Yesterday Rusty, Norah and I drove back from having Thanksgiving with my family in New Mexico. It was a lovely holiday and we returned filled to the gills with green chiles. I am never happier than when green chile essence is oozing out of my pores.

Nearly 75% of the 11 hour drive is on I-40 and since we have been driving the route about 2 times a year for 3 years, the scenery is increasingly familiar to us. The trip would not be quite the same without the Rose Leach sign in Oklahoma; the lonely trees and endless plains of eastern Oklahoma and western Texas; the leprachauns of Shamrock, Texas; the Biggest Cross in the Western Hemisphere!; the Big Texan restaurant with its promise of a free 72 ounce steak; the horrific weather of Amarillo, the stench of cows in Hereford, and the Allsup’s in Elida. These are the landmarks of our trek to and from New Mexico. Without them, I don’t know that I would be able to find my way home.

This trip however, I noticed another characteristic of that route. There is an incredible number of billboards for adult superstores. I counted at least 7. Christie’s Toybox, Adult MegaMart, and Fantasy Land all advertise their goods several times on I-40 and even though Christie’s Toybox and Fantasy Land sound harmless enough, almost like a good place to stop and let the kids stretch their legs, we all know that they are just cleverly named sex shops. And you should probably find another place to let your kids stretch their legs.

So my brain had been busy all day translating “Christie’s Toybox: 7 Miles!” into “Naked Shop!” and because of that I really cannot take responsibility for the fact that when I drove past the Recreation Department in our small Arkansas town and read “Adult Basketball Sign Ups!” I immediately thought, ‘Ew. Naked basketball.”

I blame Christie.

Another, more innocuous landmark of the trip is of course, McDonald’s. I don’t think it is possible to drive to New Mexico without stopping at McDonald’s to pee and get a cheeseburger. Its some kind of compulsion. The McDonalds’ along I-40 have seen some pretty bizarre sights, I’m sure, and we like to be sure to add our own little lunacies. For example, when Norah and I went to Roswell last summer we stopped at the arches to change a diaper and get some food. I thought it was just a routine diaper change, but when I pulled off her shorts, two adult sized handfuls of Cheerios came flying out the legs of her shorts and spewed around the bathroom stall. I, of course, left them where they were so that someone else could have the pleasure of trying to figure out how to clean up a hundred Cheerios in the big stall in the McDonald’s in El Reno, Oklahoma.

This time we stopped in Yukon, Oklahoma for the diaper and wardrobe change. This particular McDonald’s committed the cardinal sin of bathrooms and expected me to change my baby’s diaper without the aid of a changing table. Now, at my own house I change diapers on the floor because I think its easier but my floors are relatively clean and familiar. I draw the line at laying my daughter down in a puddle of unknown liquid at some bathroom on the interstate. That’s just nasty. Since Norah can obviously stand on her own now I didn’t panic. I simply unbuttoned her jammies and then pulled the tabs on her diaper so I could change it standing up. As soon as I pulled it off, she peed. And not just a little tinkle, but a full-on pee that left her standing in a nice warm puddle.

Norah is so awesome like that.

So anyway, we are back in Arkansas now. We are in the thick of transitioning Norah to a toddler bed, I am feeling the baby move like crazy, and tomorrow Rusty is going to sign up for naked basketball. I hope everyone had a lovely Thanksgiving but maybe without pee puddles.