Day One – Our First Car Fight

After waking up early, downloading celebrity voices for our Tom-Tom, scanning some car games for the kids, and printing the universal-customizable online packing list; I actually started packing on Monday morning. With a dark rain storm moving in, my wife and I started our divergent strategies of dealing with the problems this road trip would throw at us.

“Of all days for it to rain, how are we going to pack the car in this down pour?” Krista sighed one of her many deep sighs of the trip.

Meanwhile, I turned the situation more optimistically, “Good, let’s get our rain day out of the way – we’ll be in the car all day long,” I think to myself.

“Humph,” Krista thinks to herself, “You’re just showing off for the blog readers.”

Well let me start off by saying that this will be the James Frey of vacation dairies (You know James Frey, he’s the author who wrote a Million Little Pieces, and was ceremoniously ripped a new one by Oprah when it was discovered he fictionalized most of the accounts in his autobiography.) Yes, I, like James Frey, will twist this account to benefit me in the long run.

I also feel obliged to come out on top, because, as you will see from my ongoing accounts, I get no respect in this family for rulings, creeds, and commandments, that I, like Moses, pass down to my family as wisdom that will only benefit them in the long run.

We purchased a new mini-van back in February, as I anticipated taking this long road trip with the family. And unlike our old minivan, I swore that the red tinted carpets from juice boxes, the half-baked ju-ju bee ground into crack of the back seat, and the crumbs of a thousand goldfish crackers would not find a home in my vehicle. “THERE IS NO EATING IN THE NEW MINIVAN,” I decreed.

Now with any new law, there are those that do not argue the larger context of the ruling, but the fine points there in. “Well, we can drink of course,” Krista positions her opening argument.

“Okay, but only clear liquids.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she counters. “We need our diet coke.”

Krista: 1; Jon: 0

“And,” she continues, “We can have gum.”

“What ?!?, No.”

“Yes”

Krista: 2; Jon 0

So, after 6 months of this all gum and liquid diet, the family convened in the front room for a family meeting. Special counsel was hired by the plaintiff, as Kendra joined in the case.

“You can’t have a road trip without, eating in the car, it’s simply un-American,” the prosecutor charged.

Krista: 3; Jon: 0

So, off to Trader Joes to find BoBo, and to clear off a couple store shelves of candy, nuts, and juices boxes.

“Please no grape juice, saltines, cookies, or pretzels,” I plea as one last cling to the hope that I will not have to take a leaf blower to the inside of the car at the end of this trip.

Krista: 3; Jon: ½

And after 15 minutes of driving, in which Austin Powers’ voice speaks from the Tom-Tom, “Turn Right, then Turn Right. Groooooovy Driving, Baaaabee;” I dive headlong the new found freedom, “Hand me a cherry juice box and a sandwich.”

Two hours later we are still in Chicago, stuck in traffic.

And then an hour later . . . our first car fight. As we head into Gary, Indiana, I-65 is closed. I the trustful Tom-Tom customer, stay on course. “Turn right, then turn right, then turn right, then turn right . . . Grooovy Baby.” Okay, I must admit we are now lost.

We are now off the highway in the middle of downtown Gary, Indiana. For those of you unfamiliar with the area, please see the original National Lampoon’s: Vacation. Or, as my wife would suggest, that scene from the movie Crash where Ludicrous, shall we say, “intimidates” the lily-white Sandra Bullock.

My interpretation of our current situation is this: we are just in a section of country hit hard by the recent economy. We are visitors to a third-world country. It is the middle of the day, and these aren’t people who are going to hurt us, rather, I think we should stop at the local eatery and pump some trickle down money into this economy. Heck let’s mix it up with the locals. And that dog over there, he’s just a way of the kids of this town to have a close friendship in a broken family.

My wife’s interpretation (which I don’t know how she has time to interpret anything as she has spent more time hiding money in the glove compartment, and unlocking and relocking the car doors) . . . my wife’s interpretation is “intimidation” followed by death. “Just turn around, and get back on the highway. You are ruining my birthday.”

“Daddy,” cries Nolan from the way back seat, “Daddy, don’t ruin Mom’s birthday.”

Krista: 4; Jon: 0

After switching drivers, and crawling into the back seat, we are back on the highway, damn Austin Powers.

That night, Austin redeemed himself by getting us a to Cheesecake Factory, and into a hotel with a pool which was next to a Waffle House (or WH, to those of you familiar Southern eatery that dots every square inch of trip, like a Starbucks in every mall).