Whoever said getting there is half the fun clearly didn't travel with us.

We're back from vacation.  Insert your favorite cuss words here....

When we left to go to Sanibel, I was on pain medication for pulling my back out.  I was trying to trimming the hedges, trying to miss a birds nest with eggs in it, with the trimmers over my head and I swerved.  My back said, "Fuck you," for making that nasty little move and bango, I was out of commission.

As an added bonus, I was such a bitch with my back out, my husband decreed that I am no longer allowed to pick up the trimmers.  Normally being told I'm not allowed to do something is code for "bring it, we're sooo gonna fight about this," but this time I didn't jump right away and thought things through.  Not allowed to trim those bushes?  AMEN.  In a way, it totally worked in my favor.

Screw you, you stupid little robins.  

So before I tell you about how much fun we had and I bore you with all my pretty shells and tell you how Alex got fixated on Monopoly and didn't want to see the ocean or play in the sand because, "We already did that and it looks the same," I'll first tell you about how we got to the airport.

My first mistake was in deciding to come off all my happy pills for the trip as I wanted to be lucid for the plane rides.  Big, big mistake.

So we pile everyone in the car and not twenty miles into the forty mile trip to the airport, the little pop-up light goes on that the tire pressure is low.  My husband starts getting on me about not taking care of the car which is entirely true but not the point here.  So when I started to smell burning rubber, I felt somewhat, no, I felt totally vindicated.

"Hey hon, I think we have a flat tire."  I say to which he responds, "We need to pull over."  To which I say, "No!   We can't pull over.  We have to get to the airport, I need this vacation."  To which he looks at me like I've already done lost my mind, but again that's not the point here.

So we pull over.  Second mistake.  See, we have a minivan with those Dunlop no-flat tires.  The ones that say, if you read the fine print, which we totally didn't, you should NOT pull over and stop because the stuff that keeps the tire inflated will harden and then the tire won't rotate anymore.  So our roadside conversation went a little like this:

"Oh Christ, it IS flat.  Wait, go get the owners manual and lets see what it says.....Oh fuck, it says we should have kept driving.  Gawd.  Fuck.  I TOLD YOU SO.  Quick, get back in the car and lets see what happens.  Gawd, hurry the fuck up and get back in!  That shit in the tire is supposed to harden if it sits too long!"

And it sat too long.

So every time the front passenger tire rotated it hit that spot where it sat too long and went BUMP.  Every rotation.  BUMP.

I hissed at my husband, "How are we going to get to the airport?  This is sooooo not good.  Jesus H, I am so over this vacation and it hasn't even started."

Then Gracie started up, "Owie!  Car has owie!"  With every rotation, "OWIE!"

Then Alex started up, "Are we going to die?  Can someone give me my i-Touch?  I want to die holding my i-Touch."

Then Lizzy started up, "What do you mean we're all going to die???  That's so not fair!  I'm not done watching Barbie, that's not fair!"

So our way to the airport was a blast.  Taking all the back roads, going 25 MPH, with hazards blinking and kids screaming, "OWIE!  We're all gonna die!  I want my i-Touch!  It's not fair I don't get to finish Barbie!"  BUMP, BUMP, BUMP.

Screw you Dunlop.  

We made it as far as the Airport Marriott.  We left the carcass of our car in their fifteen minute parking.  I think they took pity on us and wanted our mess out of their lobby so bad they let us hitch a ride on their airport shuttle.

After having cleared security and having to prove that soy milk really is soy milk and we were not hiding plastics to build a pipe bomb, the douche-canoe next to us on the plane wouldn't give up his seat.  Even after I begged him, I begged him, to let us all sit together.  I took that as a signal to lax-up my parenting skills for the next hour and forty five minutes and let Gracie climb all over him like a jungle gym to look out the window.

"This place rocks, mom.  They have a map!"

And then on our next flight, when another guy wouldn't give up his seat so we could sit together I almost started crying.  When Gracie puked all over the window/aisle/my leg/seat/whole back section of the plane and he started yelling at me to, "Do something, you're her mother!"  like I'd missed that memo, I just hit that little call light above me and asked for another puke bag.  And then I told him to shut the fuck up and mind his own business.

When Alex joined in puking, I know, I just know, I lost a little piece of my soul right then, on that plane.  

And that is how we started our first twenty four hours of vacation....

Now I'm back home and ready to cry and I have to buy a game of Monopoly before Alex goes ape.

And remember how I was on those pain meds before I left?

When we came back, I came back to a house that was utterly and completely destroyed because I was happy and medicated and I didn't care.

And do you know what I did?  I took those same pain meds that made me feel so damn good in the first place and went right to bed.  I'll take care of the house tomorrow.



Note: My back still hurts for whatever reason and I'm still cleaning the house....but we're home.  Please give me a week or so to get caught up.  In the mean time if you want to see some pretty shells (and me in a swimsuit) follow this link to Pam's page, i Love Shelling.