|
|
|
Our minivan pulled out of the gravel driveway, headlights cutting through early morning darkness.
My wife and our two little people were going to the grandparent’s house in Texas for four days. The kids, strapped into car seats like fighter pilots, waved as the van cruised past the front of the house and out of sight. My wife was equipped with the cell phone, credit card, cash for tolls and just enough optimism to actually make the trip.
And me? I was staying home alone for four days. Four nap takin’, sports watchin’, gas passin’ days. Sweet.
They had about a 10-hour drive ahead of them. I couldn’t stand the pressure, so I went back to bed.
Fort Scott, Kan., 9 a.m.: “My tummy hurts,” our 2-year-old girl said just in time for my wife not to be able to stop her from throwing up all over her shirt.
Home, 9 a.m.: I rolled over.
McDonald’s, Miami, Okla., 11:45 a.m.: “Two Happy Meals, a hamburger and large coffee,” the teenage cashier repeated to my wife. “That’ll be $11.90.” Our Boy stood quietly next to my wife while our Girl shook the cardboard Happy Meal toy display like it had taken her money.
My wife looked in her wallet – she’d left the credit card in the car. She paid for lunch the only way she could, with her toll change.
Home, 11:45 a.m.: I got out of bed. Hmm. Steak would be nice for lunch, uh, breakfast, um, whatever.
Tollbooth, McAlester, Okla., 2 p.m.: “We don’t take credit cards,” the booth operator told my wife, and handed her a slip of paper. “Present this at the next tollbooth and pay there.”
“Do they take credit cards?” my wife asked.
“No,” he said. “But there’s an ATM inside the McDonald’s.”
Home, 2 p.m.: Halftime. Hmm. Time for a beer.
Tollbooth, Hugo, Okla., 3:30 p.m.: “We don’t take credit cards,” the tollbooth operator said, pointing toward a nearby service station. “But there’s an ATM inside McDonald’s.”
Grrr.
Home, 3:30 p.m.: Second game of the day. Hmm, I thought as I cracked open another beer. Some summer sausage would be nice.
Grandma and Grandpa’s house, Paris, Texas, 4:30 p.m.: The kids ran into the house, my wife trudging after them.
Home, 4:32 p.m.: The telephone rang and I turned toward it. The crowd roared. Oh great, I missed a touchdown, I thought, setting the beer down and reaching for the phone. This better be good.
Our minivan pulled out of the gravel driveway, headlights cutting through early morning darkness.
My wife and our two little people were going to the grandparent’s house in Texas for four days. The kids, strapped into car seats like fighter pilots, waved as the van cruised past the front of the house and out of sight. My wife was equipped with the cell phone, credit card, cash for tolls and just enough optimism to actually make the trip.
And me? I was staying home alone for four days. Four nap takin’, sports watchin’, gas passin’ days. Sweet.
They had about a 10-hour drive ahead of them. I couldn’t stand the pressure, so I went back to bed.
Fort Scott, Kan., 9 a.m.: “My tummy hurts,” our 2-year-old girl said just in time for my wife not to be able to stop her from throwing up all over her shirt.
Home, 9 a.m.: I rolled over.
McDonald’s, Miami, Okla., 11:45 a.m.: “Two Happy Meals, a hamburger and large coffee,” the teenage cashier repeated to my wife. “That’ll be $11.90.” Our Boy stood quietly next to my wife while our Girl shook the cardboard Happy Meal toy display like it had taken her money.
My wife looked in her wallet – she’d left the credit card in the car. She paid for lunch the only way she could, with her toll change.
Home, 11:45 a.m.: I got out of bed. Hmm. Steak would be nice for lunch, uh, breakfast, um, whatever.
Tollbooth, McAlester, Okla., 2 p.m.: “We don’t take credit cards,” the booth operator told my wife, and handed her a slip of paper. “Present this at the next tollbooth and pay there.”
“Do they take credit cards?” my wife asked.
“No,” he said. “But there’s an ATM inside the McDonald’s.”
Home, 2 p.m.: Halftime. Hmm. Time for a beer.
Tollbooth, Hugo, Okla., 3:30 p.m.: “We don’t take credit cards,” the tollbooth operator said, pointing toward a nearby service station. “But there’s an ATM inside McDonald’s.”
Grrr.
Home, 3:30 p.m.: Second game of the day. Hmm, I thought as I cracked open another beer. Some summer sausage would be nice.
Grandma and Grandpa’s house, Paris, Texas, 4:30 p.m.: The kids ran into the house, my wife trudging after them.
Home, 4:32 p.m.: The telephone rang and I turned toward it. The crowd roared. Oh great, I missed a touchdown, I thought, setting the beer down and reaching for the phone. This better be good.
“Hi, honey,” my wife said. “We’re here.”
Five minutes later I’d heard everything that happened; the vomit, the money, the tollbooths, buying a Coke at the drive-through window with the credit card just to get cash back so she wouldn’t have to unstrap the kids. Once you get them out of their car seats, they never go back in the same way – it’s a lot like folding a road map.
I missed a blocked punt.
“How was your day?” she asked, exhausted, sounding like she’d just sat through a Congressional hearing.
“Rough, honey,” I said, pulling another beer out of the fridge. “My day was pretty rough.”
You can order Offutt’s books on the paranormal, “Darkness Walks: The Shadow People Among Us,” and “Haunted Missouri: A Ghostly Guide to Missouri’s Most Spirited Spots,” at amazon.com.
