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Parenting8: Tori's Adventures


What sounds like more fun: camping on an island haunted by the Old Testament’s ten plagues, having bed bugs while 11 people are trying to sleep in a 1400 sq foot home, working 16 hours a day, or foreclosing on your home?

Well the good news for Tori is, she doesn’t have to choose!  She gets it all…and more!

Luckily, she thinks most of it is funny and hasn’t run out of enthusiasm for life yet.  Listeners, on the other hand, might want to be sure they’ve had a good night’s sleep before listening, or they might not make it through the whole thing*.

If you want to check out Tori’s new house, CSA and musical venue, here’s the link to her new baby, the Creekside Cultural Center.

And if you want to check out Heather Childs’s music (as advertised at the end of today’s program) click here.  Today’s song Celebrate! is on the CD “Blue Electric Storm.”


* This actually applies even more to the comment I just posted below – I cut and paste the “10 page long account” that Kara refers to in the show…. All I can say is: beware.

5 comments to Parenting8: Tori’s Adventures

  • amychilds

    The Florida Adventure March 2002

    It seems as if the reputation of our adventure precedes us, and I’m not sure the retelling of it can possibly measure up to the enormous cloud of doom that has already been vaguely presented. Nobody went to the emergency room, nobody threw up, nobody even got a runny nose (oh wait a minute, yes they did. And we had a minor UTI to contend with for a while on the trip home (which means, remember, needing to pee every two or three minutes…) ) But anyway, I mean, “.. Really. The trip was a piece of cake. One of the “problems” on our way home was we got stopped in traffic four times for major accidents. Once you drive past totaled cars, ambulances, and burnt out trailers, however, it becomes REALLY hard to think of “being held up in traffic” as a complaint worthy of any air time whatsoever. So before I fill you in on what some people have been dubbing The Vacation From Hell, let me be the first to say I’d take this vacation over many other known variations ANY DAY. Rather than calling it the Vacation From Hell, I prefer the title: The Best Trip to Florida We’ve Taken All Year.
    Anyway. Down to the dirt.
    First of all, a little background. Some of you may have known that our reservations were accidentally canceled a week before departure (the Florida State Park reservation system was recently centralized and computerized, and the employees, still jumpy from the ballot-chad-examinations, are having some difficulty keeping their cool with complicated things like a centralized computer system.) Maybe it sounds to you like this was God’s first message to us to STAY HOME, but what it sounded like to me was the first of many obstacles which asked us “SO, you say you want to go on a family vacation together? Well how MUCH do you really want to go?…” (and we passed every time the question was brought up!) (Well, almost every time.) Anyway, as I lay in bed with a fever, the head of customer service (I had worked my way to the top with my unrelenting indignation) called us back and left a message that our reservations had been recovered. (She didn’t exactly apologize, but she sure sounded sorry.)
    Then, there were the problems with the trailer. Long story short, we had decided to car pool with Chuck Carr, who had borrowed a van and trailer to take his motorcycle to Florida at the same time we were going down. The trailer, it turned out, needed a new tire, new wiring, and a new light bulb. (Unfortunately I can’t take credit for anything but lightbulb purchasing.) Chuck fussed around, got things in order, then he and I spent some perilous hours trying to get his motorcycle into the trailer (WAY harder than it sounds). Once the bike was in, we were in hog heaven, with almost a whole trailer’s worth of room for our inordinate amount of camping equipment, food, bedding, toys and clothes for a week in the wild. We were thrilled that we didn’t need to use car-top carriers, and the trailer fit all of our stuff and the Lodge’s stuff as well. (This becomes important later on, when the trailer is discarded with Chuck, and we are left to figure out how to get our stuff to the island without it.)
    As a last fond farewell, 15 minutes before scheduled departure, Max (the dog) attacked Woody (the cat), leaving Woody nearly crippled. I sat with Woody (after prying him out of Max’s jaws) and stared at him, trying to figure out what to do. Should we put him to sleep? Take him to the vet? Our usual strategy for this type of situation is to let Woody hide and decide for himself what he wants. He wasn’t crying, which I took as a sign that he didn’t want to be taken to the vet. He tried to make his way to his favorite private spot, but walking wasn’t a strong point for him at that particular time. I followed him and helped him with the stairs and the jumping spots. But then what? We were about to leave. What if he couldn’t get down? What if he decided to pee there all week? I left a long pathetic message on Matt’s cell phone (he was staying at our house) to please help Woody survive the crisis. Luckily Max was scheduled to go to the kennel for the week, and to get fixed to boot. (I secretly hope he thinks his balls were cut off to punish him for the attack, but I fear he didn’t make the connection.)
    So, Woody tucked into his secret spot, van and trailer loaded to the gills, we got the kids from school, met Tori in the rented mini van (we were soon to be madly in love with the rented mini van, as it turned out to get 30 miles to the gallon whereas the other van got 10 mpg going down hill with the wind), and headed on our exciting adventure. Phew! We thought. We did it! We’re off. I am sure I said something like “It is so great to finally be on the road after all the work it takes to get going! It’s all down hill from here!” Don’t you hate it when you are very wrong?
    Anyway, we didn’t know we were in for trouble (except for having to take out a loan to pay for gas) until round about 2am or so, in North or South Carolina, when the borrowed van pulling the trailer refused to go on. It wouldn’t shift, the transmission seemed to be no longer with us. We pulled off to a truck stop and WONDER of wonders!!! a mechanic was there! At 2am! Who would have ever known we could be so lucky!?!? Except, oh darn, it turns out he is “manning the desk” and won’t be able to look at our car until Monday. I still can not really comprehend this. But oh well.
    He tells us that our best bet is to turn around and head north, and wait until morning. With no other options, we follow his suggestion. But wait! The car shifts into second! Third! The car is working! It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know what the next course of action should be: a U TURN! We’re going south, baby, and ain’t no one gonna stop us. Robin and Chuck drove the feeble van, Tori and Amy drove the luxury machine, and kids slept.
    We head south with a kind of denial-based-nervous-confidence, and do pretty well, until we get past Jacksonville and into the middle of nowhere – and then the car stops working again. By now the sun is up, and so we pull over (well, it wasn’t quite that simple. We limp, stop, start, limp, stall, go in first, stop, try to start, stop, limp over) to a Wawa type place and put our minds to work. The girls do the girl thing: we go in to the store and ask the lady behind the counter where are we? Where is the phone book? Were are the phones? Can we borrow your Yellow Pages? and begin to research transmissions. The boys do the boy thing: stand around in the parking lot talking to other boys about transmissions, mechanics, kicking tires and sharing war stories. Just about the time that the girls had scheduled an appointment with “Mr. Transmission” (we thought the name sounded hopeful) and had called a pick up truck, Robin jumped in the van, fired it up, and once it was rolling, he wouldn’t stop. “We’re heading to a mechanic who’s open on Saturdays, a guy told us where to go” he announced over the walkie-talkie. Once I had called on my cell phone (sometimes it worked!) and canceled the tow truck, we realized there was a discrepancy between the Boys’ enthusiasm for their mechanic, and their ability to find him. After driving around for a half hour looking for him, I called them on the walkie talkie and told them about our canceled apt with Mr. Transmission. “NOW you tell us!” Well, yeah, looking back on it, I ougghta have said something sooner. But I .. I just didn’t know. I thought the guys had things handled.
    Anyway. Again we find a pay phone and yellow pages, but this time all adults (including quite a collection of helpful strangers) and a variety of children are consulted at every single turn. Eventually we find someone who will look at it, and happily the van makes it there! Tori, Amy, and children had a little McDonalds party, (although the Childs children hate fast food breakfast so they just sat there) while Chuck Robin and Mr. Transmission drove around with a magic little machine that tells its owners all about the transmission is it attached to. First we learn that this kind of van is not meant to pull this kind of trailer.
    Then we learn that second gear is gone. He can’t fix it today, but he is optimistic that we just might be able to hobble ourselves to our destination, so long as we don’t go faster or slower than 45 miles per hour. No problem! we decide, and soon we are on the road again headed for the west side of Florida. The plan had always been for Chuck to drop us off and pick us up, and we were going with the plan.
    Until a few minutes later when I called them on the walkie talkie. Wait! If we drop Chuck, the motorcycle and the trailer off first, we have a better chance of making it. The adults agree this is the most hopeful plan we have, and although there are some potential problems with this scheme (for one, we don’t have permission to borrow the van, Chuck does, and for another, we don’t have time to drop him off if we are to make it to the ferry on time), we U-turn anyway and head now for the east side of Florida – to Daytona, Chuck’s destination.
    Chuck was invited to stay at Melissa’s sister’s, Anne’s house, (partly in exchange for bringing home Melissa’s futon couch, which, bear in mind, is meant to be added to the load going home. But let’s not worry about that now.). None of us have ever met Anne before, we are arriving far earlier than originally planned, and she certainly was not expecting 6 sleepy children, 4 tired adults, a broken van full of camping equipment and a week’s worth of food to pull into her driveway – but that is exactly what happened. The poor woman, who works nights, was asleep when we arrived, and although we felt terrible bursting in on her like this, there was simply nothing else we could do. We unhitched and unloaded the trailer, forming a MOUNTAIN of stuff piled in Anne’s driveway. Somehow we hope to fit it all in two vans which are full of people and, as you may recall, are not equipped with roof-racks.
    Chuck calls to ask if we can borrow the van without Chuck, and he gets a “Sure! So long as you take financial responsibility!” (and now we are all adding up how much it costs to replace a transmission and are thinking boy, this is turning into a really expensive vacation and we haven’t even started it yet)… and we start loading. It is quickly apparent that it won’t fit, and we come up with the brilliant plan of taking the van seat out (which also ends up coming in handy later when we are forced to sleep in the car). This enables us to get all our Stuff into the back of the sorry van, the happy van carries all of us except 2, and we can head off for the other side of Florida. By this time we are nearly certain we will not make the ferry, and start to wonder what our back up strategy is. Maybe we can convince the ferry to leave later, but the park closes at five and things in general are looking very bleak. We decide we will find a motel, squeeze into a room, and go tomorrow.
    Well, I’ll save you listening to the whole sorry tale, but after driving 6 hours across Florida, and then driving around for 2 hours looking for a motel room (the combination of getting lost, stopping at WalMart, and nothing but “NO Vacancy” signs didn’t help), we were roomless and tired. We pulled into the ferry parking lot around 2am, pulled all of our stuff out of the vans (THANK GOODNESS it wasn’t raining) and slept in the cars.
    At sunrise we bustled around, got things together, ate food from our coolers, boarded the ferry with all of our stuff, and headed for Cayo Costa. Probably, around that time, I said something like “Ah, it feels so good to be on the ferry! All that trouble in getting here, but now we did it! It’s all down hill from here!” Don’t you hate it when you are very wrong?
    The first day in Florida the weather was PERFECT. We unpacked and rushed to the beach to discover: DEAD FISH.
    I don’t mean A dead fish. I mean, the beach was pretty much wall-to-wall dead fish. Luckily the cabin came with a rake. I retrieved our rake, and raked up a pretty big “Fish Free Zone” for the kids to play in. I tried to bury the big pile of fish with sand to keep the smell out, but that was pretty much of a joke, since the “Fish Zone” was overwhelmingly larger than the “Fish Free Zone.” Also I think the water smelled like fish to.
    As Tori said, however, after hanging around with dead fish for a few days, one loses their distaste for it. And instead one begins to see the humor – and the beauty – in the situation. For example, someone had lined up a group of Cow fish in a clump, and had labeled it “A Herd Of Cow by Beth”. Someone else had found a giant juicy fish and had dressed it in snorkeling gear. It was art. Not only that, but (if you could get over the smell) it was like a huge and amazing aquarium. There were catfish, sharks, crabs, eels, all kind of fascinating specimens. We didn’t even need to go snorkeling.
    The following morning we discovered that the beautiful weather came to an abrupt stop, and we had cold weather for the next few days. I managed to not feel too cold, I had packed just the right combination of layers. I had a lovely nap outside once, and read a whole book (‘Breaking Point’ by Martha Beck, which was a life-changer) so the weather didn’t really bother me. But the natives were definitely a tad restless by this point, and the night the boys burnt the dinner didn’t go over too well either. Still, the prominent memories from this section of the program are all fond ones: seeing bald eagles and wild boars, eating s’mores, yummy soup, walking with kids, collecting firewood in the jungle, exploring the hidden dump (it had an old PHOTOCOPIER in it. I’d really like to hear someone try to explain that one), washing dishes by lamplight, seeing Kayla’s collected treasures, listening to Jonathan play the guitar, snuggling with Nikiah, helping Tommy collect ‘spears’ (palm branches), watching John John play with teddy bears and his purse, and hearing Richard, in dramatic detail, describe their “cabin”.
    The Lodge family’s “cabin” really defied description. It was a “Yurt,” for those of you who know what that means, and it is a hippie invention that (I guess) somehow promotes peace and love by having holes to let the wind in, and by being a completely inefficient use of space. Tori also likes to have the food in her cabin (and I hate it) but there was simply not room enough for a pile of plates, let alone endless boxes and coolers and pots and stoves, etc. And the Yurt slept 4, whereas the cabin slept 6, and Tori’s family had four, and we had five – SO. The Childs family was in the real cabin with the food, and the Lodge family was in the Yurt without the food. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the way it was to be. To complicate things further, the real cabin was not available the last night we were scheduled to be there, but rather than worry too much about it, we chose our favorite tool which had been extremely useful thus far: denial. “We’ll just think about that later.”
    It worked great until Later arrived, and the last night was before us. Then the whole Ignoring The Issue Policy broke down entirely. We woke up Thursday morning (we were planning to leave on Friday, although we had nowhere to sleep on Thursday) and started to wonder a bit… what were we going to do, exactly? Before arriving on the island we had the theory that we would share the Yurt the last night, but that bubble was popped, upon our first acquaintance with said yurt. Robin did some research with Ranger Sally and learned that cabin 8 (the furthest one from our current cabin) was free that night. Now all we had to do was pack everything we owned up and carry it 100 yards to stay one night and then pack it all up tomorrow again and carry it 100 yards again. Oh yeah, and he heard the weather forecast: thunderstorms all afternoon.
    Tori and Kayla had left early on a seashell expedition. There was a lecture about the Red Tide that we had been looking forward to hearing at 10am, we had to be out of our cabin by 11am, and it was 9am. Robin and I stared at each other for a few minutes, and came to the same conclusion: we are leaving this island. Suddenly we were throwing food at the kids left and right, yes you can have 5 hot-dogs each, yes you can have cocoa mix plain, yes I will cook all the boxes of mac n cheese. Tori and Kayla arrived home at 5 minutes to 10, to a herd of wolves ravaging our food supply. “Everyone is eating hot dogs” Tori said in a perplexed daze (Which translates into “What the heck are we going to eat for dinner tonight, now?”) Oh… Robin and I stared at her. ..Um… We’re leaving today, we announced to our poor unsuspecting friend. You can talk us out of it if you want to, but we have to pack up anyway, and it’s meant to rain later, and we are thinking it’s time to get the heck out of here.
    After a little bit of pondering, Tori was in with the plan. I use the word “plan” here very loosely, for although we were clear that we were leaving the island, our clarity of vision stopped short right there. We didn’t know where we would sleep that night, where Chuck was, (he had said he would be traveling around Florida all week, and we never made a plan to meet up once we left with his van), what vehicle we would get home in, or where we would head once off the island. But for the time being, we were dealing with as much Plan as we could handle: listening to the lecture (whoops! It starts in two minutes!) and packing everything up before it starts to rain. We won’t make the 11:30 ferry so we will have to wait for the 3:00 ferry, there is a covered picnic pavilion that we can store our stuff in… ready – BREAK!
    The kids and Tori go to the lecture, they have until 3 to empty the yurt.(It’s paid for until tomorrow). Robin and I however have only an hour to pack up all our stuff plus all the food and communal supplies, plus to cook the eggs and mac and cheese. By five minutes to 11, we have moved all our stuff into the pavilion, I start cooking eggs, and Tori hits her yurt. Oh yeah, and the part about beating the rain? Didn’t happen. It is now pouring and all of our stuff is wet. The yurt is so small, the only way to pack up is to put stuff outside in – you got it – the now POURING rain. By the time everything we own is in the picnic pavilion, it has been pouring for hours, we are all making a gallant effort at staying dry by wearing our rain ponchos, but after that many hours in the rain… bottom line: nothing is dry. When the truck comes to take us to the ferry, we insure our soaking load is truly and thoroughly saturated by throwing it into the truck bed which is 2 inches deep in water. We have so much stuff that the ranger wants to load us first, which means we then have another half hour –now in the unremitting downpour- while other campers load up.
    In past years, when we have had the long arduous task of carrying everything from the truck to the ferry, there have been other campers along who have cheerfully formed a fireman’s line with us, to help us get our enormous load onto the boat quickly and painlessly. We discovered that this helpful can-do spirit instantly disappears in a thunderstorm, and we found ourselves lugging load after load after load to the boat, while the other travelers sit snugly under the boat’s shelter. The kids (as they have been all along) are awesome, and keep going back for more loads again and again along with the adults. I reward them for their outstanding sportsmanship by humiliating them beyond repair, as we put the final load on deck and I burst through the door of the cabin and exclaim to all passengers “ARE WE ALL HAVING A FUN TIME?!??!” and we are met with thunderous applause. Jonathan could have pushed me overboard right then and there. But I was so wet, I guess he figured it would be pointless.
    An hour later we arrive on the mainland, unload all our stuff onto the dock, and then begin to ask ourselves… now what? I discover that my cell phone coverage on this end of the channel is the same as on the island: zero. Not only that, but all my phone numbers, which are programmed into my phone, can only be accessed when I have coverage. The Tropic Star Lady very kindly offered for me to make all my long distance phone calls from her phone, assuring me it was no problem at all. I called home to get phone numbers, no one was there. I called information to get Grace’s phone number, it is unlisted. I called Helga and Geoffrey and THEY ANSWERED! I felt so triumphant, finding people I knew, who could help us! They provided me with Grace’s phone number, they assured me they would track Melissa down and ask her to get me her sister’s phone number (I forgot to mention that she and Pete were house-sitting at a house that wouldn’t accept calls made from strange phone numbers), and best of all they sent us their love and best wishes, and considering how hard-tapped our Good Wishes Supply had been all week, this was a welcome replenishing.
    Somewhere in there we became aware that Tori had lost her glasses. We hoped they were in her coat pocket, which had been thrown (soggy wet) into one of the 25 plastic trash bags, but we wouldn’t know until we got somewhere where we could meticulously check each bag. In the meantime, if we ever figured out where we were going, she wouldn’t be able to be drive there.
    I called Grace’s number and- Miracles of Miracles!!! Hannah answered the phone! I couldn’t explain the whole story to her, I couldn’t even begin. I just said “Nine people need somewhere to sleep tonight” and she said “Come on over!” “HEY EVERYONE! We’re invited to stay at the cousins!” was all I needed to shout, we threw our thousands of atrociously stinky and drippingly soggy belongings into the vans and headed east. We got lost, we sang stupid songs, and somehow arrived with our sense of humor in tact at Grace’s around 9pm. WARM SHOWERS! SOLID ROOF! FOOD! BLANKETS!! We were in heaven.
    After regaining our composure a bit, we all snuggled in the living room to recount the tale, how it was that these weary travelers had wound up sitting around snuggling and recounting the tale. As luck would have it, all the cousins (except Josh, who is away at college) and Grace and John were all home and available to hear our endless narrative. It took well over an hour (and, believe it or not, held more details and stories than this written account), and left us all amazed at what we had been through.
    And it wasn’t over yet.
    We slept under dry blankets, woke to good breakfast. Tori and I spread all our belongings out in the windy sunny day – it looked like an underwater garage sale, smelled like dead fish and campfire smoke, and the neighbors are probably still complaining about us under their breath. After a complete search of the entire wet mess, the feared verdict came in : Tori’s glasses were not on the mainland. We were down a driver for the rest of the trip. (Until, after many hours of travel ,we decided she had been healed by the Counteracting Murphy’s Law Angel Squad, and she became able to drive just fine without her glasses. A Spring Break Miracle!)
    As we pondered what would happen next, we had hot showers, jumped on the trampoline, swam in the pool (A naturally Fish Free environment!) lay in the sun, played computer games, wrote letters, made phone calls, went grocery shopping, and generally relished in all the comforts that civilization has to offer. We took a little trip to a Pick Your Own Strawberry patch, just to prove to ourselves that we were on vacation in Florida. We had found Chuck by now, he was in Daytona, and he had rented a U-Haul moving van for the trip home. His plan was to load the motorcycle (and the futon, don’t forget), and pull the trailer with the moving van. We would drive the revered rented mini van, and the scorned borrowed mini van, and he would get all the Stuff home. It was a plan.
    The trickiest part about the rest of our journey was avoiding second gear (in the sad van) as much as possible. We had learned that these vans are built to allow the transmission to fail 8 (or so? We weren’t sure of the exact number) times, and then it would automatically refuse to work, to protect itself. Mr. Transmission had re-set this mechanism, so that we had a fresh 8 times ahead of us to stall before the engine would freeze. So far we hadn’t used any of them up, and we were feeling pretty confident. Then after an hour of driving north toward Daytona, we hit stop-and-go traffic, an accident up ahead. We used up four or five of our allotted stalls in this traffic jam, and we still had at least 20 more hours of driving still to go. This did not boost our spirits. We puttered to an exit and let the car rest while we had yet another emergency McDonalds feast. (This one had a Playland, which we thought was quite a special treat!) As far as we know, John John’s shoes are still at that Mc Donalds Playland, but the good news is the car started up again an hour later! By about midnight, we made it to the meeting point, a rest stop near St. Augustine! We were very proud. (This required driving the wrong way on a one-way ramp, and backing up over the grass, right before the State Police’s very eyes, but let’s not talk about that part.) We transferred all our stuff into the moving van, got the spare seat out of the van (remember we had left that with Chuck a week ago), and everyone settled down for the night’s sleep. I decided to jump into the moving van with Chuck, to debrief with him and to catch some sleep. The debriefing went okay, but the sleep was unexpectedly interrupted when BANG something suddenly happened to the van or the trailer, or something, we didn’t know what. We were at the back of the caravan, and luckily I was able to walkie-talkie the others “STOP DRIVING!” while they were still in range. We got out to have a look, to discover that the trailer had somehow come off the hitch, was dragging along behind the van, attached to the van only by the emergency back-up chain. The two of us were able (with much effort) to reconnect the two, but we were left with a very unsettled feeling, having no idea why it had happened, and not knowing if it would happen again.
    As it turned out, the rest of the trip was relatively uneventful, but we didn’t know that it was going to turn out until it did. Every time we hit traffic, we worried that we would stall. Sometimes we were in traffic and forced to drive below 40 mph on a bridge or in construction, where there was no room to pull off, and all we could do was cross our fingers that we wouldn’t use up one of our stalls at this most inconvenient spot. Chuck meanwhile was terrified of bumpy spots in the road, always wondering if this was the time the trailer would make a break for it again. Other than fighting, sleep-deprivation, spilled drinks, excessive peeing, and muscle cramps, nothing else much went wrong. We listened for hours to books on tape – the older group to a Dave Barry book, the younger ones to a dragon and princess adventure. We had Cracker Barrel for lunch and bought new toys. We laughed about our miseries. We put lotion on our sunburn. We fantasized about our baths and our beds, and made plans for the First Thing I Am Going To Do When I Get Home.
    By now I had learned to never announce “It’s all down hill from here!” but in fact I could have pulled it off if I had given it a try. 53 hours after we left the island, we arrived home. When Nikiah got out of the car, she aptly muttered “I feel like a machine that hasn’t run in a long time and is all stiff and squeaky.” We were mighty spent. Home has never tasted so delicious.
    I guess maybe it does sound like the trip from hell. But I also maintain, it was the best family vacation we’ve had all year! Hands down. And we are having a great time telling the saga, accumulating sympathy and admiration, and gaining a reputation for being Hearty Travelers. It is a title well-earned, and I, for one, feel richer for the experience.
    Now if you’ll just excuse me for a while, I want to go pay homage to my wonderful soft dry warm flat squishy bed, once again. For some reason I’m feeling a little tired.


  • Jonathan

    what happened to the bedbugs?

  • Oh, it took about six months to completely get rid of them! We bought new mattresses, put all our mattresses and pillows in plastic protectors with zippers, sprayed noxious chemicals everywhere, took apart bedframes and cleaned each crack and joint with alcohol, and washed everything we owned in hot water over and over. Still, when we vacuumed or moved furniture sometimes we’d see a “stray” one. It was the most exhausting ordeal I’ve experienced in my life. Did I ever mention that while I love science and nature and even get excited to see random new insects or bugs, that I have only two true phobias, and one is having the floor or other support fall out from under me, and one is swarms of bugs? I STILL wake up at night sometimes and think I feel bugs on me and have to get a flash light or cell phone and check to be sure it was just a random piece of lint or hair or something. This is one of only three thing in my life I’d say I don’t have an “it all worked out for the best” feeling about. But I suppose we all have to have at least FEW of those.

  • Jonathan

    dieing… need… more… PODCASTS!

  • amychilds

    Insert round of applause for Tori here.