Menu: I Might Just Turn This Car Around
There’s a notable grey-and-teal car seat resting in a dumpster at a gas station along I-95 North in North Carolina. I know this because I tossed it there myself, while my kids sat curbside enjoying gas station popsicles and my partner wrestled with the aftermath of a minor disaster in the back of our Chevy Suburban, armed only with baby wipes (which is akin to trying to slice steak with a plastic knife). Disposing of a car seat is no small matter for me, but this one truly was beyond saving.
Just an hour from home, we were still basking in the glow of a sun-soaked week at the beach. Then, the eruption from the back seat began. It started with a burp, as they often do, prompting my partner to signal for the exit ramp immediately.
As luck would have it, the gas station we pulled into was adorned with a field of daisies, rural America at its finest. After a hasty cleanup attempt, I whisked the kids off to play in the flower-filled haven—amazing how quickly my son could cartwheel now that he wasn’t feeling queasy—while my partner dashed off to Walmart to procure a new car seat for the final stretch of our journey. Adaptability, it turns out, is key. I’ve got my road trip survival kit, but the most crucial element is the ability to deviate from the plan: to stop, regroup, and grab a gas station popsicle when the moment calls for it. After all, this isn’t an airplane. You can get out. And you absolutely should.
Occasionally, road trips with four little ones go off without a hitch. Everyone naps, and we don’t run out of snacks. Other times, we find ourselves in a remote field, waving at passing truck drivers. In those instances, I’ve learned it’s best to signal for truckers to honk their horns, cheer when they oblige, and remember that one day, the small people surrounding me will grow into adults, sitting around a table reminiscing about these chaotic journeys.
That said, it’s important to aim for a smooth trip. Before we hit the road, I clean the car and car seats, ensure everyone has their comfort items and water bottles, and pack an absurd amount of snacks that can be opened independently. I also put pull-ups on anyone who needs them at night. I meticulously check our route and scout for parks along the way, as there’s almost always a playground just off an exit at the right moment. My goal is to depart at a time that maximizes our chances for a peaceful ride, ideally after a morning of outdoor play.
I plan all these details, but I never lose sight of the fact that kids, cars, and traffic can be wildly unpredictable.
When I’m the only adult in the vehicle, the backseat may resemble the Wild West. I can’t referee squabbles while keeping my hands firmly at ten and two, so I let the elbows fly back there and encourage them to negotiate movie choices, share snacks, and help the toddler learn how to roll down his window. These team-building exercises can get loud, but unless there’s a genuine emergency, I refuse to pull over. Oh, you’re bored? Look, there’s a truck carrying pigs—let’s stay in the lane next to it and enjoy the view for the next fifteen minutes. Get creative back there, form alliances—just know that mom isn’t turning around.
That said, I have reached my limits. Once, on a four-hour trip solo with the kids, the baby dozed off just as we hit a traffic jam. My older sunglasses kept slipping down my nose, my shorts were sticking to the seat, and the driver ahead of me seemed to brake for no reason, testing my patience. When the baby woke up crying, I may have shed a tear myself. Noticing my distress, my oldest son 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 and practiced calming breaths from my birthing classes. There was no turning back now.
As we passed what had caused the traffic, I discovered it wasn’t road work but a wreck. I edged past, noticing the toddlers’ wide eyes at the fire truck and ambulance, relieved that our troubles were merely metaphorical. We were safe, buckled in a reliable car with a full tank of gas. We would make it. Would the floor be a mosaic of Cheez-Its and fruit snacks? Would everyone be grumpy and sore upon arrival? Would I question the sanity of traveling with small children? Yes, yes, and yes.
Later, during a bathroom break, a kind woman at the gas station checkout glanced my way and said, “Remember, the journey is half the fun.” I observed her smile at my children as they explored the keychains and returned sodas to the fridge after I shook my head, and I realized she wasn’t just referring to this trip; she meant the entire adventure of parenting. She was absolutely right: the journey is indeed half the fun.
Jamie Carter resides in Raleigh, North Carolina, where she juggles writing and motherhood. Her work has appeared in various publications, including Architectural Digest and Food 52. Outside of family life, her passions include beach trips, cheering on Roger Federer, and enjoying a good story.
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Summary:
Family road trips can be both chaotic and memorable. While planning is essential for a smooth journey, flexibility is key when dealing with the unpredictable nature of traveling with children. Embracing the journey, with all its ups and downs, often leads to the most cherished memories.