You Gotta Be Road Trippin' Me

Ahhhhh, summer.  Long days, balmy nights of full moons and mosquitos.  Lightning bugs, greasy sunscreen and slurpees.  Time to run through a sprinkler, grill lots of burgers and wear  flip-flops.  Time to pack away the sweaters and the school books and pack for a roadtrip.  Roadtrip.  The word used to sparkle with possibility, evoking visions of the open road, random fun stops at quirky landmarks, favorite snacks and lots of laughter.  Fun destinations, freedom!  I say “used to.”  Now as a mother of 4, the word Roadtrip hovers like a foreboding raincloud, overwhelming in its dreadedness.  I have disturbing visions of screaming 2 year olds, poopie blowouts in car-seats and fossilized cheerios embedded in the minivan carpet.  I imagine arriving exhausted with a car of cranky children and the grim determination to make this trip worth it.

The contrast between Roadtrip now and Roadtrip then…. hysterical.  Think first of the time factor.  College Roadtripping could begin on the whim of a moment and 30 minutes or less later I could be on the road, ready for adventure with a full tank of gas.  Sometimes it was just a matter of veering left on the interstate and changing my plans in an instant.  “Forget my 8 o’clock.  Let’s go to the beach.  Woooo Hoooooo!”  Fast forward ten years and four little progenies later and a Roadtrip requires the preparation only comparable to a military operation.  Location determined, lists of lists carefully itemized, supplies acquired, route mapped, and van strategically packed for total accessibility and ease of transport.  “We will be leaving in 4.6 days with approximately 200 lbs. of luggage. ETD 4:32 a.m.

This matter of spontaneity ties in closely with the matter of packing.  Throw a change of clothes and a swimsuit in a bag and I was ready to go.  Toothbrush optional.  Now we pack forecast-weather-appropriate coordinated outfits for 4 children and two adults, plus a full regimen of in-car entertainment, a fully stocked medicine cabinet bag, and a portable toilet for roadside emergencies.  Not to mention the furniture required: pack n’plays and booster seats and, possibly, swingy and/or jumpy seats.  There is great joy to be found when travelling to a kid occupied house that already has such items for your use.

My former packing’s “most important item” probably was a large heavy folder of cds.  Cds of great music to be played loud and proud as we sang at the top of our lungs, our hair blowing in the wind.  Now we carry a case of CDs with titles like “One Million Songs Sung by Little Kids that Sound Like Chipmunks and are Designed to Drive Parents Out of their Minds” and “All the Bible Songs You Wish You Could Forget But Here They Are Again!”  or “Songs for Sleeping…Ha!  Like that Will Work on Your Wired Kids!”  and even “100 Songs that Will Repeat Over and Over and Over Again in Your Brain for Probably a Week but Aren’t They Fun!”  The average parent can only take so much of such songs, which is why we have conditioned our kids to love audio books.  I can get in to some Little House on the Prairie and Chronicles of Narnia, let me tell you.

Now for one of the deepest areas of contrast: the vehicle enlisted to get you from point A to point B.  Used to I cruised around in a vintage cream-colored Mercedes with camel interior, a sunroof, and a rumbly turbo diesel engine (that sounds glam…I won’t mention the lack of A/C).  It was cool mainly because it was a Mercedes and not a station wagon.  I named it Big Rig Junior.  Now I drive a sleek red minivan, which may be considered cool because it is not a station wagon and because it’s red, you know like a Corvette.  Maybe not.  I put a few stickers on the van to say, “Yes, I am a mom with a minivan full of sweaty kids, stinky discarded socks and pulverized goldfish, but I am still cool.  I hike.  We are in the Coast Guard.  Which is cool.”  Funny though, cute guys in fast cars never slow down and honk anymore.  Which is really good because I’M TAKEN, FOOLS!

    Speaking of cute guys in fast cars brings me to my next point.   Driving a minivan brings a change in your perspective.  I see different things now on my Roadtrips.  I can spot a sign for Chick-Fil-A from about 2 miles.  That red logo on one of those Interstate signs is like a beacon of hope and the promise of survival.  I am also proficient in spotting heavy equipment and/or awesome vehicles for the express entertainment of my boys.  “Look, Mac, a Quad-Axle Lowbed!  Awesome!”  We gape at it as we pass.  “Oh wow, a Horizontal Borer!  Amazing!”   “Look, a Vactor! Sweet!”  High five.   Horses and cows in a field- definitely noteworthy, especially for my now Horse-Obsessed daughter.  I notice but no longer pause for the Antiques signs, or Historic Districts or Scenic Routes.  Scenic Route?  Are you crazy?  The shortest distance between Point A and Point B is a straight line, my friend.  And you will find us on that line.  I no longer pull a quick U-Turn for the promising looking local Dive with the blinking cheeseburger sign.  Too risky.  Possible disaster in overcrowded and not-so-clean restaurant way outweighs any gustatory pleasure involved.  Not worth it.  Drive on.

Drive on.  No longer do I break records for arriving at a destination, shaming and amazing my pert, British GPS lady.  After 10 stops to nurse a newborn, 5 stops for bathroom facilities, 4 for food, 2 for gas and 1 for the car-seat poop explosion, we are creeping up on the records set by the pioneers crossing the plains in Conestoga wagons.  “C’mon, Pa!  We kin make it to the next settlement ‘afore time to eat our evenin’ vittles!  Crack the whip over them oxen and make’em hustle!” 

It’s not all that bad, protest the uninitiated.  Yes, yes it is.  And sometimes worse.  But there are moments of joy and peace when the kids are sleeping, looking so precious with their heads all lopping over to the same side and their lashes dark on their cheek, bellies full and minds dreaming of the excitement to come or the homecoming.  Moments when the cruise control kicks in, the traffic thins out and my husband and I look at each other and say, “smooth sailing once you get past Quantico.”  Pass the contraband Butterfingers and turn up Narnia.  The lion is on the move.