Toto, I don't think we're in Texas anymore!

Oh for goddess's sake. Am I ever exhausted. All I can do for today is tell you about the trip home and then catch up later with the rest of the story.

We got back home okay, barely. All the way home, for about 11 hours, it rained. No, maybe that's too mild a word, let's beef it up a tad. The heavens opened up in a torrential downburst that kept us from seeing five feet ahead of us, with accompanying violent winds that threatened to blow us off the freeway if we attempted to go over 55 mph.

Let me set it up for you. Paint you a mental picture, so to speak.

My husband heads our happy family convoy in the hugest Budget truck I've ever seen, holding all our worldly possessions except the lawn mower, Rainy, and some sandwiches, and dragging Erik's car behind. Erik fills in the middle, valiantly maneuvering my little Dodge Neon--with the sandwiches--through the beating storm. I think he truly became a man that day. Come to think of it, so did I.

Bringing up the rear, the cat and the lawn mower in my husband's mid-size Dodge Ram, was I. I seriously contemplated joining some form of organized religion as I was buffeted with gravel, rain and actual hail, and fought to stay on the road. Dodge trucks may be Ram tough, but they are also in equal measure Elephant aerodynamic. Evidently Chrysler does not consider the concept of reduction of wind resistance one of their exacting specifications when building a pickup truck, although they do make darn tough windshields. In short, EVERYTHING flying through the air hit that windshield. There were several times I winced when something hit it and thought, okay, there it goes, but, no, it actually turned out fine. The darn thing was even shinier when we got home. Go Dodge.

Right outside of wacko Waco, where nobody especially thought it important to drive with caution in a wild storm, we realized that yes, it can always get worse. The road suddenly narrowed from four lanes to two. Erik brushed an orange road cone with the Neon, frightening him. Headlights came at us. Signs appeared, warning us to slow down or be fined. Go ahead, fine us. If you can find us, I thought, by this point hellbent for leather. But soon there was no question of slowing down. They'd built one of those lovely concrete walls o' death between the two rushing lanes of traffic, and semis bore down upon us from every direction, drenching us with road water and pelting us with loose asphalt. I felt pain in my hands, and realized I was white-knuckling the steering wheel. I tried using humor to break the stress, and grabbed my walkie talkie. (Walkie talkies are essential for convoy travel.) I pushed the button, the talkie squawked, and I asked that age-old question, "Could this suck a little more?"

Now, bear in mind, we're in a really bad rain storm here. The radio at the last gas station had warned of the possibility of tornadoes. There's traffic noise, and the moving truck runs loud anyway, rumbling and rattling as strong as the thunder. Terry is also deaf in one ear. Erik, warmly ensconced in my comfy little Neon, protected from the worst by his dad ahead of him creating a giant wind break with the big truck, chuckles and replies that he hopes not. Terry, battling the bloody front lines, comes back, "What??!!"

"I said", I say louder this time, "could this suck any more."

"What, now?"

"COULD THIS SUCK A LITTLE MORE!"

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you, do you need to pull over? Is something wrong?" Now look what you've done, I think, you've worried him.

Erik pipes in, thinking that since he's closer, Dad will hear him better. "She said, could this suck a little more." But, road noise is road noise, and a loud truck is a loud truck, and a deaf man is a deaf man.

"What??!!"

I give up. Just get us home, I pray for the 100th time to nobody and everybody in particular. "I SAID", I shout into the talkie, while Rainy shifts in his carrier, ears twitching, "THIS....IS...BAD!!"

"Yeah," my husband, the master of the understatement replies, "but it could be worse."

"How?" Erik wants to know.

"It could be hailing", Terry replies. Something hits my windshield. I couldn't see well enough to tell if it was hail or just a rock. A minute later, I know for sure. For pete's freaking sake, it's hailing.

So much for a touch of humor.

We left Killeen at 1:30 pm and got home at 12:30 am the next morning. It was almost dry for about a half hour while we drove through Wichita and then boom! It hit us again. It continued to hit us, in fact, all the way home. I still have bruises.

Terry is an amazing driver, don't get me wrong. It was amazing how deeply the tires of the moving truck sunk into the mud of our front yard when he attempted to pull it up into the driveway after our harrowing trip, at 12:30 in the morning. Just one more thing to add to our list of things to do.

Well, let me wrap it up.

We made it home alive, and for that, I'm eternally grateful. And as much as I liked the big state of Texas, I'm glad to be home in little ol' Kansas.

I don't want to drive that particular piece of freeway ever again.