Traveling with younger kids is hard, trust me, I know. Our minivan has plenty of battle scars -- not to mention, unidentifiable stains, which will stay that way, because, seriously, I don't even WANT to know!
I am STILL finding petrified food, circa 2006.
My husband, Garth (not his real name) refers to the minivan as the S.S. Movable Feast, ever since the ant infestation...that ONE time...and who knew ants have a very keen sense for fishy crackers, right?!?
[sound of crickets, chirping]
I have clocked in a lot of miles, driving kids to and from...well...everywhere and spent countless number of hours...sitting in traffic...or fighting my way through parking lots, sometimes ALL in the same day.
I grew accustomed to it, pretty quickly, and often times would steal a brief glimpse of my kids in the rear view mirror, staring at the back of my head or slumped in their car seats, fast asleep.
I also became quite adept at back-handing them their juice boxes (fishy crackers, not so much) while we discussed real meaning of life sort of stuff.
Like, what happens when you hold your nose, fart and sneeze at the same time? Would your brain ooze out of your ears or your eyes bleed boogers?
The answer, by the way, is: not yet.
My kids grew up in our minivan (me too!) and, now that my oldest is driving and with the middle girl applying for her learner's permit this spring (HOLD ME!), I am slowly beginning to get used to the idea of not having to drive...especially, if I really don't want to...sort of.
Today, I feel it safe to say: traveling with grown kids is even harder, because this is what happens when your 14 year-old reaches 6 feet on the measuring wall.
Guess I should start getting used to this view, eh?