Bad Mom: More Lessons From the Road

One of the earliest lessons I deduced about traveling with small children is that no matter how desperate you are to quiet the noise of discontent from the backseat, it is never a good idea to feed the fifteen-month-old non-stop Fig Newtons. You will pay for it later.

My learning curve accelerated after that point in time, so when my gal pal, Lindi, and I decided to take our kids on a 4,000 mile round-trip van adventure from rural Ohio to Yellowstone National Park, I felt ready.

Let me be very clear. Nothing can prepare you for the intricacies of travel with two women, five children under thirteen, a three-room tent and a Veggie Tales music CD.

Our first 300 miles took my good nature and eight hours of my life that I can never get back. I’d especially had it with my 5-year-old, Caleb. I did my best not to interact with him the rest of the evening.

The kids made quick work of dinner at the home of friends in western Indiana, then disappeared downstairs to play and watch TV. We adults chatted until I became aware of the wind whipping a chime into a frenzied tune on the back porch. I stifled a yawn.

“You must be exhausted,” our hostess said. “The children will sleep in the basement, if that’s all right.”

It sounded perfect. Perfectly far enough away from the upstairs guestroom.

Thunder crashed close by, making me jump.

“I’d better go check on the kids,” I said to Lindi. “You can have the bathroom first.”

Dinner had renewed the children’s energy.

“Everybody in your sleeping bags,” I said. “TV off.”

“Aw.”

“Where’s Caleb?” I asked.

“I think he went upstairs,” someone said.

Upstairs? I hadn’t seen him. I turned off the TV, did a quick check behind the couch and in the bathroom before heading back up the stairs, ill at ease. “Caleb?” I whispered as I scanned the now-quiet main level of the house. 

Heavy rain drummed on the roof. The wind had blown the front door ajar. I hurried over to shut it. Hands on its wooden surface, I was about to push it closed when a curious thought occurred to me.

No. He couldn’t be.

I turned the handle of the screen door and poked my head outside. There, in the feeble light of a lone streetlamp, my youngest child lay on a wicker settee.

My heart pounded in relief. I stepped outside, let the screen close behind me. “Honey? Are you all right?”

He lifted his blond head, wonder on his face. “Look,” he whispered.

“What is it?”

One small arm pointed toward the sky.

Lightning bounced across the heavens like a celestial strobe light. I smiled. “Come on, it’s bed time.”

“Can’t we watch?”

“It’s late.”

“Please?” He laid his head down.

“You might get wet.”

“I won’t.”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

“No.”

His voice, low and reverent, gave me goose bumps. I perched on the edge of the settee.

“Lay down with me, Mommy. You can see better like this.”

He moved his legs so I could position myself behind him. We lay there for a long time, spooning each other while the Creator of heaven and earth dazzled us with a summer thunderstorm that shook our chests, tossed our hair, occasionally misted us with warm rain and took our breath away.

And that night I learned that sometimes it’s our children who teach us that love never fails.

Caron Guillo still takes road trips with her children. Follow Caron on Twitter. 

Read more of Caron's Bad Mom columns:

• Mood Swings
• Grow Up, Would You?
• Ten Answers
• No Wonder Kids Drive Us Crazy
• Coping Strategies for Working Moms
• Good Mom
• Five Things I Love About Being a Mother
• Move Over Microsoft
• Bring on the Hard Times, Baby!
• Out of This World
• Twitter This
• So Long, Privacy
• Redefining 'Sexy'
• Meghan McCain Might Be On To Something
• If I Was Nadya Suleman
• 25 Random Things