Driving Me Mad

This past weekend, I embarked on a rigorous journey. And no, it wasn't the Tough Mudder competition, nor did I attempt to sit through the entire third season of The View. In fact, if given the choice, I would rather watch an uninterrupted 24-hour Joy Behar marathon than go on another out-of-state car ride with my children, who as it turns out, are still fairly dependent on me.

My car in 10 years if we don't have a girl....kidding, my kids would never wear jean shorts

The trip was to Virginia to visit my wife's family. It was the first time we had both kids in the car for longer than 30 minutes. Every mildly stressful quick trip to the A&P had been leading up to this one potentially volatile shit-storm. I wish I could say that I wasn't being literal when I say that.

So we packed the car up with enough shit so that we appeared to be entering the witness protection program, left the house on Friday about two hours later than we expected to (standard issue at this point), and headed out into the land of fog and brake lights that was the NJ Turnpike. We quickly realized we might be facing a longer than expected commute down south, so we mapped out a time-line of prospective events. For the first 90 minutes of the trip, we'd play Toy Story to prevent Antonio from trying to bother us. Don't fucking judge me, okay?

After the movie, Antonio would peacefully drift to sleep, giving us a solid two hours with relative silence, save for the honking horns and hum of the engine. We had his lunch at the ready, we had snacks, we were totally prepared for anything he threw at us (literally). What we forgot was that we had another son in the car that couldn't give a shit about those plans.

About 20 minutes into the trip, both Antonio and Nate started in with a chorus of "Bahbahbahbahbahbah" and uncontrollable weeping, respectively. It was kind of like that scene in Dumb and Dumber where Lloyd Christmas asks, "Wanna hear the most annoying sound in the world?" Only this time, it was the two most annoying sounds in the world. Or at least North America. To add to this, Antonio unhooked his arm straps no less than 30 times, forcing Sonia to perch herself illegally on top of a suitcase between the two boys, feeding Nate a bottle with one hand and restraining Antonio like he was a mental patient with the other. Her ability to multitask is one of the many reasons I married her.

After making three separate stops (one to feed and change Nate, one to pee and one to save ourselves from cranial hemorrhaging after slamming our heads into the dashboard), we got through the torrential downpours to arrive in Virginia within approximately 7 1/2 hours. We exited the car like captive birds, gleefully if not exhaustively fluttering around. The only difference was we weren't afforded the luxury of flying away and shitting at will. In fact, if we did need to shit, odds are we'd have a baby bird squawking outside the bird's nest.

So once we were there, it got better. But much like herpes, it didn't stay better for very long. Antonio is at the age now where he feels that he can be particular about where and when he's going to sleep. Such balls on this kid! He took just over an hour to finally become unconscious. But not before asking for Sonia, then me, then Sonia again, then me again, then desperately trying to turn on the TV while sobbing and grabbing his crotch. It was as if we were thrust into an Abbott and Costello routine gone wrong. Either that or a litmus test for whether or not having offspring would suck away our happiness.

The next day, Antonio slept till 10:30. It was the latest he, and by default we, had slept in over a year. Later that day, we took him to the circus. It was easily the highlight of the trip, mainly because the following happened...

Thankfully, his seat on Aunt Andrea's lap was free of charge

The ride home was a bit less antagonizing than the ride there, aside from Antonio intentionally preventing Nate from staying asleep by talking way louder than he needed to (clearly, he got the jerk gene from his father). Overall, we traveled close to 14 hours in a 72 hour span, with the Molly Pitcher rest area and Cracker Barrel serving as our only solaces along the way. After all is said and done, this is what every parent goes through and surely my situation could be worse. My next trip could be via airplane!

Till next time, be strong and stay sane. And as always, feel completely free to pass this along to others who'd enjoy it!

-Joe DeProspero
jdeprospero@gmail.com
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