Way back in August, I completely, utterly lost my marbles. I planned a Fall road trip for my family to California, specifically Disneyland. Crazy? Yes, but I wasn't without my reasons. Having grown up in California I have been my share of times to the Magic Kingdom. Tragically, (due to our relocation to Colorado 12 years ago) only Sid has been to Disneyland and at 2 1/2, was too young to even remember it. So I did what had to be done for the sake of the children.
I got online and researched the attendance records for the park to determine the absolute best time to go, thus avoiding the crowds that only those who don't know better are forced to slog through. Being from LA (ish), we never went to the park when it was crowded because, why? Why have all the fun sucked out of the (expensive) experience by 50,000 other people who all want on the same ride you do (Mr. Toad's), only they want to get their moving at a pace that sloths would find insulting? No thanks. I wanted the joyous trips I remembered from my childhood, when my older brother Mark and I were cut loose for the afternoon to race around the park unsupervised, except for the occasional cast member who would show up immediately following some minor infraction--like spitting off the buckets ride onto the people walking below us--and scare us into behaving ourselves. (Mark was a well-spring of ideas. We once rode Pirates 6 times in a row, and each time he would have me hold his legs so that he could lean waaay over the side of the boat and try to pry off the treasure glued to the rocks.) We would literally run from ride to ride, hardly ever waiting in line and thriving on a diet made up exclusively from the food carts that dot the park. This is the American Dream of Disneyland that I had envisioned for my children. (Story for another time, but those good ol' days of the park are long gone.) But before we could make it to snack food heaven, we had to get from Denver to California in two mind-numbing days of driving, each way.
Now you must understand, we are not travelers. Although my hardy Nordic stock might indicate otherwise, neither myself nor my offspring are genetically or emotionally designed for the kind of punishment that days of travel brings. Pie claims that he loves road trips, that he loves being in the car. And yet he seems to be unable to stay awake, wanting to nap through the whole experience. Did I mention he does all the driving? It is quite literally a full-time job, keeping Pie awake. Granted, I am more than able to keep up a constant stream of mindless banter for hours on end (one of my talents, surely) but even that has it's limits and occasionally I am forced to pick fights with him to get his attention and I have even been known to resort to physical violence. I have found that if a vicious pinch in the arm doesn't perk him right up, embarking down the road of "you are a poor driver" is guaranteed to get his blood boiling enough to get us to the next stop a few hours down the road. No, it is not nice, but it is effective.
You may wonder why I don't just drive for him? Allow him to nap? Take a break? Forty winks? Well, HAH! I say, to those of you asking these stupid questions because obviously you have never been a passenger in our car. The "mommy" seat is no picnic. This seat automatically promotes you to official problem solver. Every need, question, comment, issue, tattle and accusation is fielded by the co-pilot. In a family with five children these opportunities for conflict resolution come roughly every two minutes. Pie realized long ago that the driver in this situation gets much more rest--and by rest I mean sleep--than the passenger. Whenever we switch seats so I can drive while he "naps", he lasts maybe an hour before he is begging me to switch back with him. Because sitting in that seat guarantees he won't have a moments peace. Heck, he doesn't even get to crack open that book he brought. (Is this guy adorable or what? He always brings along some thick paperback for "reading in the car" even though I point out to him that the last time I was able to read anything for my own pleasure on a road trip was back in the mid-90's. But he is forever hopeful. How cute is that?) Anyway, my point is Pie drives (drowsily) and it is my job to keep him conscious while trying to appease the political unrest behind us.
Remember about a year ago when that crazy NASA girl drove herself all night from Texas to Florida to kill or marry somebody, and the most compelling part of the story was that she drove the whole way wearing an adult diaper? Disgusting yes, but I have to confess a part of me said BRILLIANT! What a clever way to avoid what for our family is the travel Kiss of Death. The potty break. (Now before you get grossed out, I am NOT suggesting diapers for the grownups. I am thinking about the children.) I am always fascinated when I hear stories like my friend Nicole tells of her traveling youth. Her father drove straight through from Texas to Michigan every summer and never stopped the car. Meals were taken in transit and the only time the engine was turned off was while getting gas. All 5 kids knew that. They planned their breaks accordingly. (This story always captures my imagination for a couple of reasons. What was the mood like in the car? Did he really never stop for emergencies? Did they all suffer from UTI's by the time they made it to Michigan? What types of sandwiches did her mother make in the car?)
I try to run a tight ship. I begin each trip with my lecture about the space-time continuum and how it is messed up by excessive stops. I limit in-cabin drinks. I am stern and matter-of-fact. I am completely waisting my breath. Exhibit A:
I got online and researched the attendance records for the park to determine the absolute best time to go, thus avoiding the crowds that only those who don't know better are forced to slog through. Being from LA (ish), we never went to the park when it was crowded because, why? Why have all the fun sucked out of the (expensive) experience by 50,000 other people who all want on the same ride you do (Mr. Toad's), only they want to get their moving at a pace that sloths would find insulting? No thanks. I wanted the joyous trips I remembered from my childhood, when my older brother Mark and I were cut loose for the afternoon to race around the park unsupervised, except for the occasional cast member who would show up immediately following some minor infraction--like spitting off the buckets ride onto the people walking below us--and scare us into behaving ourselves. (Mark was a well-spring of ideas. We once rode Pirates 6 times in a row, and each time he would have me hold his legs so that he could lean waaay over the side of the boat and try to pry off the treasure glued to the rocks.) We would literally run from ride to ride, hardly ever waiting in line and thriving on a diet made up exclusively from the food carts that dot the park. This is the American Dream of Disneyland that I had envisioned for my children. (Story for another time, but those good ol' days of the park are long gone.) But before we could make it to snack food heaven, we had to get from Denver to California in two mind-numbing days of driving, each way.
Now you must understand, we are not travelers. Although my hardy Nordic stock might indicate otherwise, neither myself nor my offspring are genetically or emotionally designed for the kind of punishment that days of travel brings. Pie claims that he loves road trips, that he loves being in the car. And yet he seems to be unable to stay awake, wanting to nap through the whole experience. Did I mention he does all the driving? It is quite literally a full-time job, keeping Pie awake. Granted, I am more than able to keep up a constant stream of mindless banter for hours on end (one of my talents, surely) but even that has it's limits and occasionally I am forced to pick fights with him to get his attention and I have even been known to resort to physical violence. I have found that if a vicious pinch in the arm doesn't perk him right up, embarking down the road of "you are a poor driver" is guaranteed to get his blood boiling enough to get us to the next stop a few hours down the road. No, it is not nice, but it is effective.
You may wonder why I don't just drive for him? Allow him to nap? Take a break? Forty winks? Well, HAH! I say, to those of you asking these stupid questions because obviously you have never been a passenger in our car. The "mommy" seat is no picnic. This seat automatically promotes you to official problem solver. Every need, question, comment, issue, tattle and accusation is fielded by the co-pilot. In a family with five children these opportunities for conflict resolution come roughly every two minutes. Pie realized long ago that the driver in this situation gets much more rest--and by rest I mean sleep--than the passenger. Whenever we switch seats so I can drive while he "naps", he lasts maybe an hour before he is begging me to switch back with him. Because sitting in that seat guarantees he won't have a moments peace. Heck, he doesn't even get to crack open that book he brought. (Is this guy adorable or what? He always brings along some thick paperback for "reading in the car" even though I point out to him that the last time I was able to read anything for my own pleasure on a road trip was back in the mid-90's. But he is forever hopeful. How cute is that?) Anyway, my point is Pie drives (drowsily) and it is my job to keep him conscious while trying to appease the political unrest behind us.
Remember about a year ago when that crazy NASA girl drove herself all night from Texas to Florida to kill or marry somebody, and the most compelling part of the story was that she drove the whole way wearing an adult diaper? Disgusting yes, but I have to confess a part of me said BRILLIANT! What a clever way to avoid what for our family is the travel Kiss of Death. The potty break. (Now before you get grossed out, I am NOT suggesting diapers for the grownups. I am thinking about the children.) I am always fascinated when I hear stories like my friend Nicole tells of her traveling youth. Her father drove straight through from Texas to Michigan every summer and never stopped the car. Meals were taken in transit and the only time the engine was turned off was while getting gas. All 5 kids knew that. They planned their breaks accordingly. (This story always captures my imagination for a couple of reasons. What was the mood like in the car? Did he really never stop for emergencies? Did they all suffer from UTI's by the time they made it to Michigan? What types of sandwiches did her mother make in the car?)
I try to run a tight ship. I begin each trip with my lecture about the space-time continuum and how it is messed up by excessive stops. I limit in-cabin drinks. I am stern and matter-of-fact. I am completely waisting my breath. Exhibit A:
We are hours in to driving from Colorado to Utah and we have been back on the road all of 20 minutes from our lunch stop when Josie becomes very insistent that we pull over. Now. (I don't know how many of you are brave enough to play chicken--potty wise--with a young child but clearly I am not that brave). We stop the car. I make an announcement to all that we are stopping the car to pee on the side of the road and that anyone who even wonders if they should get out and do so should get out and do so. I am quite persuasive. Sid decides it sounds like a good idea. As they get back in the car, I note that we are at mile marker 71. Three miles down the road, at mile marker 74, Calvin decides he needs to go. Actually now, come to think of it, Jon also needs to go. I throw a grownup fit. I use words like "honestly" and "are you kidding me" and "I swear". It is all very Mike Pedersen, if I am being honest. But there we are, at mile 74.
So why do I do it? Why do I knowingly put my nervous system in harm's way? I think it was during that trip to California that I realized a few things about myself. For instance, there is a very real, very unwell part of my brain that thoroughly enjoys the mayhem that ensues whenever we pack up the Suburban and head out on an adventure. I love:
Trying to keep everyone quiet for the entire 20 minutes Tommy devotes to napping in the car.
The moments when my 12 year old complains to me about the very things that I find annoying, but I pretend they don't bother me. (Sid, I am sorry the joy of your sister's feet pummeling your kidneys while playing "Name That Tune I'm Whistling" for the last 7 hours completely escapes you. Try to gain a sense of humor before we pull into the Wendy's.)
Watching my ever-patient, ever-playful husband squirm with irritation as my kids launch into yet another ear-assaulting round of THE ONE OFF-KEY LINE OF A SPONGEBOB SONG THEY HAVE BEEN SINGING in a high falsetto REPEATEDLY, at my encouragement. (You know when you have pushed Pie to the very edge of his patience, you have really accomplished something.)
But probably most of all, I love having us all squished together. No school, no work, no commitments. Just all of us sitting, and sitting there, making up our own mad libs and eating salty snack treats, annoying the heck out of each other. Pie naps through most of it.
2 comments:
this was very funny!
Hilarious! So is that a rental? :D
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