The Good News:  As celebrated in Happily Ever After, my sister was married in Boca Grande the Saturday after Thanksgiving.

The Bad News:  The budget mandated that our family had to make it a road trip, not a plane ride to get to Florida, and that we must be back to work the Monday after the wedding.

The Staggering News:  To fully participate in the 4:30 p.m. wedding and reception on Saturday with family and friends we had not seen in years, our family would have to drive home from Boca Grande on the Sunday after Thanksgiving, one of the most heavily traveled days of the year.  This meant 1 day, 4 kids, 1000 miles and 18 hours.

The Results:  0 fights.  0 complaints.  0 requests for potty breaks.  0 requests for snacks.  0 queries if we where there yet.

Amazing.

Freakish.

Like suspended animation.

The Husband was convinced at times we were actually moving backwards, and that must be why we couldn’t hear the children complain.

It was like a Stepford SUV bubble.

Don’t get me wrong, we are profoundly grateful.  There were at least two times when we were parked on I 95, not moving for literal hours, that I wanted to burst out into fits of tears, profanity, and self-pity, but couldn’t because of my role model children.

And it was a long 18 hours.  We only stopped four times for simultaneous gas, potty, snack and driver-switch breaks.  My back is still sore from all the sitting.  Florida and the Carolinas are flat lands too.  Mind numbing.  Yet the children rolled along nonplused reading, watching movies, napping, telling wedding stories.

Amazing.

Freakish.

Like suspended animation.

The Husband was convinced at times we were actually moving backwards, and that must be why we couldn’t hear the children complain.

It was like a Stepford SUV bubble.

I almost chose not to post this because I wouldn’t blame you if you don’t believe me.

If you’re a regular reader, however, you know I don’t pack any punches.

I tell the truth, I didn’t come to fool you.

And, to tell you the truth, I don’t know how they did it.  These are kids ages 5-12 who can easily engage in mortal combat in the comfort of our own home about whose turn it is to sweep and whose turn it is to wipe the table.

Was there something soporific about the wedding cake with piña colada icing? Were they so sleep deprived that they couldn’t spare the energy to fight?

Amazing.

Freakish.

Like suspended animation.

The Husband was convinced at times we were actually moving backwards, and that must be why we couldn’t hear the children complain.

It was like a Stepford SUV bubble.

Don’t get me wrong, we are profoundly grateful.

Let them eat cake!

I did my best,
it wasn’t much
I couldn’t feel,
so I tried to touch
I’ve told the truth,
I didn’t come to fool you
And even though
It all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah!