road trip

Tomorrow we are going to the beach. While I love the beach, and spending time with my boys, getting there is a production.
First I pack for all 5 of us, to include the
clothes, diapers and wipes,
sunscreen (I love the new spray on stuff!!!),
bathing suits,
sheets/towels (because I would rather haul it home than stand around doing laundry on our last day),
rainy time activities (it never fails), board games, movies, cars, cars, and more cars
soap, toothbrushes, etc.

Then I pack the suburban. I love my suburban, it is now my dream car. The twins are in the way back with an isle to walk down so they don’t climb over the seats. Bradley gets the middle, and adults only in the front. Before I can pack, I have to clean it out first. This is where it gets scary. Now I am not known for the cleanliness of cars, but you never know what you will find lurking beneath the sheet across the back seat (put there for easy clean up of spills). Something round and fuzzy, once kin to a chicken, now gone on to a greener place. Pieces of toys, the cups I told them to take into the house. Multiple matchbox cars. Sticky purple cup holders that must be pried out and washed in the sink. Spit balls, straws, and then way down in the cracks between the seats I can see French Fries. (Ever notice how they don’t mold – yet we feed them to our children) I’ll never get them out of there, unless I plan on taking the seats out – not going to happen. So after a quick wipe down, shake off, because it is not going to get washed (dirt hides the scratches from not paying attention when we open the doors like we were TOLD to do) – I pack. Making sure we have everything we need, from snacks, to drinks, to movies.

Ahh movies. I believe the best invention of the 20th Century was the in car DVD player. We didn’t use to have one, and by the time we got somewhere I would be so worn out from refereeing fights that I wouldn’t claim my own children. I don’t like television as a babysitter, I’ve been known to lock my kids outside on a beautiful day and make them drink from the hose when they were thirsty. (For all who think this is cruel, they were in our yard, were allowed in for bathroom breaks, etc, and I could hear every squeal of delight or terror – but my door was no longer revolving). But in a car I believe in DVD players, if possible get one with multiple head phones J (ours are now broken). Then they can watch their movie in peace and you can sing to the radio without shouts of “Mommy, stop singing, you hurt my ears!”

Who are these kids,

and why are they calling me

Mom?

(my bumpersticker)