Yesterday at the Gateway Arch candy shop, I bought a packet of old-fashioned horehound hard candy.  They have a couple big negatives:  the first is a weird, unpleasant flavor.  The second is that after the sugary coating has dissolved, they turn into razor blades.  In spite of these drawbacks, I can’t stop eating them.  Nor can I stop the roof of my mouth from bleeding.

We hit some bad weather on our drive between St. Louis and Oklahoma City.  The wind kicked up, shoving cars around on the highway in a scary and dangerous way that kept Adam on his toes.  Along with the dark sky and spitting rain, this seems like a pretty awful place to live.  I keep thinking that heading to Oklahoma City is a fool’s errand and we’re idiots for going there on purpose.  If not for Adam’s meeting, we would certainly be skipping Tornado Alley.

Spending a whole day in the car with three kids alternates from being really pleasant family time (e.g.:  everyone riding along in silence with good music playing) and being a nightmare of irritation and stress.  We’re listening to Classic Vinyl on the radio, which plays songs by Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, and Freddy Mercury regularly.  I’ll be sitting in the front seat, sucking on candy and blood, contemplating the sad and tragic stories of lives lost too soon when I hear, “Mama. Mama. Hey, Mama.  Mama.”

“What?” I’ll say, thinking this better be good.  I was thinking deep thoughts.

“Umm … what do you think would happen if the roofs of human mouths tasted like chocolate?”

“I don’t want to talk about that,”  I’ll say.

After a few moments of silence, “Mama. Mama.  Hey, Mama.  Mama.”

“What now?”

“Umm …. how would the Earth be different if trees were blue instead of green?”

Listening to the resulting conversation between the kids is like hearing Sheldon Cooper explain how the cheese danish would never have been invented if humans were ruled by a race of super-intelligent beavers.  You’d think the great thing about inventing your own reality is that you can never be wrong about anything that happens in it, but leave it to the kids to end every discussion with bickering over the “rules” of their alternate universe.  They can fight over stuff that doesn’t exist and can’t possibly ever happen.

I am having trouble developing my deep thoughts due to all the inane interruptions.  I keep telling myself that even though I’m wishing we had a limousine privacy window to close in our Expedition, someday I’ll look back on these ridiculous conversations with nostalgia.  I’m living the good old days right now.

On last summer’s car trip through Europe, Isabella recorded one of Holden and Josie’s fights on her iPad.  When things are getting too boring on this car trip, she’ll pull that clip up and successfully restart Holden and Josie’s argument from a year ago.  Their reaction is so predictable it’s funny, which takes all the wind out of our sails when we try to tell her through our own stifled laughter to knock it off.  A laughing parent doesn’t have much authority.

No photos from today.

Tomorrow Adam has his last scheduled meeting and after that chore is complete, we’re truly free to do whatever and go wherever we want.