Road Trip

Siam (the newly gifted plush beanie baby cat) was no charm when it came to the long car ride. Eventually, we needed to make our big move up the Northern California, after the Camarillo lunch was over and we’d done a little bit more visiting. Ryder had a little nap on the way out of town, but by the time he woke up in the car (not too long after departure) he really wasn’t excited to be on a family road trip, or cooped up in the car seat. He pulled no punches when it came to his complaints from the backseat – mostly voicing his displeasure at having a poop in his pants. Mind you, this child has rarely had a problem with carrying a poo around; he’s not afraid to tote a wee load if it means his playtime remains uninterrupted. I was skeptical and not in favor of pulling over, but understandably, Caitlin couldn’t take it over the long haul. So we pulled over. I inspected Ryder’s diapers. I found a poop literally the size of a broken-off pencil eraser in his pants. We changed the diaper and moved on. Eventually this scene repeated itself two other times for a total of three stops – and the second two times, there was absolutely nothing resembling a poop in Ryder’s pants.*

After the third time, we ensured him that we weren’t pulling over no matter what. He responded in kind with what can only be described as Chinese whining torture. It started as a small, persistent whimper in the backseat, and it went on and on…and on…and on. The volume rose and fell while the whimpering occasionally changed tempo, but it was always there. It sounded a little bit like a sad puppy – but, oddly, it didn’t have the same effect on us as would a sad puppy. Furthermore, Ryder roundly disregarded our stern warnings about what would happen if he woke up Maisy. To make matters worse, Caitlin and I had to look straight ahead with no talking to each other. We were both monitoring how our behavior impacted the whining and we both independently arrived at the conclusion that any sound or interaction between us had the effect of increasing the whining’s volume and frequency. So we were trapped. Finally, late into the evening, Ryder succumbed to sleep. The torture had to have lasted somewhere in the ballpark of 70 or 80 minutes, which felt longer than that.

We finally arrived in San Francisco around 10:30 or so. It’d been a long and arduous road trip, but we’d made it to our friends house in San Francisco. We got the kids down in bed as quickly as we could considering the obscene amount of gear that had to be trekked in and out of each place we stopped. Shelly was at work and Hank was fast asleep. Thankfully Jamie had some cold Tecate in the fridge. I’ve never had better Tecate.

Hank, the next day. Not asleep.

After our late arrival to San Francisco, we got to have breakfast with Jamie, Shelly and Hank. We tried to go to one of our favorite spots – Chloe’s Cafe, but it’s a very small joint and the wait was going to be more than we can bear, even having come from halfway across the country We hit an alternate, but still tasty breakfast spot; it was here that we were lucky enough to learn that one of Hank’s favorite things to eat is “meat” (generalized) and in particular “hot meat.” Apparently, he’s not afraid to ask for this dish by name.

More Hank. More Hugs.

Well done Hank. Well done.

* To be completely honest, there was a hint of a skid in there on round number two.