lolling about with laggin

I’ve decided to take you on a vacation. Our vacation. A retrospect. And I know Carolyn Online absolutely cannot wait for us to reach Indiana. That’s a week away. She’s just going to have to be patient and sit her anxious butt down in the back of the minijoyvan and wait her turn for that particular brand of fun.

Today is Thursday. Today we are driving from Kansas to Wisconsin Dells, Wisconsin. Why? Because “the Dells” are chock full of water parks. The first part of the trip is for Eldest and Younger. So com’on, it’s 8:00 a.m. and we’ve got a full day of driving . . . eight hours to be precise . . . daylight’s wastin’.

I seriously do not know what is taking us so long getting out of this house.
It’s 8:45. Sigh. But we are off.

Did.
Are we there yet?
You.
Are we there yet?
Know.
Are we there yet?
That.
Are we there yet?
Wisconsin.
Are we there yet?
Is.
Are we there yet?
A.
Are we there yet?
Long.
Are we there yet?
Fucking.
Are we there yet?
Way.
Are we there yet?
From. Are we there yet?
Kansas?
Are we there yet?

This drive is taking forfrigginever. And I’m sorry you’re all cramped in the back there with the chickadees. I suppose you’re smashed in between stuffed animals (how old are these girls?), their pillows (cuz’ hotels won’t have any) and 400 pairs of Old Navy flip-flops. Oh. And the trash. (Is it just me or does kids’ trash in the back of the minijoyvan multiply like rabbits? There’s a nice visual. Dr. Pepper bottles and fruit snacks wrappers bumping uglies and making babies. Yummy.)

Tonks . . . no picking on the boys now.

Jasper . . . YOU, sir, will make no mortal enemies on this trip or we will leave you in the hotel room and you will NOT get to spend time in the water park.

Rowan, you and Siskbert will keep your hands on your own side of that line. I. do. not. want. to. say. it. again. Got it?

A little aside about my friend, Mr. Darcy. For Mother’s Day (and Father’s Day and a little bit of early anniversary), I got a Garmin GPS. I detest getting lost and frequently do, plus we were planning this summer driving vacation (great gas price timing, eh?), so it seemed like a great idea. I have pre-programmed in all the places we are visiting. Car-man and I have decided to “trust” Darcy to get us where we are going and have not mapped out our route. This is our sad little form of living on the edge. We are just throwing caution to the Darcy-wind. (This is TOTALLY different than throwing caution to the wind in your vagina. Totally.)

Holy cow. As we arrive in Des Moines, Darcy turns us east. Car-man, who is much less capable of wind-throwing than I am, announces he “assumed” (a/k/a fully researched and planned, as he pulls out his Google map print-outs–the cheater) that we would continue north on I-35 toward Minneapolis and catch I-90 east to the general vicinity of Wisconsin Dells. Blah, blah, blah. But noooo, Darcy, the ne'er do well (oh wait, literary Darcy was quite the planner and schemer, but whatever, we forgot to hire Austen as our vacation planner), wants us to go east NOW, with no foreseeable freeway connection. If you look carefully, you can see Car-man fighting his inner organizational demon . . . let’s give him a moment. Hmm. It’s taking too long. Here . . . ~~~glare~~~ (in case those of you in the way back can’t see very well, that was my you-soooo-disappoint-me glare). It worked. He’s following Darcy’s directions.

And it’s a very pretty route Darcy has chosen for us. See the well-tended Iowa farms? Oooooh. The pretty Wisconsin farms are even better.

Darcy: “In point 3 miles turns left on highway 12.” Ok.

Darcy: “In 300 feet turn right on Willow Road.” Err.

“In point four miles stay left on Willow Road.” Stay left on the road? What does that mean? Oh. Fork in the road. Don’t distrust the Darcy.

“In point 3 miles turn left on highway 12.” Weren’t we just on highway 12? Oooh. Looks at that view. This look-out point shows us the view for miles! It’s lovely.

“Drive 3.2 miles on highway 12.” Ooookay?

“In point 2 miles turn left on Freedom Way.” Lookit the dairy farm!

“In point 3 miles turn left on Freedom way.” Wha? Why turn onto the road we’re already on?

Car-man: “Darcy, dude. Could you give me a clue about where we are going? I mean this is pretty and all, but are we going to get there today?”

Darcy: “Doubter. In point 3 miles, turn through the corn field, count 72 rows and turn southwest for 400 feet.”

Car-man: “Please, Shaman Darcy? Just a clue where you are taking us?”

Darcy: “I will tell you only what you need to know until such time as you two are smart enough to figure out what buttons to push forcing me to tell you of my entire plan. In the meantime, you need to know no more than the next 300 feet of my plan. In point 2 miles, turn left on Waukokraci Drive.”

Com’on kiddos. Let’s go check in. It’s about 6:30. It’s a decent hotel . . . for a water park. Dinner–a buffet–is pretty good . . . for a water park. The pool is damn good . . . for a hotel. The rooms are pretty quiet . . . for a water park (which means that you should be able to sleep in at least five hour increments).

After dinner, we scope out the inside-part of the water park: MANY slides, including a tornado slide (!), one of those surfing machine areas, a lazy river, a wave pool, etc. We have a good time. The chickadees hit almost everything in the park . . . they are intimidated by the idea of surfing . . . but do everything else. I join them in most of it. The tornado looks really, really fun. But remembering my recent bowling-thumb injury and seeing that every time my kids are spit out of that thing they land on their head, or their neck or gracefully do a belly-flop, discretion takes over and I decide not to spend the rest of the trip injured and sore. I’ll avoid this one ride. End. of. discussion.

Quit your pouting, Miss Picket. You can go right ahead and go without me. But don’t bellyache at ME when you hurt tomorrow morning. Where is everyone else? The bar. Of course. I’ll go join you all and Car-Man for a beverage before we kiss Thursday goodnight.

A pretty good trip, so far.