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Broke Wife, Big City
How to survive
a road trip with your family (Part One)
By Aprill Brandon
Spoiler alert: You don’t.
Sure, you’re alive. Technically. But you come back changed. Different.
Hardened. You are not the same person who optimistically climbed into
that tiny Hyundai Accent with your husband and two kids and an elderly
dog, all bright-eyed with dreams of adventure and bonding and
Instagram-worthy shots of the highway.
You are now a survivor. You have been to hell and back. And let me tell
you, Dante had it easy. He never had to help a toddler with diarrhea in
a dirty rest stop bathroom. I can still hear the screams. “DON’T TOUCH
ANYTHING...NO. STOP. WHAT ARE YOU DOING!? DID YOU JUST STICK YOUR HAND
IN THE TOILET? NOOOOOOOO…”
And the torture isn’t just limited to the road. In fact, it begins long
before that beloved road trip opening ceremony of stomping from room to
room looking for the lost car keys. (Because why would the car keys be
where you left them? That would be silly. Then you would actually leave
on time.).
No, see, for every road trip there is a person who is designated as the
Carrier of the Mental Load for the group. This is the unfortunate soul
who is responsible for remembering everything that everyone could
possibly need for every single possible eventuality. Clothes for every
weather scenario. Favorite toys and blankets. Second favorite toys and
blankets in case the first ones get lost. Swimsuits for the hotel pool.
Sippy cups. Extra wipes. Extra diapers. Tissues. The night-night book.
Dramamine because last time the back seat looked like a scene from “The
Exorcist.” Two coats, per person, because it is likely to be 70 degrees
one day and a blizzard the next. AND DON’T FORGET THE CHARGERS. ALL THE
CHARGERS. DID YOU PACK YOUR CHARGER? WELL, CHECK AGAIN. WE ARE NOT
BUYING ONE FROM A GAS STATION. YOU HEAR ME?
Even the dog gets his own bag. Dog food. Dog treats. Rawhide bones. A
bottle of water and an empty bowl. His favorite toy, Lobstah Killah.
His second favorite toy, Mr. Disembowled Stuffed Squirrel. His
arthritis medication that you can never get him to take but bring it
with you so that you can more confidentally lie to the vet at his next
visit.
Do NOT mistake this as a position of honor. It is not. It is the
quickest way to destroy your brain without the help of illegal drugs.
But take heart. If this position falls to you, just know that someone
else (hint: your significant other) will be designated as the Master of
Luggage Tetris. This is the person who has to take the various shapes
and lumps that all your Very Vital Vacation items have been stuffed
into and fit them into a tiny car trunk. This is also not a position of
honor, which is why cursing is allowed.
(Please note that the same person can’t do both jobs without permanent
brain damage. Don’t be a hero and take it all on yourself.).
Once you are finally in the car, the typical rules that regulate our
lives no longer apply. For example, you can never have enough snacks.
Let me repeat that. YOU CAN NEVER HAVE ENOUGH SNACKS. Buy ALL the
snacks. It doesn’t matter if they don’t all get eaten. They won’t. You
will waste so much money on these snacks that never get eaten. Hundreds
of dollars. Thousands, possibly. But it doesn’t matter. You would pay
double, TRIPLE, that amount for any object that can stop multiple
children who all decide to have meltdowns at the exact same moment.
They will eat three Doritos out of that family-sized bag and then dump
the rest on the floor and you will still spend the rest of your life
thanking the God of Doritos for his divine intervention. You will get
to a point where you are hurling SnoBalls like grenades into the
backseat just for one moment of peace. You’ll let them snort straight
sugar through a straw on the back of their Dr. Seuss book. And at every
stop you will buy more snacks. Because snacks are the dam holding back
the raging river of your kids’ “BIG FEELINGS” that you do not want
unleashed in that tiny tin can you call a vehicle.
Naturally, as a result of this, your car will eventually become one of
the scarier episodes of “Hoarders.” Half empty coffee cups as far as
the eye can see. Happy Meal cartons that are breeding like rabbits
under the seats. Chips and half eaten snack cakes littering the floor
ankle-deep. Let it go. Do not worry about it. If it gets too bad, just
ditch the car in a river a few miles from your destination and call an
Uber to take you the rest of the way.
Of course, snacks does not mean liquids. Do not, under any
circumstance, give liquids to anyone in that car. If you do, no one
will be on the same pee schedule.
Actually, scratch that. Even if you purposely dehydrate everyone,
giving out one capful of bottled water every four hours like you are
stranded on a desert island, you will still have to stop every 14
minutes. Yup, that’s right. They can’t even make it 15 minutes. The
good news is that this gives you plenty of opportunity to buy an
overpriced charger on your way out (that, it will turn out, doesn’t
work with your phone).
Luckily, all of this will be forgotten when you reach your first
destination, the hotel right of the Interstate, and then the real
nightmare begins.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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