Driving McDaddy Batty

That title cracks me up!

I am live blogging from the passenger seat of my Dodge Ghettovan Caravan as we make our way out of South Carolina and into Georgia. Only, I’m not actually live blogging because well, live blogging requires an internet connection.

Which I do not have.

Nor does my beloved iPhone have the benefit of the 3G network.

I’m not sure what that’s all about. I just know it’s tough for the iPhone to do anything in a timely manner without the help of the 3G. We’ve driven for miles with just a digital connection and it surprises me a bit that the bigwigs at AT&T haven’t waved their magic wand over the highways and byways of the Carolinas to provide 3G for those residents who are part of the iCult, er, iPhone community.

I have my feet propped up on the dashboard (which drives McDaddy half-batty) and my beloved pink Dell laptop snugly on my lap. I am doing my best to be a good traveler. I am dividing my time equally between the Facebook, Words With Friends, Twitter, napping, and checking Carmen The Garmin to see if our ETA has changed since the last time I looked over at her.

And speaking of Carmen the Garmin (the GPS) she is one smart cookie. Her ability to accurately report the speed limit within a fraction of a meter is impressive. But just like every female, she has her moments. I get tickled when she starts spouting off at the mouth about u-turns and being off-course because McDaddy isn’t one for taking direction. Most especially from females me. He learned a long time ago that my place on any given trip would be the passenger seat. And long before the GPS was even thought of, McDaddy would plot his course on a AAA map which always included a complementary trip-tic. If the navigation were left up to me, I’d have us in Honduras. Or Belize.

Once the packing and preparation are completed, my job is finished and I don’t do much of anything when it comes to the actual traveling.

Except maybe complain.

And whine.

I rarely ever drive. And by rarely ever, what I really mean is that in the eighteen years of “togetherness” that McDaddy and I have shared (that’s two years of dating, four years of engagement, and twelve years of marriage for those of you keeping track of mine and McDaddy’s road to happiness), I can think of only two times that McDaddy has relinquished the wheel to me while driving on a vacation. Which is just fine with me because I’d rather sit over in the passenger seat and hammer out a blog post and play Words With Friends.

Or ask, “Are we there yet?”

I might even get all rowdy and begin some sort of meaningful conversation with McDaddy about the purpose of life.

He, on the other hand, could tell you the price and exit of the cheapest gas within a four-state radius. It’s a gift, really.


If I need gas, I stop. Period.

Another of my fine qualities that drives McDaddy batty.

Ah, welcome to Georgia. Where the local time is 9:55 AM and the temperature is 93 degrees.


The local radio station is having a love-fest with the 1990’s. Right now I’m listening to Right Here Waiting For You. It’s taking me back to 1988. I was smack-dab in the middle of awkward years, what with my big bangs, and an honest-to-goodness waistline that hasn’t been seen in years.

And speaking of memories. The resort where we’re staying was the annual vacation destination for McDaddy and his siblings for a lot! of years. When I asked him how many years they stayed at this particular resort his response was, “I don’t know. Every year for forever!”

Well then.

For one glorious week all five of his siblings and their families will be reunited (along with his parents, aunt and uncle, and a few extras thrown in for good measure) for yet another family vacation at Redington Surf Resort in sunny Florida.

I hit the jackpot when I married McDaddy because he has a big ole’ family. That means I now have TWO SISTERS and TWO SISTERS IN LAW for pete’s sake. Or is it pete sakes? I’m sure my mother-in-law will be sure to let me know. She gets all fancy when it comes to grammar because that’s her thing. And I’m sure she would pick my posts apart with a red sharpie if she could because the comma usage?

The comma usage alone would be enough to make a normal person crazy.

But since I’m already crazy, I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing.

Because I type deliberately and slowly, which, is, also, the, way, I, talk.


At this moment my Words With Friends plays are backing up.

And Carmen is yapping.

And my foot is asleep on the dashboard.

It’s going to be a long five hours. I’m trying my best to keep the crazy to a minimum.

A big job. Big job, indeed.

Especially for someone who stays so busy over in the passenger seat. Maybe I’ll close my eyes and imagine the sound of the waves crashing against the shore and the seagulls flapping their jaws.

Which would give McDaddy a much needed rest from another’s flapping jaws.

Happy Monday, y’all!


  1. Jean says

    Ouch! It’s “Pete’s sake,” and I love, love, love your commas! 😉 <3 I love making your blog — 🙂

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