Note to self: Never cram the following group of people into a 15-passenger van and expect a desirable outcome. Ever. Even if you *think* it sounds like a good idea. Because by the time you make it out of the driveway, you’ll already be contemplating potential suicide attempts using your seat belt and gravity or the quick and easy escape through the window onto the freeway, rolling into oncoming traffic. Your absence? It might or might not be noticed.

Dad – aka the driver of the van and one who prefers to bring along *snacks* that no one else likes. Like sunflower seeds yet to be pried from the shell. Awesome. Way to be a team player. If we get stranded, you’ve already pretty much volunteered yourself to be the one to go and find a gas station.

Auntie- aka My mother’s older sister, the Mean Aunt Who Cut All The Hair Off All Younger Sister’s Dolls (aka my mom). And unless you’re her (which obviously, you’re not, because if you were, you’d be perfect) you’re a sucky, sorry excuse for a parent and have no idea how to even breathe. So, thanks (I think?), Auntie. I’m not sure how we’d all be able to keep something alive and enjoy the oxygen without you. Oh, and she got all fresh on the husband who was at the time still a boyfriend. That was pretty much strike two. More on that later.

Ashleigh - my cousin, aka Spawn of Mean Aunt Who Cut All The Hair Off All Younger Sister’s (aka my mom) Dolls. Ashleigh sides more on the “go with the flow parenting mentality,” which 1: is totally wrong and will result in a lifetime of repenting according to Auntie (did I mention she’s Catholic? And her son was a monk? Yes, was. He’s now kind of in the entertainment business…). and 2:  is totally on par with Younger Sister’s (aka my mom) parenting techniques. This = tension. Duh. Especially when Ashleigh’s children decide screaming as if their arms are being ripped off by a famished cheetah = communication.

Kid 1 and Kid 2- TWO children under the age of three who do not understand the concept of *standstill traffic* and belt out the ear piercing screams (caused by the cheetahs) unless fed copious amounts of sunflower seeds, stolen from the secret stash sitting on the console, which are typically annoying as hell when eaten by the driver – aka Dad – and spit into a cup. This night? Anything to maintain our cochleas.

Heather – aka Ballerina Girlfriend Bitch who decided that a car filled with people is the perfect time to explain to Younger Brother 1 (to be known as “Jeff”) in a not-so-subtle voice that every second of every day for the rest of Jeff’s life is to be dedicated to her. Only. This includes the hours spent sleeping, showering and taking a shit - though not necessarily in that order. Also? No friends allowed. Ever. Friends = Evil distraction.

Jeff- aka my artsy-fartsy younger brother who would rather debate the idea of “conflict” instead of actually having one. His lesson learned? ballerina bitch = drama.

Mason & Troy - The youngest of my younger brother’s who found that the back of the van, behind the very last seat, was the most awesome secret fort in the history of car forts. Ever.

Tim and Me - Umm…yah. You know us. But we were totally involved in this disaster. Somehow, I’m not surprised.

Mom – aka Younger Sister to Mean Aunt - Mom is the one who believed that throwing us all into a van would be civil. Especially for Christmas. Because isn’t everyone supposed to be nice during Christmas? Also? She needed a driver. And who better to do such a task than a person she can barely stand to occupy the same space as her within a 5 mile radius? Her arch nemesis, the sunflower seed-eating ex-husband (aka my dad).

Exactly.

So, get everyone straight in your head…because part two is *the trip* that left me weighing options like maintaining my ability to speak complete sentences or getting hypothermia.