Every year when we decide to pick up the kids and head off to a week of R&R, it feels like the worst idea in the world. We pack up the minivan with more crap than most families in the world probably own, pull out of the driveway and before we hit the stop sign at the end of our block, one of my kids has to pee and I am ready to snap.
It's not just the right quarters, it's the whining, meaning, complaining and fighting what makes me want to stop on the side of the road, stick out my thumb and hitchhike to Idaho. I don't know how others do it, but I am not a patient enough to father to do this and not want to jab myself in the urethra with a used squeeze pack
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