In the my family, we like to rush to the doctor 24 hours before we leave for terra incognita and hope the antibiotics we're traveling with keep the kids alive until we get home. We packed the kids into the backseat with the Shut-up Box (DVD player and 6 dozen Barbie movies), a pile of granola bars, and a bag filled to the brim with medication. We crossed ourselves twice and drove north on I-5 until I could touch the inside of my window without burning my hands a la Audrey Rose.

The two days we spent driving to our first destination--Portland, Oregon--are almost not worth mentioning. We stayed in hotels that barely deserved to start with an "h," where the rooms smelled and the pools were--I'm fairly sure--filled with human sweat and not actual water. Of course, when we got to Portland and encountered our first urban pond, the Big One immediately submerged herself--fully clothed--until all I could see of her was a small circle of her face containing only the parts necessary for breathing. Although the pond smelled strongly of chlorine and the natives were frolicking in it without hesitation, Iwas silently grateful for bubble gum-flavored Zithromax.

From Portland, we went to Bandon. In case you don't know anything about the Oregon coast, it is beautiful and rugged. Which means it is fucking polar. We stayed across the street from a walking path to the beach, and one day, as we marched toward it, a soft-spoken man in an eco-friendly car stopped and shared with us that an actual deer was grazing up the road ahead.

At this point you are probably asking yourself what my problem is, so I will provide some background. I live in the country, and my backyard is filled with deer. Once a year, they have a deer orgy, and their aggressive behavior means my dog gets her ass kicked pretty much every morning, and the kids can't play in the yard until I have cleared it, Rambo-style. The rest of the year, we erect fences and spray deer-repellent that smells exactly like ass onto the plants that we care about, and then watch the deer eat everything anyway. So while in theory deer represent the beautiful majesty of nature, in reality, I watch the flies buzz around their mangy hides as I brush my teeth, and we lock eyes in much the same way two burly drunks lock eyes just before they wrestle around on the pool table.

So back to the former hippie. He had pretty much knocked me speechless. I would have liked to explain to him how I used to be like him: a city person who had never had a chipped windshield or smelled a skunk UP CLOSE. But that got kind of complicated, and the more I stared at him blankly, the more tempted I was to use my best Joy accent, turn to AngryHusband, and tell him to go on and git his gun out the car. Finally, though, the guy just drove off, and we saw the fucking deer and went about our business.

I guess after a few days, your energy level starts to drop, and you all start to grate on one another's nerves because you're just with each other 24/7, mostly in one small space. There's also the anxiety that comes when the antibiotics run out, and ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN. When my kids get strep, they just suddenly start hurling. And they don't stop without some kind of medical intervention. I have three magical Zofran pills left, and the insurance company is stingy with it. The Little One kept screaming that her "front butt" hurt, and believe you me, when anyone in the family talks about their vagina, it usually means they have strep throat. But even so, we made it home in one piece and no one had to visit so much as the vitamin rack of the gas station convenience store during the whole ten days we were gone.

So I breathed a sigh of relief as we pulled up to the house, and it was still standing, and there were no trees down or wisps of smoke or fountains or water shooting out of anything. We had survived, or so I thought until I got the suitcases back into the bedroom and looked out the back door.

My garden was gone.

The deer had somehow broken in and ravaged it. One of them was laying out there in the pasture, which is what they do when they need to digest their food. My dreams of plentiful tomatoes, warmed by the sun--shattered. No giant pumpkins. No butternut squash. Even the zucchini looked depressed.

I thought about that deer peacefully grazing by the beach path in Bandon and wished I'd walked over and kicked it right in the nuts. Then I went to the grocery store and bought myself a bottle of wine. I got back just in time to determine that both kids needed another strep test.

It's good to be home.