I Will Survive

Yes, yes. Hold the applause please.

If I were Lindsay Lohan, y’alled be thrilled to have me back from re-hab. Again.

If I were Barbara Streisand, you’d be paying a pretty penny.

And

If I were the Beatles reunion tour, you’d be in some quasi-half-heaven-half-earth arena and probably the age of my parents.

But lucky for all of you I am not stoned, not a diva and decidedly not dead. Or even quasi-dead. Though sometimes the bags under my eyes speak otherwise.

But I am back.

Believe it or look the other way, but I have been working on this post off and on for weeks. It was sorta like staring at the box or computer files of un-scrapbooked and unprinted photos of all my children since Hannah was born.

A bit of overwhelment and wishing I could just start from today.

But I persevered, and unlike my children’s scrapbooks, here is…

My advice on how to travel

Solo.

For thousands of miles.

For a month.

With four children under the age of 10.

One who screams and specializes in loud opinions.

One who needs a wheelchair and a bib.

One who thinks she does everything and gets nothing in return.

And one who is sure every object or digit can be turned into a gun.

I’m positive this type of travel is not recommended by AAA or even my mother and has never been articulated in a travel magazine, but out of necessity it was our best option to get us from Point A (Montana) to Point B (North Carolina) via point Q, F, W, and K. With a short jaunt on the south side of sanity.

I would forewarn you to not attempt a trip like this if you:

• look at children breathing and you feel completely stressed out
• don’t enjoy hearing children’s music/movies/books for 10 hours a day
• don’t like viewing agriculture whiz by at 75 mph or if seeing a truck loaded with pathetic turkeys growing more nekkid by the minute makes you want to gag or go vegan
• think your children are even slightly inflexible about where they sleep, who they slobber next to or if they even get a bed.
• really think if you pray hard enough, God will miraculously pick you up car, junk food and all and transport you 500 miles to your next destination.  It probably won’t happen. I’ve tried. And I’ve had faith to move vans before.

So, before you even go and you’ve decided you don’t meet any of the above criteria, here are the Good Ideas:

1. Check the seats. Seriously. Have you looked at the measly 1/4” cushion some of these car seats and boosters have? It’s pathetic. And if I wanted to NOT hear “my bottom hurts” 5 gagillion times, it was well worth the pesos to go to JoAnn’s and get some foam, cut it into rudimentary cushion inserts and stuff ‘em in there. I know, I know—it’s a V-8 moment for all of us.
2. Pack like a pro. Like my friend Deborah who learned me how to pack by days and not by child.
   1. Step 1: go to Dollar Store and buy ziploc bags large enough to hold a yak.
   2. Step 2: Wash all the clothes and don’t let them wear anything cute for a  week.
   3. Step 3: Pack clothes on one bag for everything you will need in a day: PJs, day clothes, underwear for you and the children.  This was especially helpful when I would roll into a hotel at 9pm and I’d grab the rolling suitcase encasing one yak-sized Ziploc bag with toiletries and be done.
3. Bring your own laundry detergent especially if you have kids with allergies/eczema like we do.
4. If you have room, pack a baby potty for those inopportune moments when the toddler just fell asleep or you are on a mountain switchback with no facilities within a state line. I also line it with a plastic store sack to ease the clean up. (I must interject here that the south and mid-west had rest stops exactly every two hours. And for some reason Hannah had to use them every. single. time.)You laugh, but one day you will leave me millions. Don’t forget—leave me millions. And not millions of potties—dollars people. Dollars, and lots of them.
5. If you know you will be travelling through toll country get a roll or quarters and don’t let your kids by candy with it because somewhere down the line there my a be an instance when you will be 50c short and it will be for the grace of all things good that the toll lady lets you hand in your last penny and gum wrapper and kindly tells you to stop soon to get more change because there’s another toll gate ahead. I seriously wanted to kiss her forehead and bless her womb. Or something.

Bad Ideas

1. Flarp. Good for 7 and up. Bad for little people who leave it on seats, clothing or just plain old whatever is on the top layer.
2. Felt board or magnetic board kits—great until the kid drops it or loses whatever pieces everyone else wants.
3. Telling your children all about the crappy hotel you bid for on Priceline by accident and that you will be staying in. Your 10 year old may be terrified to sleep and clings to you all. night. long because someone at any time could break in and murder us all.
4. Not remembering exactly how many hours were between each stop, running late in Colorado and thinking it was a 4-6 hour drive to Wichita, KS. Think more like 10 and we arrived at 2am. Fun. Times.
5. Thinking that the Worlds Largest Aquarium in Atlanta, GA would not be busy on a Tuesday. When you hear “World’s Largest” think “The whole world will be there.” Because they will.

Next time,  I will tell all the juicy details of my relationship with Jane, my GPS. I’ll tell you everything she is great at, everything that annoyed me and all the times I wanted to run over her with my Montana-sized tires.

I will also reveal my two favorite city names we drove through, the shmanciest rest stop you’ve ever peed at and links, photos and reviews of all the places we visited across 20 states.

Thanks for hanging in there and if you’d like for volunteer to scrapbook my children’s lives, please contact my agent.