I grew up thinking there were three absolute truths in life:

1. There will be snow for Halloween.
2. You can totally make a meal out of lefse, just so long as you have butter.
3. If you turn left three times, you'll end up back where you started.

I still think all three are true, but only if you are in Minot, North Dakota. Here in the land of Pittsburgh? #1 isn't really a guarantee, but more a possibility. #2 is some sort of foreign language. #3? HAHAHAHAHA! Turn left three times here, and you'll end up in West Virginia.

No. Really.

While a map of good ol' Minot looks kinda like this:

A map of Pittsburgh looks more like this:

Which is why I get absolutely, positively sporkified when I see these:

Before our move, I drove a whopping three miles from our house, to daycare, and then to work. It was a beautiful thing. Now my commute is a bit longer. It happens to be roughly seven or eight miles from our house to my office, and then I get to drive right past it as I drive another three miles or so to daycare.

So, ten miles. Not that bad.

Except, those ten miles happen to be on roads that feature signs like this:

When those signs are joined by Road Closed signs? THINGS GET UGLY.

Right now there are, and yes I really did count them all, six construction zones between home and daycare. SIX. That's six times that I have the wondrous opportunity to drive down the road only to be stopped by the good ol' Road Closed sign. Since this is Pittsburgh and we don't need no stinkin' detours, I get to try to figure out an alternate route on my own.

Um, please refer to the map of Pittsburgh. There ain't no stinkin' detours because there ain't no stinkin' alternative way of getting from Point A to Point B, unless you are OK with a reeeeeeally long drive through the middle of nowhere. The first time that I tried to navigate around the road closures, I was able to show Alexis the countryside. In Texas. And probably Massachusetts. I think we may have even seen a little bit of California.

Can you say painful? I CAN.

It has taken me two weeks to find a route that doesn't require that Alexis and I carry our passports. Two weeks.

It's enough to make me kinda sorta miss when my commute consisted mainly of looking at the rear-end of a beat-up Accord.

Can someone please pass the lefse?