I am taking Quinton and Micah up to my parent’s house for the weekend by myself. It’s only a three hour car ride you may say. But three hours in the car with a 4 month old who loathes the very idea of his car seat combined with a seven year old that has recently developed brain damage and an obsession with whistling poorly, and you’ve got the perfect storm. I am going to have to strap my hands to the steering wheel to prevent myself from self-medicating with Reese Cups and French fries.
If you happen to be driving on I-71 North anytime this afternoon and see a woman in a silver Taurus twitching uncontrollably and covered in chocolate on the side of the highway, please pull over to help me. And give me some carrot sticks