remember when.

Mom and Dad took us brude of crazy kids on many road trips. And though at the time I thought they were too mean, and probably the worst parents in the world because they'd tell us to settle down, or they'd put a limit on the amount of candy we could chow, or they'd make us go pee when ever they stopped the car; now I think they are pretty dang awesome. They dragged five fighting-screaming-name-calling kids all over the western US. I remember those days like they were yesterday. I remember when we plastered a neighboring camper with molten balls of marshmallow. I remember when we took a long trip and I vomited in a brown bag. In fact, I still remember that there were little tangerine slices in the mess of vomit. Gross, I know...but still I remember it.

So, here's a shout out to Mom and Dad for being road-trippers...and passing on that love. Because without it I don't think I would have endured the last trip Mark and I took.

After driving for 12 hours I wanted to KILL my sweet Ruby. You see, in that twelve hours, Ruby wasn't so sweet. She screamed for 9 hours. Yes, literally. Her fussing ranged from a pitchy whipering to a full fledged, raging roar. That little pint-sized girl has a set of lungs. And by the time we arrived at my sister's house in Washington, I was ready to burst.

Isn't it funny how kid screaming can wind up your insides so tight you feel like you're going to explode? Or pull your hair out. Or actually make good on your threats and turn the van around.

But then when I think I've had enough of her, she turns around and gives me her big-brown-eyed gaze, and my heart melts.

Here's to road trips from Hell, and the awesome memories they bring.