Road Trip!

Magical memories are made squashed in a van traveling all day with eight kids. It’s a day of crazy chaos. Are these moments ones we even wish to remember? I didn’t think so, until…

“Have everything ready when I get home,” instructed Canadian Man, “I’m going to the office for a jif, and I’ll be home by 10.” He trotted off to work excitedly anticipating our trip to Canada to visit Grandpa and Grandma, totally oblivious to what it took to get ‘everything ready.’ I suppose getting the van’s oil changed, tires rotated and balanced and working extra late to be able to take time off was no walk in the park either, but was it as hairy-canary as what I had to accomplish in short order? I doubted that! I surveyed the helter-skelter chaos of suitcases, clothes, books, and lunch items still in a jumble with eight kiddos scattered throughout squealing and racing around, and I would have traded places with Canadian Man this morning quicker than you could say, ‘Saskatchewan.’

Well, I’d better get cracking! I bounced Baby as I directed operations and tucked the last of needed clothes in suitcases. “Empty the garbage. Change Louise’s diaper. Pour some cereal and milk for Tyson and Kate,” I instructed. “Gracious me!“ I barked, “Sally, would you stop pestering your sister?! And pleeeease answer that phone!” I wiped my sweaty face with Baby’s blankie. The air conditioning was struggling, and the door was open again. “Shut that door!” I hollered. SLAM! The house shook.

I was a bundle of stress when I heard a CRASH, tinkle, tinkle! Oh, golly, what was that? I smelled pickles! One pickle-loving imp tried to help himself to some crunchy dills that were to go with ham buns for our trip lunch and slid the jar right onto the tile floor. Aaargh!!

Canadian Man blundered in just then, and I dumped the suitcase full of frustrations at his feet. “This is just too much!” I told him as I mopped up pickle juice, tears spilling down my cheeks, “Do we have to go every year? Could we use the money to get new tile for the bathroom, instead?”

“Aww, Sweetie, I’m sorry your undies are in a bundle!” he soothed, “This is about making memories for the kids.” Canadian Man continued, “What will they remember-- new tile, or a trip together as a family?”

The dream of a gleaming new bathroom floor dissipated like fog in a brisk wind. I stuffed my complaints into my bra and carried on making memories. Were they ones we even wanted to remember?

Time to activate more help. “Kiddos!” I hollered, “Come here on the double!!”  Working together, the miracle unfolded just in time for Canadian Man to begin cramming suitcases into every crevasse in the van like a 3-D puzzle.

“Okay, kids! It’s time to go!! Did everyone go potty?” They were already squabbling about seats and the first pick of new Archies.

“No fruit snacks until you’re quiet!” I called. They settled into cozy corners with their noses in comic books. I clicked my seatbelt and sighed. Wheeew!!

Road trip!! Canadian Man and I, smelling faintly of pickles, exchanged a weary grin as the van began eating up 700 miles to our destination. I leaned my head back and let stress seep out like a deflating balloon.

Sounds of Harry Potter on CD washed through my body like a soothing wave. Before long, we heard the inevitable, “Can I have a juice box?”

“In fifteen minutes,” I announced. It’s a bit of a family joke, nevertheless, we all knew the rules. Canadian Man had us on limited liquids. “We can’t get there if the wheels aren’t rolling,” was his motto. He didn’t make unscheduled stops. Juice and water were allowed half an hour before we stopped, not before. Pop was completely banned.

One little boy’s bladder demanded attention early. He held it heroically. Bouncing on the seat, he glanced at the gas indicator which had been close to ‘E.’ What?? It showed ‘full!’ “Daaad! Aren’t we going to stop for gas??!”

Canadian Man grinned, “I have two gas tanks in this new van and just switched to the other tank!” Dismay flashed across the poor kid’s face. Canadian Man was persuaded to make an extra stop.

The van felt tighter than a pinching shoe by the time we stopped again. I unfolded stiff limbs from the front seat as the side door flew open. A large object came rattling onto the ground as one, two, three, four, five little bodies zipped to the relief station. I picked up one ginormous bottle of Ibuprofen! I caught the wide eyes of the guy in the adjacent car. “I certainly understand why you need that,” he quipped. I was still giggling when I came back from the bathroom.

Back on the road, someone started a rousing rendition of “Ninety-nine bottles of pop on the wall.” Oh, my aching head! My stress leaked out with hysterical laughter while Canadian Man ducked flying matchbox cars launched by Baby in the car seat.

Squabbling intensified. We were all feeling grubby, greasy and grouchy. “What will Grandma have to eat when we get there?” I asked to distract them. “KFC!” called one. “Western Pizza!” yelled another. Are we there yet?

Grandpa and Grandma hurried out to welcome us with hugs. “How was the trip?’ Did you have any trouble at the border?” We detected mouth-watering smells. Someone triumphantly whispered, “KFC!”

After a delightful week with doting grandparents, we stuffed bags full of Smarties, Macintosh’s Toffee, Coffee Crisp chocolate bars and Good Host iced tea into the van and began the trek home. Our love tanks were filled for another year.

To the click-clack of tires, I reflected on the week. Did I really say that I’d rather have a new bathroom floor? We sang an exuberant version of “Oh, Canada!” When voices faded away, I turned to Canadian Man and chirped enthusiastically, “Should we do another trip in the fall?”

I don’t know why he looked at me like that.