MY PARENTS LIVE IN RENO, so several times a year we pile in the car, two adults, two kids and a dog, to go over the hills and past the neon lights to grandmother’s house.

Sometimes we have uneventful drives filled with “I spy” and kiddie naps. Those are the best kind. Sometimes my daughter, Annabelle, gets car sick. Those are the worst.

One drive, Colin was just learning to wear underwear instead of diapers. Weren’t we naïve parents. What do you do when a toddler desperately cries, “Toilet! Toilet!” in the middle of the mountains? You leave yellow snow.

Once, on Andy’s favorite drive, we made it there in one go. Of course, Annabelle, then a newborn, screamed for the last 15 minutes of the drive. I suggested we might pull over, but Andy said we were about to set an all-time land-speed record for Benicia-to-Reno driving, so we couldn’t stop, obviously. I was not even aware that we were tracking record driving times, but apparently we do, and extensively.

This last time we had a nice, easy drive — no records, but no major scream attacks or messes. But when we arrived, ready to dive into some of grandma’s cooking, we couldn’t get the trunk of the car open.

I should mention our car is always overpacked. I’m never too concerned about burglars while we’re gone because everything we own is with us in our trunk.

After two hours and calls to our insurance, Hyundai roadside assistance and a local mechanic, the trunk remained locked. And I just knew that Andy and Colin were saving this up for fodder for why we should buy a van, an argument that’s been two-against-one since Colin learned to talk.

Eventually everyone contributed to getting the trunk open. Five-year-old Colin told us we should give up on the trunk and focus on opening the back seats. Andy found instructions online about how to do that. These instructions involved me squishing my hand into a space so small that it might never come back out again. Should I do it? Annabelle, concerned that we were still locked out because no one was really trying, upped the ante by pooping in her pants. The diapers were in the trunk. In went my hand to pull the wire to open the seats. Into the trunk, through the open seat, went Andy to flail in the dark, searching for the diaper bag.

The best part is that my hand did come back out again. Though not all of the skin. But I hate to be picky.

When our trip was over, my dad surveyed our mess of bags, booster seats, toys and books strewn across his living room. “Maybe you should be careful when you pack the car this time,” he said. “Are you sure all of that’s going to go in?”

“Not to worry,” Andy said. “It always goes in.”

Andy and Colin played “Why We Need a Van” all the way home.

Kirstin Odegaard runs the Benicia Tutoring Center. Read and comment on her writings at www.kodegaard.com.

Sharing is caring!