We're finally home from Thanksgiving vacation after being away for 10 days. I have so much to do to catch up with my life, yet I find myself blogging. (If I ever write a book, that last sentence should be the title.)
The Thanksgiving plan was that I would drive to my parents house outside of Phoenix on Monday, Erik would fly to meet us there on Wednesday evening, and then we would drive home together on Sunday.
I was actually pretty psyched to drive to Arizona by myself with the kids. I kind of felt like I had something to prove. We have this friend, Denae, who drove with her 3 small children to Alaska by herself. Whenever I say that I don't want to go anywhere alone with the kids, Erik reminds me that Denae is the gold standard to which we should all compare ourselves when it comes to road trips with small children. How dare I think a 7 hour drive is hard with 2 kids, when Denae did days on a road in the wilderness with 3 kids!
The first few hours of the drive went great until I hit Fontana "The City of Action" California... and I mean literally hit. Without any warning, the passenger side window sounded like it had been hit by a bullet and it shattered into a thousand pieces.
I slowed down immediately, but my hands were shaking. This was Fontana after all. (Think Compton.) I've never had anything like this happen to me before. My car windows normally don't spontaneously bust as I'm going 70 mph down the freeway. It was really freaky. Fortunately, I found some people to come replace the window within a few hours and we were able to continue on our trip. According to the window repair guy, a large rock must have hit the window in the exact center, causing it to break. I'm so grateful that no one was sitting in the passenger seat.
About an hour after we got back on the road, Luke began to vomit, a lot. So, I pulled over at the first stop to a town called Desert Center (a misnomer if there ever was one) and proceeded to clean him and the car seat off using baby wipes and a quart of bottled water. Let me tell you, I had no clue how much puke the bottom part of Luke's carseat could hold until last Monday. It really is incredible.
The gross thing about a child throwing up during a long road trip is the smell. No matter what I did, I could not get the stench out of his seat or the car. After awhile, I just learned to embrace it. I didn't have any other choice.
Luckily, that was about it, after all, it was only a 7 hour trip. As I was driving, I swore to myself that I would never do any sort of road trip alone with the kids again, especially not to Alaska.