The happiest of families

We're so proud of Matt. We've tried our best to raise him in the ways of uprightness and virtue, and he's turned out quite alright. He's on his way to an interview for grad school today, and we're wishing him the best of luck. This family portrait shows the unity and love we have in our family, and we look at it everyday when we start yelling and throwing stuff at each other to remind ourselves of the kind of family we want people to think we are when they walk in our home and see our pictures on the shelves, and that calms us down somewhat. Until the next outburst of uncontrollable rage that is, usually on Rachel's part.

I bring up uncontrollable rage because there's something I've been wanting to get off my chest for a long time now. A story, if you will. An incident when I was 15. In the car. My entire family was there. It was truly embarrassing. I don't tell this story to confess or repent, but just to get it off my chest. You know when you carry something, a weight on your shoulders for 12 years +, you just need to get it off sometimes. That's what this is all about, I need to get this great weight off my shoulders and finally move on. Because I know this is not who I truly am at heart, it's only who my bowels tried to make me look and feel like on that long car ride home from the Las Vegas Olive Garden on Flamingo and 9th so many years ago. And thus it begins... You know when you're 15 you can eat and eat, and then eat some more just for good measure. And if you really feel like pushing it, you'll eat at least one more time, just to spite the world. Well I felt that the never-ending pasta bowl at Olive Garden was mocking me by making me pay $10 and saying I could eat all I want. Serious? I can get my money back in 2 plates, max. Every plate after that that I eat, I'm sticking it directly to the man and taking money straight out of Olive Garden's pockets. Sign me up! The exact details are slightly fuzzy, but I know I ate at least 3 solid plates of spaghetti because my mom was in complete shock when I finished it, and I was probably on my 4th plate. Throw in a couple bowls of faggioli soup with a good serving of bread sticks and you've got the perfect storm brewing in my stomach. An angry storm. One that sticks a dagger straight into your gut and paralyzes your very movement, gives you the sweats, and makes you rethink your goals in life. Another plate of food and I could have joined that fat guy on "Seven" that ate until his stomach exploded. It was this kind of pain I was experiencing walking out of that Olive Garden. But I got my money's worth, that's for sure. I made our entire pay check worth it, and the tip. And even though my stomach couldn't physically handle any more, I ate a couple of those chocolate mints they give you on the way out. I had to.

With six people in our mini van, 5 of us male and 4 us of teenagers, and having just eaten at Olive Garden, you've got a fart to minute ratio of about 2:1, so I didn't see any harm in letting out my stomach pain in gas form every couple minutes or so on our hour and a half drive home. I positioned my stomach, legs, and back in the straightest position I could to allow the smoothest, easiest passage I physically could, and when I felt it was ready for departure, I simply relaxed my tightened stomach. You know the feeling, when you get more than you bargain for... As I relaxed my stomach, the dregs of hell quickly shot out of my body and into my undies. A lot, too. This wasn't a little squirt of stomach juice, this was full on diarrhea, and a lot of it too; as soon as it started coming out, I had a hard time stopping it, so a healthy amount made its way into my pants. As soon as it happened, I said to my dad, "Can we pull over, I have to go to the bathroom!" Just as I said it, I watched the last exit in Vegas pass by with a sign shortly after it that said, "Glendale 45 Miles." "Can you hold it until Glendale?" was the only thing my dad could say. If they only knew the abomination that was in my pants. If they only realized the stench that was about to fill the car. If they only knew what it was like to be a true sharter... Well, they actually probably all know full well what it's like to be a true sharter. We're Harts, who am I kidding?

Ok, I didn't think it was going to take this long to get this off my chest, and I have to get going. But there's more, oh so much more to this story, so I'll finish it tomorrow. Be sure and come back! But for now, let's all wish Matt good luck on his travels!!!