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car complaining.

I texted a friend. I have looked at social media until my eyes are swimming. I have read blogs (got weepy over this one – sweet Liz -get better). I napped for 30 minutes and woke up snorting and drooling on my left hand which was completely numb for 15 minutes after. I read some more of a novel (LILA, by Marilyn Robinson – highly recommend). Now I’m at the whiny part. I am at the whiny part which means I’ve  decided to finger type a WHOLE  blog entry.

I hate finger typing. Hate it with a fiery passion. I can write a billion paragraphs on a laptop, fingers flying (thank you, Typing 101! Most useful class I ever took. Tediously boring, but the only bit of learning from high school I consistently use to this day). But finger typing?! Ay caramba. This is how desperate it’s getting  up in here. I’m finger blogging, Internet.  If there are a billion typos, I cannot be held responsible; I have stubby Welsh fingers and am “writing” under duress, which means I’m in a large tin can barreling down an interstate at 80+ miles per hour and there are bumps and frequent hard braking for sudden traffic jams.

We are on our way to Disney World, and I have been in this car since 9:17 am. Miss M and I spent the night at my mom and stepfather’s house last night because it was uber imperative we leave at 8:00 am today, my mom said so. We did not leave at 8:00 am, we left at 9:17 am. I am not complaining; just noting everybody except my mom was ready to go at 7:30 am and we pulled out of the driveway at 9:17.

It’s been like this my whole life, so I’m used to it and – I confess – often guilty of it myself as I suspect it’s genetic. I mean, my brother and I quite possibly learned our very first cuss words while sitting in the sweltering family station wagon on a hot July day while our father muttered them as my mother got out of the car for the 10th time to make sure the one light was off…she’d packed her curling iron…the back door was locked…she’d turned off the a/c.

And I will not complain about my stepfather’s music. Since 9:17, I have been listening to a combination of funky 60s and 70s music I actually do enjoy, Christmas music by what I think is the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, Lawrence Welk, and 50s slow songs they’d play at a quiet sock hop. In between all this, my mom occasionally makes fearful moans whenever we hit traffic and he drives up too fast on stopped or slowed cars.

No. I am not complaining because they’re driving, not me. Their circus, they get to pick whatever background music to the traffic jams they want.

What I WILL complain about is this kid next to me:

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Who, since 9:17 am, has literally  asked me “How many more hours?” every ten minutes. I am not even kidding you guys: EVERY TEN MINUTES. Sometimes when she pats my arm and I try to thwart her with “Still 6 more hours, just like ten minutes ago,” she tries to trick me and says, “Oh I wasn’t asking that. I need to know if we’re almost at Disney World.” Devious. She gets that from her dad, and I don’t even care if typing that makes divorce proceedings unpleasant.

Because every time the answer is anything that’s not “Just 2 more seconds,” she gets really pissy and demands a snack.

THAT’S what I’m going to complain about.

This is one of those trips of a lifetime, Internet. Tonight we’re eating at some place with a Campground theme where, if you ask for ketchup they bring you a hundred bottles. If you ask for a straw, they dump an entire box on your head. Funster abuse over burgers, and you pay them to do it. Macabre…and I kinda like it, especially if I can find a way to use the situation to retaliate for the 100 million Are We There Yet questions. Which yes yes yes I KNOW is what kids are supposed to do on long car rides to exciting locations. But seriously y’all. SINCE 9:17 AM. In the morning. This morning.

But what I’m NOT complaining about is how magical this trip is and how hard my mom worked to put it together (I could not – too many overwhelming things were colluding at once, and I literally could not do anything that required focus for longer than 10 minutes at a time). And they’re paying for most everything, because I had a nasty fight with my credit card and we aren’t speaking. I am feeling deeply thankful, incredibly blessed right now. And I’m thinking about beautiful, deserving families who all ought to get to go do something like this, and kids who don’t get to for whatever reason. I’m all about magical things and dreams coming true.

I think we have about 2 more hours before that happens.

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