A Long Drive Around a Big Lake
A couple of days ago, the kids and I made what turned out to be a seven-hour drive partially around Lake Michigan (pesky ol' pond) to Kalamazoo, where we are staying at Rose Petal Cottage, the home of my husband's aunt, until tomorrow. We were met there by grandma, who flew in from New York for the occasion. It's been thus far a cozy gathering of three generations in just under 1,000 square feet. Besides some pretty serious bedtime squabbles, everything's gone smoothly, including the trip.
That's not to say, of course, that travel was a picnic. We left just after 8 AM, after my beloved had put air in my tires and cleaned my windows inside and out without being asked. And things went swimmingly for a while...I'd say about 40 minutes. We watched geese massing near Oshkosh to fly south, and I explained how they made a letter 'V' to move more efficiently through the air. We ate raisins and looked for interesting things out the window as we passed the outlet mall 25 minutes from home. And then I was told that I was pointing out too many things and that I should stop.
It was about five minutes after that, before we had even reached Fond du Lac, that I was asked, "How much longer 'til we're in Kalamazoo?"
"A long time," I said. "We're going to stop for lunch, and then we're going to drive all through naptime, and then just before dinner, we'll be there."
"That's a long time!" said big brother. And he was right.
The promised lunch stop at McDonald's was a beacon of hope for the kids, who were asking from 9:15 AM on when we'd eat. I cranked the kid tunes and hoped they'd get lost in the music. They didn't.
Then, just south of Milwaukee and about 20 minutes north of my anticipated pit stop in Kenosha, a cry was issued forth from the back seat: "I have to go potty!" Screeching off the highway at the Seven-Mile Road exit, we found a gas station in time to avert disaster. In a practice I learned from my father, I decided to buy something there in gratitude for the use of their facilities and sent the kids searching for one thing to share.
Happy to be free from their shackles, they flitted about here and there, checking out car trader magazines, stuffed animals, and, of course, the candy. A woman behind the counter training a man on the use of the cash register looked up at them and said, "Well, you're noisy today!"
'Thank you,' I thought. 'That was helpful.'
Our pack of Extra Bubble Gum in hand, we headed back to the car and made the short drive to Kenosha. At 10:30 AM, we walked into the McDonald's dining room. Close enough to lunchtime for me.
After Chicken Nuggets and apples with caramel were gobbled, we went for one more potty stop, where big brother made an unfortunate (and smelly) discovery. Uncertain of federal laws governing the transport of soiled undergarments across state lines, we opted to leave the offending item in the trash can outside the restaurant as we headed into Illinois.
To set an appropriate mood, the sky grew overcast and showers sprinkled down as we entered Chicago. This was the part of the drive about which I had been most concerned. As we passed the Cicero exit off I-94 before reaching the most congested stretch of interstate, with BMWs and Lexus SUVs blazing by us on both sides, big brother began singing Kumbayah in the back. (Really.) That must have been what got us through downtown without our speed ever dropping below 20 mph.
As we crossed the Skyway bridge on I-90 into Gary, Mommy was ready for a break. I turned off the Animal Songs CD and switched to NPR (or as I now call it, Narcoleptic Public Radio) in an environmental manipulation meant to bring on a nap.
It worked, but only for 45 minutes in the case of the elder child most guilty of asking that dreaded question: "When will we be in Kalamazoo NOW, Mama?" I ticked off my responses in four- or five-minute intervals: "Two hours and fifteen minutes, honey." "Two hours and ten minutes, honey."
When we passed a sign that said we only had 20 miles to go, I made a deal. "If no one asks me how much longer we have to drive until we pull in Auntie's driveway, I'll give each of you an M&M," I said. Ahhh...sweet silence. Why hadn't I thought of that 250 miles ago?
That's not to say, of course, that travel was a picnic. We left just after 8 AM, after my beloved had put air in my tires and cleaned my windows inside and out without being asked. And things went swimmingly for a while...I'd say about 40 minutes. We watched geese massing near Oshkosh to fly south, and I explained how they made a letter 'V' to move more efficiently through the air. We ate raisins and looked for interesting things out the window as we passed the outlet mall 25 minutes from home. And then I was told that I was pointing out too many things and that I should stop.
It was about five minutes after that, before we had even reached Fond du Lac, that I was asked, "How much longer 'til we're in Kalamazoo?"
"A long time," I said. "We're going to stop for lunch, and then we're going to drive all through naptime, and then just before dinner, we'll be there."
"That's a long time!" said big brother. And he was right.
The promised lunch stop at McDonald's was a beacon of hope for the kids, who were asking from 9:15 AM on when we'd eat. I cranked the kid tunes and hoped they'd get lost in the music. They didn't.
Then, just south of Milwaukee and about 20 minutes north of my anticipated pit stop in Kenosha, a cry was issued forth from the back seat: "I have to go potty!" Screeching off the highway at the Seven-Mile Road exit, we found a gas station in time to avert disaster. In a practice I learned from my father, I decided to buy something there in gratitude for the use of their facilities and sent the kids searching for one thing to share.
Happy to be free from their shackles, they flitted about here and there, checking out car trader magazines, stuffed animals, and, of course, the candy. A woman behind the counter training a man on the use of the cash register looked up at them and said, "Well, you're noisy today!"
'Thank you,' I thought. 'That was helpful.'
Our pack of Extra Bubble Gum in hand, we headed back to the car and made the short drive to Kenosha. At 10:30 AM, we walked into the McDonald's dining room. Close enough to lunchtime for me.
After Chicken Nuggets and apples with caramel were gobbled, we went for one more potty stop, where big brother made an unfortunate (and smelly) discovery. Uncertain of federal laws governing the transport of soiled undergarments across state lines, we opted to leave the offending item in the trash can outside the restaurant as we headed into Illinois.
To set an appropriate mood, the sky grew overcast and showers sprinkled down as we entered Chicago. This was the part of the drive about which I had been most concerned. As we passed the Cicero exit off I-94 before reaching the most congested stretch of interstate, with BMWs and Lexus SUVs blazing by us on both sides, big brother began singing Kumbayah in the back. (Really.) That must have been what got us through downtown without our speed ever dropping below 20 mph.
As we crossed the Skyway bridge on I-90 into Gary, Mommy was ready for a break. I turned off the Animal Songs CD and switched to NPR (or as I now call it, Narcoleptic Public Radio) in an environmental manipulation meant to bring on a nap.
It worked, but only for 45 minutes in the case of the elder child most guilty of asking that dreaded question: "When will we be in Kalamazoo NOW, Mama?" I ticked off my responses in four- or five-minute intervals: "Two hours and fifteen minutes, honey." "Two hours and ten minutes, honey."
When we passed a sign that said we only had 20 miles to go, I made a deal. "If no one asks me how much longer we have to drive until we pull in Auntie's driveway, I'll give each of you an M&M," I said. Ahhh...sweet silence. Why hadn't I thought of that 250 miles ago?
posted by Lisa Strandberg at 11:31 AM
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