Holiday Travel Horror. Please send chocolate.

Our super-fun holiday trip to visit family has been less than stellar so far.

It started off fine, with all the kids in the car being as irritating as possible. The worst one was in the way-back threatening to run away.

Four hours into the trip, I was waiting for her to stop teasing me and follow through. I could leave her at a rest stop and pretend it was an accident, right? My threats to sell her for parts eventually worked. Where do you think McRibs come from?

I had a very superior attitude to those cars we pass with all the kids staring at screens. We are spending quality time together, singing rounds, playing I Spy and talkin’ ’bout the good old days.

In my dreams.

After ten minutes of listening to a championship round of yes-you-did-no-I-di’unt, I’m repenting of my misjudgment of those other brilliant people who have quite children watching Sponge Bob in the Explorer.

As they drive past, I press my face against the glass, gaze at them longingly and mouth “take me with you” through the window.

After arriving at our halfway point, we had a really excellent lunch with my parents. One of my teen sons was in a great mood. He was laughing and making interesting conversation. In other words, not himself at all.

After we said goodbye to my parents, I decided son needed to go with us to the mall. Call me crazy, but one pair of pants on a week-long trip is not going to cover it. Those pants will be walking home by themselves by the end of it.

Son had other plans that involved some sort of screen-staring where we were staying.

Thwarted, happy-fun-time son disappeared and a sullen knuckle-dragger took his place. He sighed and stomped ahead of us at the mall, only grimacing less as we stopped at the pet store to look at the puppies that cost as much as a mortgage payment. Happy Christmas memories of watching overbred dogs wet on each other in tiny cages!

This afternoon I took my girls the the largest fabric and craft store we have ever seen. I wanted to roll around in the fat quarters and rub my cheek against the delicious yarns. I think they had, quite literally, a thousand kinds of fleece material.

I left the girls watching my cart of extreme-mark-down wrapping paper and sport-weight Christmas yarn while I went in the ladies room.

It was a large and empty bathroom and I went to the farthest stall. I like the roominess and the stall door doesn’t hit me in the knees. So what if the latch doesn’t completely close? People can see my hanging coat through the crack in the door, right?

Apparently not. A lady walked right in on me and stood there telling me why she thought the stall was empty. I don’t care, lady. Get out! I mean, her argument was persuasive, but I was not in a state to care.

When I left the bathroom I was so embarrassed I wanted to leave the store, if not the state. I try to limit the number of people who see my bidness, so mission foiled on that account today.

Now we are in a hotel eight hours from home. We are in waiting mode as we see in the morning if our host at our next destination and my husband are un-sick enough for us to continue. Magic Eight Ball says “Better luck next time”.

I may spend tomorrow driving the whole circus home while my husband naps in the co-pilot seat. If I didn’t know my husband to be scrupulously honest, I’d think he was a big fat faker so he can go home and lounge around in fleece pants until Monday.

If being an adult means dealing with disappointment, I am the adultiest. Hey, at least I’m not waiting for a flight at JFK.

Doing anything fun this week?

Photo melting snowman from here.