Road Warriors. Part Two.

Road trips with me are different than road trips with Brad. The children know this. This is why they dread road trips with me.

I insist on driving straight through, as long as possible, not stopping for food, leg stretches, or gas station bathroom breaks.

Brad's style is more relaxed. We stop every 3-4 hours for food or a stretch. He'll get the kids out of the car and let them run and jump and play.

Those road trips are usually more fun. I know. It's a shock. In fact, we usually see really interesting things.

Once we stopped to eat our lunch and came upon this sad state of affairs:

A flightless baby bird

and its poor dead brother.

Maybe you don't know Brad. If not, you should know he's an animal person. He rescues turtles. If he sees a turtle in the middle of the road, he'll stop, run to pick it up, deposit it several yards from the road, and drive away. He wants a dog. Actually. He wants a lot of dogs. He has drawn up plans for a house on a property containing an entirely separate, quite large dog paradise. He's rescued horny toads. Homeless dogs. Unwanted lizards. Lots. of. turtles.

It's one of my favorite things about him.

So, it shouldn't surprise you that after a little internal debate (what's best for the bird in this situation?), he did this:

I would never. I mean, salmonella. Rabies. Mites. I don't know. What is it birds have?

Anyway. Who knows if the bird survived. Maybe its mother wouldn't feed it after that. But. It wasn't doing any better on the ground. And we all felt happier. (Mostly. As soon as I pulled out the Purell I was totally good.)

Road Warriors. Part One.

We have clocked an unusual number of hours in our car this year. I would say that we've averaged about 20 hours a month on road trips in the car.

It feels like a lot.

And we've had a lot of fun (mixed in with a lot of boredom, of course). And excitement.

Like the time my tire blew. It looked like this:

I was approximately 50 miles away from anywhere. Seriously. You don't know "middle of nowhere," "the boonies," or "the sticks" until you've driven through 300 miles of nothing in Texas. If I'd ever seen "The Hills Have Eyes" I'd be terrified to drive through the empty void. Except that there are hardly any hills.

Or scary-eyed people.

In fact, it turns out there only seem to be really great people out there in the middle of nowhere. Like the guys who stopped their truck when they saw a pregnant woman with two kids trying to change a tire. They wouldn't take, "Oh, I'm fine," for an answer. And when they found that my spare was low on air, they took it to their ranch, filled it up, and returned in record time. They wouldn't let me pay them. And then they drove off into the sunset. Sort of. It was midafternoon. It felt picturesque, anyway.

Unhappily Unexpected.

Unhappily Unexpected: [adj.]

It happens when you're sitting on a lawn of freshly mowed grass, enjoying the sun, enjoying the color, enjoying being outside...

...enjoying some little fragment of wildlife exploring your giant fingers...

until you realize it's a fire ant. And it bites you ten times. On your elbow and your forearm and your hand.

synonyms: bad luck.

Almost as weird as a blueberry.

Remember this?

Anybody ever felt like that? Feeling like you need to be juiced?

I do.

I can only stand for several minutes until my ankles throb.

It makes me waddle because my skin just isn't stretching enough for my ankles to bend.

Seriously.

And juicing me might be helpful. Because there is definitely. something. in there.

The sweet thing is that now my ankles take on another job. In addition to helping me waddle, they now function as a access-anytime-stress-reliever. Like one of those squishy balls filled with cornstarch they pass out at the office.

And who couldn't use more of those?

Leashes

Are you familiar with maternity clothes?

If not, let me enlighten you.

There are two maternity shirt styles: the tent, and the underbust hug. Neither are that attractive. Granted, they are attempting to cover a giant mass of blob, so you can't really blame the limited style selection.

The underbust hug is often accompanied by strings that tie in the back. Or sometimes the front.

My girls love this wardrobe modification.

I don't think I'm such a fan. It leaves me either towing something,
Or being walked.

Yes. Kind of like a dog. A very large, upright, pregnant one.