First off, I’d like to thank everyone for not robbing
me. Because it’s not very smart to post
online about being out of town while
you’re out of town. But I figured the
small group of people who read this are good people. And I put my lights on a timer, just in case.
 |
| Bruce |
1,670 miles. And I
will never do that again. At least not
with both the kid and the pets. Someone's staying put
next time, a dog, a dad, perhaps a kid. Because it was just a little too much. Our visit was great, as always my in-laws
were more than accommodating and we had a great time. I’m very fortunate to have such great people
in my life. But getting there and
getting home was not all that great.
Even splitting our trip into two days did little to put me at ease. For example…
This morning, after a full day of driving in Pennsylvania
bottlenecked construction hell, and then tossing into a turbulent night’s sleep with a very
off schedule and out of routine baby, I stepped out to start packing the car. In
my grogginess, Mason, our husky, (see here, here, and here), squeezed his pinhead right past
me out into the hallway. When I turned to grab him, Bruce—once thought to be
our good dog—bulled his way out and the stampede was underway. I had to give them credit—the plan they’d
sprung was perfectly executed. When the
door slammed shut I was left with two dogs making a getaway, no leash and no
key. The last thing I remember thinking
as I watched Mason take the corner towards the lobby where guests were sitting
down to breakfast was, I’ll have to blog
about this.
It ended up being way less drama than I anticipated. I mean, sure some old people dropped their
wheat bran toast and gawped, but luckily I was able to round them up without
further incident. All this before 7am. |
| Mason |
Outside, the rain was heavy, which was good because it
washed my car clean of the sludge from up north. But it wasn’t good weather for putting your
entire little family at risk. With white
knuckles and tight necks, we slogged our way down I81, weaving in and out of
truckers. By the time we stopped at Sheets
in Virginia, the weather had cleared but the damage was done. My shoulders drooped, my hair was matted, I
was toppled over from the constant worrying that yes, this is it, that truck was
coming over into our lane and taking us out. And because Simon hadn’t
had his nails trimmed all week and had clawed my face earlier that morning, I had cuts and nicks on my
forehead giving me that just- binged-on-meth glow.
And the car was in worse shape. The seats reeked of wet dogs and dirty diapers.
There was the drool from Mason’s
neurotic meltdowns. I had to laugh
though, as my wife got up to use the bathroom and her pants were covered in dog
hair. I’m really surprised people didn’t
offer us money.
But now we’re back.
And there’s nothing like pulling into your driveway after a long
trip. I have to get back into that car tomorrow and drive to work, a sickening thought. I
know that truck driving is not in my future.
There are few things worse than sitting for hours at a time. But my family is home and safe and now there’s
nothing to worry about….except….what’s that smell?
No comments:
Post a Comment