My Holiday Road

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Last year, my daughter and her hubby invited me on a family vacation.  The plan involved driving from Dallas to Branson, MO.  There, we stayed in a nice resort, saw much beautiful country and almost went mad coping with two unhappy children.  They hated riding in the car, so they tortured each other for the entire trip.  When the volume from their third row seats became unbearable, the folks in the front seat merely turned up the radio, drowning the mayhem in the far back seats.  In the middle row, I sat next to a cooler.  It was not much company, but I did not mind until a thorough search revealed not a single adult beverage in the container.  I was doomed to endure a 10-hour ride with demonic sounds fore and aft in a state of complete sobriety.  It was a glimpse of Hell.

On Saturday, last, I returned home, satisfied that we enjoyed the best possible family vacation.

This year, the vacation included some important changes.  Number one was cars.  I took mine and they drove theirs.  Second, we stayed in rooms at opposite ends of the motel.  It was mercifully quiet.  Third, Grandfather has an injured back, which bought me a pass on any heavy lifting (grandchildren).  All these changes made a large difference.  I have old friends in San Antonio and reconnected with two of the best.  I re-introduced my daughter and son-in-law and the two grandchildren.  Surprisingly, everyone behaved himself or herself.  It left me wondering what happened to my real family. 

We enjoyed authentic Tex-Mex food, great conversation and even visited the Witte Museum across the street from the restaurant.  It was a good day.

The dolphin show at Sea World was great, too.  It had elements of “Circ d’ Soleil”, a Beluga Whale, trained tropical birds and, yes, a corps of Pacific White Sided Dolphins.  The children were transfixed and I appreciated the show to the fullest.

The thing about Sea World is its size.  It is immense.  The other thing about Sea World is the heat and humidity.  By noon, the temperature was over 90 and the humidity was up there, too.  After a couple of hours, our team was completely dehydrated and on the verge of collapse.  We did the only sensible thing:  We made a desperate dash for the motel, specifically, the showers, bar and swimming pool, not necessarily in that order.  All our problems resolved.  I even got out for a quick session of sun and swim before the longish journey home.  Next time, we will go in mid-October.

Heavy use of air conditioning,   a stoked iPod and magnificent scenery eased the stress of the 5+-hour drive home.  I arrived, walked into the house and collapsed into the most delightful nap/coma I have had in years.

I believe all had a good time.

Should you ever be confronted with an opportunity to travel with family, especially small children, you may wish to reread this publication and make note of any survival tips you find.  As an alternative, watch all the National Lampoon’s “Vacation” movies – and memorize them. 

You will thank me (or Chevy Chase) later.

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The Vacation

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On Sunday last, I joined my daughter, son-in-law and two grandchildren for a carefree week of togetherness known as a family vacation. They showed up at my place bright and early. After a little stumbling around, I threw my suitcase and computer bag into the back of the Chevy Suburban.  I took my duffel bag of goodies with me and climbed into the back seat. Thus began an adventure that lasted until I fell into my own bed last night.

My grandchildren, aged 5 and 3, sat  lashed securely into their federally approved sarcophagi in the third row.

“Good morning, grandchildren!” I exclaimed.

“Waaah!” They answered.

“Is there something wrong with the children?” I asked my daughter.

“No, they’re just a little grumpy from getting up so early.” She reassured me.

The next thing I knew, we were streaking along the highway, headed for the Mecca of family vacation spots, Branson, Missouri. (I never in my wildest dreams thought I would see Branson, but I was on my way.) I managed to occupy myself by retrieving toys and crackers from the floor in the back seat. Every few minutes, one small voice or another called, “Gwandfadder, I dwopped my dowy on the fwoor.”

I unbuckled, turned around and hung over the backseat at the waist to reach the lost treasure. Naturally, blood rushed to my head giving ‘gwandfadder’ the comical appearance of a stroke victim. We kept this up until we reached McAlister, OK around eleven am. McAlister is home to the original “Big Mac,” as the locals know the state prison.

While we were there, we found “Angel’s Restaurant.” Everyone was hungry, so we stopped for a late breakfast. Angel’s is a unique place. Decorated entirely in pink, it sported memorabilia from the 50s and 60s on every wall. “The King” and Marilyn Monroe were the most popular subjects. Our waitress showed us to the back room where a large round table awaited us. Once seated, we ordered food and settled down to await the arrival of our breakfasts. It was during this brief period the children made a terrible discovery. The round table was loose. With a tiny shove, it spun like a lazy Susan. The children thought this was hilarious fun.

In the fullness of time, our breakfasts arrived. I dug into an omelet and the children enjoyed happy face pancakes. Well, mostly. Occasionally, I would take a stab at my plate only to retrieve pancake that had arrived a second before. My son-in-law found himself staring at my omelet instead of his breakfast more than once. Plead as we might, we could not convince the babies this was not fun. You cannot fool children, y’know.

So, each adult used one hand to grip the table and the other to shovel breakfast into their mouths while the little ones, bless them, strained and shoved on the funhouse table.

Eventually, we got enough food on target to sustain us and we left Angel’s, possibly forever.

Next, we would plunge into the Ozark Mountains. I will share that episode as soon as my strength returns. Right now, I think a little lie-down is in order.

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Weekend at Grandfather's

[Monday, Nov. 23, 2009]  My lovely daughter and her husband just left with their two delightful children. Thank goodness. I watched over the two angels since last Friday afternoon and I am completely whipped.

A few weeks ago one of my loyal readers suggested I have a “massive sleepover” for my grandchildren. Naturally, I dismissed the idea as madness. Don’t get me wrong. I love the grandchildren with all my heart. I am also fond of nights of uninterrupted sleep, violent TV programs, spicy food and adult beverages. I also enjoy intervals of silence lasting more than ten seconds. In short, all the things that are good for grandfather are anathema to the children. Imagine my surprise when I found myself agreeing to keep my daughter’s two babies over a long weekend. I found myself saying “Sure.” when I expected to say “Oh, Hell no!”

It is too late to cry over spilled milk. The children dribbled, sprayed and splashed more than a quart of the stuff about the house over the weekend. It won’t help to cry over the chicken fingers, macaroni and cheese, apples, juice, chocolate kisses, popcorn or any other foodstuff, either. They simply disappeared. The ants who come in to clean will find them, eventually.

When they arrived, a sense of excitement over the upcoming adventure filled their little hearts. “They’ve been looking forward to this all week.” Said Mommy. Looking back, maybe the parents should have brought Rhinoceros grade tranquilizer darts as part of the kit. I would have shot myself almost immediately after their departure, if only I had them available.

When it was time for mom and dad to leave, all bets were off. The sense of adventure vanished and a sense of abandonment and terror set in. I have seldom heard such wailing and pleading in my life. Somehow, mom and dad bore up under the emotional assault and fled for a romantic escape to the snowy slopes of Utah. Me? I continued to wail and plead for some time after they drove away.

My daughter furnished manuals describing bedtime and other essential rituals. It said, “Bedtime is between 7:30 and 8:00 p.m.” At the appropriate time, I jammied the two urchins and brushed their tiny teeth. Then I popped them in bed where they continued howling for mommy for the next few hours. When mommy did not appear, they wept as if I murdered a puppy before their innocent little eyes. I began feeling panic and depression. At dawn, the little ones capitulated and slept the rest of the night.

“That went well.” I lied.

Ultimately, I abandoned hope and devoted myself to getting through ten-minute intervals, one after the other. My life became a predictable series of chicken strips, apple juice, clean-ups, diapers, oatmeal, lost toys, clean-ups, boo-boos, snits, spats, clean-ups, bribes, heart-warming smiles and loving hugs.

When the parents returned on Monday afternoon, I noticed some remarkable changes. First, I learned some people are born mothers and others have motherhood thrust upon them. Even though it almost [?] cost me my sanity, I became a mom (or dad), pro tempore. Even the grandchildren slipped up and called me “Mommy” or “Daddy” a couple of times. We shall disregard the other names.

Second, I am certain I shall need a vacation in the immediate future. I am thinking of snowy Utah, or perhaps Banff, Canada. In six weeks, I could be as good as new. Almost. Mothers are certainly made of stern stuff.

Eva, how can I ever repay you?