Just another road trip

As we loaded up for an impromptu, flying trip to the All-State game in Tulsa with a coughing, hacking husband at the wheel and two little boys strapped in their car seats in the back, I must have checked my sanity at the front door on the way out of town.

Riding in the car is always an adventure, but as of late, they boys have taken to hating road trips. Even if the destination is one of Daddy’s ballgames, the first thing they’ve learned to ask is inevitably, “Is it a long ways?”

We know better than to stretch the truth. We’ll pay for it during the ride. We just tell them where we’re going and how much fun it will be when we get there and maybe throw in a promise of an extra game of catch or a piece of chocolate candy if they agree to go willingly.

We had just taken them to see a RedHawks game in Bricktown last Friday, to which they adamantly approved, so when Dad told them we were going to another big ballpark, reluctantly, they agreed to go the distance.

The trip began without incident as the boys played “I spy” for the better part of 20 miles. Cooper reminisced with his dad about the good ole days (last week) and the million and one games of backyard baseball they’ve played this summer. “Daddy, remember when we were playing baseball and you hit me right in the belly?” he asked. Dad smiled, but had a come backer of his own. “Remember when you were the hitter and you hit the ball right at me?” They both just laughed.

Amazingly, we made it all the way to the second Weatherford exit before Brisco announced, “I’m hungry! Let’s go by and get a hamburger!” I, of course, needed a bathroom break about Burns Flat, but I didn’t dare share that with our man-on-a-mission driver. We were both forced to hang on for a few more miles.

I passed the time thumbing through the 247 satellite radio stations, trying to ignore the rain pounding on the windshield. Brisco began talking to himself. “I need more gum. Gum, gum, gum. Gum, gum, gum. Gum, gum, gum, gum. Hungry. Hungry. Hungry. Hungry. Hungry.”

I decided a distraction was what we both needed. I introduced the boys to the “Copacabana“, the 80’s girl-band Bananarama, and a host of other do or die music greats from the past in an effort to pass the time. It didn’t seem to be working. Before I knew it, we were enduring a musical interlude from our very own back seat. Our two well-mannered boys had created their own version of what I’m sure kids of some generation may someday call music. I called it the “nose flute”. Randy called it the “booger bugle”. Either way you look at it, our kids are no Brooks and Dunn.

We unwillingly played “I smell something” and rolled the windows down on the Interstate going 70 (ish) in the rain, just to suck in one breath of clean, fresh air.

Randy and I poked fun at one another’s musical preferences, as I enjoy a wide range of musical genres from rock and country to alternative and R & B, as well as the classic in all arenas. His preferences are a bit more narrow: hair bands and old country, with a soft spot for Elton John. But I’m working on him.

We bantered back and forth between Salt-N-Pepa and George Jones before I finally gave in and left it on a good ole Merle Haggard tune we could both agree on. I had work to do.

“When are we gettin’ to food?!” came a blast from the back seat. I explained to them how they could tell that we were getting close to a town. “Watch for the green signs.” This kept them busy for at least a mile.

Four hamburgers, two fries, six chicken nuggets, one missed exit and 29 “I need a drink(s)” later, we were on the turnpike and the boys had been convinced that if they’d close their eyes and take a nap, we’d be there when they woke up. Oh, and of course sleeping after a meal always helps to subdue the car sickness in our eldest.

We finally made it to Tulsa. It had been pouring most of the drive, so we just hoped that a rainout wasn’t in our immediate future. As it happened, the weather was mostly dry, the boys were well rested, and the concessions were almost affordable. It was a near-perfect day at the ball park, and we still had a whole two hours to kill before buckling back in for the drive home. Oh well, what’s another road trip?

And that’s All in a day’s work!