Trip Trauma

Why any family would try to go on a summer vacation is beyond me. Summer is a time for relaxing and doing nothing, right? Then the word "vacation" does not fit into a mother's vocabulary. Let me illustrate...

We decided to take a family trip. "Hooray!" cheered the kids. We were going to their favorite camping spot. "I'll get ready," offered my zealous 7-year-old. Before I knew it, he had packed his school backpack and carried it, bulging, into the kitchen.

"I'm ready to go," he smiled. "Should I load into the car now?" “What’s in your pack?” I asked him.  "Everything I need for the campout," he said, matter-of-factly. "Pants, shirts, underwear, socks?" I questioned. "Um, no." he said. Unzipping his pack he displayed his gear: binoculars, crayons, favorite reading book, flashlight, plastic name badge from a past event, and his pencil sketchbook. My heart melted and I hugged him. "Only a few more days until we leave," I promised.

The next day (still a full three days before we left) I decided to be "organized" and start the overwhelming task of packing gear for 11 people. On a sheet of notebook paper I wrote: shirts, pants, socks, toothbrush, jacket, pajamas. "Put all of this in your bag and set it on the couch," I instructed the children. I imagined that everyone would quickly gather his items and within less than an hour we would have an organized pile to load. I was wrong.

"I can't find my favorite pajamas," called one child. "He packed my socks," said another. "I want to take four shirts instead of three," whined yet another one. "Stop!” I finally called out.  Then took a deep breath.  “This is easy," I explained. It should only take us ten minutes – tops – to gather these few items and be completely packed. Ten hours later I dragged myself to bed, stepping over the random piles of clothes on the living room floor, still waiting to be zipped into bags or folded by their owners. "We'll pack tomorrow," I decided.

The day before our vacation I prepared the trip food. How many people? How many days? How many meals each day? I calculated what we needed and wrote it down on a piece of paper. Then I left for the store – and my workout. I started with a light, empty cart, but within minutes had piles of food, fruit, cheese, crackers, bread, cereal, jam, peanut butter, and a myriad of other items in my cart.

The cart grew heavier and heavier, and I soon felt like Wonder Woman as I maneuvered it through the aisles and to the checkout stand. I heaved the million items onto the conveyor belt, loaded them back into my cart, pushed them out to the van, and loaded the mountain yet again. I pulled into the driveway, sure that my workout was equivalent to a marathon.

"Is it time to leave?" one bright-faced child greeted me at the door. "No," I said, dropping onto the couch. "It's time for a nap."

The day finally came to load and leave. We all woke up early, dressed, and started to load our bags into the van.

"Are we leaving yet?" asked my children. "No, first carry your things out to the car." "Is it time to leave yet?" they asked another hour later. "No, please load this food into the car," I said. “Is it time to leave yet?” they asked again.  “Daddy is still fixing the sprinklers,” I answered. "Is it time to leave yet?" asked my children for the umpteenth time.

Although my husband was still out in the yard and up to his elbows in mud; even though I hadn't finished packing my own bag; even though I still hadn't packed half of the food items we needed; even though I had sticky popsicle drippings all over my floor, I relented. "YES! YES! IT’S TIME TO CLIMB INTO THE CAR!”

"Hooray!” they shouted. Within seconds the children were all buckled into their seats. With their activity packs on their laps, they started reading their car books, coloring on their traveling pads, and drinking out of their trip water bottles. The doors on the van were all open. Clouds covered the sun, and our carport was breezy.

I went into the house and surveyed the last piles I needed to clean and load. The rooms were silent. The children were contained. My mind was clear. My husband continued to fix sprinklers as I packed the rest of the food, packed the rest of my clothes, washed the dishes from breakfast, and finished putting the mail out in the box.

It was a lovely hour. It stretched into an hour and a half. The children were sitting in the car, reading and coloring, oblivious to the fact that our vacation hadn't actually started yet. It was wonderful.

Eventually my nine-year-old wandered into the house to check on the puzzling situation.  "Are we leaving yet?" “Yes!” My husband and I both grinned. We went out to the car. The water bottles were empty. The snacks had been eaten. The coloring pages were full. The books had been read. "Time to go!" said my husband, climbing into the driver’s seat. "Wait." I said. "It's already time for a bathroom break.” The children all ran back into the house and quickly returned.  Then the car started and we pulled out of the driveway onto the freeway. I settled back and breathed a sigh of relief.

"When we will be there?" piped a voice from the back seat. I sighed. ‘Vacation’ is not a word in a mother's vocabulary.