#twoundertworoadtrip

The below text exchange more or less sums up my weekend road trip, solo with both kids. It was a complete and total shitshow from start to finish.

 It also merited its own Instagram hashtag, my very first, and the pictures there document some of the hilarity. I don't have a public Instagram (which explains why previous links didn't work for non-instagram users), so in order to view this link: https://www.instagram.com/explore/tags/twoundertworoadtrip/ those of you who don't have an account will have to sign into the one I've set up so you can see them. At https://www.instagram.com/, use username: amysigpics, password: amyspics.

Our harebrained trip was the result of the perfect storm of a change of command at Quantico Friday morning for which I had already taken leave, the Kitchings' imminent move to Tampa and my desire to see the old crew before moving even farther north, an unwritten and due shortly paper on Seth's part, and my big mouth (upon discovery of the latter, I foolishly said "fine, I'll just take the kids to NC myself!")

Easier said than done, it turned out, but Friday morning found me throwing diapers in the car while the nanny searched for clean baby socks, and off we went. Before all was said and done, we had logged more than 16 hours in the car; survived countless traffic jams; perfected the art of car dancing while nursing a baby in the front seat while parked in random parking lots; figured out how to check into a hotel with both kids, a suitcase, and a travel crib all in one trip (trial and error, and it still isn't pretty); and developed a deep devotion to Chick-fil-a (both for its grilled chicken nuggets and for its lifesaving indoor playgrounds.) I had spent a fair amount of time in pack mule mode:

and foregone the consumption of liquids almost completely in order to avoid the necessity of dragging the whole entourage into a public bathroom. (More than once, I thought of the crazy diaper-wearing astronaut.)

The "road" portion of the roadtrip is not something I would wish on my worst enemy. (By whom I mean, the person invariably causing a monstrous traffic jam on 95 right outside of Fredericksburg.) (And I might actually take that back. That person deserves the worst.) Both kids were troopers, but they're just miserable in the car, and even the new Sheriff Callie episodes I had reluctantly downloaded onto the iPad lost its appeal after awhile. Ford slept for most of the trip, which sounds great but led to his staying up all night, and Finley figured out how to surreptitiously get into and devour animal crackers while scrunched in the corner of her car seat so I couldn't see her in the mirror (and screech like a wounded animal when caught and relieved of the half-eaten bag, as poor Missy can attest from the other end of the phone.) Much to my chagrin, she also learned how to take the lid off of her milk and pour it all over the backseat, which is why my car upholstery probably just needs to be set on fire.

But the "trip" portion was terrific. Going places is my favorite thing even with tiny terrorists in tow, and was great to be back in North Carolina. As always, I wished I had more time and had been able to see more friends. It really does always feel like going home, and it was a special treat to get to spend time with old friends who have become family. I don't know how I would've made it through the last ten years (?!) without them, and we enjoyed reflecting on how far we've all come even as the upcoming moves felt a little bit like the end of an era.

Of course, that reflecting had to take place in half-sentences and fragments, due to the hilarious, chaotic, and sometimes death-defying circus that results from the fact that everybody has kids now. (Not just the Kitchings!) Finley in particular has apparently become a hair pulling terrorist who requires constant supervision to avoid my friends' sweet children emerging from playdates with bald spots and major trauma. (It was truly mortifying and a little sad, since I wanted them to love her as much as we do, and she was squarely unlovable, yanking hair every time she didn't get her way. Cue frantic googling, the ordering of child psychology books, and- out of sheer desperation- her first spanking. Which didn't work so we're back to square one, although we thought it was kind of funny that the Hudspeths' house was the site of the historic moment.)

At any rate, this less-than-charming habit is behind her awkward-looking playdate photos, and also my newfound gratitude for "Mom friends" who have either been there or deeply sympathize. And subject their sweet children to her reign of terror in the name of friendship anyway.

 Maggie Hudspeth DOES have the best toys ever, and Finley attempted to play with them all at once. This is her, playing a xylophone WHILE riding a motorcycle. (Motorcycles, incidentally, are her newfound obsession. I believe, based on what appeared to be the exchange of secret signals through the car window somewhere in southern Virginia, that she joined a biker gang while on the road.)

 By Sunday, after two nights in hotel rooms with both kids (who did this both nights and then took turns waking each other up for hours) (good thing I hauled the travel crib in both times) (this is totally the photo of the week, and notice that their little arms are stretched out the entire width of the bed, leaving no room for yours truly), 

I was wiped out and dreading the drive back. As it has been many times over the years, Chandra's pool was a lifesaver. The kids got worn out on swimming and popsicles, and I hastily stuffed them in the car after one final, epic toddler fight club moment. Which was totally Finley's fault. We left in shame, and most likely with a handful of Maggie's hair. I didn't even have time to put clothes on Ford.

But they slept peacefully all the way to Richmond.

And then screamed like banshees until I finally found a Cracker Barrel. Which was actually not a bad place for one last road trip date with the two crazies.

We made it home just in time for bath and bedtime, and for me to declare that we were never leaving again.

Seth's no dummy, and the house was spotless, laundry was done, groceries were purchased, and there was Shiner Bock in the fridge when we arrived. So, as I told Jenn, I don't have to kill him in his sleep. He also seems appropriately impressed by the fact that all three of us survived the trip, and even got some work done on his paper.

He still owes me big time. 

And although I remain a little shellshocked, the #twoundertworoadtrip feels like a pretty big Mom milestone to have under my belt. 

(Pretty sure I'm mixing metaphors out of sheer exhaustion. So here's to Monday, and the fact that everyone slept in their own beds last night.) 

Strep x 4, and Wal Mart in PJs.

Saturday was my second day at home alone with not one but two sick kids, although fortunately (for her/ unfortunately for me) Finley seemed to be on the mend. She got up rarin' to go at 0530, destroyed the house, and woke up Ford. Then while I was feeding him, she (having discovered that she's out of my reach and can pretty much do what she wants while her brother is eating) downed my coffee. The entire mug. And brought it to me empty, as if to say "more, please."

It apparently didn't agree with her. Three diaper blowouts later (only one of which was hers), I gave up on the wet wipes and dumped Ford in the bathtub. Finley lulled me into a false sense of security, leaning over the bathtub and "helping" me scrub him and sharing her bath toys... and then leapt over the side, fully clothed, right on top of him.

By 0800 I was at my wits' end. I did the only think I could think of: I took both kids to Wal Mart (a half hour away, in Germantown!) in their pajamas. You can take the girl out of Fayetteville, it seems, but you can't take the Dirty South out of the dark recesses of a desperate parent's mind.

Of course it was a total disaster. Finley had the meltdown of the century when I wouldn't let her have a bike. (She desperately wants a big girl bike. And a helmet.) The thin and wimpy restraints of this ridiculous cart failed to keep her from multiple attempts to leap from it, and I dragged two redfaced, shrieking kids (and the garden hose I had been determined to purchase) from the store. I cannot be the first person to have created that scene, by way of consolation.

Hell, it's Wal Mart. I probably wasn't even the first one that day.

Both little demons had gotten it together by the time we got to the car, naturally, so I committed another rookie move and took them to Wegman's to grab a couple grocery items. (I can't pass up a Wegman's.) It was of course an abbreviated trip. Finley latched onto a double Milky Way bar that was, for some reason, packaged end to end so that it was roughly the size and heft of a police baton, and yanked it back from me so hard when I tried to return it to the shelf that it went flying and hit Ford square in the nose. Disaster #2 ensued, and it wasn't even 0930. And I still had not eaten. Or had coffee.

So I decided to drive thru Chick-fil-a. (Germantown has all the good stuff.) Only that was yet another fail, since Chick-fil-a drive thrus are legendarily long and my patience is short. Against my better judgment (but very committed to the idea of that tender, delicious chicken now), I hauled both kids out of the car again. And that's when Finley saw the playground. She's never been to a fast food restaurant with a playground, and it exceeded her wildest dreams.

Until she crawled too far up the slide backwards, became terrified and refused to move, and required me to actually leave Ford in the care of a perfect stranger while I clambered up the slide to rescue her. Which was too small, obviously, for my fat ass, so I scraped off half my back on the edge and added to the cacophony of screams inside the tube (but managed to avoid the f- word, so I'm still going to call that a win.)

Both kids screamed the entire way home. Finley, between bites of grilled chicken tenders.

She also poured out her entire milk, which I had foolishly put in her cupholder. That must have been why she was so thirsty, which led her to do this

when I left her next to the car AND my unfinished soda to carry Ford up to the house.

Now she had had a cup of coffee, half a diet Coke, and a chocolate chip cookie she had grabbed from a bakery case and stuffed in her mouth at Wegman's when I was picking out apples. My dreams of naptime faded before my very eyes.

But then, when I went back to the car to get her, she had climbed up into the passenger seat and turned up Trampled by Turtles on the radio, one of my favorite bands. She was seat-dancing along and chewing on a cracker of unknown origin when I sat down in the driver's seat to retrieve my sunglasses and turn off the car. The a/c blowing in our faces, Finley looked up at me conspiratorially as if to say "are we really doing this?!" and bobbed her head to the beat. I gave up and sang along.

And those are the moments that keep you from leaving your kids at Chick-fil-a with a note reading "free to a good home."

It had been a week, that was for sure. After a trip to the ER on her fourth straight day of running a fever, we found out that Finley had strep.

And so did the rest of us. Seth and I had spent most of the week in an elaborate juggling act to make appearances at work while not leaving our banned-from-daycare kids at home alone, and by Thursday- which involved two trips back and forth to work for each of us, and a hasty emergency room handoff- we were run ragged. I took all day Friday off, and planned a sick day on the couch for all three of us.

Of course Finley's antibiotics kicked in first, necessitating pool time while I gulped penicillin and prayed for 6pm.

By which time we were all feeling a little better (antibiotics are magical), so Seth and I made another terrible decision and took them to happy hour. We had done it successfully once and should have quit while we were ahead. As you can see from this collage, Finley had a terrific time anyway. And the angel baby slept peacefully. Seth and I took turns scarfing burgers while violating all conceivable liquor laws, chasing the little terrorist up and down the pedestrian street with wineglass in hand. (They were having a sidewalk sale. Finley loves sidewalk sales. Apparently.)

The rest of the weekend was a blur. At some point Seth went fishing

and fried up his catch. I got the house cleaned and celebrated with mimosas. We all started to feel better and I made it to the pool with Finley, although SoulCycle was a bridge too far. Ford, who loves TV although we never actually let him watch it, convinced his Dad (who had had a beer or two) to let him stay up half the night watching "Straight Outta Compton." I am not kidding.

For the first time since I can remember, going to work on Monday is an actual relief. I still have a bit of a sore throat, but sitting at a desk with cough drops seems like a vacation, comparatively.

At least our sick week yielded some terrific photos of the week.

This is Ford, asleep mid-bottle, as I found he and Seth on the couch Friday night (Seth was racked out too).

 And Finley, giving me the "don't even think about taking away this ice cream" look.A classic.

"Those parents" and the end of restaurant brunches.

We swore we'd never be "those parents." The ones who use up all their energy on their kids and don't have time for each other at the end of the day. We took the relationship quizzes years ago and agreed that our relationship would always be the most important thing, and we would put each other first no matter what. We probably even felt a little superior about our priorities when we heard stories of people who lost sight of themselves and their relationships because they were too busy raising kids.

 

And then we had two of them in two years.

I'm not saying that Seth and I are on the rocks, or that our relationship is headed south. I'm saying that we're normal, and we're tired, and every night last week Seth fell asleep on the couch (and most nights woke up to do schoolwork right around Ford's second nighttime meal) while I collapsed into bed as soon as both kids were asleep and daycare bags prepped for the next day.

 

We may not have watched TV together after the kids were in bed, or chatted about the news, or relaxed with a glass of wine... but we still felt like a winning team when we high-fived over pizza on Friday night. We had survived our first week on our own with two jobs and two kids, and we were ridiculously proud of ourselves.

 

We know that this crazy period of our lives- complete with assembly line dinners and tagteamed bathtime and half-finished sentences and overflowing diaper genies and way more takeout than we previously thought acceptable- is temporary, and we're doing it. But we're going to try to find a few minutes this week to talk about something other than Finley's new hairpulling habit or where all the plastic pieces of the breastpump disappeared to. Goals are good. So are realistic expectations.

 

And a morning nanny is the best idea we've ever had. We have one now, and she gets the kids up and takes them to daycare so we can both make it to work and occasionally even squeeze in a workout without having to wake them up at an ungodly hour. It's been smooth sailing since we finally got the carseat situation sorted out, and I can't think of money better spent. (Although, as a good friend of mine jokes, "when they said it took a village, I had no idea I would have to pay a staff of villagers!")

We were so proud of having survived the week that we risked a day trip with the crazies in tow. We were long overdue for brunch with the Alexanders in Baltimore, but got smart at the last minute and realized that four kids under three in a restaurant was everybody's worst nightmare. Instead we picked up brunch from an amazing place in Little Italy and decamped to the Alexanders' rooftop deck with views of the Inner Harbor and a blow up kids' pool. Pure genius. We enjoyed sangria while the babies napped in bouncers and Finley and Zoe made messes with watermelon and danced their little hearts out in the pool. No one had to chase kids under other diners' tables or utter ridiculous phrases like "please stop stabbing people with that fork" or "please don't put your grits in your milk glass."

Also, Finley peed on me after begging me to pick her up out of the pool (a trick!), and this was not a huge cause for concern. My pants eventually dried.

Jen and I agreed that we are never having brunch in a restaurant again.

Sunday we divided and conquered (our MO more often than not these days), and I took Finley to Rick & Anita's to see the Causeys, where she played with bubbles and ate play doh and we discovered the aforementioned vindictive hairpulling when AJ took her toy. And Seth got to stay home with the nonviolent Nieman kid, who is growing like a weed. (This is him snoozing in his 6-9 month clothes!)

I rarely think Finley and Ford look alike, but they do share a mischievous look, evident in two of my favorites this week:

Fourth of July Fun

I love the fourth of July. It might even be my favorite holiday. I love summer long weekends and fireworks and the smell of a grill and red, white and blue outfits and small town parades, and it is the one occasion a year on which I even eat apple pie. I don't really like it, but it feels like the right thing to do, as an American.

It would seem that our nation's capital would be the perfect place for an America-lovin' gal to celebrate Independence Day, but with twoundertwo and a husband who hates both crowds and public transportation, fireworks on the mall was not in the cards this year. Besides, I desperately needed a getaway. Luckily I have an indulgent husband (and in-laws!), who acquiesced to my packing everyone (and everything we own) into two cars for a long weekend adventure.

We headed for Tall Timbers, a quiet sailing community on Piney Point in southern Maryland, because 1) I firmly believe that summer long weekends should be spent on the water, but 2) so does everyone else, and we were not about to spend the entire weekend sitting in Bay Bridge traffic.

And it was perfect. Tony arrived just in time for the festivities, and we set up house in a little cottage in the trees right on the Potomac. Finley ran around with her beloved bubble maker while we watched from Adirondack chairs,

 and we had the little river beach all to ourselves.

The kayak fishing  I had planned didn't exactly happen, but we walked to dinner at the marina, where we drank summer shandys and watched Finley dance to live music (which she adores) while Ford slept right on the table,

and we took the kids to the Country Life Festival, where there was a contest involving dogs jumping into a pool (a big hit) and plenty of hunting propaganda

and our little city girl went for her first pony ride.

We also discovered a waterfront restaurant that had beach toys for kids to play in the tiki bar sand while their parents drank beer and watched the sunset. (Pure genius. Seriously.)

Our brunch dates may have come a long way (because we pick our battles, this one involved cupcakes and bacon)

(and because we forgot the orange juice, and Seth was in charge, this one involved green juice mimosas and whipped cream),

but we still know how to have a great time. We loved having Tony & Jayne to hang out with (and help with kid wrangling), and although there were no fireworks (that we could see anyway) or apple pie, we still feel like we nailed it.

And now I'm back at work and pretending Jayne isn't headed back to North Dakota, leaving us on our own to figure out the work-life logistics with twoundertwo. We've been so lucky to have her  here to ease the transition for all of us, and we're not quite sure how this is going to go now... Wish us luck!

My favorite photos this week are of Finley enjoying her dirty gas station lollipop on the road trip home yesterday,

and looking a tad suspicious of the pony ride.

And, because I didn't have very many of Ford (who is sadly too small for pony rides and blue frosting) this week, here's him looking like such a big guy at the zoo Friday.

Oh, and yet another family photo fail. We're racking up quite a collection.