aptly named

On a fairly regular basis, it strikes me how aptly named our blog is. (Mis)Adventures. Exactly. I wouldn't expect anything else. On Saturday, as part of Road Trip 3, I drove from H-borough to Chapel Hill for J's MSW graduation, to be held at the Dean Smith Center. When I found out it was at the Dean Smith Center, I was like, fabulous! I know exactly where that is, I've been there before, there's a big parking lot, it's away from downtown CH and main campus... except that it is not. What I was really thinking of was the Friday Center. Which, incidentally did house some department's graduation around the same time, but what in the world would be the point of going to that one, other than the chance to mock the undergraduates' tragic Smurf blue robes? I thought also that the MSW graduation began at 1:30, and I arrived at Friday approximately 15 minutes before. Maybe I would have time to try again? I called my parents, got directions, pondered, internally mocked the Smurf robes, all of which brought me t0 1:28, and still sitting in the Friday Center lot. No time. So I headed back. Just as I was pulling off onto my parents' exit, J's husband called with a life-check, and also vague directions should I try again, because actually, the ceremony started at 2:00. I had about 12 minutes. Why not go for it. Why not indeed. Because when you are a directionally-challenged, IQ-sapped prego with only 12 minutes to find a building in downtown Chapel Hill, park, etc, you should really just cash in your chips and forget it. You will not make it. In fact, what will probably happen is that you will take yet another wrong turn, a good 20-minute segue, and by the time you find yourself tooling down Franklin Street, it will be 2:30, and you will be wondering where the last hour and a half of your life went, and would it be possible to get it back please.

Anyway, I made it to the after-party, a lovely family party with the promise of prime rib. And I would have actually have loved to stay for the whole party, but only on the condition that I could be zapped home instantly. I had K.Lo, the next day included Mother's Day plans with J.Lo, and it was just time. One more problem though: rain. It is one of worst-nightmare situations to drive a) in the rain on I-40, and b) in the dark and rain on I-40. Wherever possible, I avoid it. I'll stay an extra day if I have to. Unfortunately though, I had hit the Road Trip Wall. I was done. I needed home. I would brave the rain.

Which is all well and good to say before you set out, confident that everything will be fine, and you will live. It drizzled for about an hour around dusk before I hit the storm, which lit up the black sky with blinding intensity. Forty-five minutes, two hydroplane incidents, two long stretches using hazard lights, twelve mental beatings over choosing a car without ABS, fifteen pleas to God that I wouldn't kill myself and/or the baby, and one minor stroke later, I broke through to the other side. Twenty miles outside of ILM, it was like a line had been drawn in the rain sand. I told J.Lo, it's coming, and you'll see. Except that it never did--which kind of sucks for the garden, because we really could have used the rain.