to see about that.

So boys are fun. They're a blast actually. They adore their Mom (me!) and that's the best part of having boys. The fighting, kicking, punching, wrestling, chasing around the house, and talk of all things bathroom related....I could do without. (More on that in another episode perhaps.) It's like they say, "Boys will be boys." I now understand this phrase all too well. Speaking of boys, gotta run, there's a fight going on upstairs that needs a referee. Sheesh.

Quips and Quirks: Episode One

Who's going to read this? Who's going to want to read this? Well, I don't know. It's hard to say. So if you find yourself reading about my quirky ways, then I guess this blog is for you!

So yesterday, we (that's me, my husband, Hudson, and our two boys, Hayden and Owen) drove home from Minnesota...yep, Minnesota back to Texas. Now you may be wondering what on earth would possess me to take a 1,000 mile trip with the kids in the car. I asked myself this same question several times on the way up there and the way home. It's simple really. We wanted to visit my sister and her family who live there. It was a LOOOOOOONG drive. And I have some general observations about long drives.

First, the car gets smaller and smaller no matter how organized I try to pack things. Oh not the suitcases and stuff that goes in the trunk (or the very back of the SUV in our case)...I'm talking about the toys, the food bag, the books, the map, the bag of surprises for the kids when they need something new to play with, etc. It seems like this stuff all goes in the car in an organized, neat manner but within minutes, it explodes and multiplies and you find yourself digging for toys in the food bag by the time the trip is over. Oh who am I kidding? That happens before we even get out of our neighborhood. And the trash, where does it all come from? Next trip, we'll probably just pull our big blue Fort Worth trash bin behind the car. And why does it all end up in the front of the car next to my feet? I had to resort to sitting crisscross applesauce (for those of us raised in the 70s when sitting "Indian style" wasn't offensive to anyone, that's what crisscross applesauce means) for the majority of the trip to make room for all of our exploding travel goodies. By the time we got to Minnesota, I felt like someone was secretly taping an episode of "Hoarders: Buried Alive" from the inside of our car

Second, kids do not want to go to the bathroom when the adults stop the car for gas or food. Oh they'll go. But they'll be refusing to go all the way until they are actually going. And, everyone at whatever location you've stopped will hear you arguing with your kids about going to the bathroom, and you will learn to do this while smiling and shrugging your shoulders at complete strangers. And really it doesn't matter anyway because even after they go, 30 minutes later they'll need to go again and at this point in the 1,000 mile trip, there will be no place to stop. Well, except that Dairy Queen with the toilet seat that is too small for a public toilet and is made out of that disgusting cushy plastic. (These toilet seats are a travesty in any home but in a public restroom they are just wacky and unexpected and quite possibly the germiest piece of public bathroom equipment one will ever come across. Thank God for antibacterial wipes. And thank God for suppressing the gag reflex while said seat is wiped down.) Oh and did I mention that the kid that needed us to drive 5 miles off the interstate to find this desperately needed bathroom proudly told me while sitting on the toilet that it was "only a toot that was in there, Mom." Great just great.

Third, GPS devices lie. It's a proven fact. Ask anyone who has travelled with one. Now, being raised by a Dad who used a real map (those big fold out ones that you can never fold back correctly), we had a handy atlas with us to guide us on our way. (Please don't tell anyone that we had to buy it at a truck stop after I started second-guessing the printed directions and the GPS lady. However, at this point in the trip though, we still believed her.) I love the big ol' atlas. You can see where you are immediately thanks to mile markers and there's a sense of accomplishment when you watch the mile markers lead you to a point on the map and then you pass through it. It made me feel like Joey in that "Friends" episode when they were in London and he had to actually stand on the map in order to figure out where he was. I can totally relate to that. (I warned you I'm quirky.) Sorry, I digress.

Twenty minutes from my sister's house in Minneapolis and our friendly GPS lady decided to get all confused and turned around. She couldn't figure out what exit we were supposed to take and then when she would decide, we would be passing the exit and unless we wanted to drive head first into a concrete wall, we would have no other choice but to skip the exit all together. Recalculating. Then, she would tell us to take an exit only for her to tell us "stay on the current road" after we had exited. Trying not to curse in this situation was a feat that proved to be impossible. Recalculating. So we had no choice but to turn her off and go back to the printed directions which turned out to be spot on. (Well sort of...it took us on these back roads with a million stop lights but hey...we made it there and that's what matters.)

Fourth, kids have changed the phrase "are we there yet?" to "how many more hours?" TV shows have showed kids that parents are immune to the "are we there yet?" question so they have chosen the latter phrase to annoy the boloney (I know that isn't spelled correctly but bologna is just wrong wrong wrong) out of them. I don't know how many times we answered this question on the trip but I do know that our kids are no longer at the age where you can tell them any number and expect them not to remember what you told them the next time they ask. Shoot.

Fifth and lastly...since you're probably getting sick of my travel tips. McDonald's is a happy, all-American welcome sign while traveling. Oh I know it's not the healthiest thing we could eat while traveling and that I should have packed tofu sandwiches sprinkled with sprouts and hummus but seriously, there is something about long road trips that scream "FRENCH FRIES!" Their food is predictable and tasty and no one will leave there wishing that there was just something on the menu that they liked. Now I will say that the grease and blah feeling will catch up with you at some point and make you regret the day you took the exit with the Golden Arches but in that moment, happiness is had by all. (Until you have to visit a McDonald's bathroom and guesstimate its last scrubbing was in 1996. My advice in this situation, do not look at the floor in the bathroom under any circumstance and allow no part of your skin to touch anything. And also, vow that on your next trip you'll bring Lysol to spray on the soles of your shoes before getting back into the car.) But oh how good the Diet Coke tastes from McDonald's whether you're in Texas or Kansas or Minnesota. And if you're lucky, you may leave with a toy. How great is that?

Until next time...I'm okay with being quirky. :)