We left Vermont at 9:30 and arrived in Jersey at 4:30. What should be a five hour trip is always a seven hour one with Dash in the car. Petunia could ride along forever, entertaining herself with nothing more than a gaze out of the window and some existential discusssion of what life might be like here if we encountered a Pompeii-type volcano disaster. Dash, on the other hand, doesn't remember life without a DVD player in the car. He wants Wonder Pets! Not that one, the sea lion episode! Wait, do we have the Cars movie? Curious George, please! (Yes, he is, for the most part, at least polite about his schizo requests.) How about some McDonald's to go with that? The thing is, when he's dissatisfied, he shrieks at the top of his lungs -- and it's worse than fingernails on a blackboard. Of course, he decided to commence said shrieking as soon as we hit Cross Bronx traffic and until we hit the GW Bridge when he could see the "big river water" -- the sight of which somehow, blessedly, lulled him to sleep.
My mother claims that I'm the best driver that she knows, making the extent to which I despise driving all the more ironic. I wouldn't trade our house in Vermont for anything, but I wish Floo Powder really existed (Harry Potter reference for those not in the know) so that I could get there in a blink instead of in a seven-hour long, loud (Wonder Pets, shrieking, it's all noise) drive. Somehow the Guv has figured this all out and has managed to set up convenient meetings along the way that excuse him from driving with the family. Next time the Guv does that, I'm going to explain the concept of leeches to Dash and offer him Tonka cars, lollipops and maybe even his first Playboy mag if he attaches himself to Daddy just like a little leech UNTIL WE ALL DRIVE HOME TOGETHER. (Because, of course, Dash is much better behaved for the parent who neither carried him for nine months and bore him into the world nor nursed him for nineteen months after. Because.)
Okay, now that that's off of my chest, I can share the wonderful experience I had upon arriving home. My neighbors, who I'll call the Cleavers (because they are that perfect), were holding a back-to-school happy hour. Petunia and I headed down the block before the car was even unpacked. Ward Cleaver handed me a double-strength mojito, June Cleaver kept stocking the taquitos, and Wally and Beaver kept Petunia out of my hair. A drink later, the shrieking faded away, I stopped singing the Wonder Pets theme song, and the unpacking just didn't matter. Instead, I got to bask in the glow of a handful of friends who looked healthy and happy after what seemed like an interminable summer. I expected readjustment to this sometimes too-small town, not to mention my overstuffed house, to be depressing and annoying, but, instead, I'm going to bed with a smile on my face. Vermont is nice, but there is, indeed, no place like home. So here's to the Cleavers for unknowingly forcing a positive readjustment. Though when I wake up tomorrow, I may hit you up for another mojito, or two, unless somebody Floo Powders these boxes elsewhere overnight!
Recent Comments