2 weeks ago, we left my mom’s house in Tennessee and drove 12 hours north to Traverse City, Michigan to see if we could annoy my in-laws.
12 hours in the car, while daunting to some, is one of the most highly anticipated events in our household. Well, at least between Greg and I. We are explorers at heart. I spend much of the 12-hour car ride planning places for us to create new memories and scouting out new colorful places to get photos of the kids.
12 hours is all the time Greg and I need to solve all of the world’s problems…issues rather. There are no topics to taboo to cover. We cover topics which range from burning garbage to create energy…and why teaching manipulatives for parents should be more ‘user friendly’. I have a “Pandora’s Box” of certain things I quietly stew over. When times like these arise, I just let loose all of my bitter diatribes in a complete two hour period. This trip was all about how my math cards would be different and thus better, than the ones I am currently using with both Abby and Phoebe. Lucky Greg.
Unfortunately for the kids the 12 hour car ride fails to garner the same kind of excitement and anticipation it does for us.
Not to mention this trip was in some ways flawed right from the very beginning. 45 minutes into the ride, Phoebe threw up all over herself and her most prized possession, Mr. Purple Blanky. She was devastated. And rightly so. She started screaming and crying…two things which are definitely not on my “how to have the most fun on your car trip” list. All I could think about was, “it’s so early in the morning…where are the wipes…I know I packed them, but I did see Greg taking stuff out… STOP SCREAMING KID…oh he’s going to get stressed out…how am I supposed to clean her up….I can’t concentrate when your screaming in my ear little person… Where the CRAP are the wipes…Did I pack wipes…CRAP!!! …maybe we should just turn around” and right around the time I started to give up my search mission, Phoebe looked at me with those big bright golden eyes and said through her saddest pouty face, “I’m a yucky bunny”.
In that moment, with my sweet middle child covered in vomit, 45 miles up the road, screaming and crying, I fell in love with her all over again. And then of course, like magic, the wipes appeared at my feet .
I am sure I used the entire box but I managed to get her cleaned up. I stuffed Mr. Blanky into a plastic bag and chucked it (poor choice of words) into a crevace that had formed between all of our junk and the tailgate. Surprisingly, the smell up front really wasn’t so bad. Abby and Phoebe had to deal with the putrid smell for the following 11 hours and 15 minutes. I don’t know how they did it, but I don’t remember hearing anyone complain. No worries over here, we got this!
Luckily it was an isolated incident. In no time, she was back to her old self. It was smooth sailing for the rest of the trip. That is to say, nothing else tried to top the vomiting, screaming, crying kid.