Drama, drama, drama!

Because a boring life would be, well--boring.

"How about we get the car packed, kids bathed and jammied and leave after supper?" I innocently asked.

"That sounds like a fine plan," Husband agreed. "You guys can all sleep and I'll drive."

"Swell!" I replied.

And then it all went so very wrong.

The car was packed--much more organized and neater than before (this will come into play later). Supper eaten and pajama clad little ones tucked into their carseats. Stuffed animals and blankets all nice and cozy. We had aimed for 7 and we pulled out of the drive at 7:04. It was all going too well.

Bruce (the GPS) decided to pay us back for completely ignoring his directions on the trip down to the beach and took us back through Deliverance country. I was far too occupied with my attempt to keep a bottle in the baby's mouth, answering Jacob's endless questions as to why we were leaving the beach and doing my best not to throw up--facing backwards in a car on winding roads does that to me--all the while grateful we were in a vehicle and not a house where I would be tempted to find a kitchen drawer with an icepick to stab myself in the eyes with because one child screaming and one child who will not be satisfied with any answer I give him all in a tiny little space was just a little bit more than I was truly capable of handling.

I failed to realize we were taking the scenic route back to the interstate until it was too late. It was getting dark and we were still winding our way through the Cape Fear river basin following Bruce's directions like the sheep that we are and just as I was getting more than a little concerned we started seeing signs for I 40. And if the name "Cape Fear" sounds familiar it's because Stephen King was so creepified by that area he wrote a book about it.

Kyleigh managed to fall asleep shortly before the interstate and Jacob was at least quieting down. I fluffed up my pillow, wrapped my fleece around me and curled up to sleep the rest of the way home. Only to be rudely awakened a couple of hours later by the smell of burning rubber. The car hitting the wake-up strips as Sean pulled off of the road woke up everyone else. (See, they do work!) Remember this picture of pre-vacation Jetta? Well, one of the laws of traveling with children is that all of the stuff one takes with them, one also needs to take home with them. Everything had to come out of the trunk (boot) to get to the spare tire.

"Love of My Life?" Sean asks so sweetly.

"Yes, Dear?"

"My flashlight's batteries appear to be dead. Where is your flashlight?"

"I don't know. Let me look under this EMERGENCY STASH OF CHEMLITES. Nope, can't find it. How about you look instead."

"Okay. First let me move this EMERGENCY STASH OF CHEMLITES."

See how nice we are to each other?

The car is pulled off on the side of I95 at 10 o'clock at night, we're back to the one child screaming and the other child asking endless questions, Sean is laying on the ground trying to locate the jack point using his CELLPHONE as a light when it hits him that we're both idiots. We had emergency lights all along. My excuse was that I had baby screams numbing the commonsense part of my brain.

My various paranoias (yes, there are many) have led me to be a very well prepared person. The car is outfitted with a fully stocked first aid bag and an emergency maintenance kit--tool box, jumper cables, zipties, emergency triangle. I even have a machine punch for breaking the windows if we end up under water. And, yes, a handfull of chemlites (the light sticks you bend and shake). One came in real handy as Sean was tightening up the last of the lugnuts and repacking the trunk.

So, even though I failed to document The Flat Tire On The Side of I95 ordeal with pictures, I would not be the journalist I was trained to be if I had also failed to take pictures of the service station we pulled into to air up the spare and repack the trunk a little better--since half ended up around my feet in our haste to leave the position of "Sitting Duck" on the side of one of the busiest interstate highways in the US.

There was no explanation given. Simply a 10 foot tall rooster leading a parade of other animals. Right there beside the service station. Of course Jacob wanted to get out and ride them. Which of course lead to another entire round of questions. He did, however, inform them all that it was nighttime and therefore time for them to be sleeping.



And I named my GPS "Bruce" since it is set with a male Australian accent. This way when he powers up I get to say, "Hallo, Bruce. How are you, Bruce? G'day, Bruce. Hiya, Bruce." Because, after all, what's a day without a Monty Python reference?