Our cars are fighting.

“I, Julie, take you, Scott, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy law, and this is my solemn vow.”


No, we’re good. We’re good. We’ve been through it all – better, worse, worse than that, rich, poor, ramen-noodle poor, the man-flu, and we’ve peaked in health and athletic ability.

I thought we merged our assets beautifully, really. Walk into our home and you’ll see, well, Scott and me. You’ll see deer high up on the wall. You’ll also see flowers, fluffy blankets and candles. It smells like femininity and maybe a waft of burnt dinner. Scott has his own office with a sliding barn wood door. The wood is from a barn built in 1910. I have a writing room with my own fireplace. There’s a giant white marlin on the wall. I caught that. Words are everywhere.

We built this home from dirt. We intertwined each other into it. It’s a solid home. It’s a lovely home. The only nook where you’ll find two separate lives is the garage.

SIGH. Until death do us part.

Merge these assets into one: “His car” and “her car.”

A Ford F-150 and a Honda Accord.

Scott’s car and my car – they’re not even dating. They hate each other. Scott and I are in the market for a car. It won’t be the only car but for the sake of making a long story short – it will be an equally shared car. The Ford and Honda need to go. 

My car thinks his car has a bad case of truck syndrome. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. That engine roaring behind you in your rearview. The dominating force *asshole* on the open road. You better move over or you may be adding yourself to those dents and scratches that make up Scott’s car battle wounds.


I apologize. His vehicle.  Scott doesn’t drive a car. He drives a vehicle. How dare I call such a man-made-God-fearing-machine a car. 

My car doesn’t understand his vehicle. And Scott’s vehicle doesn’t understand my car. There’s not a whole lot to understand about a dependable car like a Honda Accord. It blends in. Scott’s legs spread eagle on the dash is the only thing that would ever call attention to a Honda Accord. Scott’s car nicknamed my car “duck butter.”

In order to understand Scott’s vehicle and my car, you need to go back. Way back. Circa 1997 when my dad took me to a cemetery to learn how to drive because, “Well, you can’t kill anyone here. They’re already dead. Just don’t kill your old man.”

I learned how to drive in a cemetery in a 1995 Chevy Cavalier. It was turquoise and adorable. And my dad is alive and well, thank you. I moved on to a 2001 Mitsubishi Eclipse Coupe; a 2005 Land Rover LR2; and now a 2014 Honda Accord. The only complaint I have is the bike handle scrapes down the side. Even though my kids are out of carseats, they’re still a pain in my ass.

Scott’s vehicle history – oh, let’s see. A small, purple truck; a white Chevy Camaro with orange stripes. You could hear the engine from miles away; this truck –

truck 2

and now his current truck, a 2013 Ford F150. It’s beat up. He jackknifed the side with a trailer. It smells like something died in it because it is also a deer hearse.

How do you merge a Ford F-150 and a Honda Accord? Scott needs power, off-road abilities and space. I need something that won’t leave me curb checking all over town. Oh, and large vehicles make me park in two parking spots because I, too, get truck syndrome. I like low to the ground and sporty. 

I figured it out – a Jeep Wrangler.

Scott told me I’m out of my mind (so?), they’re a waste of money (what car isn’t?) and I’ll kill the family with those crash test ratings (the 2017 model improved, Scott). My friend, Christine, also told me to knock off the Jeep Wrangler talk because it shows the world I’m having a midlife crisis. I’m 35. No midlife crisis. Mark my words – Christine will be taking selfies in my Jeep on our joy rides.

Feel the wind in your face, Christine!

I decided on red. Why not? It will go with my red lipstick that I need to steal back from Kate. It can pull a trailer, I think. It can handle the off-roads on the farm. And there goes Scott! Giving his dead deer a final adventure in a Jeep Wrangler! What a hearse!

I’m losing this battle. Scott doesn’t think my Jeep jokes are funny. They’re not jokes. I’m serious.


How do you merge a Ford F-150 and a Honda Accord?


Wait, don’t go! Find me on FacebookTwitter, and Instagram

Maybe I’ll post our car shopping pictures. Or maybe you’ll see me in a Jeep.



To: <<Julie and Scott>>, <<Jessica and Scott>>, <<Jenna and Steven>>

From: <<Mom>>

We have some gift certificates to this French restaurant. Your dad and I won’t use them. Do the six of you want to go out to dinner one night? Your dad and I will watch the kids.

Uh, let me get this straight –  free meal, free cocktails and free babysitter so my sisters and our husbands can go out? WE’RE IN. Wait, did she say French restaurant?

Waitress: Welcome! Would zou like zee cocktail?

Me: Oh hi, yes. Do you have a cocktail menu?

Waitress: No. You like martinis?

Me: Yes.

Waitress: I bring you pineapple martini.

Jenna: I’ll have that too!

Scott: I’ll get an Old Fashioned.

Me: Ooooo! We’re goin’ all out tonight! Let me try of sip of that.

Steven: Boulevard Pale Ale, please.

Scott 2: I’ll have this merlot.

Jessica: Uh…(rubs her very pregnant belly) Can you just have the bartender make me up some fruity drink? I’m pregnant. No alcohol.

Waitress: We have zee lemonade. Iz from France.

Jessica: Oh ok. Oui!


Scott: I can’t believe your dad let us take his truck.

Me: Only because Jessica is pregnant and sober. He already called me once asking if we parked it in the furthest parking space.

Scott 2: We should send him a picture of a crashed white Ford truck.

Jenna: No! Don’t do that!

Me: Ha! Find one and I can edit it on my photo app.


Waitress: Here are zee cocktails. Would zou like to order now?

Me: Yes, we’re ready. I’ll have the la sole fish thing.

Scott: Bug! That’s 50 bucks!

Me: Oh. Is it? I already googled their menu before we came. It’s the only thing that I’ll eat. This menu is freaking me out. Someone else go.

Jessica: I’ll have the filet.

Jenna: The same.

Steven: I’ll have lobster.

Scott 2: I’ll take the cow cheek.

Jessica: WHAT?

Scott 2: It’s just another muscle. Might as well try it.

Scott: I’ll have the filet.

Me: Uhhhh…I guess the salmon. Is that cheap enough for you, Scott?

Scott: Hey, get whatever you want. Your dad is paying.

Me: Salmon. Oh and can I get the onion soup too?

Scott: I’ll have a bowl too. Wait. Onion soup. Like is it French Onion soup? Like French? Like with the cheese?


Waitress: Oui. Onion soup. Bubbly cheese.


Me: Scott, you sound so American.

Scott: Should I ask if they have French fries?

Jenna: Hey what’s that saying on Moulin Rouge?

Me: With Christina Aguilera? That song is SO old. Reminds me of college. And I think it means something dirty.

Jenna: Reminds me of middle school. I’m looking it up. Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir. Voulez vous coucher avec moi.

Me: Shhhhh! Don’t say that out loud!

Scott: Someone play that song on their phone when the waitress comes back.

Me: Ha! Do it.

Jessica: Oh, what about The Little Mermaid song?

Jenna: Les Poissons! Les Poissons! Hee Hee Hee Hon Hon Hon!

Scott 2: Grab the waitress, we should get a couple bottles of wine to share. Does everyone drink red?

Me: Yeah, but only at home because it stains my teeth. But I’ll drink it if everyone else wants it.

The waitress brought out two bottles of wine and empty glasses.

Waitress: Zou want wine?

Jessica: Oh. No, I’m good. Got the baby in the belly.

Waitress: Zou have wine. Little won’t hurt.

Scott 2: You can try some, J.

Me: Yeah, that baby is pretty much cooked. Have some.

Jessica: I know, but no. I’ll just want to chug it if I have a sip.

Waitress: Ok. No wine for zou.

Me: Oh yeah, they have different customs in France. I think the pregnant women drink wine through pregnancy.

Scott: Hon! Hon! Hon!

Waitress: Would zou like some cheeses to go with zee wine? Lots of cheeses. We got za blue cheese. Oh! But no blue cheese for zee baby! Can’t have soft cheeses!

Jessica: She’ll let me drink a glass of wine but no blue cheese?

Scott: Hon! Hon! Hon!


Steven: Julie, did you just photobomb that table over there?

Me: Ha! Did you see that? I kinda want to ask them if I can see the picture.

Jessica: You guys, we’re being really loud.

Me: Well, it’s not the first time we’ve gotten kicked out of a restaurant.

Our food was served.

Jessica: How is your cow cheek?

Me: That is so sick.

Scott 2: It’s actually really good.

Scott: How’s your salmon?

Me: Mm…it’s good.

Scott: I would be a terrible food host, like that one guy…Andrew Zimmern. I would be like uh yeah, this is good. Or no, this tastes, like, bad.

Jenna: I know, that would be hard to think of words to describe how food tastes.

Me: Oh, I wouldn’t even try it. I’d look at the camera and be like someone needs to get me a handle of whiskey before I put these duck eggs in my mouth.

Scott: You would be terrible. You won’t even eat a filet.

Jessica: I would be good pregnant. I can smell all kinds of smells. Like that wine. Smells like oak and tar to me.

Scott: Oh, are you trying out for our show?


Me: Damnit. Dad is calling me.

Jessica: Answer it, maybe something happened to one of the girls.

Me: Hello?

Dad: Where you at?

Me: Still out. We’re just drinking now.

Dad: Get my truck home. Who’s driving?

Me: Jessica.

Dad: She drinking?

Me: Dad! She’s pregnant!

Dad: Come home and don’t park the truck in the garage. I’ll park it. Just leave it in the driveway.

Me: Ugh. Fine, bye.

Jessica: What did he want?

Me: To tell us to come home, stop drinking.

Scott: He probably wants us to park the truck in the driveway too.

Me: HE DID! He said that! Ha!

Jessica: Does he think I can’t park his truck in the garage?

Scott 2: Park it at the very end of the driveway.

Steven: Park it down the street.

The waitress brought our check. We gave her our gift certificates.

Waitress: Oh! You clients of his? He buy lots of gift certificates from us.

Jessica: Our parents are his clients. We’re using their gift certificates.

Me, Scott, Scott 2, Jenna, Steven: SHHHHHHH!


Scott: I’m texting your mom – We are at piano bar. Scott is taking his shirt off on stage.

Scott 2: Here, I’ll text her too – We lost Julie. Hashtag piano bar.

Jenna: Oh my gosh, you guys.

Me: Ha! Ok, here we go – Mom, I really really drink. Drink. Damnit drunk.

Scott 2: Got one – Julie is grinding on some guy on dance floor. Scott starting fight. Hashtag piano bar.

Scott: Someone responsible needs to text her so she believes us.

Me: Jenna, give me your phone.

Jenna: No! I can’t.

Me: Give it to me. Here – Mom, Jessica is tired and got mad at us at the piano bar. She left us here and took a taxi home. We have dad’s truck.

Scott: Ha!  – Lost truck keys. Bartender. Had them. Got back.

Scott 2: Here – You want truck in street, right? J should be home soon. She might be pissed.

Me: I’m sending that picture of the crashed white Ford truck.

Jessica: No. Wait until we’re walking in the door before you send that. That looks too real.

Me: Yeah, I’ll wait.

We pulled into the driveway. A tall, dark figure was waiting in the garage. Our dad shook his head as we tiptoed past him.

Dad: Get in the house NOW. Where the hell have you been? Your mother is in there sick watching all these kids.

GROUNDED. Zee baby too.