Hell On The Highway

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What do the numbers 20, 17, 16, 15, 13, 12, 10, 8, 7, 5, 3, and 1 have in common? Is it an ancient civilization’s numerical message that holds the answer to the secret of life? The solution to the Da Vinci Code? The next Powerball lottery jackpot?

WRONG!

Those numbers are the ages of the Kellogg children traveling, and living, in the RV pictured above. Yes, you read that correctly. 12 kids + 2 adults + 1 dog = My Version of Hell.

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You notice in this picture taken at the Florida RV Association SuperShow (where else?), no one is smiling, and rightfully so. I can’t imagine traveling across the United States listening to toddlers’ tantrums over who last slept on the table-bed by the window in the front of the motor home, and middle-age children sing loudly along with whoever is the pop music sensation at the moment. As for the teenagers, there is nothing like passing through Pensacola and puberty at the same time.

Once again proving the intelligence of dogs, it seems Labradoodle Eddie keeps running away. Eldest daughter, Kerry, also escaped, and is working at a ski resort in Colorado, where she probably has a luxurious single bed she doesn’t have to share with anyone unless she wants to. The parents, Dan and Susie, think she will be back traveling with the family in Spring, but if I were her parents I wouldn’t hold my breath.

On the plus side, the children, who are home schooled, are kayaking their way through our beautiful country. That is one heck of a Geography lesson. Also in the plus column is the fact that…., no, um…., I guess….how about…uh, they are learning to share?

More power to the Kelloggs for making it all about the journey, even though the journey involves spending all day driving, and driving, and driving with 12 children. Imagining the noise, the arguments, my mind reels as I break out in pinpoint red hives. How do you do laundry for 14 when on the road? How do you do laundry for 14 anywhere? What kind of meals can you prepare in two crockpots that the whole brood will happily eat? Remember there are elementary age children aboard. You sure aren’t going through the fast food drive-through in that 36 foot long vehicle. Is there space available in the teeny refrigerator to store enough cheese to last till the next grocery store visit?

The video in the link below shows Susie and Dan talking and looking like regular, normal people! I would be a whimpering, crazy-talking basket case, nursing the scrapes I incurred when I jumped out the back window of the RV. Would you attempt this (the fourteen-humans-and-one-canine-in-an-RV thing, not the leap-out-the-window-of-an-RV thing)?

http://www.tampabay.com/sports/outdoors/more-people-can-live-in-an-rv-than-you-think/2161382

That Was One Too Many

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Where do people draw the line? What sets them off? What is the correct amount of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches a person should consume?

According to the Des Moines Register, the Iowa man pictured above, Jerome Davis, believes the answer is three.

His brother allegedly made three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and ate them in the living room. Less than an hour later, HE MADE THREE MORE!

This led to an argument about laziness and over eating. Davis is now charged with assault domestic abuse with a weapon after he allegedly pulled out one of his two folding knives and held it to his brother’s face because he wouldn’t “shut the (expletive) up and mind his own business.”

This incident brings to mind multiple questions. Foremost, is what to do if you have a knife in the vicinity of your face, but also would five PB & J’s be acceptable to eat in a living room? Would six sandwiches in the kitchen be fine? What if the sandwiches were grilled cheese? Is there an acceptable age, say ten years old, to eat six sandwiches? Since the Davis brothers are both in their 50’s, is 40 years old the age cut off? 

While we ponder these questions, Davis had his Buffer Zone established when he was taken to the Polk County jail.

On The Twelfth Day of Dysfunction

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Do these Ringling Clowns look like Lord Grantham’s family when compared to your extended family? Or at least certain members of your clan?

I thought so.

You know who these people are. You grew up with them. Or perhaps they came later, as in-laws or evil nieces and nephews. Then one day it occurred to you that most of them are idiots, addicts, or just plain deranged. The Buffer Zone is for that frightening epiphany. And every day thereafter.

Hopefully, you have enjoyed our 12-day dysfunctional celebration song. Clear your throat, do some vocal warm-up scales and join with me now:

(Loudly) On the twelfth day of Christmas hope Santa brought to me dysfunction-free kin, better selective hearing, no brawls or food fights, a new alias, no surprise house guests, an unlisted number, a superb retort, (milk this line) one mooorre stiff drrrinnnkkkk……., (big breath) no bail-requests, comfort food, drama-free days, (bring it home) AND  A  BUFFER  ZONE  DMZ!

On The Eleventh Day Of Christmas

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Hope Santa brought to me better selective hearing, no brawls or food fights, a new alias, no surprise house guests, an unlisted number, a superb retort, one moorre stiff drrinnkkk……, no bail-requests, comfort food, drama-free days, and a Buffer Zone DMZ.

On The Ninth Day Of Christmas

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Hope Santa brought to me a new alias, no surprise house guests, an unlisted number, a superb retort, one moorre stiff drrinnkkk……, no bail requests, comfort food, drama-free days, and a Buffer Zone DMZ.

PS. Santa, it would be fine if the new alias was Jennifer Garner.

On The Eighth Day Of Christmas

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Hope Santa brought to me no surprise house guests, an unlisted number, a superb retort, one moorre stiff drrinnkkk……., no bail requests, comfort food, drama-free days, and a Buffer Zone DMZ.