You know those vacations that make you yearn for a vacation from your vacation?
Let’s just say it started with Sage screaming for three straight hours in the car, and ended with us pulled over at a gas station with Nate opening the hood to see what’s what, looking fairly competent and manly-like, until I caught him unscrewing the cap for the wiper fluid.
Oh, and in the middle of it all? “Here are the keys, you’ll be staying in Mobile Home 8.”
We’re home, we’re fine, and now excuse me, I am going to sleep for 16 years. On a mattress not from 1963.