The Trip From H- E- Double Toothpick

At least that's how Mom would describe it. But since I prefer the real word, HELL. Major. I left SLC at about 10:00 AM. The goal was 9:00. But considering when I left last week for SLC, four hours late, that' pretty darn good. My goal was around noon, and we actually didn't pull out until around four, and then when I was on the road I remembered the whole oil thing. I was about 5000 miles past the "change your oil" time and got a little nervous. Called my new trusty friend Jason, and the man highly recommended I go back to Idaho Falls and get my oil changed. "I mean Rebecca, what's an extra half hour when you're running this late anyway." Good point Jason, thanks for the tip.

Back to the real day from hell. Now in all fairness I should say the day from heaven and hell, because as Anna so aptly put it, "We weren't alone." So I'm driving in the middle of freaking no where. We're talking miles of sage brush, snow covered hills. I'm driving along, thinking everything is just dandy when my "low gas" light (or whatever it says light) pops on. "Okay," I think and I look up to my little thing that tells me how many miles I have left. Usually it would say 60 miles or so, and at the worst "low". However, to my great dismay, horror, and panic stricken pea sized brain (evidently) it says "-E-". What the heck? I have never seen that one before. I've been driving this good old van for almost 9 years and I've never seen "-E-". Alright, there must be a town up here soon, an exit, a cow even. No. Just more hills, more sagebrush, more miles of road. I start praying, I start cussing, I repent for cussing and pray again. I start repenting of everything I've ever done, and not done, begging for mercy. Pleading for heaven's help. A green sign. Fillmore 8 miles. 8 miles?! Can I go 8 miles? More praying. More pleading. More hoping against hope, and cursing myself for being my typical self. 7 miles, to go, 6 miles, 5 miles until probably 1 1/2 miles, and then quiver, shake, silence. No more gas. It's officially gone. Luckily I'm going downhill. I coast. I coast off the interstate. I can see a Chevron. You lovely, lovely, beautiful place. I start honking, warning all cars that I won't be stopping at the stop sign. My van dies officially and I'm probably 100 yards or less away from the gas station. Wow. Whew. That was worse than Space Mountain and Indi rolled into one (for those of you confused, I'm referring to my Disneyland disorder, I think I'm the first official case, and will send you the links when the research is published). Later in the bathroom, when I'm still trying to focus on my breathing, I say to Anna, "Thanks for stickin with your mom, even if she's a cuok" (pronounced with an oo in the middle, not to be confused with cook). "Oh, we weren't alone Mama." "What do you mean Anna, there's other moms out there as cuoky as me." "No, I mean, WE WEREN'T ALONE" (caps for emphasis in Anna's tone). "Oh. You're right. You're so right my sweetness, so, so right."

Now I know that is such a beautiful, miraculous story and I should be satisfied with that, but I'm a first class whiner. Gas cans. I had to buy a gas can. Brace yourself. Hold onto your desk, something with holding power. $15. $15!!! $15 people!!!! And as Anna put it, "It doesn't even have gas in it?!" That's right Anna. Welcome to your mother's life. The expensive, disorganized, stressful one that seems to have no end to the annoyance of it all. So I need to add to my new year's resolutions, "Carry gas can with me at all times (at least in my van, not my purse), and never by a gas can again!" So I guess that's actually a new life resolution. Sigh.

Now, I have something very important to say. If you have a travel folder where you keep special dreams, you know, magazine articles on romantic trips or something similar, this needs to be put into this folder. Otherwise, major mental note, in the important file in your brain. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT, travel on President's Day if it is the very day after Valentine's Day. Resist the temptation. Why you may ask? One word. Traffic. No. Excuse me. 5 words. Five hour rush hour traffic!!! FIVE HOURS!!!!! I thought I was going to lose my mind. After about 2 hours my right leg really started to throb, due to the fact I can't use cruise control in bumper to bumper traffic.

I almost lost my mind. It was truly a close call, but thankfully, the more time I spend with our heaven sent Elle, the more of my mind becomes sane again. There is truly something magical, literally magical, like Harry Potter magical, about a baby. They must emit some kind of pheromone that causes you to fall hard and utterly in love with them. So the drive from hell was worth it. More than worth it. More worth it with every minute I spend with a special person who barely left the arms of the Savior. Who must be with Him often still, because she smiles more than any baby I've ever seen, despite her two older overbearing and terrifying siblings.