So, the movie, "Christmas With the Kranks."
I watched it this Christmas season while I was wrapping a million presents by myself at 1am while stuffing my face full of Grandma's fudge.
Don't judge.
The movie is about a couple who decide to skip Christmas and then have to change plans on Christmas Eve and get entirely ready for Christmas in one day, but everything goes wrong and hilarious things happen involving ham and tanning beds and blow-up lawn decorations.
Well, our vacation was essentially "Christmas with the Kranks - Part 2." Except that it wasn't funny and I just wanted it to end.
It started the day we left, with Brooklyn getting a double ear infection and a ruptured eardrum. Swell.
The next day while driving through the frozen wasteland that is Malad, Idaho our car decided to stop functioning. The good news was that we got a brand new car out of the deal, so... worse things have happened.
The next day we had our Webb Family Belated Christmas Party, and all sarcasm aside, it was awesome. We beat a pinata, Grandma's guessing jars (I've won for the last 4 years in a row + Cameron made a cool $16), went swimming, ate delicious food, had our gift exchanges, and loved every second.
The next day we went sledding + house shopping + lunch with the hospital group. I was reminded of the fact that I am just through-and-through a California Girl. I was done with the snow in .37 seconds. The kids, however, not so much.
The next day, we celebrated New Year's by coming to the conclusion that we needed to take Bailey into the hospital. She'd been wheezing + coughing + had a stuffy nose + diarrhea + throwing up + diaper rash + fever + difficulty breathing.
Poor kid was miserable. The Doc took a look at her and declared RSV.
Blah.
The next day, I let my Mother-in-Law talk me into doing an aerial class, which was awesome. Minus the resulting feeling of motion sickness for the rest of the day. This stuff is no joke.
The next day, our family finally succumbed to the sickness that was rampaging through the ranks. We woke up to Cameron barfing ALL. OVER. OUR. BED.
And then the floor.
And then the blankets.
And then the bathroom.
Luckily, we were able to escape with the girls for a night of riding a furry hippo all over the mall.
The next night, Brooklyn woke us up by explaining that she had also fallen ill. And vomited. ON the toilet. Not IN the toilet. Oh, no. ON the toilet.
Good gracious.
Luckily, we snuck outside for a few hours that day and had just enough energy for a mini-snowball fight before we retired to the couch for an uninterrupted day of lounging and sulking.
The next day, Luke woke up feeling awful. After passing out on the bathroom floor while throwing up (that's a lovely mental image, no?), he diagnosed himself with AFIB and was admitted to the hospital where everyone started speaking this strange language and using terms like, "supraventricular tachycardia" and "fibrillation" and "arrhythmia." In English terms, basically... they chest-paddled him to "restart his heart" like you see in the scary movies where the doctor yells "clear" and the body jumps a foot of the bed. Yea, that.
And the next day we somehow managed to make it home in one solid piece after the strangest, most dramatic, un-vacation-ly experience ever.
