Highway to Hell

I just remembered that I never documented our family's lovely return trip from St. George to Layton after Great-Grandpa Ahern's funeral.

We had a fun morning with family. We had lunch and visited Snow Canyon State Park. After a little shopping we were ready to hit the road around 3:00 pm, an hour or two later than we had hoped to leave, but no biggie.

I promised Ella a stop at the Dollar Tree for activities to do on the drive home. I bought Jude a calculator. Best dollar I ever spent. He loved pushing the buttons and once in a while he would hold it to his ear and have a phone conversation.

We had to make a quick stop at Target on the way out of St. George. We had to refill our snack container for the ride home and grab a DVD for the kids.  Matt waited in the car while Ella and I ran inside.  Ella and I needed to use the restroom before the trip started. The women's room was closed. We waited. And waited. And waited.  For 20 minutes.  Finally I asked when they would open it and they said 30 more minutes or I could use the restroom back by the pharmacy.  Done.  

We headed on our way again. Backseat buddies. I had to snap this photo early because soon enough the crying, fighting, and yelling will begin.

We finished our shopping and hopped in the car. We were off!  20 minutes into the drive I realized I had left my iPhone in the restroom of the Target. Blast! We turned around and headed back.  I found it easily, but we had now added an additional hour to our already late departure.  So frustrating.  As I was inside the second time Cecilia threw up all over herself.  She had thrown up in the middle of the night the night before, so clearly she was feeling sick.  Matt cleaner her up and we finally got going.

The kids were fighting like CRAZY. Way more than usual (and that's really saying something).  I was totally yelling and screaming at them.

Eventually we stopped for dinner in the smallest town ever: Scipio, Utah.  We went into a gas station and ate at the Subway inside. We load into the car to head home and Cecilia vomits all over her self...again.  We go into the gas station and grab napkins.  We strip her down and start to clean the seat.  While we're all waiting outside the car Bianca trips and skins her knee badly.  I go into the gas station and buy band aids.

We get her cleaned up and load everyone in the car. Matt goes back into the gas station to buy Gatorade to water down and make into PediaLyte for Cici's bottle.  While inside the kid working the register says, "You're back again?"  Seriously, kid. We wanna leave too.

As I was leaving for the last time the kid cheerily said, "Have a nice evening!" To which I responded, "Well, it couldn't get much shi@#ier!" Because I like to keep it classy...always.

One hour after we stop for a quick bite we are back on the road again.

We drove for about 40 minutes and then this happened. "Why is your OTHER baby naked?", you ask. Because he threw up all over himself. Natch.

We pulled over. By this time we had a system. Matt takes out the baby (whichever one had thrown up) and strip them naked while I open the back and get out the "vomit clothing bag" and clean clothes from the suitcase. By "clean clothes" I mean clothes our kids already wore once during the trip and had been put in the dirty clothes bag to be washed at home. Then the naked baby would get clothed by me while Matt cleaned off the car seat as well as he could with Clorox wipes (never travel without them). I would spray Fabreeze Air Freshener in the car (never travel without it) and we would reload the back of the car and be on our way again. This parenting routine will hereafter be known as the Circle of Hell.  At this point I thought to myself "I give up. We may just pull over, dig a shallow grave, and die here. You know, to honor the pioneers."

After one hour back on the road it happened.

Naked again? Why yes. Because he barfed again. He added a projectile element heretofore untried on this trip. The poor kid was then dressed in his sister's Peppa Pig shirt since he was out of even dirty clothes.  At this point Matt said, "I'm not exaggerating when I say this is the worst trip of my life."

SEVEN hours after we left we arrived home. This is usually a 4-1/2 hour trip. You guys, it was the WORST.  This is parenting. Oy.