I’ve been preparing all week… Lists, laundry, mental calisthenics… A road trip is upon us. Everyone packs up the family truckster and hits the road at some point, so like everyone else we’ll just make the best of it. Our trip will be about 4 ½ hours barring any major traffic, and we don’t expect to run into much. We’ve done it a dozen or more times since having a child, and considering I have a close friend who drives to Buffalo (from Virginia) with her 2 kids, how can I really complain? I need to pick her brain and learn some new survival tricks though.
Our son, now almost 20 months, is at the age when he doesn’t want to be confined for more than 15 minutes. And if he is going to be strapped in he requires constant entertainment from yours truly. Which means I end up sitting in the back seat an hour into our drive playing endless games of peek-a-boo, bending down and picking up his sneakers when he plays the “I’m taking my shoes off 100 times and laughing about it” game, and handing him Cheerios one-by-one to ensure the supply lasts for the duration of the trip. No biggie, I’ve done it before.
But this time we’ll have another car companion, our golden retriever. He rarely comes with us on this trip but Nana threw us a bone this time (no pun intended) and said he could visit too. So he’ll take over the back of the vehicle and all of the duffel and tote bags will sit in the backseat with the tot. Since that leaves no room for me back there we’ll have to rely on old fashioned methods. Fill his belly, bust out the pacifier (which rarely makes an appearance except at night), drive during nap time, borrow a portable DVD player, give him fwoot and more fwoot, and hope there’s no poop. The emergency tranquilizer dart will be on hand as well (just kidding). I’m getting mentally prepared to hear Elmo’s grating voice for 2 straight hours, but at least I don’t have to watch Mr. Noodle’s crazy antics… Or perhaps we’ll listen to his new favorite, the Avett Brothers. But unfortunately he ONLY wants to hear the first minute of track #10 on disk #2 of whatever live show my husband burned onto CD, over and over again. I used to love that song. Now I don’t.
Chances are I’ll still end up climbing into the back seat and wedging myself between a bag of toys and a sack of dog food. And that’s quite alright.