Tour de Thanksgiving

We just got back from our family Tour de Thanksgiving. Though we have traveled to Texas and back before, this was the first time toting another living creature for which we are responsible.

It occurred to me that I might need a doggie diaper bag instead of a makeshift Wal-Mart sack that was overflowing with treats, water bottles, and already indistinguishable stuffed toys. A sock monkey, with one eyeball barely hanging on for dear life, seemed to look at me from the sack as if to say, "Really? I'm cool with my 2-week lifespan. Just leave me behind." 

But instead, we pressed on-- a few hours later than planned-- but we pressed on nonetheless.

Road trips are always very informative. They teach you about yourself, they teach you about the person you are with, and they enlighten you as to why "life" is often compared to the open road. 

This particular road trip taught me the following:

• Nasty snacks taste better when you are in the car. I remember the distinct smell of Corn Nuts invading every open space of our mini van growing up. We'd groan, Dad would munch, and usually feed us the "It keeps me awake," line. While on dog duty, I see Justin march out of the gas station with Ranch Corn Nuts in hand. I tried one in a moment of desperation-- and ended up eating his second bag. Sorry, babe.

• My bathroom standards drop tremendously. I can hop over mysterious wads of toilet paper. But the toilet seat still appears to be ivory so I feel like I'm peeing at the Hilton.

• We can now blame silent but deadly gases on the dog. Poor Fiona voluntarily claimed every single odor that escaped the entire ride. She agrees that it lends itself to a smelly but happy marital state.

• There is no car temperature at which both parties are content. Your frost-bitten fingers are knocking on death's door or you feel as if someone is blowing a full-blast hair dryer on your face.

• Insisting on being your husband's designated texter is somewhat contradicted by giving him a wrapped Starburst to peel away in the dark. They don't make commercials about those dangers, but you will get a funny look.

• You can eat fast food without judgement. I always try to play along with the whole, "I feel so bad when I eat fast food" bit that's going around. But let me be frank: I love fast food. There. I said it. One of the most exciting feelings in this life is finding a few fries that fell to the bottom of the bag.

• My cute dog may not be able to protect me, but she will cuddle with me until the paramedics get there. I'm taking Fiona for a potty break at a gas station. It's kind of dark and I see these three men approaching. I hear the dreaded, "Hey there!" I ignored them, but could hear their footsteps getting closer. They left me alone luckily-- but I wished for a moment I could pull a stunt like on those State Farm commercials.  Like a good neighbor, Fiona is a pitbull with rabies.

• Puppies try to hold it too. Traffic jam. Fiona's little tush starts bobbing up and down and her legs are shaking. I look down to see what is wrong and a little dab of urine is on my leg. Consider it the dog version of "Exxon 30 miles?! I hope they sell some Hanes Her Way in the random aisle." Call me parent of the year, but I constructed a temporary diaper out of paper towels. 

It was a pretty uneventful trip if you don't include the previous events. Fiona was a great passenger, slept most of the way and tried her darndest not to have an accident on my fancy travel pants.

It was good to see fall leaves. It was good to be pampered a little by my family. It was good to rap in the car to songs I haven't heard since college. Just the breath of fresh air I needed. 

Even if the air did smell like Corn Nuts.