After taking a 300 mile (each way) roadtrip this past week, I thought I’d share a few observations on traveling alone with anklebiters in the backseat.

Pro: You have six whole hours to listen to your choice of music

Con: As it turns out, after the first hour or so, it’s actually more fun to argue with your husband about who has better taste in music than it is to just listen to what is good music…

Pro: You get to go shopping every single day that you’re on vacation

Con: You have to take the kids shopping every single day that you’re on vacation

Pro:  Assuming you can get past your own raging guilt, you can eat as much as you like without worrying what your husband thinks

Con: He’s probably going to figure it out when you show up five pounds heavier (Amazingly, I somehow lost a pound while I was there.  I don’t know how.)

Pro: When you realize that your sisters doorways don’t accomodate the pullup bar you drug halfway through Texas with you, he’s not there to dream up some other form of torture as a substitute

Con: Actually, there isn’t one for this topic.

Pro: You get to drive a snazzy new car that he rented for your comfort

Con: You have to figure out a way to keep the anklebiters from destroying it in a weeks time

Pro:  When some maniac in the worlds most gigantic truck decides to pass you on the left shoulder of a divided two lane country road he’s not there to go all Chuck Norris on him

Con: He’s not there to go all Chuck Norris on him

Con: You have to call and tell him that Thing One spilled a soda on the front seat of the snazzy rental car.  It doesn’t matter that you’ve spent the last week dedicated to keeping any form of food or drink from entering the car or that Thing One was expressly forbidden to touch aforementioned soda.  You’re still going to be the bad guy because you have to make the call.

Con: When you develop something akin to the bubonic plague you still have to deal with the littles.

Con:  When you’re in Jack In The Box and your fully potty-trained two-year-old suddenly announces she needs to use the restroom with a panicked look on her face, accompanied by a good-size waterfall off the barstool she’s sitting on, you have to clean up the lake, try to deal with the soaked kid, and hush the four-year-old announcing what happened to everybody in the restaurant all by yourself.  Yeah, remind me never to stop in Huntsville again.

 

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