We arrive

The rest of the trip went about as smoothly as the beginning. Unlucky for you dear reader, I have pushed these memories out of my sub conscious.

I do however remember a few things, which I believe you’ll find interesting.

I didn’t kill my wife

Somewhere around hour 10 my wife sang the ABCs for the 30,000th time. I couldn’t handle 30,001. She switched to “Twinle Twinkle Little Star.”

She went crazy

My wife went delirious at hour 17. I spent the last hour of the trip with a zombie toddler, whiny infant, and a wife who would randomly crack up at the most innocuous thing.

The peace of our destination and a pillow was the only thing keeping me from driving our van right off the highway.

He almost made it

Before our trip we made the brilliant decision of grabbing some McDonald’s. Tom ordered his usual cheeseburger for himself. Instead of scarfing it down straight away he kicked the trip off on a high note.

“Tom aren’t you going to eat your burger?” “No, I eat it at the beach.” “That’s going to be awhile buddy.” “I eat at the beach.”

He made it a half hour before temptation got the better of him.

That’s my jam

I began rocking out to some jams somewhere in the middle of the trip. Out of nowhere Tom starts singing.

“Up Town. Funk. You up.”

He then insisted on repeating that phrase for the rest of the vacation.

What’s that smell

“What’s that smell,” said my wife. “Samuel, I think one of the boys pooped.”

I decided to begin my investigation with the only culprit able to speak.

“Tom, did you poop?” “No. I got ‘dem wicked farts.”

He didn’t miss a beat. And sure enough. He hadn’t pooped. He just had ‘dem wicked farts.