Scenes From The Station Wagon

This was the weekend of our annual visit to The In-Laws. We do, in fact, see them more than once a year, but us going there is so much more of a hassle than them coming here.

The drive from Massachusetts to New York with kids? Not so much fun. Inevitably, we sit in traffic in Hartford, Connecticut where there is always ongoing road construction on the same stretch of highway. And then more bumper to bumper fun a few miles later in Waterbury, where it is always rush hour. Really? Rush hour in Waterbury?

Plus, I have to pack endless amounts of snacks and games and other distractions, and all of those bags somehow find their way under my feet.



(notice there is nothing under the Four Year Old's feet other than his itty bitty shoes)



The In-Law visit was uneventful. The kids got to see their grandparents. The Husband got to argue politics with his father (which is puzzling because they are on the same side). And I got to drink a lot of wine.

We made an outing to the Bronx Zoo where we saw an inactive polar bear



and a few amphibians.


(oh, look, there I am in the background pretending to be interested in whatever reptile was behind that glass cage)

And then the deluge came and we were forced to walk a quarter of a mile back to the car without the foresight to bring, like, an umbrella. Or a hat. Or sensible shoes.


This morning we packed up our 52 bags, left our Tri-State area roots behind, and headed back to the Boston 'burbs.

All was well and good in the Boy Town station wagon as we drove north out of Westchester County. The First Grader was zoned out in front of GameBoy and the Four Year Old was busy picking his nose.

And then we heard It. Clump Clump Clump Clump. Not exactly the sound of a flat tire, but close.

We pulled over (pulling over onto the shoulder of a major highway? kind of scary), looked under the front of the car and found a large sheet of plastic half dragging on the road and half still attached to the car. According to the manual, it was some Guard Shield Thing that keeps rocks and shit from hitting the engine.

My first thought was to call everyone we knew to let them know were stranded on the side of the road, but The Husband knows how to actually fix stuff, so he went to work reattaching the Guard Shield Thing.

Except we didn't have any extra screws or bolts lying around the car so we had to forage for some other twisty-clip-screw-like-tools to do the job.

Which turned out to be a ponytail holder (taken from my own head!)



and a binder clip.



I'm pretty sure The Husband has earned his resourcefulness badge with his car-fixing brilliance.



Aaaand we were on our way again.


Whenever The Husband is driving



I like to be in charge of monitoring the speedometer (this is a great way to build a strong marriage).

So I noticed our speed.



Then I noticed the speed limit.



And then I pointed out the disparity to The Husband,



who, after 10 years of marriage, is a really effective communicator.


After a few more snacks





a few tunes

(actually, I was outvoted - we listened to three U2 songs on repeat for the entire trip)

and a few games of hide and seek (not much of a challenge in the car)





we finally made it home.