We were too optimistic.
Right on cue, just as the airline tickets were booked, I spiked a fever. 10 years ago it would have been the kids — all three of them — that spiked a fever before a trip.
“Well, at least I have a week-plus to kick this before we head to the airport,” I thought.
Wrong. Whatever this seasonal mystery illness was clung to my immune system like stink on a skunk.
An arsenal of antibiotics and steroids later, we were headed out west.
Somehow, the rest of the family avoided the illness I was plagued with, but not to be outdone, our middle child was hit with a different — the worst — kind of plague just days into our trip.
He was down for three days. No Grand Canyon adventure for him. But he didn’t miss much, after all, “It’s just a big hole in the ground.”
His words. Although I remember saying the same to my parents at this age.
Surely, the National Lampoon’s Vacation antics were over, right? Enter the rental car.
I said the kids could pack for themselves, not that they packed lightly.
The compact SUV became a clown car of suitcases stacked like a Jenga game and kids who did not want to share a middle row because, “Ew! He’s been sick.”
“Just two more days, hang in there guys,” we said while driving even further west to see the sights and visit family.
The sights included Las Vegas. And if you think your kids have “seen it all” just know that social media does not provide an accurate representation of Sin City. Questions will be asked.
Despite the occurrences that made this vacation a “trip,” the positive still outweighed the negative: We made it home safely. Everyone was healthy upon return. We experienced sights, sounds, shows, culture and nature at its finest.
But there will never be a place like home sweet home, no matter how old the kids are.
Motherhood, Part II, is a recurring column in the News-Sun.
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