Apologies for the nonexistent Monday post. During the time that I’d usually be publishing the Monday a.m. blog, we were careening somewhere across New York. Or maybe it was Pennsylvania by that point. Definitely not Ohio, and years away from being Indiana or Illinois, end-of-journey-wise.
Vodka.
Here’s what I’ve learned about trekking halfway across the country in a minivan with three kids, aged 5.5 and under: Don’t do it. Stop. Why are you still thinking about it? Don’t be a jerk. I was a jerk. And my jerkitude has had repercussions so far into this week that they’re still felt on this Thursday morning. Here’s what else I’ve learned:
- You know the drive is too long when you start comparing which of your kids is your favorite based on how they behave on hour 15 of 17. (“I can’t believe the baby is being such a BABY.”)
- There comes a definite point where you give up maintaining any semblance of van cleanliness or order (roughly hour 3), and determine that the aforementioned baby- whose pants are thoroughly soaked through from honey mustard which he neither consumed nor had near his person– is totally presentable for a restaurant. Okay, it’s a McDonalds restaurant. (Related: Did you see that they’re bringing back the Hamburglar? Guys, the Hamburglar. Longtime readers will know that I have no small obsession with the carnivorous criminal- and am still excited at this latest incarnation, even though he’s skinny and not animated. Which = not trustworthy, in terms of burger-consumption. Not that you should actively trust someone with the moniker “the Hamburglar.” But still.)
- Speaking of McDonald’s, your children will throw you under the metaphorical bus when they inform the McDonald’s cashier, “We’ve been here FOUR TIMES already! Do you have different ponies from this morning?”
- The questions will be raised: Is this what it physically looks like to live out of your minivan? Do I appear as scary as I feel? What’s that smell and why is it on my shirt? Sure, we’re saving thousands of dollars by driving as opposed to flying, but isn’t therapy just as expensive?
- If we had been the Donner party, we wouldn’t even have made it to Buffalo, NY. (Possibly because half of our party would already have been drenched in honey mustard.)
And as for the wedding weekend of my youngest sister Em and my youngest bro-in-law Dan, it was rather terrific. So terrific, in fact, that I won’t lump tales of their pristine festivities into the sordid smear-fest of our drive there and back. But stay tuned: because their wedding extravaganza involved at least one Flynn-nicknamed beverage, photo bombing by golf quartets, and two tiny flower girls who may or may not have placed individual rose petals in each wedding guest’s hand.
You’ll never guess.
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