My husband Ian had a brainstorm Thursday night and suggested we drive to California for what’s left of Spring Break. So, adventurous souls that we are, we pack up the car and leave Friday. Here’s what happened:
We want to leave at around 7:30 pm and drive for as long as we can while kiddies asleep.
However, we don’t get out the driveway till 10:20.
Hugo (22 months) is cranky as hell from his sleep being disturbed.
Keeps whacking Oscar (7 yrs old) in the head.
Oscar complaining that he just wants to have a good night’s sleep in his bed.
Zara (5 yrs old) lies down on the pile of pillows in the back and she’s out.
Realize we have no US accident health insurance.
I’m on a new/concentrated food-based probiotic experiment which creates the most foul smelling gas in the universe. I let blow with the first fart.
Ian says: No way I’m driving all the way to California in this smell.
Hugo now running a fever.
Clear customs, scrinched around in my seat – arm’s killing me – so Hugo can hold my hand.
Gas up in Bellingham, Hugo has mucus coming out his eyes – major bad sign that sinuses are not draining, so ear infection likely to follow.
Go to change Hugo’s diaper, he’s peed through all his clothes, car seat etc (had him on vit. C which acts as diuretic).
I’m gassing the inside of the car, while Ian’s gassing the tank.
Drive over to Fred Meyer so I can use the toilet.
As soon as I leave the car, Hugo starts screeching: Mama! Mama! Mama!
Ian: She’s just in the toliet
Hugo: MAMA!!
Ian: ssshh, mama’s coming back, she’s just in the toilet
Hugo: MAMA!!
Ian gives up explaining and sits there for five minutes with Hugo yelling MAMA!! every 10 seconds.
I come back and Ian goes to the toilet
Ian comes back and gets in the car, I’ve let blow another corker while he’s been gone.
Oscar succinctly sums up what we’re all thinking: This sucks.
We all agree and turn around and drive home
The happy ending is: all 3 kids asleep and transferred to their beds by 11:30 pm – which is half an hour earlier than it normally takes me to get all 3 asleep (thanks to night-owl Zara).
Oh well, maybe we’ll try again when Hugo’s five.
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