My friends had invited us to go camping with them.  They had their grandkids for the weekend of this really excellent tractor show (a phrase I never thought I would utter, I assure you) and were hoping we would tag along so they would have some built in playmates.

Since life likes to really screw with me, my husband would not be able to go with us.  Despite my misgivings and raging anxiety, I said “sure!”  Because really, it is a great tractor show and we have only missed it a few times in the past eight years.  When you oldest child’s third word was “twactah!” well, what can you do?

I am going to suffer from carpal tunnel for weeks.  I was gripping the steering wheel so hard that “white knuckling” doesn’t even begin to cover it.  I discovered that towing wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.  At least until we hit this big ole hill.  I swear I could hear the Mommymobile chugging “I think I can, I think I can” as I drove the people behind me nuts by refusing to put the pedal to the metal, which might have earned me a speed over 30 mph.  Since my friends, with their diesel dually DID put the pedal to the metal and only hit 45, I am glad I went with my gut fear over things like transmissions and car repairs forcing us into bankruptcy.

I know some kids travel very well.  Tater, the eldest, is a great traveler.  He looks out the window, chatters non-stop, and apparently has the bladder meant for a truck driver.  Linus and JD?  Nope.  They will freak out upon realizing they are so tired that riding might make them (gasp!) actually nap.  Then there was the glorious five mile stretch where Linus kept shrieking he had to pee NOW!  The baby was crying.  And there was no cell phone service or chance for me to communicate to the leader of the pack that if we did not pull over soon, my van was going to be used as a toilet.

I finally had the bars light up on the phone and said “we need to pull over RIGHT NOW!”  I had barely stopped the engine when Linus leapt out and began to pee in the ditch.

My friend, with his snazzy camper that has a toilet and a real roof, comes over and says “they can use the bathroom inside the…… or not.”  Linus was obviously going for a distance record in the Urinating Olympics.  My friend’s civilized grandson opted to not pee in front of God and everyone.

I really could not have asked for better people to camp with.  Though I have tried to block it out of my memory, the last time we went camping Linus announced he had to poop on our way back.  My darling husband, knowing we were only 35 minutes from home, did not pull over at the rest stop.

It was not my finest moment as a mother when I tried to coax Linus to take a dump by the side of the road in broad daylight, but it beat the hell out of listening to him cry for another 25 minutes.  Sadly, the tall grass and speeding tractor trailers must have scared that turtle head right back up, because Linus realized he could indeed hold it until we got home.

JD seems to think that his car seat is a torture device, and responds accordingly.  He woke up from his nap and began to shriek as if Dick Cheney was about to waterboard his diaper clad butt.

I have never used my cell phone so much in my life.  “I’ve got a screamer.  Can we pull over?”  With a fresh nappie and a bottle of milk, JD was about as good as he was going to get.  I must commend Linus, who started foisting his toys upon the baby, who had quickly grown bored with playing with his feet.  He is a very attentive big brother!

I knew I was getting  punchy when I started laughing like a lunatic at this one sign.  Along a certain stretch, these white signs remind you “do not pass when oncoming traffic is present” every few miles.  Someone had spray painted “no shit” beneath this sage advice.  I chortled like the crazy woman I had become, and it grew silent in the back seat.  Sibling telepathy: Mommy is getting a little scary, and I think we better lay low so she forgets we are back here!

Yes, there is nothing like the open road, the wind in your hair, a baby crying inconsolably and a preschooler sobbing that he has to pee, while another does a running commentary of the scenery without ever stopping to breathe.

Good times.  Good times.