That was the formula for a road trip to my parents' summer cottage in Maine last week. I did the math early in the summer that with my part-time schedule, I could leave on Tuesday for a 5 night trip while using only one vacation day. The fact that Paige would have to stay and work and that this would be a solo parenting adventure? I was up for that; it seemed like a neat reversal of the '60s era "mom takes the kids to the Hamptons while Dad stays in Manhattan" family arrangement. Quite downmarket, of course, taking a 12-year-old Honda Accord to a 6-room bungalow in a honky tonk Maine beach town, but similar nonetheless.
Highlights (in some cases distinguishable from lowlights only via perspective)
- Packed the brand new portable DVD player. Yay! Packed no DVDs. Boo! Borrowed DVDs from the cousins for the return trip.
- Missed the Van Wyck expressway in Queens at 11 pm, 375 miles into the trip. Boo! Eventually got to my sister's apartment for a toasty heat wave night followed by a tasty IHOP breakfast. Yay! C concluded from overhearing me tell his mother's voice mail that I'd "f-bombed my way across Queens" that "to f-bomb" means "to drive really fast". More later.
- Three beach days - in Maine, one cold and windy, one hot and windy - and so crowded! I forget that about the Maine beaches - in Massachusetts, a fun afternoon at the Camp Wonderland waterfront. My sister-in-law runs the camp, and my bro and his family live at camp for the summer. In the car on the way home, after three days at the beach, T demanded repeatedly to go to the beach. He got used to that lifestyle pretty quickly.
- On the way home, we made great time from Boston to the western side of the Tappan Zee Bridge. Then we hit some traffic. Then we crossed into New Jersey. And I'm not going to blame New Jersey for this, but T threw up all over himself and his carseat. And some luggage. And his brother's leapster video game. All the napkins I'd saved at our meal stops came in handy as I sopped up what I could with them. Once we were finally back underway, C said "now we're really going to have to f-bomb it across Pennsyvlania to make it home in time for dinner."
Short sleep in strange places catches up with Teddy.And with Charlie
How many cousins can fit in the golf cart? Charlie was asking Riley about the golf cart at camp, and she said "they just call it a golf cart; you don't actually play golf in it."