From Iowa: Our prepostional tour of the heartland concludes (You're welcome)

As with all good things (aside, of course, from God's love and salvation), our visit to Iowa would come to its inevitable end. Why it has to end at 4:30 am instead of a more reasonable hour, ask Brad Mosiman. But, nonetheless, Linda, Chuck, and Savannah dragged their poor selves out of bed to wish us farewell. You don't have to thank me, y'all, for taking your picture. It's part of the whole package for being included in "Amy's World." And you're also welcome, suburban neighborhood, for my screaming "I love you" for several blocks. Next time, limit your fireworks to half-hour increments up to and before midnight and THEN we'll talk.

Having learned my lesson, snack-wise, from our trip TO Iowa, I was well-equipped in that department.

I thought.

Uncommonly kind and thoughtful, Brad encouraged me to catch a nap shortly after our emotional departure (I had never left Savannah in Iowa before..."Turn around," I sobbed as Savannah walked forlornly back into her grandmother's house. "Do you miss me?" I typed.  "I'll text you back after I wake up," came her despondent reply. "She's clearly miserable," I told my husband. "Uh-huh...go to sleep," he soothed. How uncommonly kind and thoughtful, I thought. Until I awoke to discover my now-cavernous can of Pringles violated. "How could you?" I snarled, shaking what was now just a maraca of chip crumbs at him. "What?" he asked, innocently, "I thought they were for both of us." "No! We went snack food shopping and I got the Pringles for me!"I ranted in righteous indignation. "But I didn't buy any snacks," Brad protested. "You should have spoken up!" I screamed, "You have a mouth!" "And I used it," he grinned, funneling the remaining Pringles crumbs into his big, fat face while I fumed (I don't mean that...I love my husband...but still...). "Why don't you go back to sleep?" he suggested, "It'll improve your mood." Oh no...now I knew I had snacks to defend. There was no way I was letting him get his mitts on my expired box of Hostess Snowballs, my liquefied Nutella or my room-temperature string cheese. "You just stick to your unsegregated snack crackers there, Slick," I sneered.

No matter. Brad Mosiman had other prey in his sights. Savannah was flying out of Minneapolis that afternoon and Brad had made it his life goal to beat her home. You guessed it. The true victim of this sick cat and mouse game...would be me.

I didn't realize how seriously this game was until Savannah actually confirmed that she was boarding her plane. Up until then, Brad was pretty easy-going...by Brad-Mosiman standards. I wasn't even suspicious when he offered to stream-line my unexpected thru-way stop purchase. I normally forego rest-stop restaurants as Brad has perfected a cautionary lecture series about the inevitable disappointments that accompany free-way food. He launches into his speech approximately twenty miles prior to the stop. He reminds me of the McDonald's that once ran out of ketchup. Five minutes from our destination, he resurrects the reconstituted gas station frankfurter that Sydney convinced me to get her after staring longingly at it like it was a pet puppy playing on a treadmill. "I'll just get a Pepsi," I assured him as we raced into the rest-stop. But then...I stopped short. Was it a mirage? Was I hallucinating? Could it be...? An Aunt Annie's Pretzel shop, pure and true, tucked lovingly among the other restaurants of ill-repute? Clearly this was proof of a Higher Power!

Brad stood in an agonizingly long line for my Pepsi (Two customers...people think that I'm the exaggerator in this family) while I eagerly awaited my pretzel procurement. I was trying to keep my expectations low but I fairly tap-danced as I placed my order with the friendly freeway employee. "Yeah?" she muttered, intent on surpassing the customer service standards of her industry. "Cheese or mustard sauce?" she slurred. I was so pleased with her kind offer that I paused but Brad, appearing from no-where, shouted, "Cheese." I smiled, thinking someone was taking our picture. Brad quickly exchanged my pretzel for a five dollar bill...that again, come out of no-where...yelled, "Keep the change," and, with a hand firmly gripping my elbow, escorted me out of the building like a true gentleman. He even opened the van door for me although I have to say he thrust me rather roughly into the vehicle like it was a kidnapping. "Are we role-playing?" I asked. "Eat your pretzel," he said, gritting his teeth and we shot out of the parking lot like we were in a get-away car.

Throughout the journey, I kept our daughters updated with fun-filled texts and photos so they could follow our cross-country progress. Brad fretted that I was giving Savannah an edge in the competition but relaxed a little when he caught a glimpse of my Welcome to Ohio picture. Very art-sy.

From the moment Savannah landed in San Diego, my life was a blur. I'd never seen my husband drive with two hands on the wheel before.

Accusations...like the van...flew. "That stupid Steak & Shake," he muttered maniacally, clutching the steering wheel tighter.

FADE-TO-FLASHBACK

TEXT TO SAVANNAH & SYDNEY:  Talked Daddy into going to a Steak & Shake in Erie. "There are a ka-zillion varieties," I told him. We drove into the vacant parking lot. I believe a tumble weed brushed up against the van. A lone wolf howled."You know how many varieties of milkshakes this Steak & Shake serves?" he observed dryly as I sat frozen in bitter disappointment, "Zero."

BACK-TO-MY-NEAR-DEATH-DRIVE-HOME

Long story short..."Short?" Brad groused, "The drive took less time than the reading of this post." Don't mind him. He's just being a poor sport. Savannah won with nine minutes to spare. "She didn't have to contend with an unplanned pretzel stop, a boarded-up Steak & Shake, tractors, and an Amish buggy," Brad complained. 

In my heart, though, I feel the real winner was me. The pretzel...was delicious! And while I admit to feeling rather queasy, what with the hills, the curves, the speed, and the shouting, I never succumbed to motion sickness. Eyes to the horizon, friends...eyes to the horizon. Farewell, fair Iowa...until we meet again!