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.)
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