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Are We There Yet? |
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When I was single, I could just load up the car in the middle of the night and take off. There's less traffic at 2:00 AM which makes for an easier and less stressful ride, so all I needed to do was to roll down the windows, blast the stereo, take a hit of crystal meth and I'd arrive at my destination ready to party. But now that I'm married with children, the threat of falling asleep behind the wheel or having a suicidal deer, opossum, or Bigfoot jump out in front of the car has weaned me from my late-night journeys. Families have a way of upping your fear factor. And those items usually get us another thirty miles down the road. Since we are also the last family on Earth without an iPod, we'll move onto the several mix CDs I make for each trip. I try to fill the CDs with kids' songs that both children enjoy, which mostly consist of the latest and greatest from Radio Disney, as well as a few songs by people legally old enough to drink. But after awhile, my daughter will complain about some of my son's songs and my son will whine due to an overdose of Hannah. We then try to play Name That Tune, but more often than not, the songs chosen are the ones we just listened to on the CD, so the game only lasts about seventy-five seconds. So we turn to games. We try "I Spy" for awhile, but that game always ends up in a fight because someone gets pissed off at someone else for picking an object we passed five miles ago. We give "Hangman" a go until our daughter misspells a word so badly that it's too damn tiring to try to figure out the word she was trying to spell. While I hope nothing will ever trump last year's epic eight-hour journey during which we had to stop every fifteen minutes to change a dirty diaper (our son decided to catch a stomach virus on the morning of our departure, which should have been enough of an omen to keep our asses at home, but we're fools), we can count on no fewer than four stops at convenience stores or fast food joints for bathroom breaks (I have no problem stopping at rest areas, but my dear wife is convinced those places are overrun with ravenous cannibals who primarily feed on families). Since I am cursed with the bladder of a pregnant woman, I can't really complain about the bathroom breaks since I account for fifty percent of them, but it still puts a major dent in our driving time. Like any parent, I am pelted with a constant stream of "Are we there yet?" But last year, something new happened: in addition to my son's stomach bug, my daughter caught the shopping bug from my wife. If we pass a mall, a Target, or any other store that looks halfway interesting, my daughter will plead, "Can we stop there?" I don't know what it is about the women in my family, but they feel compelled to stop at every Target they see as if they'll find the Secret Target that stocks items not available at every other store in the chain. Eventually, we arrive at our destination. The next few days of swimming, playing in the sand, amusement parks, shopping, and having fun make the long ride with all the whining, fighting, and bathroom breaks all worthwhile. Until the trip back home, that is. |
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