Sunday, May 27, 2007

Tales From the Road, Chapter Four


Saturday morning we packed the car, and took care of things regarding Alex’s grandfather’s estate, including packing up sentimental items as well as papers and documents to bring home.

We decide to take the guys back to the mall play area so they can get some energy out of their system before we drag them back on the road. They play happily until a boy in an orange shirt pulls Sam’s hair. Instead of physically retaliating (good boy, Sam!) he comes to talk to Alex. Sam says he wants to tell the boy that he won’t play with him anymore. We say that sounds like a good way to deal with the situation, but he doesn’t get a chance. That chance does come, however, about fifteen minutes later when we’re walking out of the mall and Quinn loses one of his giant Crocs. Orange-shirt is walking with his parents, who I believe to be unaware of the whole hair-pulling incident. The boy’s mother stops us to tell us that Quinn lost his shoe, after which Sam chases them down and announces, “I don’t like you!” A flabbergasted Alex is not given a chance to explain as the family walks off, no doubt amazed by what they must imagine to be our incredibly rude little boy.

Jack, our child prodigy, counts to 100 on the way back to the house. Okay, maybe not a prodigy. He did leave out 80 to 89,

At 5 p.m. we hit the road, one hour later than intended, and with a lot more stuff than we came with. Cassidy’s personal space is severely hampered.

Shortly thereafter I discover on my ankle my first mosquito bite of the season. “That’s the itchiest,” Alex comments.

Both of us at the end of our collective rope by this time, our good-natured bickering culminates in Alex comparing being married to me with being married to a porcupine for the second time in as many days.

At an evening rest stop, I ironically am forced to bum a penny from a strange man at a truck stop after my order comes to $4.01.

At precisely 8:18 p.m. the car hits 30,000 miles. Alex is almost embarrassingly excited about this.

At 10 p.m. Alex takes something close to sixteen years to get coffee and go to the bathroom. Meanwhile, Quinn sobs hysterically the whole time. When he gets back, he leans on the car and starts to do some stretches. I honk. Twice.

All told, I spend about five hours sitting in the passenger seat holding Quinn’s hand in the seat directly behind me. See, on long drives, Quinn cries if someone I don’t hold his hand every second that he is awake.

At 11:45 p.m. we finally get back home. We’re all relieved, but the dog seems happier than anyone.

1 comment:

  1. I totally enjoyed this.

    The images of the boys asking a stranger for coins, sleeping near you and/or holding your hand (so familiar!), and seeing pirates everywhere are just too precious for words.

    This is the good stuff, and the stuff that I hope we always remember.


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