Trip Home

"Maybe we should just turn around and go back to the interstate."
"We're not goin' back. Have some faith. It's supposed to be a challenge. That's why they call it a shortcut. If it was easy, it would just be The Way."

--"Road Trip"

The DVD player keeps the five kids quiet as we explore a more...ahem...scenic route home from Karate Camp than initially planned. We drive through quaint rural towns ("Demolition Derby! Monster Trucks! Cool!" Denise and I shout in unison), past Fonzarelli's Body Shop, through dense herds of speeding semis, through a blinding deluge with nary a twitch. A quarter mile from home a deer bounds out of the twilight and only the anti-stop brakes prevent us from twirling a 360, a move we learned in class.

The Gypsinator is home. My muscles ache from laughing nonstop, and I am so ready for bed--after night feeding and a fence repair.

As I get my stuff out of the car the kids decide I need to go on their family vacation next week. The front door bangs shut on their "PLEEEEAAAASE?!"