To vacation or not to vacation?
There has been some talk recently at our home about going on a vacation later in the summer. Frankly, I find the idea of this more than a little daunting. Seriously, we are the poster people for "Traveler's Aid" as well as "Dysfunctional Family-palooza".
First there is the decision making process. Where do we go? How long should we/can we stay? What would the kids enjoy? Should my parents (my children's only grandparents) come along? Then there is the reservation making- hunting down deals on hotel rooms and dining so we can be vacationers on a budget. These are the easy parts.
Even packing isn't too difficult once I've managed to attack Mt. Washmore with a fiery vengeance. (And speaking of laundry and fiery, they mean it when they say don't leave home with your dryer running. Just ask my friend who was seen throwing the charred remains of her towels onto her driveway late one night after discovering her laundry was in flames.)
The real trouble starts once we get in the car. There is the invariable bickering over which DVD the kids will watch. Once that is settled my father begins reading billboards to us. Every. Single. One. He once read every billboard on a 7 hour drive between our home and San Antonio. There are never any problems deciding what route to use to get home because my 73 year old father begins planning this the minute we arrive at our destination.
Speaking of San Antonio, this is where the "Traveler's Aid" would have come in handy. We were stuck there in a hotel room on the Riverwalk during the 100 year flood of October 1998. Did I mention that we also had a 4 month old baby with us and our room was on the ground floor? Our trip consisted of watching the river rise outside our window and wondering how we would ever get out since the entire downtown area in which we were staying was completely underwater.
Of course, also in the annals of trips to remember would be the one where my cousin and I headed to Florida in 1989 with her 2 small children and our luggage on the roof. Sure, you see where this is going, don't you? Dallas, TX. 5:00 p.m. on a Friday afternoon. Our belongings were scattered across 6 lanes of traffic on BOTH sides of the median. My cousin drove the SUV slowly along the inside lane while I ran behind her picking things up and the children sat in the back pulling them into the vehicle. Never let an amateur strap your luggage to the roof- that's how I lost my Spuds McKenzie nightshirt.
We usually discuss going to a coastline somewhere for vacation, but realize that a Katrina-like hurricane would in fact hit while we were there.
We all manage to get along fairly well for the first 50 miles or so. Usually until someone has to go to the bathroom or asks for a drink from the cooler. Then ugliness ensues. This is made worse only if we are stuck in traffic. Traffic jams drive me crazy and my mother frequently does as well. In a traffic jam in Atlanta I threatened to put her out of the car and let her catch a Greyhound back to Oklahoma. My mother is an "angry huffer" and thus we were all treated to the sounds of her heavy breathing for the next two days.
Don't get me wrong. Most of our vacations manage to be more than moderately successful and are always memorable- though usually in a strange way. My mother and I line danced with the children and a cast of Disney characters at "Mickey's Backyard BBQ" and that is the one dance of my life that I cherish the most.
First there is the decision making process. Where do we go? How long should we/can we stay? What would the kids enjoy? Should my parents (my children's only grandparents) come along? Then there is the reservation making- hunting down deals on hotel rooms and dining so we can be vacationers on a budget. These are the easy parts.
Even packing isn't too difficult once I've managed to attack Mt. Washmore with a fiery vengeance. (And speaking of laundry and fiery, they mean it when they say don't leave home with your dryer running. Just ask my friend who was seen throwing the charred remains of her towels onto her driveway late one night after discovering her laundry was in flames.)
The real trouble starts once we get in the car. There is the invariable bickering over which DVD the kids will watch. Once that is settled my father begins reading billboards to us. Every. Single. One. He once read every billboard on a 7 hour drive between our home and San Antonio. There are never any problems deciding what route to use to get home because my 73 year old father begins planning this the minute we arrive at our destination.
Speaking of San Antonio, this is where the "Traveler's Aid" would have come in handy. We were stuck there in a hotel room on the Riverwalk during the 100 year flood of October 1998. Did I mention that we also had a 4 month old baby with us and our room was on the ground floor? Our trip consisted of watching the river rise outside our window and wondering how we would ever get out since the entire downtown area in which we were staying was completely underwater.
Of course, also in the annals of trips to remember would be the one where my cousin and I headed to Florida in 1989 with her 2 small children and our luggage on the roof. Sure, you see where this is going, don't you? Dallas, TX. 5:00 p.m. on a Friday afternoon. Our belongings were scattered across 6 lanes of traffic on BOTH sides of the median. My cousin drove the SUV slowly along the inside lane while I ran behind her picking things up and the children sat in the back pulling them into the vehicle. Never let an amateur strap your luggage to the roof- that's how I lost my Spuds McKenzie nightshirt.
We usually discuss going to a coastline somewhere for vacation, but realize that a Katrina-like hurricane would in fact hit while we were there.
We all manage to get along fairly well for the first 50 miles or so. Usually until someone has to go to the bathroom or asks for a drink from the cooler. Then ugliness ensues. This is made worse only if we are stuck in traffic. Traffic jams drive me crazy and my mother frequently does as well. In a traffic jam in Atlanta I threatened to put her out of the car and let her catch a Greyhound back to Oklahoma. My mother is an "angry huffer" and thus we were all treated to the sounds of her heavy breathing for the next two days.
Don't get me wrong. Most of our vacations manage to be more than moderately successful and are always memorable- though usually in a strange way. My mother and I line danced with the children and a cast of Disney characters at "Mickey's Backyard BBQ" and that is the one dance of my life that I cherish the most.
posted by Becky/Skein Gang at
12:51 PM
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