The Road Trip that Made me Wash My Daughter’s Mouth with Soap
Today I’m over at An Army of Ermas reminiscing about everything but the kitchen sink. Come join me on a road trip from Maine to Florida and hear about the totally gross and completely disgusting thing FringeKid did on a trip to the bathroom.
After that lead, who would wouldn’t want to go read my story!
For me, road trips began…
My brother and I eagerly climbed up into the back of our 1977 burgundy Oldsmobile Station Wagon. Because vacations of my childhood always began in the pre-twilight hours when most of the world was tucked into their beds, my parents folded down the back seat, giving us a queen size snooze through New Jersey, Maryland, and Virginia. We never closed our eyes; surprises awaited us, every mile a new adventure to discover. My mother packed everything we owned. At seven years old, I heard the kitchen sink cursed more than once; however, packing forty-two bags, a grill, an adult size cooler, two children and the kitchen sink was acceptable. Wagons could hold anything a family packed, even my four-foot Raggedy Ann.
Click HERE to finish the story. It gets slightly more interesting I promise. 🙂