Going Bye Bye in the Car


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Going Bye Bye in the Car
My husband roused himself from the couch the other night to suggest, "Why don't we take a trip?"
"Great," I said. "Hawaii? The Caribbean? Florida?"
"I was thinking of something closer to home," he said. "Some place we could get to in a car."
"You mean, as in drive," I asked incredulously. I couldn't believe it. My husband Phil is the type of person who starts asking "Are we there yet?" before we're even out of the driveway. "Where did you have in mind?" I asked.
"Oh, I don't know," he said. "Somewhere close."
Since we live in Southern California, I began thinking of different locations: Santa Barbara, San Diego, Palm Springs, Mexico, all roughly two hours away. Las Vegas or San Francisco, six or so hours away. If we planned on four or five days instead of just a long weekend we might even make it to the Grand Canyon. This was starting to sound interesting.
"A hotel at the beach is offering a two night special," my husband said, pointing to the newspaper. "We could pack a cooler and hardly spend anything."
Oh brother.
My husband has never been a big traveler, but I have always loved to explore new things. Fortunately our son has inherited my wanderlust. "Let's go on an adventure" is our battle cry as we bravely forge onward to a new park or museum. Sometimes the two of us will just get into the car and drive aimlessly, content to look out the window at new neighborhoods and people. I determined to bring my husband around and hauled out my "big gun" arguments:
"If we go somewhere new I won't know where the shops are so I won't spend as much."
"If we stay at a hotel with a pool we'll be swimming so much that I won't have time to shop so I won't spend as much."
"If there's room service where we're staying we won't have to walk down streets lined with shops on our way to a restaurant so I won't spend as much."
Finally I wore him down. We planned to leave the next morning for three glorious fun-filled days riding in our car. Our plan was to drive up the coast as far as Monterey, stay two nights, then come home. We'd find a hotel when we got there. We'd done this many times before we had a . . . child. What were we thinking?
I immediately called hotels and nailed down a budget room with a roll-away bed, refrigerator and microwave in the room. I received by fax a signed statement that the pool was heated to a temperature of 94 degrees and the local visitor's bureau sent me a map marked with every park containing swings and a slide.
I pulled out the suitcases: one big one, a medium sized one and an overnight bag. In the big suitcase I placed ten of everything for my son, plus 48 diapers, a big box of wipes, 15 of his favorite (hardbound) books, assorted small trucks and cars, his favorite blankie, portable potty, collapsable booster seat and two kinds of toddler shampoo. Thank goodness our son was older and we no longer had to pack as much gear as when he was a baby.
In the medium suitcase I packed myself a couple of pairs of jeans, a few shirts, a heavy sweater, hair dryer and manicure kit. I stowed a couple of pairs of my husband's underwear in the overnight bag. We were ready.
While Phil loaded the suitcases into the car, I added a few more items to make our drive more pleasant: kiddie cassette tapes, tissues, seven boxes of crackers and cookies, juice boxes, bottled water, a cooler packed with lunch meats and fruit, a roll of paper towels, and a push-button book that mimicked automobile sounds.
"Good grief," Phil said when he saw the bags standing by the door. "We're not driving across the country."
"Just you wait until we're stuck in the valley during rush hour traffic," I said wisely. "You'll be grateful for the bottled water then."
"Yeah, and I'll be grateful for the porta-potty too," he said sarcastically.
Phil really wanted to go the coastal route so we could drive through Big Sur. I really wanted to take the first shift of driving so that we'd make it out of the city in a reasonable amount of time. We agreed that after two hours we'd switch places.
After a couple of false starts, we finally made it out of the driveway. Predictably my husband asked, "How long will it take to get there?" I bit my tongue and counted to ten. We were off. The first two hours went by smoothly. There was little traffic and we speeded up the highway listening to "Silly Songs" on my son's cassette tape.
Unfortunately at the end of two hours Phil was sound asleep. I didn't want to wake him, so I continued driving. Jack was making whiny sounds in the back seat, but I tossed a pacifier to him and he dropped off to sleep too.
After another hour I was starting to feel crampy and tired. Jack woke up and wanted juice. Phil was still asleep, so I fished around in the cooler with one hand while steering with the other. Aha, success. I pulled out a . . . juice box!
What was I thinking when I packed that? I moved my knees up to steer while attempting to rip the plastic from the little straw. I gnawed on it with my teeth until shreds of plastic finally drifted down around my feet. The straw was a little bent, but I began to jam it through the protective covering on the box. "Please God," I prayed, "don't let me come to a curve right now!"
With one mighty thrust I punched the straw through into the juice. A giant stream of punch sailed through the air and landed on Phil's neck. As he came awake with a start, I handed him the juice box and instructed him to get some crackers to go with it. He obeyed, then began eating them. "No, for JACK, dummy," I yelled.
Jack satisfied, I now turned to Phil. "It's your turn to drive," I announced. I pulled over and we switched places. I searched the glove box in vain, but could not find any more cassette tapes. We were doomed to B-I-N-G-O for the rest of the trip.
I settled back in the passenger seat and began to relax when suddenly Phil whipped the car over to the side of the road so fast my head hit the window. "What are you doing?" I asked, rubbing my temple.
"There's a fire truck coming up behind us," Phil said as he idled the car. "Or in front of us. I don't know quite where it is." We waited for a minute, then heard the siren again. "Honey, it's Jack's book," I said. "He's hitting the emergency vehicle button."
We hit the road again and did just fine until we came to Big Sur. Fifty miles of hairpin turns greeted us. "You'd better take the wheel," Phil said. "I get carsick on these turns." "But you're the one . . ." I began to protest. Never mind. I took the wheel. I drove slowly, taking the turns carefully and smoothly. Phil fell asleep. I began singing the songs by rote. "E-I-E-I-O, E-I-E-I-O, E-I-E-I-O," I chanted. Jack started getting whiny again. "We're almost there!" I sang out brightly to him. He responded by pressing the emergency vehicle button over and over again (I pulled over twice accidentally).
Midway through the turns we came to a gas station. "Everyone out," I called. "Stretch your legs." Jack eagerly clambered out and immediately made friends with a child in another car. As I pumped the gas I noticed he was sitting in their backseat drinking out of a juice box and eating crackers. Fine.
Phil went to buy a soda from the vending machine and shoot the bull with the cashier. When he came back he said, "Did you know there's a spiritual retreat up here? Let's check it out."
I looked at him as if he were crazy. "Just how much of a retreat do you think we'll get with a three year old with a push-button book?"
He got back into the car silently.
Jack had to be forcibly pried out of the stranger's car. I threw him into his car seat and buckled him in. "Everybody ready?" I sang out brightly. "99 Bottles of Milk in the 'Fridge, 99 Bottles of . . ."
When we got to Monterey it was twilight. Jack was a squirming whiny mess, Phil was asleep and I had a crick in my neck. I pulled into the hotel and limped to the registration desk. I was given our key and the bellboy helped with the various bags and suitcases and Phil, who was still asleep. We layed Phil on the bed, then Jack and I changed into our swimsuits. We had arrived! We were ready to party. But there was one more thing that had to be done. I picked up the telephone. "Hello, airline reservations? I'd like to buy a ticket one-way to Los Angeles leaving in two days."

A Little About Pam
I am a stay-at-home mom with two boys: Jack, age 5 and Steve, age 18 months. We live in Huntington Beach, CA and live to play in the sand and the water. I currently edit and publish the newsletter for my mother's club and enjoy finding new websites for our members to surf. This will obviously be one! I hope to someday become the "new Erma Bombeck" and become a paid columnist somewhere. This is a great first step for me.
These works are copyrighted by the author, Pam Powers. Reproduction of any kind is prohibited with out the express consent of the author. Please feel free to let Pam know what you think of her work by sending her an email.