this is the blog where we talk about the stuff.

Hello, 2010!  I’m a little late to the party, I know.  If it counts for anything, I started this blog around the beginning of the year…so…there’s that.  I keep seeing statuses (stasus-i?) from peeps on Facebook saying, “Good riddance, 2009!  You were an old SOB!” or whatever, but I loved 2009 for the most part.  Sure, it had some sucky parts, but friends, what is life without some sucky parts?  Or as my acquaintance David Rhodes says, “The only thing worse than struggles is not having anything in your life worth struggling for.”

YES.  THANK YOU, SIR.

Anyway, 2009 = great.  I give it an…A-.  Which, if you’re a solid B/B- student (moi), you’ll find that to be quite satisfactory indeed.

But alas, on to 2010.  Which sounds so futuristic, right? I feel like a Jetson already.  Where’s my jet pack?

Today, I want to share a Christmas story with you.  It’s a bad Christmas story.  No Santa, no quiet meditations on Luke 2 by a crackling fire.  This is the story of how it took us 32 hours to drive from Amarillo to Birmingham.

Now, it normally take about 14 hours (give or take, depending on whether you’re driving with a certified lunatic [my father] who will not allow passengers to use the restroom, or an infant) to make this drive.  We made it in about 15 on the way there.  And friends, 15 hours in the car is no small potatoes.  It’s very large potatoes.  It’s a large helping of potato salad.  But, dear Lord, if we only knew what waited for us on the other end of our trip.

Christmas Eve, 7pm: We finished loading up the Kia Rondo (that’s right, we rented) with the truly absurd amount of things we accumulated on our trip and said a teary farewell to my family.  Well, I did anyway.  We started driving down Hwy 287.  We usually through Oklahoma, but Oklahoma was closed.  The whole state.  Because of the Great Snowpocalypse of 2009.  So, we thought we’d be clever and go around it.

Don’t get clever with Mother Nature.  She’s not interested in your cleverness.

Christmas Eve, 10:30pm: Childress, TX.  We stop to use el bano and I suggest we “just top off the tank.”  This move solidifies my awesomeness for years to come.

Christmas Eve, 11pm: Traffic stops.

Let me pause here and mention that it is icy.  And it snowed the day before.  But there is no reason for alarm.

Christmas Day, 12:01am: We decide to scour Twitter to see if we can find like-minded individuals who might be further along in traffic that can give us a heads-up about what MUST be a wreck or something.  Here is what we find:

“@TxDOT we have been onHWY287 4 over 8hrs.  PLs send help,food,water ASAP.”

“Stuck on HWY 287 outside WFalls. We’re never getting out of here.”

“Can any1 see what’s going on with HWY 287?”

Despair.  Despair.  Despair.

We tweet with some people that are further up in traffic.  They have apparently been sitting in the EXACT same position for going on 8 hours already.  WHAT?  At this point, we raise our fists to the heavens and curse Doppler Dave for COMPLETELY NEGLECTING to inform ANYONE that HWY 287 is apparently closed for business.

Christmas Day, 2am: Not much has changed, except our spirits aren’t great.  We silently consider eating one another.

Christmas Day, 4am: We keep cranking the car, warming it up and then shutting her down again to conserve gas.

Christmas Day, 6am: We have to pee.  We are in the part of Texas where it’s flat.  If you pee, everyone around you is gonna get a show.

Christmas Day, 8am: We move!  Oh Sweet LORD!  We are movi-ok.  That’s it.  That’s all we moved.

Christmas Day, 10am: The infant we are traveling with (did you forget about the 4 month old newborn in the

backseat?) decides she’s angry.  And she’s had enough.  I envy her ability to throw a tantrum.  And to wear a diaper and pee at will.

Christmas Day, 2pm: We are moving.  We move.  Oh, I’m so happy.  We still have to pee.  So much.  Aaaaaand we stop.  About the length of a football field.  I now have the understanding that I will certainly die on this road that God forgot.

Christmas Day, 3pm: Ben gives in and trespasses on someone’s property to pee.  He returns as Moses would.

Christmas Day, 4pm: The family in front of us finds a dead mouse in the snow.  They play with it.  We contemplate eating them.

Christmas Day, 5pm: Great day in the morning.  We finally move.  There are so many cars abandoned on the road.  So many jack-knifed semis.  All Ben can say is: “It’s like the apocalypse.”   We learn around now that we were a part of a 50 mile long string of traffic.  We also learn that many people went crazy and took golf clubs to their side mirrors.  Again, I envy these people who operate with complete emotional abandon.

Christmas Day, 5:30pm: We reach a rest stop.  So has the rest of the world.  It’s a one bathroom.  The girl in front of me fights down her gag reflex.  I sacrifice dignity, hygiene, and self-respect and use what could loosely be referred to as a “restroom.”  There is freedom in an empty bladder.  I vow never to drink water or any liquid ever again.

Christmas Day, 6pm: We stop at some chicken place to eat.  We’re so hungry, yet dazed.  Are we still in Texas?  It’s been almost 24 hours and we’re not even out of Texas.  We eat chicken.  Holland gets pouty.

The Day After Christmas, 3am: We arrive home.  We stumble inside.  The baby is completely dazed.  She has no idea what’s become of her life.  We share her sentiment.

It’s a funny story now.  All told, it took us about 32 hours to make it all the way home.  And we really did not get the worst of it, as friends of ours traveled the same road the next day and flipped their car three times.  Awful.

The great part about this is that we can look back at Holland’s First Christmas and know with great certainty that she can’t possibly ever have a worse Christmas than her first.  There’s nowhere to go but up.

Knock on wood.