It’s Spring Break, or as I called it last year, Spring Break-down. So far, after four consecutive full days with my kids, I’m still remarkably composed. I haven’t been overly tempted to lock them in the closet, at least not for a long period; I’ve also locked myself in my walk-in closet only once during this same time.
This extended moment of sanity is likely because — for the past two days — I’ve been hanging out at my sister-in-law’s house, which I interchangeably call “Ode to Full Pantry” and “Ode to Toys.” I can do things like sleep-in and read the paper. I can shower without a six-year-old yanking the door open to engage me in conversation.
When you have kids, your standards for a holiday drop immensely.
The three-hour drive in our Loser Cruiser was semi-painless. A trip to the library meant we had four new DVDs to show the kids on the hang-from-the-rafters DVD player I’d once sworn I’d never use. Another delusional pre-parenting idea out the window.
By the time we were halfway to Edmonton, William and Vivian had watched all the DVDs. Now, I had only ninety minutes to entertain them. They wanted to play eye-spy, but I’ve shied away from this game ever since race became a factor last year.
So, we opted to play “I’m Going on a Picnic.” If you don’t know this game, one person thinks of a pattern in her head (e.g. things that start with G), and then says, “I’m going on a picnic and I’m bringing gingerbread.” The next person will repeat the phrase and add an item that he hopes is part of the pattern. If he says, “I’m going on a picnic and I’m bringing gingerbread and chocolate chips,” he can’t go. But if he adds “girlfriends,” he can go on the picnic. You get the idea. (If you don’t, just nod your head. It’s not worth the work to reread my poor instructions).
We started the game. I went first and said, “I’m going on a picnic and I’m bringing a lime.” After two rounds, they figured out the pattern is green things.
William went next. It was painfully obvious that his pattern was “signs of Spring.” Still, my husband threw in the obligatory red herring, and said, “I’m going on a picnic and I’m bringing grass (my guess), flowers (Vivian’s guess) and jet fuel.” It’s no secret where William gets his Non-Sequitur-ishness.
Next up was Vivian, who asserted her loyalty by selecting “things in my cousin’s house.” Earlier that morning, William had interrupted my shower and announced, “Vivian’s running away.” When I asked him where to, he replied, “our cousin’s.”
Finally, it was my husband’s turn. There was a pregnant pause. He was watching the highway, but I could tell he was thinking. It was the grin.
I looked at him and said:
I know what he’s capable of, so I went on a pre-emptive strike. His pattern, however, was tame this time. It was “Things in His Office” (which included a remote control mammoth, a can of crocodile meat, and a stuffed piranha).
Before Vivian could start another round, I said, “Who wants to watch another DVD?”
“We’ve watched them all,” William said.
“Who wants to watch a DVD for the second time?” I suggested.
“Can’t we play ‘Go on a Picnic’ again?” Vivian asked.
I exhaled loudly, my silent version of God help me.
This time, my husband rescued me. “Why don’t you play ‘I’m Going on a Picnic’ by yourself, Viv?”
Silence.
Then laughter.
And then a few more God help me’s to finish the road trip.
“a remote control mammoth, a can of crocodile meat, and a stuffed piranha” I’m guessing hubby works in a “non-traditional” office?!!!
We had cousins like that too when I was a kid…we used to love going to their house because they had every cool toy advertised on TV, and chocolate ice cream was a breakfast food!
Here’s a piece I wrote last summer about our day trip to the Hopewell Rocks near Moncton:
http://writerwoman61.wordpress.com/2010/07/24/day-trippin-and-hope-well-she-got-muddy/
Wendy
Yes, DH is a bit of an eclectic hoarder. If we ever share a glass of wine, Wendy, I can tell you about the love mosque as well as the anti-monkey-butt powder. Suffice it to say: I work in our library.
I love the chocolate ice cream for breakfast story. William had Honeycomb and thought he died and went to Heaven. “Is it healthy, Mom?” he asked. “Nope,” I said, “but you’re on holidays, so don’t worry about it.”
So my kids used to be desperate to watch movies in the car. When they were really young, we wedged one of those combination TV/VCR deals between the driver’s and passenger’s seat.
(A. My kids are older than yours B. I knew this was unsafe but didn’t give a rat’s ass C. When Blockbuster Video stopped carrying VIDEOS, I cried. hard.)
Then we bought a portable DVD player with mini screens you could hook to the head rests in front of the kids. Genius. Except the player was ultra-sensitive and someone (read: me) had to hold it gently or the movie would skip and/or stop completely.
Finally, after over a decade of this nonsense, we got a car with a BUILT IN DVD PLAYER (cue: sounds of angels singing.)
But my kids no longer want to watch movies in the car.
On the way home from Mammoth last week, we got stuck on the freeway an extra two hours when all four lanes were shut down for an accident.
My daughter: Let’s play TwentyQuestions/LicensePlateGame/MyFatherOwnsAGroceryStore.
Me inside my head: Shoot me. Twice.
Next time, I’ll have her call Vivian from my cell phone.
Please call. Twitter for kids. No doubt some psycho mom (or industrious one) is marketing that.
Today, on road trip part 2, I tried to convince the kids to watch their movies twice. They didn’t want to. What kind of mom tries to convince her kids to have more screen time? You and me, Julie.
How many girlfriends am I allowed to bring to the picnic again?
I have plenty of memories of trips. I’ve written about some of them here:
http://educlaytion.com/2010/11/05/visits-with-dead-people-family-memories/
Blogging is therapy.
Happy trails.
You’re allowed to bring as many girlfriends, grandmothers, and gay friends as you wish.
Okay the ‘I’m going on a picnic’ game is a great idea for what to do while me and my colleagues are waiting for yet another meeting to start! I know, you’re hard earned tax dollars at working providing me with a Public Servant paycheque eh?! lol
One of our best road trip stories was actually a Edmonton to Calgary trip when our eldest, Bug, was about 6 years old. So I guess the same age as your little angels. 🙂 The girls had finally fallen unconscious after a few rounds of travel bingo, 2 short DVDs and a game of ‘whose ruck sack is it in? (Mom or Dads’)’ Ya I know weird, but when both your parents are soldiers you’re kind of screwed because everything you do revolves around army kit. From camping trips to travel games.
Anyway, as I said the girls had fallen asleep and since they were good, sound sleepers we put on OUR music and just enjoyed the relative quiet and calm. When the song Turn Me Loose by Loverboy came on all of the sudden from the back we hear Bug belting out her own version: “Give me Juice, Give me Juice I gotta have it my way or I’m gonna crrrryyyyy!!” Ya that last part didn’t entirely fit but hey, it was her version after all. 🙂
“What’s in my ruck sack?” Love it. Such a different, but real, context. Loverboy: I can see the cover of the ALBUM. Give Me Juice works well. Make mine “Mommy Juice.”
What, no punch buggy? Of course, that can get violent (and painful) pretty quickly.
And pretty boring. Not many VWs on our highway ride. (But if it were Punch-a-Tractor-Trailer, we’d all be bruised).
“I exhaled loudly, my silent version of God help me.” Nice.
We play this game: thinking of an animal. Each person thinks of animal and gives clues to what it might be (I know, it’s nothing like what the name would suggest).
Here’s the Hellcat’s turn:
“I’m thinking of an animal and it’s a zebra.”
“Uh, is it a zebra?”
“Yeah.”
That game doesn’t last very long.
I love Hellcat: direct and to the point. Just put her in a car with Vivian.
My parents drove from Alabama to Canada with four children ages 3-13. Insanity! They borrowed a huuuuuuge van and since there were no such thing as child restraints back then, it was basically a party bus. I remember lying under a seat with a Barbie at some point.
We also drove down to Orlando for a week at Disney World. Eight hours I think – we played Punch-the-UPS-truck because they had just gone on strike and my brother hits hard.
Your parents are insane: (a) for going to Canada, (b) for going with kids. I rode in the backs of trucks as a kid too. Farm life.
I’ll have to remember Punch-the-UPS truck. Or maybe not.
Funny post! And I love that you play games like that with your kids. The remote-control woolly mammoth sounds cool. Thanks for the laugh!
Well, the kids aren’t allowed to play with the remote-control woolly mammoth. I wish I were joking.
Thanks for the comment!
Ooh, gotta get me a remote control mammoth!
I’m surprised you don’t have one in your collection! 😉
What about a little vodka in their sippy cups? They’ll sleep like babies.
Maybe I’m the one who needs some vodka in my sippy cup.