Road Trip

After a long break, I promise you, a long post...

"In the Toddler Justice System the family is represented by two separate, yet equally important groups. The Father who investigates the disobedient behavior and the Mother who gets stuck prosecuting and babysitting the offender. These are their stories." (dun...dun)


Our trip to Flat Rock, North Carolina began when I picked up my husband from the Ford dealership, where he dropped off his 2004 Explorer for the 12th time this year for major repairs. It was onto Savannah from there. We decided to not drive straight through to NC, since it would be hard on our daughter to arrive there at 10pm. Instead we stayed at a hotel off I-95. With the exception of our daughter announcing that she had "FARTED" at the top of her lungs a couple of times during our otherwise quiet dinner at Sam Sneads Grill and Tavern (amongst a bevy of weary and sun-burned golfers there to unwind after a hard day on the course), things were starting out well.....embarrassing....but well.

The next day, we decided to forgo our plans to sightsee Georgia's oldest city, and instead headed on to Columbia, South Carolina, for a trip to Edventure Children's Museum. The museum itself was quite entertaining. It had a two-story replica of a human boy, in which children could climb through and learn about his brain, lungs, stomach, and, yes, the intestines. The enormous "Eddie" would "poop" out these fascinated youngsters via a "slide-colon". Each one preceded by the sound of a noisy bowel. It was interesting to say the least, but well worth the stop. After a nutritous lunch at the underground cafeteria, which offered only a virtual McDonalds or Domino's Pizza, we were on our way to the Blue Ridge Mountains.

It had been about 20 years since I last visited this beautiful part of the US, and as we approached the SC-NC border, there arose the majestic mountains in the distance. Around 4pm, we checked into our lodge, put away our things, and set out to explore the town. Surrounded by blossoming pear trees, crab apples, and wild daffodils, I was stunned at the sheer beauty of the place. Determined to fit in with the rest of the mountain folk and to sample their fresh country fare, we thankfully found ourselves an Applebee's in the nearby town of Hendersonville. The rest of the evening was spent reliving our old camp-days playing ping pong and foosball in the downstairs rec room of the lodge. It was more like "extreme ping pong," since our daughter would not stop throwing more balls (ping pong and foos, not M&Ms) on the table during our game. We tried to distract her with her My Little Ponies, but she was going to have none of that.


The next day, Friday, more guests started to arrive. Hell-bent on doing a little sightseeing and exploring places in which we don't get to visit very much, we eventually found our way to the local SuperWalmart. Unlike the Walmarts I've visited in Florida, Flat Rock's Walmart was pristine! Another clue that rednecks and illegal aliens do not take near enough pride in their "center of the universe" as do mountain hillbillies.


Later that day we found out we were assigned to the room which was supposed to be the hospitality room (as indicated on the welcome note in our wedding goody bag.) With the amount of food and alcohol we arrived with, there was no doubt a few guests (unaware of the room change) assumed our family had hijacked the hospitality room for ourselves.


That night was the non-rehearsal rehearsal dinner. My daughter would not stop talking throughout the beginning of it, so I don't know much of what went on, since I spent the rest of it holed up in my room watching "Happy Feet" until my daughter fell asleep for the evening. Luckily our room was right off the main lodge room, so I was able to let her sleep while I enjoyed a few hours of helping the bride decorate her wedding cake until a quarter after midnight. It's funny what brides stress out about while planning their big day. But we all do it. In fact, I specifically remember losing it when the DJ at my wedding played "YMCA" during the reception. Literally, I was breathing fire out of my mouth and steam was blowing out my ears like that of a boiling tea kettle. I had written in large, capital, sharpie ink pen NOT to play "YMCA" (among a number of other cliche wedding reception songs that make my skin crawl). I knew if I heard even the first three notes of "she's a brick....hooooouse..." my husband would have to break out the defibulator. But in retrospect, everyone seemed to enjoy gayly raising they're arms in the air. It just goes to show that in the end, no one really understands or cares how much time and effort you put in to the festivities, because they're all too drunk to remember the next day anyway. If I was only privy to this vital piece of information earlier, my husband and I could have saved a bit of money and held the whole thing at our local Olive Garden.

Anyway, back to my story: my sister-in-law, the bride, her two best friends, and I spent 2 hours deciding whether there should be 2, 4 or 5 fake birds on her wedding cake. The two at the top, a male and female painted bunting, were a must, but the lone male goldfinch perched at the bottom looked awkward, the large, red, male cardinal seemed to steal the painted buntings' thunder, the wayward hummingbird looked a bit ominous piercing down with it's pointed beak at the avian couple, and the woodpecker was committing a stage taboo by having its back turned to the wedding guest audience while it pretended to peck insects from the wood slab cakestand. In the end, the lone goldfinch was flanked by the profile of the woodpecker on the opposite side of the cake, with a blue jay centerstage. (Okay, I am just now rereading this and it sounds like something a mental patient would utter while playing a game of go-fish by himself in a white-padded-wall asylum.) This debate was then followed by the question of whether there should or shouldn't be tree leaves scattered on the cake table. The ultimate decision by my husband (after 6 Crown and Diet Cokes, mind you) to randomly scatter the green leaves on the white tablecloth was taken as if it had come from wedding-designer-to-the-stars, Preston Bailey. Just another example as to how wedding day stress can blind you to reality...you make an expert out of a drunkard.

According to the forcast Tuesday evening (while I was packing) the high was to be around 70 degrees, with a low of 58. For the late morning wedding I had picked out a red and white, polyester-spandex blend wrap-dress, with 3/4 length sleeves (just long enough in case there is a slight chill, I thought) and strappy, red heels. I'll pack a my mustard-colored spring coat just in case. Saturday. The big day. Wedding day. We awoke to the sound of rain on our window panes. A little rain, it'll be over in a few hours. We turned on the Weather Channel. An unexpected cold front had moved through overnight. Rain and fog likely all day. High 47. Did I mention that the wedding ceremony was to be held outside? How about 3200 ft in the air in a chapel built on a steep ridge atop Cedar Mountain, South Carolina? Scratch that....High 35. Pea-soup fog. Oh yeah, and misty rain. There goes my hour-long hair blow-out.


Yes, the ceremony was about an hour from the Lodge. The wedding guests formed a caravan as we mindlessly followed the groom's father through the winding backcountry roads. As we continued the climb the mountain, the occupants of our vehicle...mainly me...began to experience shallow breathing. Apparently, I don' t do well at high elevations. Up, up, up we went. Deep, deep, deeper my inhalation. Not knowing how much further we had to travel, and desparately seeking out the nearest fire station in case I was to be in need of medical assistance, we approached a yellow, diamond-shaped street sign, with a squiggly line and an arrow pointing upward. About that same time, the pea-soup fog decended on Cedar Mountain. So here we were, my husband and daughter, and my brother and sister-in-law, meandering cluelessly up the side of a mountain in 5ft visibility along the winding road, with steep rocks to our left and a steep cliff to our right. Did I mention I suffer from slight anxiety disorder? I clenched the dashboard with both hands as I began to feel heavy-headed, my hands and stomach numb, and my breathing a bit more shallow. Shivering in my light coat, under a fleece Gators blanket, I mistakenly looked off to the right at the white abyss below. I shrieked "Dear God! Please let us be there soon!!" My brother-in-law continued to mumble-on about werewolves appearing out of the misty forest (again, this is conjuring up the insane mental patient image), as my sister-in-law tried to catch her breath from laughing so hard, my daughter naively playing with her My Little Ponies, and my husband trying to comfort me by telling me I needed to go back on my meds and asking if I had packed my prescription for Xanax.


At last we arrived at our destination. I beautiful spot I could imagine, on a clear day, with a high of 70. The wedding guests were wrapped and huddled in the hotel blankets they had pulled from their beds. The whole wedding was quite lovely. (Well, I wouldn't know entirely since I spent most of it in my 4-Runner because my child would not stop crying "where's Daddy!" even though he was sitting right beside us). The white backdrop behind the cross on the altar, along with the fridged temperature and the misty rain, made us feel like the wedding had been transported into the clouds. Which, I guess, technically, it was. It was truly a unique experience, and not one that could be easily recreated. So I hope the bride and groom were not disappointed.


With the exception of being lost for a brief moment, the ride back was not as eventful. The reception at the Lodge was beautiful and intimate. The tablescapes were rustic, simple, but lovely. And my daughter finally went down for a three hour nap, so I was able to feel more like a wedding guest and less like my husband's hired nanny. She eventually woke up (in a much better mood, thank God!) and danced the night away with the other little children. Actually she spent most of the evening chasing with open arms the much-in-demand, lone, three-year-old little boy.

The next morning we enjoyed our country fixin's breakfast with the bride and groom and were on our way. Determined to use my $50 Cracker Barrel gift card at some point on our trip, I came up with every excuse in the book as to why we had to stop in Orangeburg , SC (only a couple of hours after breaksfast). Unfortunately, my husband was onto my little scheme, and we had to wait until we found another restaurant hours later. My daughter was worn-out, cranky, and hungry. And my husband was worn-out, cranky, and giving me the silent treatment. He did eventually start talking again somewhere around Brunswick, GA, however, my daughter repeatedly whined, kicked the back of my chair and pulled my hair as I tried to take a nap. It wasn't until we reached downtown Jacksonville, that she finally fell asleep. Perfect timing! A half an hour later, we were home, my daughter was again, tired and cranky, and...to my own horror...we had no wine left in our house.

Somehow, the family-bonding and adventure I had imagined would happen on this little road trip of ours dissipated like the pea-soup fog. This summer, I had hoped we could drive up to Massachusetts together, stopping a few times along the way. Then again, there is always time for traveling when my daughter gets older.