I recently spent some time on a family vacation where I discovered a newfound appreciation for what it means to have such a big family packed into a car. From picking the movies we watch to bathroom breaks, I’ve learned the highs (and lows) of a family road trip.
After all of our luggage is packed into the back, a task that, in itself, takes about a half an hour, we are reprimanded for the amount of stuff we’re bringing on such a short trip. I mean, let’s be honest, do I really need three bags? Does my sister really need her field hockey stick? Does my brother really need his entire nerf gun collection? These questions will forever remain unanswered.
When it comes time to pile into the car, all hell breaks loose. It always takes 15 minutes longer than we hoped, due to bathroom trips that should have happened an hour before, forgotten headphones and water bottles, and screams of hunger, even though we all just ate enough to fill us up for the entire day. The members of the second row of the car are stuck waiting outside for what seems like forever because the third row can’t seem to get themselves in fast enough. Thus, if you’re stuck in the second row, at least two kids (and the dog) have stepped on your head to get to the backseat.
Our family vacations always begin very late at night or very early in the morning -- there is no in between. My dad claims it’s to avoid traffic, but my theory is that it’s to ensure us kids fall asleep so he can listen to his own music. If, for some reason, we do not fall asleep, let me paint a picture of what goes down.
It starts with an argument about which movie we’re going to watch. Nine times out of 10, we end up watching "Cheaper By the Dozen" or "The Bee Movie," but at the beginning of the car ride, we pretend that now’s the time to switch things up. Then, it’s a fight for headphones and who’s going to get to listen with the good headsets that the car comes with. As my dad tries to drown out the yelling, he turns the volume up and sings along to Johnny Cash and the Dropkick Murphy’s. One would think this would silence us, but we only get louder, too.
Eventually, we settle on a movie and my mom shuts off the music my dad is blasting, replacing it with the sound of Barry B. Benson in "The Bee Movie." My dad pulls out his package of ear plugs, and sticks in a set of neon green ones to drown out the noise. For a while, we’re quiet and happy. Until it’s time to stop for food.
“Look alive!” Mom yells as she throws sandwich after sandwich towards each kid’s open arms. It could be a pre-packaged, Sharpie-labeled, Ziploc bag or a quick stop at D’Angelo’s. Either way, someone always gets the wrong one, or what they didn’t want or worse -- they were forgotten entirely. Arguments loom ahead as chip crumbs fly across the car and everyone stuffs down their sandwich in order to avoid the dog snatching it. All is well once everyone is in a food coma from their meal and Dad can play his music once again. But quickly, before this picture-perfect moment of peaceful children sleeping on one another lasts, it’s time to stop for probably our fourth bathroom break of the trip. (Don’t worry. Mom definitely snapped a few photos of me drooling on my sister.)
Bathroom breaks are supposed to be quick because Dad does not like to be late. But Mom had four kids and I drank an entire 40 ounce water bottle, so here we are. We try to avoid everybody piling out at once, fearing we will have to pack ourselves back into the car like we had done at the beginning of the trip. Unfortunately, when Mom says she has to go, the littlest one has to go, too. “She’s going so I’m going.” “Well, he’s going so I’m going.” Suddenly, the whole family is running to the bathroom and everybody’s dreading piling back in.
Finally, finally, we’re back on the road. The problem is, we’ve already watched two movies and nobody wants to watch anything else. “Can I have the aux cord?” Someone asks from the second row. Dad sighs as he moves everything that’s piled onto the center console, while simultaneously swerving to avoid a passing elderly woman who probably shouldn’t be in the fast lane. He hands it back and someone’s phone gets plugged in.
“Let’s listen to Drake!” My brother screams from the backseat.
“Why not Johnny Cash?” Dad asks, although he knows he has no chance of success in this battle.
More suggestions are thrown out, until I whisper the perfect song into my sister’s ear -- a fan favorite in our car. Suddenly, it’s as if there hadn’t been arguments over ham sandwiches or bathroom breaks involving heads stepped on by both the kids and the dogs. Everyone stops to listen as Dad turns it up. Before we know it, it’s one, big family singalong and Neil Diamond’s, "Sweet Caroline," echoes through the car in a chorus of off-key singing. We’ve never been too good at that.
When I leave in a few weeks, I think one of the things I’ll miss most is our crazy, loud, obnoxious, fun family road trips. There’s just something about "The Bee Movie" and terrible singing that makes me smile.
