Oh, y'all. Pray for me. I am in the process of filling four suitcases for a week away from home. Three small children, six days of clothing, medicine, and entertainment. We're driving to the in-laws. Hermetically sealed in a van. For ten hours. In 100 degree heat. Destination? Beaches? Theme parks? Attractions? Hardly. Try northeastern Mississippi for what I'm calling the Hotter than Hell tour.
It's a lot of togetherness, folks. I'm getting a little concerned. As a Highly Sensitive Person, there's been a lot of input for the senses this summer. I'm adjusting to working from home, having transitioned from a job that involved lots of quiet murmuring between adults in a cozy, confidential office. Now I live in a daycare. A screamy, screamy daycare. Jarring.
So I have some concerns about the trip. Crucial items will be left behind. There will be, I approximate, 2,454 stops for potty along the interstate. 1,566 of those will involve, indubitably, my sons peeing out the sliding van door onto the side of said interstate. There will be more chicken nuggets than stars in the sky. There will be at least one milkshake rotting in the carpet, along with countless fruit snacks, goldfish, and assorted other crumbs.
And then there's the bitch/goddess of the van I affectionately call the Blazebago (Furthur was already taken): the DVD player. Pro: kids can watch movies. Con: Kids can watch movies. I believe the last thirty miles of this trip, made last, were spent by me sobbing while simultaneously singing "Hakuna Matata." For the 53rd time. We will listen to cartoon for ten hours straight. Ears have been known to bleed.
Then, the arrival. Don't know if you've been to Mississippi lately. But it's hardly a tourist mecca. We have only "visiting" on the agenda. Our visit's purpose is for us to be eyeballed. And eyeballed we shall be. The folks in Mississippi value their sitting and talking time. Oh, yeah, and Fox News. Fox News, a lot of face time, and lack of sleep find me prone to sarcasm. No. Really.
It's been a long summer, y'all. But with the family jumping into the Blazebago (admit it. "Blazebago" is much sexier than "mini-van") for the Counce family tour to the land of the blues, Momma might just be finally going crazy from the heat taking this insane clown posse on the road. The kids, after all, are the rock stars, no? I'm just the roadie. Onward, y'all. Through the fog.
