Even as I sat in front of the computer planning our adventure, I had my doubts. “Six hours in the car with those boys?” “How many times will we have to stop to go pee?” “How many barf buckets will we need?” Long road trips with little kids in tow may not be what most would consider the ideal summer getaway, but it’s what families do. And this year, we dove head first into our first real “family vacation experience” with a week-long trip through Missouri and Arkansas.
I tried to prepare for the drive--keeping the boys entertained and dad and I sane--by creating a CD full of songs we could all enjoy. No “Old MacDonald”; no “Herman the Worm”. Some kind of compromise. Songs Randy and I remembered growing up listening to in the car with our parents. A little John Denver, the Beach Boys, the Beatles. Lots of Merle Haggard, John Anderson, and some CCR tossed in here and there. And of course a few fun, funky beats for the little guy. It proved to be a great compilation for a mile or two. After that, all they wanted to hear was the “Yankee Mambo”. Go figure.
As we headed east, the boys began as they always do by counting pump jacks. Depending on the location, this can really keep them busy for a while. But on this particular day, it seemed they were too excited to focus, and were chiming in with ole Merle before we were out of Washita County, calling me “Honky-Tonky Mama” thru giggles and hysterical, little boy screams.
It was raining by the time we reached Weatherford, and it seemed there was nothing left to do but the obvious. “Are we there yet?” (You had to know it was coming.) “Not even close,” I promised. “But we’ll take a break when we get to the city and try to find you some fishing poles.” And so began the first stop of many on what should have been a semi-simple passage straight through to Branson.
After swimming into Bass Pro and loading up a couple new fishing poles, we grabbed a bite to eat and headed back out into the rain toward T-Town. Not before we sat through single-lane traffic and drove miles in the relentless downpour, however, and by the time we neared Tulsa, Dad decided maybe we needed to make another stop.
As luck would have it, the Drillers were playing at home with fireworks following the game, and we somehow managed to drive straight to the ball field with little driver-navigator conflict or confusion. We gladly made our way inside the stadium and enjoyed three or four innings before the rain we’d driven through earlier caught up with us and drove us back into our vehicle, and out on the road again (cue the twangy Willie Nelson impersonation).
We had no real idea of where we might be heading, as our reservations in Branson were for the following night, but dad assured us he’d find a hotel and we’d be back at it in the morning. As we drove further east, the boys could see fireworks in the distance. Reds, greens, and whites popping and flashing all around them as we drove in the dark to a less than fancy little motel in the booming metropolis of Chouteau. For only $79.99 we got a double bed, a pull out couch (minus sheets and pillows), and a room with a broken air conditioner. If you’re ever that way and need a place for the night, I strongly recommend you keep driving. After a trip to the front desk, Randy returned with linens, a bucket of ice and a 32 inch floor fan that I suppose was to do the trick.
After a cool shower and the sight of my Mr. Fixit hubby lying on the floor trying to repair the broken wall unit, I decided there was nothing left to do but give a little laugh, crawl in bed, and dream about what adventures lay in store for day two of what had all of a sudden become our first redneck family getaway.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
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