Tester Jobs Requirements (VIDEO GAME)

We pulled out of the the Cape Hatteras KOA at around 8:30 AM.  Not exactly the crack of dawn--but a pretty good departure time for parents with twin four year-olds and a three month old baby boy.  We were making good time when, about an hour into our journey, Max put down his coloring book in the back seat and started complaining that his stomach hurt.  We didnt pay him much mind.

Then he barfed all over the back seat.  This caught our attention.  Then he barfed again.  Now we were down-right focused.  Theo, being his twin brother and all, also barfed all over the back seat.  Now we were pretty grossed out.  Then he barfed again.  Now we both wanted to cry.  Only 8 hours of driving left...

At least Wes looked happy sitting in the back seat, smack dab in the middle of the twins, as he blissfully chewed on his rainbow colored squish.

After a Nascar-like emergency pit-stop-clean-up things started to improve very quickly--despite the lingering smell of double twin vomit.   The highways and interstates (particularly Interstate 40), that stretch from the Outer Banks to the Blue Ridge Mountains make for some very easy driving--even with our 6,000 pound, 33 foot, Jayco travel trailer behind us.  After the barfing incident the boys settled in and were very good for the rest of the drive (not that blowing chunks makes a child bad)--and Wes went for almost seven hours without a tear.

But at a certain point he became uncomfortable and the tears started to flow.  The last two hours of the trip were pretty stressful.  The boys sang "Its a Grand Old Flag" and the theme song to "Jake and the Neverland Pirates" to Wes over and over again--but he was not buying it.  My ears, and my stomach, were starting to hurt.  Stephanies nerves were frayed.  Then we pulled into the Asheville East KOA in Swannanoa, our home for the next nine nights, and we had one of those magic moments that can only happen when you get your butt out of the house and go camping.

The windows were down in our Silverado as we pulled up to register and we could hear the sound of a fiddler and his fiddle filling up the warm evening air in the campground.  The music was beautiful and soaring and the fireflies were coming out (we were later told that it was a great summer for fireflies.) We looked to our left and saw the fiddler playing, really jamming, really leaning into it, while sitting in front of his beautiful silver Airstream.  For the uninitiated, all Airstreams are silver, and all airstreams are beautiful.  For everyone--no single man deserves that much style.  I wanted him to be my guru--or at least my crazy uncle.

He looked completely entranced by his own playing--not even noticing the magic spell that he was casting over my family and the rest of his fellow campers.  Road stress gone.  Camping Mojo levels completely restored.  Camping Mojo levels Overflowing--thanks to the fiddler and his Airstream.

The poet John Keats once wrote in Ode on a Grecian Urn that, "Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter."  I couldnt disagree more.