Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Trippin'


We just (fairly recently) returned from our latest family road trip, a ritual lovingly referred to as HolySHITWhyDoWeKeepDoingThisToOurselves!?  It was a lovely, family time…full of beautiful landscapes and rolling meadows and setting sunsets situated above picturesque historic landmarks.  And if you believe any of that bullsh*t, I’ve got some lovely oceanfront property to sell you.

Oh yes, there was a trip, and yes, it involved our family—all gazillion of us, even the ones who are not fully functional in most social situations yet.  But that’s ok, because when we set out, we knew it would be an adventure, and an adventure it was.

We were about 30 minutes from home when the first tragedy struck, and since it happened to strike in the general vicinity of our teenage daughter, things quickly took a turn for the worse.  Let me just say this:  shoes were forgotten; drama ensued.  ‘Nuff said.  After informing our sweet little Doodle Bug that we would not be returning home for the aforementioned footwear, we received the following message:

“Well, then you can just buy me some new Converse when we get there.”  (Followed by huff, sigh, eye roll, and slouchy-spine thing as she sunk into the back seat.  Note to self:  ask doctor about possible spinal alignment problems vs. normal teenage slouching syndrome.)

So, along the road we went.  And we went along without incident, I might add, until we reached our hotel that night…only to realize that one of us (I’m not mentioning any names, HONEY.) forgot Jordan’s medicine.   “Heeeeyyy, no big deal,” we said, although unconvincingly, as this statement was followed by nervous laughter.  We were both secretly thinking, OH FREAKING CRAP IN A BUCKET.

Oh freaking crap in a bucket is right.  Without getting into too much detail, I’ll just say, that by the end of the trip, the adults were in need of their own medication.  Our sweet little Jordan had morphed into…hmmm…let’s see, can you picture maybe a 12-legged tree monkey on crack?  I’m just sayin’.  That kid never stopped moving.  He had arms and legs everywhere.  And they NEVER. STOPPED. MOVING.

Now, we weren’t particularly worried about the lack of medication in the first place because our doctor had just recently suggested that we take him off the meds for a week, just to see if we could see any obvious differences in his behavior.  We were thinking that the medicine was possibly not affecting him or not working like it should.  So we thought, what the heck, no time like the present.  So it was med-free week.

I’ll just say that by the end of the week, I probably would have sold my soul to the devil, Mother Theresa, Dr. Phil, or Buddha for just one little white tablet to hide in that kid’s peanut butter.  Experiment complete.  The medication does something, because without it, the parents are going to need to be medicated.

Oh, and also, it was on this trip that Jordan earned himself the nickname ‘Sticky,’ because I swear, every time I went to grab that child’s hand, it was stickier than the time before.  I don’t know how he does it, but it must be through sheer force of will—he is the stickiest kid I have ever known.  I think there must be a place in the Guinness Book of World Records for him.

Moving on to the rest of the fam, I would like to take a moment to officially thank my children for taking the time out of their busy days to focus intently on DESTROYING MY CAR.  I really, really appreciate the hidden half-sticks of beef jerky hidden in the console and in the door handles, and it’s very handy to have half-used packets of hot sauce at my disposal whenever I may want them.  Also, I’m grateful for the many pieces of gum that, in the 150-gazillion-degree Kansas City heat, have melded permanently with the interior fabric.  The gum really coordinates nicely with the very colorful drink caps that are sprinkled like confetti throughout the interior of the car.  It looks very festive—sort of like a party happened in there.  A party I was unaware of.  And woefully unprepared for.  Kind of like those parties in high school when your parents go out of town and the house gets TP’d and you can’t remember how the toilet ended up on the lawn.  Yeah.  Thanks, kids.

On to the entire reason for our little road trip…drum roll please…Micaela ROCKED IT OUT at Nationals and ended up bringing home a fourth place win, which also secured her a spot at Olympic Development Camp in a couple of weeks.  Yay!  (And cha-ching!)  Haul out the checkbook, Daddy, the girl is going big-time!  She twisted, she turned, she flipped…and SHE KICKED BUTT!  Can’t wait to see what she’s got in store for us in her next routine.  You go, girl!

Oh, and one more thing.  Not a cool souvenir.  Well, it seemed cool at the time, but whoa, Nellie, hold your horses!  It’s the fact that you have to live with this souvenir for a long, long time.  Pop guns for the boys.  Yup.  Because we are geniuses, and we enjoy having little cork nuggets launched at our ears hundreds of times a day.  We’re sorta cool like that.  Can we have our meds now?

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