On The Road

11:15 a.m.

We had one pit stop to make before we started the trip. The two dogs had to be dropped off at the kennel. Oh, and a quick stop for my wife to pick up her allergy prescription. (I don't know how she measured time, but with two kids that had put themselves in their seats and buckled them and two dogs that thought my Prius was the perfect setting for running around, it had better use nano-seconds.) On the way to the store, the whining started. We'd actually made it further than I expected. But my wife reminded everyone that this was going to be a long trip and we all needed to behave. She also told me to set a good example, so I did my best to keep the whining to a minimum.

As we pulled into the shopping center to pick up the prescription, my daughter complained from the back seat, “I can't reach Honey to pet her.”

Since we rescued Honey and Stripe, we're not sure how old she is. The people at the rescue place said she was between 10 and 12 years old. That'd put her between 70 and 84 in human years. She is also the “baby” according to my daughter. Believe it or not, I was actually ready for this. (My wife's grandmother moved in with my wife's mother and father a few years ago because she “needed” to be taken care of. I have seen this exact same scenario played out many times since she moved in. My wife's mother has specific ideas and plans, none of which seems to phase my wife's grandmother in the least.) Rather than waste my breath telling the 82 year-old mother to move closer to my daughter, I told my daughter to concentrate really hard and make her arms grow.

For a moment there was utter silence from the back seat. Then I heard a grunt. A moment later there was another louder grunt. I did a quick turn and saw my 3 year-old daughter in her car seat. Her face was turning a bright shade of red, her little hands were white-knuckled fists, her eyes closed tight in a body-metamorphosing grimace.

“Are your arms longer?”

“Not yet,” she said between clenched teeth.

“Keep trying.”

I think she grunted an ok, but her focus didn't waver at all. (I'm sure my wife's grandmother has figured this tactic out, but in case she hasn't, I'll pass it on to her. That is sure to get me and my wife in the will.)

Once the dogs were dropped off, we hit the open road. 408 miles till our destination. 20 miles into the trip, “Are we there yet?” came from the back seat.

“Yeah, are we dere yet?” his sister piped in. (Apparently, the arm growing was a success or no longer needed since the dogs were at the kennel. I'll be sure to tell my wife's grandmother that for utmost effectiveness, you have to keep the object of desire within sight. Otherwise they get easily distracted and you have to start all over.)

“No, we have a long drive before we get there. Why don't you guys close your eyes and sleep?”

“We're not tired.” They both answered before I even finished my suggestion.

“I'm hungry.” I don't know which one said this. By the time trip was over, all talking was classified as white noise.

“We'll stop for lunch at the next exit,” my wife suggested. I can only assume it was in the deluded hope that full bellies would put them to sleep.

As promised, we stopped and I took my son in for a potty break while my wife unchained our daughter. (She'd recently learned how to undo her 3000 point safety harness. This is pretty impressive since I still need the directions to make all the required hookups.) I came out of the bathroom to a disgusted look on my wife's face.

“Your daughter left her shoes.” My daughter was perched in her arms, an innocent look on her face.

“Why didn't you make her put them on before you got her out of the car?”

“At home.” The innocent smile on my daughter's face got wider.

“She doesn't have to wear them while we're driving. Just when we get out.” (This all made perfect sense to me. I was beginning to wonder what had happened to my wife's brain. She's usually not this slow.)

“YOUR daughter (now I knew I was in trouble) LEFT them at home. I PUT them on her and she TOOK them off before she got in the car to DRIVE.”

My laughing probably didn't help my wife's mood, but with my daughter's sincere nodding, I couldn't help it. We'd both been so intent of packing the car, and with the kids buckled in, we'd overlooked one small detail; my daughter is a demon spawn.

Luckily, there was a mall close by. My wife and daughter went shoe shopping (their vacation got an early start.) After lunch, shoe shopping and repacking, we were back on the road heading west.

When I pulled into the rest area to get rid of a few cups of coffee I got The Look. “Why are we stopping? We're never going to get there?”

1:15 p.m.

54 miles into the trip, my daughter's arms are longer, the dogs are kenneled, the kids are fed, my daughter is wearing purple shoes and my bladder is empty and I'm sentenced to the passenger seat while my wife takes over “competently” driving. At least I can take a nap...