Three idiots on the road to Florida

So another long break from blogging. For sure, my shoulder has been the main culprit, as for the longest time I couldn't really type effectively. I tried voice-to-text blogging a couple of times, but if you thought my writing was scatterbrained and chaotic, you should have seen me trying to speak a blog.

Woo-wee.

So how are things?

Well, the really good news is that I am almost certainly not going to require surgery on my shoulder. When I was home, I did physical therapy and it actually started to feel so much better. I was even able to go back to work at the gym (with the strict prohibition that I have to get in much better shape before I'm allowed to demonstrate skills). We also needed to make plans for the summer. 

This is one of those moments where I still can't quite believe how lucky I am to have married who I did.

Bubs' gift to me and the kids this summer was sending us to Texas for the majority of the kids' break. At our district in Arizona, we're on a modified year-round schedule, so we really wouldn't be gone that long—a little over a month.

The two older kids were thrilled to see their cousins, and it allowed me to alleviate some of the guilt that comes with not raising Ashley (who was 14 months old yesterday—I literally can't believe it) around her extended family. Bubs was going to come visit us for a week or so during his vacation, but I imagine he is also thoroughly enjoying the quiet.

As I've mentioned many times, one of our family's longest-standing traditions—even before my generation—is trips to the northwest coast of Florida. Because of everything that happened after Ashley was born, we hadn't had a chance to go yet. So once it was decided we were heading home, we figured it was also time to incorporate a Florida trip with the whole crew.

I was thrilled. Ashley had never seen the beach, and I was only about six months late in getting the traditional family picture of her first toe dipped into Gulf water. Among many other reasons, Florida vacations remain magical to me.

As soon as we arrived in Texas a couple of weeks ago, Ashley decided that she loved my little sister's 8- and 9-year-old son and daughter more than anything else in the world. We affectionately call them "the twins" because they're literally Irish twins born within the same calendar year. Since we've been in Texas Ashley has gone from my little velcro baby to wanting to sleep in her crib--as longa as its in the room between her two cousins and they can say good night and good morning to her. 

I have never seen a baby take to two kids quite like this.

Their names are Kylee and JT. Ashley mouths "Ky-Ky" and "Tee" when she sees them which is almost painfully adorable.

What this meant, however, was that when it came time to load up for Destin, Ashley absolutely refused to be in a car unless Ky-Ky and Tee were with her. Unfortunately, they were riding with my parents.

At first I was a little heartbroken.

Then I realized that for at least part of the trip I could get some alone time with my sisters.

Gossip?

Laughter?

Singing?

Are you kidding me?

We don't get to all be together very often.

So we loaded up into four vehicles: Jenn driving her SUV with me and Jess, my parents driving our ancient minivan full of grandchildren, Jenn and Jess's husbands in another vehicle, and then my little brother Brian and his wife Evie—who were no doubt questioning every life choice that had led them to being responsible for the rest of the kids.

So we took off from Texas and had an absolute blast until our first gas stop somewhere east of the Louisiana border.

My younger sister Jess wanted me to film her doing a new TikTok dance next to a gas station sign.

No big deal.

I thought I did a perfectly fine job.

Until we got back into the car and she started reviewing the footage.

Apparently I had not done a perfectly fine job.

The fight was on.

I love my two sisters as much as I love any two people on the planet, but we fight dirty.

A therapist would have an absolute field day with us.

We say things like, "You always do this!" and "I can never count on you to do anything for me!" while conveniently forgetting that somewhere between the last "always" and the last "never," me and my sisters have kicked our husbands out of bed so we could cuddle through severe menstrual cramps.

At first the fight was just me and Jess. She was upset over the video, her exacting standards, and my apparent inability to film a TikTok outside a Love's Travel Stop in Louisiana. I was upset she was making such a big deal out nothing. 

But my older sister couldn't stay out of it.

Jenn informed us that we were distracting her driving and both acting like idiots.

Naturally, Jess and I immediately teamed up against her and accused her of being a control freak.

At one point Jess finally snapped:

"Dani, just admit you suck at taking videos and you ruined my moment. I wanted it to be cute and you ruined it."

I was so mad that I reached up from the back seat and smacked her on the mouth.

Yes.

You read that correctly.

Three sisters, all in our thirties, all mothers, and all of us deeply devoted to one another, had somehow devolved into physical violence.

We will disagree on the nature of the smack for the rest of our lives.

I maintain that it was a small boop.

Jess maintains that I was a couple of degrees away from knocking out teeth and drawing blood.

We know Jenn has officially lost control when she abandons her mother-hen identity and calls in the big guns:

Our mother.

As Jess and I screamed, "You hit me!" and "Yeah, you deserved it!" we heard Jenn say into the phone:

"Mom, Dani and Jess are about to kill each other and then I'm going to kill them. We need to pull over."

So at the next exit, the entire four-car caravan stopped.

And there, on the side of a Louisiana road, our mother yelled at us in front of our eight combined children.

Her grandchildren were all getting along beautifully.

Her three daughters were about to cause a major traffic accident over a TikTok video.

Brian was absolutely cackling.

The older sisters who had terrorized him growing up were getting publicly reprimanded at a roadside stop in Louisiana.

I felt about three feet tall and completely alive at the same time.

It's hard to describe how close a family has to be to tolerate a situation like that.

Eventually we rearranged passengers. My sisters went off with their husbands, and I rode with my parents and Ashley. We also secured Kylee and JT, because Ashley still required her emotional-support cousins.

As soon as I sat down and we pulled back onto the highway, I looked down and saw a text from Jess.

"You hit me."

I replied:

"I booped you. Lightly."

I could see the three dots for a long time.

I was fully prepared for another round.

Instead she wrote:

"I love you."

I told her I loved her too.

Which is true.

But I know us way too well to think this fight is actually over.

We still have a week in Destin to work it out.

Or escalate it.

Honestly, either outcome feels equally likely.