Monday, September 04, 2006


We're a little past the halfway point on our trip clear across the state, an eight-hour journey. I'd gotten out of bed at 3:00, yes that's a.m., poured myself two giant travel mugs of coffee, rousted the kids out of bed at 3:30 and loaded them in the car thinking they'll sleep most of the trip away. (They didn't). recap: Up way too early, way too much coffee, driving and driving and driving with kids up way too early and giddy with excitement. I'm a little punchy.

The travel information sign on the side of the freeway reads: NO GAS NEXT 46 MILES.

Can you see where this is going? I make a really bad gas joke and giggle. One lovely lady is kind enough to give a courtesy laugh, the other doesn't hear me through her headphones, and their very polite lovely young cousin pretends she didn't hear me. I don't think her mom makes jokes about passing gas (scroll down to the last paragraph), at least not around the kids. The fine young gents, on the other hand...the very literal five-year-old gent reminds me that (Duh, Mom) it means gas for the car, and three-year-old gent worries that the gas police will get us if he accidentally farts.

The baby thinks it's funny mommy laughed, so he laughs too. He's my new favorite kid.

I have finally discovered the way to put the kibosh on the kids making fart jokes: Make them myself.

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