Menu: I’ll Turn This Car Around
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There’s a once-beloved grey-and-teal car seat resting in a dumpster at a gas station along I-95 North, somewhere in North Carolina. I know this because I tossed it in there myself, while my kids enjoyed popsicles on the curb, and my partner tried to clean up the aftermath of a little one’s sickness in the back row of our SUV using baby wipes (which is akin to trying to slice steak with a plastic knife). The disposal of a car seat is not a decision I make lightly, so trust me when I say this one was beyond saving. We were merely an hour from home, a bit sunburned and blissfully content after a week at the beach. Then, like clockwork, the chaos erupted from the backseat. It began with a burp, as they often do, prompting my partner to flip on the blinker and veer toward the exit.
I felt a stroke of luck when I noticed the gas station was surrounded by a picturesque field of daisies, showcasing rural America at its best. After our best efforts to tidy up the car, I took the kids to frolic in the field—amazing how nimble my son appeared now that his stomach was empty—while my partner dashed off to the nearest Walmart to purchase a new car seat for the remainder of our journey. It turns out adaptability is key. I’ve learned that while I have a toolkit of road trip essentials, the only one that truly matters is the ability to deviate from the plan: to stop, regroup, and grab some gas station popsicles when the moment calls for it. This isn’t like an airplane. You have the freedom to exit. And you should embrace it.
Sometimes road trips with four young kids go off without a hitch. Occasionally, everyone dozes off, and we don’t run low on snacks. Other times, we find ourselves in a secluded field, waving at truck drivers. In those moments, I’ve discovered it’s best to signal the truckers to honk their horns, to throw my hands up and cheer when they oblige, and to remember that one day, all these little ones will grow into adults, sitting around a dinner table, rolling their eyes as I recount these stories.
That’s not to say I don’t aim for a smooth trip. In preparation for a road trip, I clean the vehicle and the car seats. I ensure everyone has their comfort items and water bottles at the ready. I pack a ridiculous quantity of snacks that can be accessed independently. Those who wear pull-ups at night are outfitted accordingly. I check the route and scout for parks along the way—there’s almost always a playground within a mile of an exit when I know a break is essential. I try to leave at the ideal time for a restful journey, usually after a morning spent outdoors.
I meticulously plan all of this, but I never forget that kids, vehicles, and traffic patterns can be unpredictable.
When I find myself as the sole adult in the car, the backseat can turn into a battleground. I can’t referee while my hands are firmly on the wheel and my attention is glued to the highway. Let the elbows fly back there; let them negotiate the movie selection, split the Nutter Butters, and guide the toddler through the process of rolling up his window since no one else can reach the button. These team-building exercises can be noisy, but barring emergencies or serious injuries, I’m not stopping. Oh, you’re bored? Look over there! It’s a tractor-trailer loaded with pigs—I’ll cruise alongside, and you can marvel at those porkers for the next fifteen minutes. Get creative, forge alliances, do whatever you need to back there—because for the safety of everyone, this mom is not turning around.
However, I do have my limits. Once, during a four-hour trip, I was alone with the kids, and the baby fell asleep just as road construction brought us to a halt. My older sunglasses kept slipping down my nose, I regretted wearing short athletic shorts (my legs were glued to the seat), and the driver ahead of me was braking for no apparent reason. My nerves were frayed. When the baby woke up screaming, I might have shed a tear. My oldest son, noticing my distress, chimed in, “You’re doing great, mom,” which only made me cry harder. “Plus,” he added, “we’re almost there!” We weren’t even halfway.
I envisioned our destination. I practiced deep breathing techniques I learned in birthing classes. There was no turning back now.
As we passed the blockage causing the traffic, I realized it was not construction but an accident. I carefully maneuvered past, the toddlers wide-eyed at the sight of the fire truck and ambulance, relieved that our troubles were only metaphorical. We were secure and buckled in a reliable vehicle with a full tank of gas. We would make it. Would my floorboards be a colorful mix of Cheez-Its and fruit snacks upon arrival? Would everyone be cranky and sore when we finally pulled in? Would I question, no less than seventeen times on that highway, if traveling with small children is worth it? Yes, yes, and yes.
On that same trip, during a restroom break, a kind lady at the gas station checkout smiled at me and said, “Don’t forget, the journey is half the fun.” I observed her smiling at my children as they fiddled with the keychain display and returned Sprites to the fridge, and I realized she wasn’t just referring to this particular trip—I understood she meant the entire adventure, and I knew she was right: the journey itself is often where the fun lies.
Avery Johnson resides in Raleigh, North Carolina, where she writes and raises her children. Her work has been featured in various publications, including Architectural Digest and Food52. Aside from family, her passions include the beaches of South Carolina, a flawless Roger Federer backhand, a picturesque lawn in Charlottesville, and, above all, a captivating story.
Summary
Family road trips can be filled with unexpected challenges and delightful moments. From dealing with messy situations to finding joy in the journey, each trip presents an opportunity to adapt and enjoy the experience, reminding parents that the chaos often leads to treasured memories.