As is usually the case, the world was a brighter place in the morning. By the time everyone was dressed and ready to go, it was 10 a.m.: prime puking time for big brother. For some reason the car sickness doesn’t bother him late in the day, but drive in the morning and you better have your bucket nearby.
On this morning, however, it seemed we’d caught a break. But Honky-Tonky Mama’s fear of driving six more days in a car that smelled of a half-eaten banana and curdled milk was enough for me to offer him “the bucket” every few miles. Leave it to Brisco, of course, to take someone else’s torture and create a family joke that will no doubt last well into the lives of his own children. During an odd moment of silence on scenic 412, surrounded by the beautiful trees and valleys near the Arkansas state line, Brisco broke the silence with a loud shout: “Buck-et!” followed then by the loudest, most authentic fake, burp and barfing noise I’d ever heard. Needless to say, when things would become tense over the next few days, all one of us had to do to garner a big smile was shout, “Buck-et!” It worked every time.
After a quick stop for gas, and goodies, we crossed over into Arkansas with a loud cheer from the boys. I was perfectly certain they knew not for what they were cheering, especially when Brisco asked, “Is Arkansas in our world?” “Yeah, kind of,” I replied.
By the time we made it to the south side of Branson where our “cabinet” (tr: “cabin”) was located, the rain had found us again. It didn’t hang around long, however, and after a couple unplanned detours and (finally) a stop at the State Park Marina for a local map, we were directed to a popular spot off the dam of Table Rock Lake to swim.
It was called Moonshine Beach, and despite the name, it was nearly perfect. I’m pretty sure the hundred or so other folks there, still on holiday from July 4th, would also agree. No worries, though. A cool dip and the anticipation of catching a lake full of fish kept our spirits high and our stress level low, and before we knew it, we’d passed the afternoon and worked up quite an Ozark appetite.
As we left the beach, Randy asked the man at the gate for directions to a local grocery store so we could stock our kitchen for the upcoming two days. Evidently this man was not the grocery shopper in the family because he directed us to what he declared was the “only grocery store in the area”: Wal-Mart Super Center.
Now anyone who knows my husband, or like most men in general I suppose, the thought of going to a Wal-Mart is maddening. Especially when he is on vacation. But what choice did we have? We’d already proved that simply “driving around till we see something” wasn’t really working for us. So to Wal-Mart we went.
A couple hours and a drive across town and back later, as we turned the last mile to our cabin, we stopped at a quick stop for ice and gas. To our extreme aggravation, Randy and I spotted a local Country Mart not 30 feet away. Such is the luck of those who choose to travel the “old fashioned’ way. No WiFi. No GPS. Just a map and a man behind the wheel…and a woman giving incredibly thorough directions.
When we finally made it to the cabin, the boys were excited to check out the hot tub, which ended up being a cool tub, at least the first night. They were even more stoked to see the pool table in the middle of the living room, and they both immediately picked up a pool cue to practice their game. Eighteen seconds and one cracked stick later, we decided the boys, and the equipment, would be better served learning to roll the cue ball rather than shoot it.
After unpacking the car and preparing supper, we were all happy to be sitting around the table, talking about our day and getting excited about what tomorrow might bring. Smiles on little boys’ faces, the juice of a medium-well ribeye glistening on Daddy’s fingertips, and George Jones playing in the background. What more could a mother ask for?
And that’s All in a day’s work!
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