How NOT to Start Your Vacation

Today was Day 1 of our annual vacation to the Outer Banks in North Carolina. Today is also the first day that I was wishing I was Kendall from "this is not that blog" so that I could illustrate our debacle of a trip with the utter hilarity I know I should see in it.

Let me preface this by noting my anxiety issues. I often joke that I have loads of OCD issues, but the past few years have pushed them to the forefront of my being. These issues go straight to my stomach.

Duly noted.

We embark on our trip at 3:30am and I remark on how awesome it is that I am so comfortable with the way we (Read: me, myself and I) packed everything this year. I have no worries in the fact that I did my best and anything that we may have forgotten can be easily bought.

YAY ME! I am making progress! Life is a highway and I want to ride it all night long!

And so, this is where I have jinxed the rest of the ride for my sanity.

If you ever want to know how long a 4 year old will talk, go on a long drive. How about 8 hours? Does that sound good to you?

Mommy, I had a dream do you want to hear my dream or should I just tell you at the beach when are we going to get there this is so fun I can't wait to see the beach remember last year when Daddy bought me cheese and crackers and I didn't eat them because I won't need them this year because you have snacks.

Cut to me doing my deep breathing only 10 minutes into the trip.

She started asking "Are we there, yet" at 5am. One and a half hours into our eight hour trip.

Cut to me with my head in my hands. (Read: MAKE IT STOP)

Let's skip ahead…to about 7am when I give the kids the wholesome snack of ripe green grapes. Good job, Mom, I say, to pack such a good snack that they love.

Cut to half an hour later when the 4 year old throws up her grapes. Somehow, she even managed to catch half of it in her hands.

Kudos to you, Emma.

My husband reacts quickly by pulling off to the side of the road and hands me an empty coffee cup for the…ahem…remains. I pull her out of the car to change her shirt and clean her up. Smart of me to pack an extra outfit and wipes close at hand, right?

Cut to Emma screaming cleanup demands. "Get this shirt OFF OF ME!!" and "It's on my hands! Get it OFF MY HANDS!!" and my favorite, "Mommy, get this stuff OUT OF MY HAIR!!"

By now I realize that we are standing directly on top of what must be the biggest ant family reunion in history as I am shaking them off the puke cup, swiping them off my shoes and swatting them from our skin.

As I am the final stages of cleanup, a near ten minutes on the side of the road, I see a man with a lovely pink shirt (read: blouse) and a homeless beard yelling something at me. Something about a "tah-er".

"I'm sorry. I can't hear you over the high-speed traffic, sir, but my, that string of pearls you are wearing is lovely." And while I am realizing that he is asking me if we have a flat "tah-er", I am also realizing that he must have forgotten to put his teeth in today.

Kudos, to you, sir, for caring enough to run across the highway to find out if we were okay.

After getting back on the road, Emma finally passes out for about ten whole heavenly minutes until she wakes up again. And makes us stop three times to go potty. Three times that she didn't even go.

*FACEPALM*

So, here I am, breathing my way to a zen-like existence, hoping that maybe, just maybe, I can get some eggs and toast and some tea to calm my nerves. Which are now shot to hell.

And then. My husband. Stopped at....wait for it.......Subway.

*SOBS*

My Birthday Girl

I was thinking about what to write about my Emma Lily for her birthday post. The day came and went and I couldn't decide. Do I whine about the fact I had to be induced to get her here? Like get to the hospital the night before and spend the whole time strapped to machines? Nah. I'm sure plenty of women have been through the same. Maybe I'll share some of her hilarious quips. Like the time she said that her life was ruined because I gave her fresh parsley. But, then again, I've shared plenty of those on Twitter.

So, what then?

My son was an easy baby. He's a pretty easy kid still at 11 years old. Emma, on the other hand, is already her own person at the age of four. She was her own person before she was born. I was sick the whole pregnancy. She had to be forced out. The only good hospital photo taken was one where she was giving the finger...my one regret in life is not having that one printed. I should have known it was a sign of what was to come.

She was pretty easy in the way that waking up in the middle of the night was quickly resolved, but her precociousness was creeping up on me in the meantime. Once she began crawling, it was obvious she would be a troublemaker. She'd head for whatever direction we did not want her to go in. Today, she still is. She tries to fool us. She says things that we can't even begin to comprehend how she would know. I can only imagine what her teenage years will do to me.

Although, underneath all the trouble, the mouthing off, the hijinx, she's an incredible energy. She bounces like light off a mirror. Her grin is always mischievous. Her hair is always a mess. She makes demands and she throws fits when they aren't fulfilled. Then she does something helpful like getting a new box of tissues for the bathroom. I have a four year old that knows how to put a new roll of toilet paper on the holder. She has tender moments where she brushes your hair back and asks for a hug.

When I look at Emma, I see possibilities. I see a million things she could be. She's emits the drama of an actress, the creativity of an artist and the cunning of a con artist. She's beautiful and difficult and challenging. She's so full of life and my one hope for her is that she always remains that way.