I'm writing this as I sit
in the passenger seat of our family's full size van with one leg
curled up under the other, shoes kicked off, and my seat belt
strapped across my chest. I have four still sleepy boys in tow, and a
man in the driver's seat next to me with an A-Capella addiction he
openly forces on his unsuspecting children via Pandora on his cell
phone connected to the van's radio system.
As on most road trips,
I've brought along what seems to be an interesting book or two to
read for when it's daylight, as the next three and a half hours
promise to be. After the first couple pages, I knew it was hopeless,
I couldn't concentrate between the distractions of beat boxing, vocal
harmonies, and scenic views of the beautiful Ozark Mountains.
Most road trips, if I'm
given advance notice, which is not always, but usually, I spend the
day before washing a ridiculous amount of laundry searching
desperately for enough pairs of matching socks for each child to last
however many days we are supposed to be gone from home.
This trip I knew about
several days ago, and still, I decided to procrastinate. I'll get up
at seven a.m. I promised myself. After listening to the alarm far
longer than I thought it would keep going off, I got up and hit
snooze at 7:53 a.m. Rise and shine, all my handsome little men!
Mama's got seven minutes to pack so we can leave on schedule at 8:00
a.m.
Breakfast consisted of
McDonald's drive thru sausage egg burritos, and a large sweet tea,
our first “stop” before leaving town at 9:25 a.m. Our next stop,
almost two hours later, is at a thankfully, large and clean, gas
station for the customary restroom break. The GPS kept telling us to
make a U-turn to get back onto the interstate. Which can not and will
not happen until we get the three year old (wearing big boy underwear
for the first time on an actual road trip) into the bathroom. My
hubby emerges with our toddler now dressed in clothes pajamas, after I've reminded him not to buy bug juices or any other juice drinks that make said toddler car sick. On the road again!
And so the miles go ever
on. Past lakes, hills, flat fields with perfectly plowed rows that
look like green rays of sunshine springing past my window, pastures
of little yellow flowers with grazing cows, toll booths (Yes we're in
Oklahoma now!), small towns, and road signs providing the boys with
an opportunity to engage in a battle of the old standby “Alphabet
Game”.
Our phone is no longer
picking up a signal, so we've switched to the regular car radio.
Which, surprisingly, is picking up a nice Christian station playing
older style hymns that are both soothing and relaxing. Who knows how
long until the station fades, but we will enjoy it while it lasts.
The boys are on letter Q in their game. They might be stuck for a
while!
But that's OK, because if
I were going to be stuck somewhere, I couldn't think of anywhere I'd
rather be than in this van with my family. We are together, and that
is always a good thing. Moments like this I know I will miss the most
when my children are grown. My mother's heart will always wish they
were in that backseat calling out letters and asking, “When's the
next stop?”, “Can I have a drink now?” and “Are we there
yet?” Yes, I think to myself. I'm already there. Right where I want
to be. Right beside the man who looks over every now and then and
smiles at me that smile that says he's thinking the same thing.
With my feet propped up on the dash and my seat leaned back on the way home I sit and think, "This is really what love is." as my husband reaches over across the distance between our two van seats and still holds my hand after twelve years of marriage. With his Pandora working again as we get closer to home, he sings love songs to me while I sleep on and off between stops. I'm tired. He's tired. The kids are tired. It's been a long trip, but a good one. It's a good kind of tired. It's a road trip kind of tired. We're almost home. I'm already there. I'll always be there when home is wherever these people I love the most are.
