14 hours + 5 states + 2 kids + 2 adults = JUST KILL ME NOW

We’re gearing up for a fourteen hour car trip down south to see my parents for the Thanksgiving holiday. And by gearing up, I mean I’m trying to gather all my wits together so that I can evenly distribute them amongst getting lost, wrong turns, bathroom stops and the onslaught of 1,839 ARE WE THERE YET’s that start peppering us before we get to our mailbox, keeping in mind that I need to retain an equal amount for the car trip home, not to mention keeping a healthy amount in reserve for emergencies that inevitably arise when staying under the same roof as my mother for five straight days.

Five straight days. Me. My mom. One roof.

Did I mention it was for five straight days?

Dammit. There goes another wit jumping out the window.

I’ve summoned the Vacation Fairy to help us get ready for our trip and I expect her to swoop in here through our air conditioning ducts any minute.

I know I’ve mentioned it before, but this household could never properly enjoy any vacation if it wasn’t for our Vacation Fairy. Unlike certain tall, dark, handsome IT guys who must lay in bed for fifteen hours straight when they have a headache, the Vacation Fairy works through bladder infections, cold sores, sinus infections, laryngitis, back spasms and bouts with Bell’s Palsy to ensure that everything is in order before we depart. And unlike those aforementioned tall, dark, handsome IT guys, she doesn’t wait until five minutes before we leave to pack a week’s worth of clothes into a laptop bag. Instead, she ensures that we leave on vacation with suitcases packed with sufficient clean underwear and clean jammies and clean outfits and that our house and its bathrooms and kitchen and beds are left in a clean condition which makes for clean happy house sitters. At least, I hope they’re clean. Ensuring that particular condition is probably beyond the scope of Vacation Fairy’s duties. Or inclinations.

Since I have a ton of running around to do today, I’m leaving her a note, in case she swoops in while I’m gone:

Hi Vacation Fairy!

There are approximately 62 tons of laundry spread out between the laundry room and the girls rooms and all rooms in between. There might actually be some in our closet which, if you recall, is supposed to serve as the depository for all dirty clothes but apparently doesn’t have the same appeal as the living room floor, the bathroom floor, the stairs, the dining room table and any other flat surface within throwing distance. Don’t forget to check under the girls’ beds and on their curtain rods and in their book bags and the roof. Don’t ask.

The suitcases are in my closet. I know it looks like there’s just one, but actually they’re all nested inside one another so if you catch the girls fighting to the death over the one jumbo suitcase that they’ve named I NEED THIS ONE, THIS IS THE ONLY ONE THAT CAN FIT ALL MY STUFF, STOP IT, STOP IT, I CALLED IT FIRST, MOOOOOOOOOOOM, feel free to show them how many suitcases there actually are. While you’re at it, I’ve found it an invaluable lesson to zip each of them inside a suitcase to prove how roomy they are. An hour or so pretty much does the trick. Throw a snack in there with them and you might just get two hours out of the deal.

The jumbo suitcase is reserved for my 52 boxes of pads and tampons. Yes, God still likes to screw with me every once in awhile.

Helena claims to have lost all of her Nintendo DS games. This is a big, big deal since we are looking at a 14 hour car trip ahead of us and if we have an Helena with a Nintendo DS but without an assortment of DS games, you might as well text your counterpart, Fairy Godmother, and ask her to turn our car into a hand basket because you know where we’ll be going. And as you know, my ass is not built to ride in hand baskets so please, please, please scour every inch of this house to find those games. They may very well be the only thing that stops me from performing a frontal lobotomy on myself with a plastic spoon before we get to the Pennsylvania border.

Speaking of Helena, please, for the love of God, do not forget to stuff a multitude of plastic bags somewhere near Helena’s seat in the car because, as we found out during our last car trip, my hands are simply not big enough to catch all of the contents of her stomach as they come spewing out of her mouth and nose approximately ten seconds after she turns green and whispers “I don’t feel good.”

That reminds me … a gas mask or two would be awesome.

You’re the best!

Love, Andy

We’ve done this trip several times and actually, it’s do-able, provided  #1) Helena and Zoe can manage to refrain from killing each other for fourteen straight hours; #2) Nate and I can manage to refrain from killing each other for fourteen straight hours; and #3) Helena does not throw up.

In the event of #1, we will stop the car and they can walk.

In the event of #2, we will stop the car and Nate can walk. Until he admits he was wrong.

In the event of #3, we will stop the car, set it ablaze, and everyone can walk. Except me. I’ll be too busy lying in the middle of the highway, waiting to get run over.

If you don’t hear from me by Monday … think of me fondly.

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