It’s Monday morning, and I’m sitting in a car staring a red
light and breathing deeply in a Zen sort of way.
It’s Monday morning, and I’m sitting in a car staring a red light and breathing deeply in a Zen sort of way.
Oh, it’s not because I’m impatient or anything like that. Rather, it’s because I’m on a family vacation.
You see, this summer, instead of taking one big vacation, I’ve decided to forgo the hassle of an airplane ride and take the children on several day trips in the car.
Now this isn’t as crazy of an idea as you might think, especially since we live in a state where you can drive for an hour and be at the ocean or in the mountains or in the dessert and feel like you’ve gone someplace new.
However this does bring up a new set of problems, one of which is that, in a family of four, everyone’s idea of “vacation” is different. For instance, my husband’s idea of fun is pitching a tent alone in the wilderness. My children look for places with fries and an outdoor play area. And I prefer a luxury hotel with good room service. But, of course, no one ever asks me.
The other problem with taking day trips is that you need to know several critical things before you go.
Like the exact location of all the good bathrooms and the estimated distance between them. This is vital information for obvious reasons.
But you also need to know the location of places that you-should-avoid-at-any-cost. These include any facility that gives out free plastic toys, skeeball prizes or gum.
Another thing I’ve learned is to allow plenty of time to drive wherever it is that you’re going to. No matter how well you plan, all kinds of things will arise to throw you off schedule.
Like, for instance, the sudden onset of cabin fever. This is when you have to stop the car and get out right This Very Minute because you’ve been trapped in the same vehicle with two children for more than 40 minutes. And, mind you, not just any children: ones under the influence of forced sing-a-longs, and clearly over the legal limit of M&M’s.
And then, of course, there are scenic distractions: a shoe on the side of the road, a flattened squirrel, an interesting tree, or any other enticing roadside attraction where your children will insist you pull over so you can all take a closer look.
And it’s not just me. Last week my friend Julie’s family left at 9am, for a short trip to spend a day at the beach and arrived in time to see the sun setting over the horizon.
And she has no idea how this happened because, like most people who experience extreme traumatic stress, she mentally blocked out all the hours spent traveling in the car with her family.
That said, I’ve found the reverse can also be true. Strangely enough, my only memory of our family’s long ago camping trip to Yosemite Valley is spending all three days looking for a pacifier that had rolled somewhere underneath the front seat of the car.
And, although I vaguely recollect somebody saying something about the Pacific Ocean and a bridge on one particular trip to San Francisco, the only thing that clearly stands out in my mind is having to break up a fight over who gets the points for seeing a yellow van first.
So here I am sitting in a car with my family, staring at a red light, and breathing deeply in a Zen sort of way.
And to think that our day trip to the zoo is only a half dozen fights, two boxes of crackers, and eighty-seven rounds of I-Spy away. But that’s all right. Kids live for this kind of stuff.
Besides, who knows? With a little luck and persistence, maybe, just maybe, I’ll even get to see an animal or two.
