We took off on Saturday, leaving at a leisurely pace. Experience has taught us that getting out of the house is never as timely as we wish it to be, so a shorter drive is necessary. We stopped at a campsite (and I use that term loosely) two hours south of Des Moines called Lakeside Casino Resort RV Park. Resort was an extremely generous description. It was basically a parking lot with sewer, water, and electricity hookups. But it was flat with concrete pads so leveling was a breeze, and all the sites were pull-through, which meant there was no need to unhook our Jeep toad. For a quick stopover, convenience is key. There were no trees, nor a field to run in for these little travel warriors. Just concrete and blue hairs traversing to and from the garishly lit casino.
We took off early on Sunday. As soon as we hopped on the freeway, the demands began.
Mom! I can’t get the DVD player to work. Mom! I can’t open this drawer. Mom! Where are my colored pencils? Mom! I have to go potty! Mom! I want a snack! Mom! Can I have a treat? Babydoll! How many miles are we on this road? Mom! I’m bored! Babydoll! Where’s the nearest gas station? Mom! I need water. Mom! When are we going to be there? Mom! He’s crowding me! Mom! He won’t stop making that noise! Babydoll! Do you mind making lunch?
Finally my patience wore out. Everyone’s voices blended into chaos. I screamed at one of the top of my lungs, my vocal chords scraping together, “WAIT ONE GODDAMN MINUTE!!!!!!” I regretted it as soon as I said it, but stood by it, slumped into my chair, and glared out the window, arms crossed, my chin set.
We drove in silence for another 10 minutes when we stopped at a rest area. John and the kids ran off to play catch on the lawn. John returned and said, “In a couple years when you yell like that, the kids aren’t going to want to travel with us anymore.” I grumbled. “What can we do to ease your burden?”
When we stopped for dinner, I served them homemade chili with a crusty baguette. Porter was the first to address the morning: “Mom, we know we ask a lot of you. When you start feeling overwhelmed, look at this picture and know we really appreciate it. And we’ll try better to not bombard you and be more patient.”
My eyes filled with tears, and I choked out how sorry I was that I lost my temper. They all smiled, the boys kissed my head, Siena squeezed my hand.
***
I thought it would be a 7-hour drive. Newbie mistake. Driving through Iowa is a pretty straight shot. Despite the always blowing strong winds, you can easily go 70 mph on 35-S. Even onto Kansas City, it’s a pretty easy drive. But once you hit the mountains of Missouri, well, things get a little more complicated, with twists and turns, narrow roads, and steep climbs. Day turned to dusk while we admired the pink and vermillion sky as the sun set. Then the moon peeked at us from the horizon, bigger than life, the bright fiery orange gently faded to honey as it rose higher into the heavens.
The last 30 miles was white-knuckled driving around hairpin steep mountain curves, and narrow lanes with no shoulders. John’s deep resigned sighs matched my quick nervous gasps. It was slow going. Those last 30 miles equated to two long hours. Ten miles from our destination, John had to pull over to shake off some frustration and tension.
At last we arrived at our home for the week: Golden Pond RV Park. It was pitch dark save for the full crystal white moon. John went outside to install the hookups, while I set to work with grounding the jacks and opening the slides. Just as I was about to extend the big front slide, Rhodes dropped a jar of marbles. A jar of marbles. Didn’t I learn my lesson with Battleship when most of the itty-bitty pieces ended up in seat cushions and under foot on our first RV excursion? Little glass orbs fell like tiny bowling balls, rolling under every possible surface, fitting into the tiny cracks where the slide rollers and seals lay. I stood agape.
John came in chuckling at the noise, which sounded like thunder from outside. He saw the look on my face and realized, well shit. Ginger had just spent several months at the manufacturer in Alabama getting a work-over from our last trip, which included a faulty bedroom slide. If the big slide didn’t function because of the marbles, we only had ourselves to blame. John’s face flushed red with anger. If the slide didn’t open that would mean the end of our trip, not to mention the expense we’d incur. I urged him to take a walk. The kids and I will figure it out, I promised.
We found a slim curtain rod to flush out the marbles. Siena and Porter climbed into tight spaces, fitting their skinny hands into impossible crevices. We gathered every last marble, plus an acorn and a screw. We all held our breath as we let out the slide.
It worked.
John returned joyous when I noticed Rhodes had had an accident in his pants. A big stinky one. Just as I finished cleaning him up, the cat jumped on the dash and hacked up a nasty hairball. My stomach lurched. This time John told me to take a break. I went to fetch the kids’ pajamas. John soon followed… and we burst out laughing.
We may be new to RVing, but we aren’t new to traveling. We know well enough that when it rains, it pours, but when the sun shines, it’s always bright. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t sage the hell out of the RV.