Recipe For Insanity

Hello, Hubby here! Here's a recap of the end of this last weekend. Enjoy!

Sitting in the car, facing a five-hour drive home, we started off with the intent to drive as far as possible before having to stop. Fifteen minutes later we pull off the road, to retrieve my wife’s computer from the backseat. Not a big deal, I think. Five minute detour at the most. The following is a description of our FORTY-FIVE minute stop.

1. Grab the computer from the back seat. Let’s go!

2. As long as were stopped, let’s change our son into his pajamas. Good idea! Our daughter is sleeping so let’s just leave her alone. Bring son into the front seat & start changing him.

3. Hmmm… something feels a bit warm. Son knocks over HOT SPICED CIDER which proceeds to pour down my leg. Spend the next ten minutes cleaning that up.

4. As we’re cleaning up the sticky cider, our daughter starts to cry. Faint aroma of poop drifts up from the backseat.

5. (SIGH) Okay… let’s change our daughter too. Put son back in seat & get our daughter. Hmmm…no poop yet. Gently massage daughter’s butt to release the golden nugget. Son asks for toys to play with. Car begins to smell like ass.

6. Put daughter back in car seat. Pick up toys son dumped on the floor. Daughter begins to cry. (SIGH) Okay… let’s make a bottle.

7. Bottle is taking too damned long! Daughter erupts into screaming fit. Meanwhile son’s animals are singing what only can be described as a demented opera at full volume, designed to explode heads of every person in the audience with each crescendo.

8. Wife begin to laugh uncontrollably as I bang my head against the back of my seat. Only four hours & forty-five minutes to go. Oh, someone help me!!!


When I told that girl in choir that I had a crush on her, I never dreamed that fifteen years later I would be stuck in a parking lot next to the highway with two screaming kids in the back seat with my wife frantically making a bottle as scalding hot cider slowly drips down my leg. By the way, after that we stopped every twenty minutes as my wife’s pea-sized bladder inevitably filled up.