I drove out to New Jersey this weekend with the girls for my niece’s 2nd birthday.  Dylan and Summer had a crazy fun time and then it was time to drive home.

Except my GPS hates me. The attitude on that gal is atrocious.

Seriously. Like I’ll type in Stop & Shop and she will give me one in Boston. And frankly, not to be a prima donna, but I just don’t have the time to drive 184 miles to buy ice cream.

Or the GPS won’t recognize an address. Like my home address. And lately she gives the most out of the way directions to all of our destinations.

So basically I was on my own to get myself out of Jersey. And that’s how I managed to go South on I95 towards Philadelphia. Not towards my destination of New York. But Philadelphia.

In my defense, 2 1/2 year-old Summer was whining nonstop about how she needed her fruit flat  (which had fallen on the floor and I couldn’t reach from the driver’s seat without dislocating my shoulder) and telling me that she wanted to see Santa and the Rockettes. Not someday. Right now.

So this whining went on and on as I drove the wrong direction.

For 50 minutes.

At which point, I become concerned that the George Washington Bridge was MIA and this might be some kind of national security issue.  And then I realized my mistake.

So I immediately had a mini meltdown and blamed the GPS and then blamed my husband for not fixing the GPS and then myself for being the idiot who drove the wrong way for 50 minutes.  Dylan and Summer seemed to sense that I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown and suddenly got a lot quieter and more agreeable.

Or maybe it was because Dylan, for some reason, started joking about weeds being stuck in Santa’s butt. And I was so relieved that Summer’s whining had stopped that I couldn’t even defend poor St. Nick and his arse.

I turned the car around and finally started going the correct direction.

A couple hours later, we finally got home.

Turns out, our GPS may not be completely broken after all. Apparently, we had inadvertently set the GPS lady to only give us routes that include ferry crossings. So that explains quite a bit. Except for the fact that she wants me to do my grocery shopping in Boston.  Bossy chick.

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