Playful, elegant, and not above the judicious use of the word “shit."

First leg

We just arrived at a hotel in the middle of nowhere, somewhere halfway between Salt Lake City and San Diego. We had planned to stop here, just a bit sooner in the day than two hours after Leta’s bedtime, but another snowstorm hit Utah last night and getting the car out of the driveway this morning was a four-hour event, ending very soon after Jon called me a few names and I slammed the door and we both called lawyers to file divorce papers. KIDDING. But not really.

Getting the car loaded and the kid situated and the dogs into the two-square inches of space remaining in the car was one of the worst logistical nightmares I have ever lived through, and I will admit that I lost my cool there for a few minutes, long enough that Jon looked at me sternly and said that he could very much imagine punching me in the face but that he wouldn’t because he hears that’s illegal. I deserved to be punched in the face, let’s be honest, but that’s only because I was reacting to someone who deserved to have his testicles severed from his body with a pair of rusty, dull-edged fingernail clippers.

I really didn’t think that car would ever leave that driveway, and right before we backed out of it Jon asked if we should say a family prayer, and I was all YOUR FAMILY DID THAT, TOO? It’s this thing that Mormon families do, they say prayers in the car before road trips, and you’re not allowed to say it in the house before you get into the car. I’m not sure why that is, I have my theories, one in particular that goes like this: prayers are like light in that they don’t travel around corners or through walls. You can’t bless the food that’s in the kitchen from the living room, because the blessing won’t take and if you do it that way you might as well just assume that the food is laced with arsenic THERE IS NO DIFFERENCE AND YOU WILL DIE.

The road trip prayer goes: Dear Heavenly Father, we thank you for this day, we’re thankful that we could be taking this trip as a family, bless us that the car will perform well and that we will travel in safety, bless us that we will arrive without incident, etc, etc, and we say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen. And when you’re a kid you’re sitting there in the back seat silently saying to yourself, please bless Dad that he won’t kill Mom even though we know he wants to very badly. Also, it would be cool if we could have lunch at McDonalds. Amen.

If you say a road trip prayer in the house and not in the car that you are going to be driving, then the car wasn’t involved and you’ll crash into a tree and you’ll be forced to live the rest of your life with no legs and no arms reminiscing with your headless wife about that one time y’all thought you could shortcut the Lord and said that prayer while finishing the last few bites of Rice Chex.

Also, in case you haven’t checked 4,000 times in the last hour like I have, it’s supposed to rain for the next five days in San Diego. Did you know this? Because I have it imprinted on my mushy brain, as well as the fact that any city that is usually sunny and within driving distance of our house has a forecast of rain and gloom and poopiness for the entire time we plan to be on vacation IT’S TIME TO START DOING DRUGS, I’M SORRY MOM.

Instead I am having some vodka. It will do.

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