My husband and I have some very generous friends who, for some inexplicable reason, often choose to invite us to their time shares they hold all around the area. We are so pleased they like us(albeit confused). Last weekend, we set aside some cash, packed up our kiddos and their nessecities, and took off to McCall, Idaho for some family ski time.
David is a pro, but I am a horrible joke.
I took a lesson and now I am just a joke, not so horrible.
The kids were good, the weather was perfection, the pool near the condo, a dream, the hot tub, even better.
pictures of the weekend are coming soon.
All was perfect, until the ill fated ride home tore our dreams apart.
We planned our departure with care. We would leave at exactly his bedtime. We would be gassed up and fed and not have to make a stop until much later in the day after Brody had woken, fresh faced, from his nap.
Why, oh why haven't we learned our lesson?
All expectations should die with the birth of a child.
He fell asleep. It was working! We coasted along the highway in peace, when all the sudden Isaac
blows up hollering
at Jackson for spilling his ice cold drink directly into his brother's lap.
All was lost.
Brody screamed for about an hour straight.
We bribed him with candy.
We made snide comments to each other, in reaction to the continual screaming. We questioned each other's parenting skills
in an effort to put blame on SOMEBODY for the horror this child was inflicting upon us.
We angrily begged the terror to stop.
We threatened him with attempts to take away his favorite blankie-but
to no avail.
We couldn't take it anymore.
Someone said something about needing a place to drop off the body.
Yes, it was a bad joke.
Wait, it gets worse.
We stopped at a rest stop-only it wasn't a rest stop.
It was a cemmetary. Not so funny.
We walked along the isles of headstones. This cemmetary was very old. There were many babies. There were mothers that died in childbirth. There were teenagers and young adults-mostly a surprising amount of babies. There is nothing that chills a mother and father more than the idea of losing their baby.
Of course, after a breather, and a baby who finally decided to stop crying,
we left,
gently, or perhaps, forcefully
reminded that our children are precious, grateful for Brody's healthy pair of lungs that bellowed out with strength and life.
David is a pro, but I am a horrible joke.
I took a lesson and now I am just a joke, not so horrible.
The kids were good, the weather was perfection, the pool near the condo, a dream, the hot tub, even better.
pictures of the weekend are coming soon.
All was perfect, until the ill fated ride home tore our dreams apart.
We planned our departure with care. We would leave at exactly his bedtime. We would be gassed up and fed and not have to make a stop until much later in the day after Brody had woken, fresh faced, from his nap.
Why, oh why haven't we learned our lesson?
All expectations should die with the birth of a child.
He fell asleep. It was working! We coasted along the highway in peace, when all the sudden Isaac
blows up hollering
at Jackson for spilling his ice cold drink directly into his brother's lap.
All was lost.
Brody screamed for about an hour straight.
We bribed him with candy.
We made snide comments to each other, in reaction to the continual screaming. We questioned each other's parenting skills
in an effort to put blame on SOMEBODY for the horror this child was inflicting upon us.
We angrily begged the terror to stop.
We threatened him with attempts to take away his favorite blankie-but
to no avail.
We couldn't take it anymore.
Someone said something about needing a place to drop off the body.
Yes, it was a bad joke.
Wait, it gets worse.
We stopped at a rest stop-only it wasn't a rest stop.
It was a cemmetary. Not so funny.
We walked along the isles of headstones. This cemmetary was very old. There were many babies. There were mothers that died in childbirth. There were teenagers and young adults-mostly a surprising amount of babies. There is nothing that chills a mother and father more than the idea of losing their baby.
Of course, after a breather, and a baby who finally decided to stop crying,
we left,
gently, or perhaps, forcefully
reminded that our children are precious, grateful for Brody's healthy pair of lungs that bellowed out with strength and life.
3 comments:
could you sometime post a video of you and dave fighting? i want to see that soooo bad. serious.
My recommendation? Handcart. Fact: More American family mishaps have occured in the car in the last WEEK than in all family handcart travels in the last DECADE. Startling, yet true.
Try fruit snacks for Brody. They seem to be a cure all for Alli on her car trips!
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