|This is the space 5 of us shared for 3 hours|
This weekend we made a trip up to Grand Lake, Colorado for my Dad's wedding. (Which was amazing, and beautiful and made me wish we had brought kennels for the kids - I'll get to that later. First, I need to start with my own personal version of hell.
For me, that's driving over any mountain pass (or bridge or hill really) that has a steep drop and no wall to prevent me from driving off the cliff, rolling my vehicle 5000 times and being burnt alive in the gas fueled wreckage.
Seriously, that's where my head goes when we drive in the mountains. (Here's a funny little side note...I live in Colorado. Land of the fucking mountains. Genius choice of residency right?)
Anyway, not only did we drive over a mountain pass we drove over Trail Ridge road. It is my own personal hell like I said before.
|Notice the shoulder on the road...|
"Whether they begin their journey at Estes Park or Grand Lake, Trail Ridge Road travelers climb some 4,000 feet in a matter of minutes. The changes that occur en route are fascinating to observe. A drive that may begin in montane forests of aspen and ponderosa pine soon enters thick subalpine forests of fir and spruce. At treeline, the last stunted, wind-battered trees yield to the alpine tundra.
Up on that windswept alpine world, conditions resemble those found in the Canadian or Alaskan Arctic. It's normally windy and 20 to 30 degrees colder than Estes Park or Grand Lake. The sun beats down with high- ultraviolet intensity. The vistas, best enjoyed from one of several marked road pullovers, are extravagant, sweeping north to Wyoming, east across the Front Range cities and Great Plains, south and west into the heart of the Rockies."
I drink while we're driving up the mountain. By the time we hit treeline I'm "relaxed" enough to not cry or scream anytime my husband hits the breaks. (I should probably look into a Xanax script for these excursions, but I'm too embarrassed to tell my doctor I'm a huge fucking baby who can't ride in the mountains)
I should also note that my husband has lived in Colorado for his ENTIRE life and has driven these mountains since he was 16 and is an excellent driver. My fear is totally illogical but it's there none the less.
Now that you have an insight into my mood at the onset of our trip let me continue...
In our infinite wisdom we decided to take the truck on this 3 hour journey, not the Escalade that is the size of a bus and has a DVD player. (I don't even have an explanation for that thought process)
Having a two and three year old in a vehicle for more than 15 minutes is bad enough, but having them in a vehicle, within reach of each other, for three hours and less than 6 inches away from the back of your own head is enough to drive Santa Claus out of his damn mind...
The first 15 minutes were ok, then we got snacks....
While that seemed like a good idea, inevitably someone (the boy terrorist) dropped their snacks 28 fucking times. Meaning I had to unbuckle, contort myself over the seat and under the car-seat to retrieve lost snack 28 fucking times. I drew the line at time 29.
Of course there is always one slow eater (Tiny terrorist).
Boy terrorist looks over and is immediately convinced that tiny terrorist must have gotten a larger bag with more snacks. Boy terrorist proceeds to cry and try to steal tiny terrorists bag of snacks causing tiny terrorists to have a full blown melt down. (Have I mentioned this is all happening about 4 inches behind my head?)
We convince tiny terrorist to share (we actually distract her and steal the snacks). Give more to boy terrorist and settle in for our trip.
We have a good 30 minutes of ride time and are just entering the park (Rocky Mountain National Park) when boy terrorists needs to pee. I take boy terrorist out to pee and in true terrorist style he decides to get creative while he pees along side of the road. As he's bouncing and gyrating he's also peeing on his pants and shoes. (Remember, I'm "relaxed" so I find this hysterical - until later when I have to clean the shoes and pants)
Back in the truck and it's calm and quiet for the next hour...I should have known it was too good to be true then and there...
Just as we're getting off the pass (and my sphincter is relaxing) big brings to our attention that tiny terrorist is puking...all over herself....and the car seat. Awesome.
Pull over again. Commence clean-up.
Have you ever tried to clean up vomit with a baby wipe? Pour a can of chicken noodle soup on the floor and try to clean it with a sock...It's about like that.
Thank god we were only 20 minutes or so from the condo.
We made it there and settled in with minimal pain. The kids actually settled in and played with each other and were very cute and Norman Rockwell-ish. In fact, we were reminded why we haven't sold them on the black market like we keep threatening to do.
|I want to keep them when they act like this|
The wedding was Sunday afternoon and semi-painless. The kids were fairly well behaved and only tried to climb into the river a few times. Boy terrorist insisted on making atrocious faces in 90% of the pictures. Everyone seemed to think it was hilarious and I was preparing for the drive down (drinking) so we just let him be.
|This was the face of the day....|
The drive down was about the same minus the vomit, but at least we were prepared for it.
I'm still not sure how we didn't realize that a 3 hour drive in an extended cab truck was a shitty idea, but I'm positive that if my husband ever suggests it again I'm going to poke him in the eye with a stick.
Oh - congrats to my Dad and his beautiful new bride Susan!
Thank you for putting up with the us on your special day!!!