My wife and I planned a trip to our place up north this past weekend. We gave our nanny Friday off, thinking we’d leave Thursday night at the boys’ bedtime. That way, they sleep the whole way. It’s a trick we figured out after many disastrous attempts to make the drive during the day that usually ended in deafening crying jags from the boys and me.

Something came up, however, and we had to cancel the trip. I then experienced a moment of terror as I realized, having already sent the nanny off to enjoy a three-day weekend, that I was going to have to manage the twins by myself on Friday. All day. My wife said, “Don’t panic. It could be fun.” I agreed it could be fun. It could also be like getting my teeth cleaned by Dr. Szell from Marathon Man.

On Friday, my wife helped me get them down for their morning nap before heading to work. After they woke, I packed them in the car and we headed to meet my wife for lunch and to show off the boys to her coworkers. I kept offering them up as paid interns, but no managers took me up on it.

The whole thing went a bit long and we ended up pushing into the time when they’d be taking their second nap. They would most certainly fall asleep in the car on the way home, but then transitioning them to their cribs would wake them up. The official term for what this would do to their afternoon nap is: “completely blow it all to fuck.” Also known as a “Bush presidency.” Example:

Dude 1: “How did your rocket fuel-powered grill cooking experiment go?”

Dude 2: “Jesus, it was a total Bush presidency. I don’t know if my leg hair will ever grow back.”

So, I decided to simply drive around for the usual duration of the nap. I headed to the beach, then down PCH, then back home. Thanks to L.A. traffic, the trip, which covered a distance of about 10 miles, took four days. Back home, I played with the guys or let them entertain each other with their weird baby vaudeville act, which involves banging rattles against whatever hard surface is nearby or, sometimes, each other.

Of course, I told my wife it was hell, that I was tense with stress and I would need some time off to recuperate. Oh, and pizza. Time off and pizza. And beer. Then, I would be okay.