Parenting on the road

You know the saying about wanting to be the person your dog thinks you are? I want to be the person an old lady in the Mojave Denny's thinks I am.

We took our next-to-last trip from Ridgecrest to Los Angeles this weekend, and once again I remembered that THOSE TRIPS ARE HARD. We got off to a pretty good start. There was a little fair in the park on Saturday and the kids had heard about it at preschool and wanted to go, so we let them go for an hour.

Of course, we had to drag them from the bounce house kicking and screaming, but that's par for the course. As we dragged Baby A past the shaved ice vendor, he decided he wanted that too, and screamed all the way to the car about how he wouldn't spill it, etc. I didn't yell at him, though. If I start yelling when we're still in Ridgecrest, we might as well cancel the trip.

An hour later we drove into the Mojave Denny's parking lot, and there we had our first real disaster. Rocket Boy had to get his fanny pack out of the back of my Subaru, and then he accidentally closed the rear "lift gate" on Baby A's head (who of course had his head stuck in the back to see what Dad was doing). My last-minute gasp caused RB to close it with less force than usual, otherwise we probably would have had to go to Urgent Care, but still it was awful. Baby A cried and cried.

No blood though, so, after a lot of kissing and comforting, we went into Denny's. I'm always on my best behavior in restaurants, probably because of all the attention we receive in them. Really, it might be better for all of us if we just lived at Denny's.

I took the kids to the restroom, and I was so good with them, helping them use the toilet and encouraging them to wash their hands and all that. As we were finishing up, an older woman came out of one of the stalls and said to me, "You are such a good mother! So sweet with those children, not nasty and sarcastic like so many mothers these days."

"Oh no," I said, thinking of the myriad ways in which I am not a good mother. "I can be nasty and sarcastic too."

"No, I know that's not true, because you didn't know you were being observed," the woman said, shaking a finger at me. "You're a wonderful mother. I just know it."

It seemed like too much trouble to explain about the transformation that takes place when I walk across the Denny's threshold, so I thanked her and took the twins back to our table. But later when we were paying, there she was again, telling the hostess what a good mother I am. "I'm really not," I said again. "But thank you." It was embarrassing, but at the same time cheering. I kept thinking how nice it would be if I really were a wonderful mother.

The trip continued. We had a low-stress visit with Cousin June, her daughter and son-in-law, and their two dogs. The twins did not break anything, though Baby B did fall down and scrape his knee and stub his big toe, requiring bandaids, and the more excitable dog chased Baby A around the backyard. No photos of the relatives, but this is Peanut, the calmer of the dogs. Everybody loves Peanut.

We stayed, as always, at the bowling alley hotel in Canoga Park, which has a pool and hot tub and PBS Kids on TV, all of which we made use of. Here we are watching Sesame Street.

I went to bed early, when the kids did, which was fortunate since I woke up at 5:18 am on Sunday with a leg cramp. Several hours later we went out for breakfast with our friends who also live in that area. Our friends, who I like very much, are childless, and therefore think that no one today, including us, is a very good parent, though we perhaps could be if we followed some of their suggestions. (I don't mean to be too snarky. I was exactly like them before I had my own children.)

So, as the kids misbehaved in the restaurant, and later ran wild on the lawn out in front, I had to listen to comments such as, "You need to discipline them more effectively," and "They'd be fine if you'd just set boundaries and enforce them."

Where was the Mojave Denny's lady when I needed her? I'm sure there are things that Rocket Boy and I do wrong with the twins. Lots and lots of things. Probably we need more effective discipline and more boundaries and more enforcement. And more liquor. No, seriously. But I'd like to leave the twins with our friends for a week, and see what happens. See who's alive at the end of the week, for instance.

OK, so then we began the long drive home. A stop at a store. The hour's drive to Palmdale. A stop at Trader Joe's and the coffee shop. And then there's still 90 miles to go until we get to Ridgecrest. Baby A managed to nap on the way to Palmdale, but Baby B didn't, and I think he really needed to. Anyway, he started kicking Baby A, who started screaming, and on and on, and eventually, after lots of threats, while still driving, I reached behind me into the back seat and pulled off Baby B's shoe (from the foot he was using to kick Baby A).

Of course, that action caused Baby B to lose it completely, and he screamed AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS until Rocket Boy finally gave the shoe back to him. At which point Baby B took the shoe and threw it at us (it landed on the floor of the front seat).

Right around then I was pulling into a gas station in Rosemond, so I parked the car, unfastened my seatbelt, reached over to get the shoe, and threw it back at Baby B. Yes, that's right, the Wonderful Mother threw a small Spiderman shoe at her beloved second son.

It hit him in the head, causing a nosebleed. And I thought, if the Mojave Denny's woman could only see me now.

Rocket Boy decided to sit in the back seat between the twins on the rest of the way home, which first caused Baby B to scream even more loudly, but eventually calmed everyone down. And now we're home, and no one is mad at anyone anymore, and life goes on. Somehow. But oh, I'm so glad we're moving back to Boulder. If we can just survive the drive!