I was not dreading the trip north to my mom's house, but I certainly wasn't looking forward to it.
This sense of trepidation came mostly from knowing that my daughter is not a fan of the car. She starts pitching a fit on the way to Trader Joe's. She gets buckwild crazy traveling to Berkeley from Hayward, especially if there's traffic. I could only imagine her mood on a day trip to Humboldt from the Bay Area, a 300 mile distance. Add to the mix the fact that it is the day before Thanksgiving. During rush hour.
Not too bright, huh? Yea, I'm aware.
But I had grown tired of night travel, arriving at 2 in the morning, exhausted, up again at 6 or 7 when Celaya pops up, "hi!" No, she was old enough now, I figured, to pitch a fit (if absolutely necessary) and get over it.
So we hit the road...
And it was great.
Sure, Celaya pitched a couple of small fits. She's at the age now when the waterworks come on whenever she is upset. We sat in two hours of traffic, so she wasn't a huge fan of that, but all in all, she was great.
I have only grudgingly begun to allow Celaya to watch Baby Einstein videos on YouTube in the mornings when we wake up. She watches "Discovering Shapes" on my phone while I cling to the last dregs of sleep or, if I'm surprisingly fully awake, sip coffee and browse one of my magazines.
These videos were a life saver in the car. Celaya looked at clouds. She enjoyed the cars. She sang along to Wheels on the Bus, Twinkle Little Star, Itsy Bitsy Spider, and ABCs (sorry Teno). And she played with her special car toy that we had just purchased that day. That all lasted about an hour and a half, of a five hour drive (without traffic). My plan was to save the YouTube videos as a last resort secret weapon. They worked like a charm. She watched the same videos over and over for the last bit of driving before dinner. We stopped at Round Table for pizza about halfway up the coast, and she fell asleep quickly after getting back into the car for the last two hours of the drive.
So we survived our first long day trip with Celaya. I am very thankful.
But even more than that, I am incredibly grateful for the time I got to spend in the car with my immediate family. I do love road trips. I loved making stops along the way in different places for coffee, for pizza, for gas. I loved listening to random music, 90s on 9, 40s on 4 (Carlos does great jazz hands), on Sirius radio in our rented VW Jetta.
I adore renting cars as a Hertz Gold member. My stepmother is a Hertz employee and for the last year I have rented several different vehicles of different sizes. As a bike commuter looking to buy a car in about a year, this opportunity has been wonderful for exploring my options.
One unexpected surprise joy was the chance to watch my brother close up with his niece. I know, logically, through experience, and through Celaya's reactions to her Teno, that he is a good uncle. But watching him in the rearview mirror reach out and play with her feet, lean his head against her carseat, and, best of all, listening to him read her books before she fell asleep, really brought home for me the strength of their bond. Carlos and I sat in the front seat and exchanged smiles as we silently mouthed the words to the books we have both read hundreds of times: "'What big blocks!' said the dinosaur. 'Those aren't blocks. Those are buildings.' Said Danny. 'I love climbing.' Said the dinosaur. 'Down boy!' Said Danny." Hearing the stories come from an uncle who cherishes his niece was heartwarming.
Finally. I forgot how funny my husband, in our long road trip conversations, is.
"Well," he began, as Teno and Celaya slept in the back seat, the road dark, our headlights the only ones brightening up the path ahead, "if I ever can't take care myself, we should tell our kids that whichever one wants to take care of us will get our house."
"What?!" First of all, we don't have a house. Second of all, our children are not wiping our dirty old butts.
I told him as much.
"Ew! Why do they have to wipe our butts!?" He was genuinely shocked and disgusted.
"Um, honey, what do you think 'can't take care of ourselves' means?" I wondered "If you get dementia, you're going to need someone to wipe your butt at some point."
"Dimension? What does dimension have to do with anything? This is a tramp."
I couldn't help laughing out loud.
"Dimentia. Dimentia. It's when you get old, your mind goes, and basicallly, you can't wipe your butt. Don't worry honey, no one is sending you to another dimension. And I am not setting a trap."
It was a great trip. I am so glad I made myself leap into the unknown.
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