Today my parents and brothers are embarking on a road trip to Texas, an expedition I was sorely tempted to join. Fortunately for all of us, whenever I have the notion to take Jack and Jon anywhere further than 200 miles away, something inevitably happens to change my mind. For instance, Jon usually rides very well in the car, but Tuesday afternoon he had the meltdown of the century in the backseat for no discernable reason. When I asked him what was wrong, he cried harder. When I told him we were 20 minutes from home, he cried harder still. When I said “Jon, there’s nothing I can do about it right now”, he turned purple trying to cry even harder.
The next twenty minutes were a horrific symphony of sky-high screams punctuated by moments of silence while he huffed for breath. Added to the noise was Jackson’s minute-to-minute news report, “Mommy, Jon is not happy! Wait… now he’s okay… OH NO NOT AGAIN!!” No duh. Anything I did only made things worse, so I settled for being thankful we were in Alabama, and adding my own insanity to the racket by turning up the radio and belting out Billy Currington.
“I aint much for mowin thick grass
I'm too slow for workin' too fast
I don't do windows so honey don't ask
But I'm pretty good at drinkin' beer”
Except I don’t drink beer. But I still like the song.
Anyway. That’s why I’m not on my way to Texas right now. Got the sense knocked into me and all that. In my stead, I sent my camera with my brother Michael. And at this point I’m just hoping I can survive a few more days. I don’t think I realize how addicted I am to something until it’s suddenly unavailable. Don’t do anything cute because I can’t take a picture!
If you need me, I’ll be digging through the files on my desktop trying to get my fix.