The Definition of Crazy, Take Two

If you're just joining us, read this first. Oh, you want to, you really, really want to.

So, we get to Michigan.

~We literally fall out of the car. John has yakked and had a blow out. Haiiii!

~I meet my brother's girlfriend, Kerry, and immediately love her. Plus? John throws up on me mere hours after meeting here, causing me to have to have to shower both John and myself, fully dressed. I need help with this. As I'm holding John, covered in puke, I look at her and say, "We're about to get to know each other really well. Can you help?" And she just does. Later, I find out that she has a big problem with vomit. Ooops!

~As a *treat* my mom, my Grandma and I go to a salon for some girl time. I get my hair hi-lighted. And the power goes out halfway through the process. I have to go back the next day to finish it, which causes some weird chemical reaction. I am now a blond.

~On Saturday we put up the tents for Grandpa's memorial/Bryan's 30th Birthday party. Because who doesn't party like that?? A storm comes through and blows one of the tents onto the roof of the house. While we stand in front of the sliding glass door and watch. Because that's the safest place to be, duh.

~Many people come on Saturday to celebrate two amazing lives. Bryan gives an amaze-balls speech, ending it with a marriage proposal. Kerry is completely surprised and says yes!

~That night, in bed, my husband tells me, "I love you. You're like my left leg."

~The next morning my mom tells us that while she and Bryan were buying Kerry's ring, John vomited all over the ring display. The velvet, the rings, everything. And then, while they were cleaning him, he had a total blow out. Good times.

~On our way home from Michigan we make pretty good time. No lost tickets. No attempting to leave wives and children at random rest stops. Although I do consume many drinks at Starbucks.

~We stop at a hotel and get one of the two last rooms. Yes!

~Once in the room I frantically scrub the stench of the latest blow out/vomit from both John's and my clothing. (I'm sure you're seeing a pattern here. Yes, we figured out the problem. His epiglottis didn't work. He's totally fine now.)

~After we're all clean, I pull back the sheets on the bed the kids will share and OH MY SWEET LORD IN HEAVEN THERE IS BLOOD ON THEM.

~Call front desk. The other room? Has been taken. *Of Course*And housekeeping is closed. I start to laugh maniacally. They manage to find sheets. We toss the sheets on the bed and I resolve to not think about it.

~Violet refuses to use any of the restrooms all.the.way home. So she urinates in disposable diapers in the back of the van. And I? Do.not.care.

~Sarah eats ketchup and chocolate milk for lunch and I consider this a major win.

~And then, we are HOME AT LAST, HOME AT LAST, THANK GOD ALMIGHTY, WE ARE HOME AT LAST!

Did I mention that we are making this drive again? I know we've done it since, without all this drama. And we laughed all the way home. We did. Because who has all this happen to them? But I'm still afraid . . .