Vacation: Day 17

There wasn’t supposed to be a Day 17, but we’re still 600 miles from home so there may just be 18, 19 and 20.

But at least I have time to reflect.

If I had an anti-bucket list -- those things in my life I’ve done but wouldn’t repeat on a dare -- several items would be from this trip. For instance, I don’t think you could pay me to take a 31-foot camper on the Cross Bronx Expressway again. Some of my sense of humor flew off from a massive pothole and was hit by oncoming traffic and then unceremoniously flipped off while other angry drivers urinated on it from the Throgs Neck Bridge.

I also will never believe that “clean, modern shower facilities” are defined universally. After one “shower” upon a 50-year-old peeling linoleum basin with a faucet pulled on by a rotting tow rope that trickled cold run-off from the dumping station, I told my husband two things: 1. Don't bother bathing there; and 2. Please don’t even go near the bathrooms because if he saw what I had just done he’d think less of me as a person.

And while I know you’re expecting the next item on the list to read “Never step foot into an RV again,” well, it’s not. Despite all of our mechanical foibles, I still would love to take this trip again someday. When things were working properly, we really had a great time.

Sure, I’d do some things differently -- probably pack more clothes, extra road flares and brush up on the inner workings of fuel pumps -- but it wasn’t a total loss. The food poisoning went away after 18 hours and the rental company reimbursed us for all the lost days and hotel rooms without too much protest.

But camping along the Long Island Sound and star-gazing with my kids was something not to be missed. The playing with fireflies and nightly campfire talks were precious. And even watching my kids remain calm and flexible during adversity was surprisingly meaningful. It turns out, they are pretty wonderful people who never complain and can make me laugh even in the most unfunny moments. And while I’m sorry that more of those funny moments didn’t occur at scenic campsites in the wilderness instead of various Fairfield Inns across the south, well, there are many worse things.

And so while it certainly won’t be in this particular make and model (one that I think should be put out of its misery and ours), I will bet that our family will opt for the Holiday Rambler over the Holiday Inn next time

-- Tracey Henry, the Suburban Diva

[Jupiterimages]

Vacation: Days 7-11

After spending several nights visiting family at a beautiful campsite on Long Island’s north shore, we find ourselves in Hershey, Pa.

This was not on our original itinerary, but not much of this trip has been so we’re even. But after telling the kids we were going to spend the day at Hershey Park, a chocolate-themed amusement park, and not staring at stale vending machine candy bars in a mechanic’s waiting room, the look of sheer joy that returned to their faces was well worth the detour. (Although I still think the greatest thrill rides of the trip were in various tow trucks across the southern United States.)

That is not to say that Hershey doesn’t come with its own set of quirky happenstances that are contributing to my exhaustive camping education. For instance, I can probably trace back the origin of the Reese’s cup right from this very campground. The campsites are so painfully close together that I bet someone’s chocolate got into a neighbor’s peanut butter during just a stiff wind. (Look for a toasted marshmallow/grilled hot dog confection from Hershey’s very soon.)

I also can assure you firsthand that the cocoa beans in Hershey products are of the freshest variety. I know this because the freight train that carries them passes within 50 feet of our camper several times a night between the hours of 10 p.m. and 6 a.m. It sounds like a freight train coming within 50 feet of our camper several times a night between the hours of 10 p.m. and 6 a.m.

Tracey Henry, the Suburban Diva

[Photo: Associated Press of kids at Hershey's Chocolate World]

Vacation Day 2: What were we thinking?

I can’t describe Day 2 to you for the following reasons:

1. You wouldn’t be able to understand a single word. I would have to write nonsensical phrases like, “This car has fleas,” “Watch the baby while she plays in the junkyard,”  and who can forget the classic, “I hope the D.O.T. don’t [sic] have a roadblock set up or your son might have to spend the night in a rural Georgia jail.”  It would be an illogical ordering of random words that would frustrate and confound you and leave you wondering just what in the heck happened on that desolate South Georgia interstate that caused this once semi-normal family to die a little inside.

2. It would be littered with cursing. Really bad words you shouldn’t repeat without an air horn censor nearby.

3. There were many, many laws broken -- not only myriad state, federal and local laws, but also physical. And while we escaped “dem smokies,” I don’t know the statute of limitations for any of those violations, or whether pleading “Guilty by reason of RVing” is a legal defense recognized in a court of law. (Although no jury would convict us under the circumstances).

4. You would have to spit at least six or seven times. Why? I have no idea, but all day everyone expectorated liberally around me, and frankly, it was disgusting and I’d rather not go through that again.

No, it is best if we put Day 2 to bed in that same Valdosta Holiday Inn where we started after a nice steak dinner and a trip to Wal-Mart in a 1981 Buick LaSabre with no interior upholstery, a gnat infestation, no working headlights and that vaguely smells of a cocktail of motor oil, feet and broken dreams.

-- Tracey Henry, the Suburban Diva

[Jupiterimages]

Long-distance updates ease the heartache

It's been more than two months since I left my husband and girls in Tampa to take a temporary job in Tallahassee, and keeping in touch has been really challenging. I call the girls every morning and night, but it's usually not much more than a "love you! miss you!" conversation. I mean, they're 8 and 3, so telephones aren't the best.

But most days, my husband sends a photograph documenting either the mundane or the essential. Either way, it makes my day, and I feel a little less like I'm missing absolutely everything by being away. From my 3-year-old's first scooter ride, to my 8-year-old's star hula-hooping turn in the school talent show, to the miracle of both girls asleep on a long car ride, it's the little things that count. 

-- Amy Hollyfield

Long-distance Momma

I'm not an emotional person. Hardly a mushy momma. Definitely no PDA gal. But since I took a temporary work assignment a few hundred miles away from home, everything inside is out.

I miss them. Totally and completely. My heart aches and I constantly worry about theirs. The 3 year old usually never fusses when I leave for work or errands. It's always, "Bye, Mom!!" But recently, when I said goodbye to drive back to Tallahassee, she sobbed and hugged me like never before. I drove the whole way thinking about her body glued to mine and wondering how I could ever make it up to her.

The 8 year old appears more brave about the whole experience, but I know it's hurting her just as much. We talk on the phone twice a day, and sometimes exchange e-mails. It's not the same. It never could be.

Taking this amazing professional opportunity was a heart-wrenching decision. How could I leave them? How could I leave my husband? With his total support, I took the risk. It's for two months, and for these first few weeks, I can drive home every weeked.

The truth is, I'm so busy working this new assignment, I wouldn't see them at all even if I were home. But I would be closer. Able to sneak a hug or a laugh or a smile once a day. Instead, I try to send hugs through the phone. Pray that I'm not scarring them for life.

Mommas, give me strength. I really need it.

-- Amy Hollyfield

[Photos.com]

"They'll Sleep in the Car" and Other Parental Lies

There are things I say knowing they are not true, but technically can’t be considered “lies.”

Intentionally saying an untruth is indeed a lie, but sometimes I say some things not with the intention of making a falsehood, but because I want them to be true so badly.

Examples? “I wear a size 6.” “I don’t watch television too often.” “Thongs are really comfortable.” “The fat-free ice cream tastes just as good as regular.”

But here’s the #1 lie that pertains to me today as we embark on our 3000-mile family road trip:

“My kids sleep in the car.”

This is a bold-face, complete and utter lie. No matter how many times I’ve said it, it never happens. My kids have never slept. Not a wink. For some unknown reason the road is like asphalt Vivarin. Our goal by leaving at 2 a.m. is to log six hours worth of miles before dawn, but it just doesn‘t seem to work out that way. Instead of anticipated slumber, we just lose those precious hours of sleep and have to stop for breakfast at 4 a.m. at the only open facility on I-75 which invariably ends up being a rest area vending machine.

Lie # 2: “Well, since they got up so early, they will take a nap.”

Hahahaha. Again, never has happened. About the closest thing that resembles a nap in our car is the slowing of the blood pressure and heart rates back to normal levels after devouring the bag of Twizzler’s that was supposed to last 3 days but has been exhausted in 3.2 minutes. By 4 in the afternoon I’m beginning to wonder if the Sandman wasn’t under one of those orange traffic pylons we hit back in Macon …

Lie #3: “At least it will be an early bedtime!”

After six different attempts at sold-out roadside motels, midnight quickly approaches, and sleep is still nowhere in sight. We need to find pajamas, blankets, and then decipher the local channel guide to find anything that doesn’t include “After Dark” in the title. After filling up 16 buckets of ice that we don’t need, we’re in for another couple of hours of playtime.

Lie #4: “We all sleep just fine once we stop.”

Okay, that was such a crazy uber-lie, it deserves its own scandalous suffix. We can coin that one as “Motel 8-gate.”

But at least we will catch up on our sleep when we get home.

I swear, it’s like I can’t help myself….

-- Suburban Diva

Road Trip Packing--Part 1

I know it’s neither fashionable nor practical to take a Road Trip in the Summer of aught eight, but since when do I follow convention?

We love our road trips. Love. Them. I will not give up this pleasure despite it costing the same as a fortnight luxury spa vacation in Cabo. I also figure that the cost to fly 6 people to multiple destinations and subsequent car rentals makes this trip a bargain by today’s ridiculous standards. The luggage up charge alone for 6, +car seats, strollers, portable crib and sand toys for two weeks would cover a tank of gas. Besides, we’ve got places to go, reunions to crash. We’ve got family to irritate, and rumors to fester. We are going.

I have decided to control as many costs beforehand as possible, though. I figure my top expenditures on a road trip are: 1) Gas; 2) Lodging; and 3) Cracker Barrel.

Gas -- can’t do much about it. I will get the oil changed, inflate the tires to their proper PSI and hope for clear traffic because I know my husband won’t be driving 55 with four kids in the back seat.

For lodging, we have made some arrangements with our 4-bajillion Marriott points to defer some of the expense, and we’ll turn up the air conditioning real high so that snuggling in July won’t be so uncomfortable.

Which simply leaves the jaw-dropping Cracker Barrel bill. On every past road trip, despite knowing full well what we are getting ourselves into, we stop at this den of evil. After waiting 6 hours for a table, we buy illogical stuff in the store, and never finish a plate of food. But somehow on a vacation, this seems like a good idea.

So to avoid this expensive pit stop, I have replicated the experience at home so we can drive past every exit. I cooked country-fried steak tonight that no one ate because they were too busy playing the I.Q. Game with the golf tees I put on the table. I bought the kids a bunch of cheap crap from the dollar store, let them break it, and then sprinkled the pieces all over the backseat. For extra good measure, I mixed some nostalgic candy pieces and a bag of ginger snaps to make it extra sticky. And because I realized I hadn’t spent anything close to our average bill, I bought a retro Coca-Cola napkin dispenser and then forgot it on a wooden rocking chair on the porch after playing checkers.

Voila! It’s like we’re already to Gatlinburg.

-- Suburban Diva