Okay, so. Las Vegas. Dane’s family was reuning (reunioning? reunifying?) there, so we went. And if I ever again consider strapping myself into a car for six hours (each way!) with three or more children, go ahead and slap me upside the head BEFORE I buckle up, okay? Okay then. Thanks.

The driving part sort of sucked. We drove in the evening (6:00-ish), thinking the kids would fall asleep at about the regular time after the excitement of being in the car in their pajamas wore off. Not so much. Instead of nodding off peacefully around 8:00, they were still up and miserable and asking to stop to pee yet again at 10:00. But then they fell asleep and all was well… Except! We got to do the whole thing over again less than 48 hours later! Once again: If I ever consider another road trip… I think you know what to do.

The Vegas part went just fine, partly because we did nothing Vegas-like the whole time. They have stuff in Vegas, right? A giant pyramid? Hotel shaped like the Eiffel Tower? Yeah, I saw none of that. And that’s just fine by me; I also generally avoided secondhand smoke and all-you-can-eat buffets. Because (and this is sort of an embarrassing truth, given that I’m young and therefore feel some responsibility to be fun-loving and adventurous) I don’t really like Las Vegas. At all. It kind of creeps me out, the way the whole city flashes and dings and reeks of stale beer and old cigarette smoke when you walk past. I’ll take my Vegas in small doses via televised CSI, thank you very much.

And then we came home and I am never ever leaving again, no I am not. At least not unless and until I become an amnesiac. Or until all my kids grow very, very much. Whichever comes first, I guess.