A Long Trip to Dallas

Vacations when the kids were little were never the days of rest and relaxation that we envisioned every time we packed up the car. From the moment we began to be seated it was a battle over who could get in the front seat, what we needed to listen to on the radio, where we would eat lunch, who would get the pull-out bed in the hotel. By the time the few days were over, my husband an I felt like battle weary soldiers who welcomed the return home to some peace and quiet. But that never came either.

Now they are all teenagers, much older than those trips from long ago. For some reason I once again beckoned them into the car for a weekend trip to Dallas, thinking that with MP3 players and Nintendos that now we would have the few days of relaxation that would feel so good.
Before we left the driveway my son bodily ejected his sister from the front seat and plants himself permanently in her place. My husband sighs, knowing it’s a battle not worth fighting and climbs into the back seat while I take the first turn at the wheel. My daughter loudly protests from the back seat, as my mom stares wide-eyed at the scene before her. It is her first overnight trip with the family and she has a lot to learn as far as teenage brawling across state lines.

Then my son claims he gets to choose the station on the radio because he is in the command seat of the vehicle. I told him actually I was in the command seat, since I was driving, so that should allow me to pick the radio station. He smugly offered to drive, and I readily turned him down. I had no desire to die before age 42, so since I had turned down his offer, he told me he got to command the radio by default. And the decibal level. Which was many decibals. And then some. I asked why he didn’t simply listen to his headphones with his MP3 player and he told me there was no need for that, the radio worked fine. And my daughter bellowed from the back seat that the songs were no good. My mother stared out the window, obviously reconsidering her decision to come along.

We then stopped to fill up and get some sodas and snacks. Which then lead to another battle of prying people out of the front seat. My husband, frustrated, retreats to the back seat again. I, by obvious default, got back behind the wheel. My daughter continues to scream the unfairness of it all from the back and how we have always favored her brothers over her. Multiple shopping trips, manicures, and every electronic horse game ever made did not count. We had always favored them more. My mother looked ready to apply for a job at the gas station just to prevent having to get back in the car.

And now we had to listen to the 15 minute dissertation from my son on the unhealthy qualities of chips, donuts, and Mountain Dew. That, he, the temple of healthy eating and masculine perfection, would never put such garbage in his body. And after deflating our egos, drinking his water, eating his organic beef jerky, proceeded to eat all our leftover donuts, chips, and Mountain Dew. We were not allowed to comment.

What seemed like 15 hours later, we had traveled the 200 miles to Dallas and reached our hotel. We entered the room to a new battle of who gets the extra bed, who gets the sofa bed, who commands the thermostat. Of course, the adults were not in the equation. My battle weary husband left to pick up pizzas while I dug through my luggage for Tylenol. And Advil. And Aspirin. My mom went down to the pool where about 35 kids were splashing and hollering. After the eternal car ride, she appreciated the poolside peace and quiet.

My husband returned with the pizzas where brother and sister than argued over what kind had been ordered, what kind should have been ordered, and who mom and dad had obviously favored the most. I lay on the bed and closed my eyes remembering the days when they were little and how I would miss those chaotic times of both fighting and love. Smiling to myself, I knew in my heart I was glad they were still traveling with us, and that those precious times were not over quite yet.