Florida is a freaking long state.
The Florida Welcome Center “welcomes” you about 100 miles away from the border. Tease.
Three kids–especially when none of them can really tell time–is a hair easier than four. “Lunch? (Looking at the clock and seeing that it’s 2:00) Yeah, it’s not quite lunch time yet, guys. We’ll stop in, say, four ‘Brady Bunches.'”
Flip side of that: Trying to explain that we won’t be home until tomorrow is impossible. “We’ll get dinner, you guys will sleep, we’ll eat breakfast, we might eat lunch and THEN we’ll be home.” Blank stares. Hutton, for the seventh time: “So we’re NOT staying at a hotel?”
For the first time in my life, I bought a 5-hour Energy drink. Figuring it might come in handy around 1:00 A.M.
Brad has zero motivation. I’m at about 2 percent motivation. The only thing pushing us forward is the idea of not having to unload and reload the van one more time.
1,100 miles to go…