Road Trip

I'm blowing this popsicle stand.

Getting the heck out of Dodge.

Hitting the road.

The Eldest and I will soon be driving down the road, in a car without booster seats, car seats, men, young children and fishy crackers.

We are heading out for a four hour drive to spend the weekend with one of my oldest friends. We are going to shop til we drop, find the perfect accessories for the Eldest's grad dress and eat 8 pounds of chocolate apiece.

There will be copious amounts of chatting, conversing, reminiscing, and clucking. Lots of tea. Perhaps a dip or two in a hot tub. A chick flick. Something salty. Definitely some Fuzzy Peaches.

Sunday will come in a blink of an eye, but for now, I'm heading to pack my bag, make a list or two for the Husband and get this party started.

And hopefully come back with a blog post or two.

Griswolds on a road trip?

Most definitely.

Ode to My 30's

Today is my last day in the decade known as my '30's.

It feels about the same way as the day before a scheduled root canal. It's a day you've been dreading for weeks, stewing over, trying to think of any excuse you can to skip the appointment, but eventually have to come to the conclusion that you best just get it over with.

Except I've never had a root canal. I prefer to just let my teeth fall out. I've got a little problem going on with the dentist.

But I think that's probably what it would feel like.

The past 10 years have been pretty awesome. A lot of stuff happened. Mostly good, some bad. A fair amount of Griswold luck. We bought our first home and added two more children into our brood. I've worked, I've stayed home, I've learned how to bake pumpkin scones.

I parented for a full 10 years with the occasional vacation paired with food poisoning. I discovered that marriage gets better as you both get older and 'mature' (snort!).

I aged 10 years. I think I'm officially a grown up. At least I think I should be since I'm going to be officially middle aged.

I'm going to miss being 39.

But there's lots to look forward to in my 40's.

The Eldest graduating.

The Baby starting school.

Going back to work.

The Boy graduating.

Vacations.

Menopause.

My boobs falling down to my stretch marks.

Dentures.

Weddings.

Grandchildren.

Oh, god, I just threw up in my mouth.

I'm going to go have a cry, then apply some moisturizer to my crows feet.

And go enjoy my last day of being in my thirties by taking the Princess ice skating and hopefully not breaking my bum hip.

Spring Break

Spring break has officially begun in the Griswold household.

Which means I'm avoiding my children.

Hey. When's MY spring break?

Exactly.

So I've decided to go on a vacation.

I know.

You all are thinking, "Holy crap, Colleen's really cracked. Maybe I should shoot her an email or something."

Yes. Well.

A comment would be nice.

Just saying. It gets lonely in here sometimes.

Anywhoo, my vacation. I'm heading out tomorrow morning. Or maybe tonight, once the last kid's asleep. It'll be easier to slip out the back door without anyone yelling at me to bring them a drink or a lost stuffy while I'm down there. The Husband is going away to teach a course and won't be back for a few days, but I think the kids will be ok. There's cereal in the pantry.

Where am I headed?

A little place called "No Children Allowed". It's a smallish island off the coast of sanity. Only mothers allowed. The entrance fee has already been paid. (If you're a mother, you know exactly what it's cost.) Stretch marks get you upgraded to a sticky free room. Grey roots earn a ketchup free meal. It is imperative that you pack your bathing suit as they need fuel for the bonfire on opening night. There are no migraines allowed, nor PMS, skinny jeans or perky breasts.

I've packed the bare essentials. My writing notebook, my favourite pen and 8 pounds of chocolate. I'm going to park my backside under a palm tree and finish that stinking book. Which, by the way, I'm not talking to at the moment.

It's complicated.

(How a book for an 8 year old is complicated, I have no idea, but there it is.)

The best thing about the resort is there are plenty of palm trees. And Spring Break is 8 months long.

Oh, and there's this cool force field thingy that makes it impossible for any children to access anyone's email, cell phone, Facebook, twitter or blog to ask if they can have a pop. Or to whine that a sibling is looking at them funny, won't get off the computer or keeps repeating everything they say.

Care to join me?

I'll share my chocolate. Because it's not Lent on the No Children Allowed Island.

Don't forget to tell me what you're packing so I can leave enough room in the back of the eggplant. Don't bother to pack a jacket.

Life of a Griswold

I had a profound moment yesterday.

Super profound.

Like, epiphany profound.

I'm serious.

I was driving off the Albion Ferry, feeling all warm and cozy. Because of the heater issue in the minivan, not my state of mind.

I've been thinking a lot about life lately. Life. Writing. Vehicles. Turning 40. Engine lights. Whiny children. Walls closing in. Engine lights. Endless laundry. Sick children. Money. Engine lights. Getting away for our 20th anniversary. What the heck is the big deal over that Bachelor show and why so many people are enraged that he turned out to be a creep. Not working. Engine lights.

Oh. Did I mention that the engine light came back on in the car today?

The car that we just have repaired for the third time? Ya. That engine light came back on. Again. For the 4th time.

It started a whole little ball of thought to start unraveling in my brain. When I got to the end of that long thread of thought, there was a note attached.

And the note said:

"Epiphany. {Angels singing}
You are a Griswold.

Roll with it."

It was pretty awe inspiring.

I continued to drive off the ferry and headed home.

And I had a new thought.

"I wonder if there's an exorcism for getting rid of my kind of luck....."

New vs Old

A few of you might already know this, but I drive a 13 year old purple minivan. Tentative Equinox would beg to differ and says it is more the colour of an eggplant.

Here are eggplants.




















That's the colour of my minivan.

It's purple.

It's now 13 years old. It owes us nothing. We bought it about 3 years ago, when it was a mere 10 years old minivan and had no dents. It's easy to drive, albeit fairly warm in the cabin space due to having the heater turned on full force 85% of the time so the engine doesn't overheat. We've had to spend money on repairs over the past 3 years, as old minivan owners are apt to do. New tires. Brakes. Something else big went wrong that cost $800 bucks to fix. I choose to not remember what it was. Something under the hood and involving pine tree needles and computer chips. Please don't ask.

We have another vehicle that we bought almost 4 years ago. We sold our gas guzzling Explorer and bought a 5 seater Dodge SX that is great on gas. It was to be our only vehicle as both the Husband and I worked within minutes of each other. And it was a 5 seater. 5 seat belts. 5 people in our family. Which of course meant I was pregnant 3 months later. Hence the minivan.

When I drive the new(ish) car, I can pretend I'm not turning 40 in two short weeks. It's not full of fishy cracker bits, car seats and reusable shopping bags. There is no stroller in the back. And I am sure it is going to get me from point A to point B.

Or at least that's how it was until the little engine light came on. Off to the repair shop it went, where they performed a little thing called a "diagnostic", which is code for 'charge $95 to the shmuck sitting in the waiting area'.

The "diagnostic" apparently tells the mechanic exactly what area of the vehicle needs to be fixed. Unless your last name is Mahoney and you own a 3 and 3 quarters year old vehicle. Then it will take 3 times (knock on wood) and close to $1,000 dollars to hopefully fix the problem.

Which brings me to my point. I think I have one.

New is not better. But it costs more.

More is not necessarily better or more efficient. But it costs more.

Higher tech is not necessarily more intelligent. But it costs more.

Human beings are letting machines tell us what's wrong. And it costs more. And it's not necessary correct.

Those are all points, I guess, but now that I think about it, I think my real point is it's wrong to have to spend almost a thousand bucks on a 3 and 3 quarters year old car.

And on that point, I think you should head over to Tentative Equinox's blog. She may accuse me of driving an eggplant, and perhaps she needs to use her side view mirrors on a more regular basis, but she sums up my point way better than I could have.

Less should be the new more. And we'd all be happier for it.

Which is good because that means the Mahoney family is going to be ecstatic eating macaroni and cheese for the next month.

Holidays

When some people marry, the family silverware is passed down. Others are fortunate to inherit the family jewels (diamonds and gold, people!). Still, others may be blessed with a grandmother’s quilt, or dining room table, or family cast iron skillet (“Now, don’t you go an wash that there….thar’s bacon fat on that there pan from my granpappy’s momma. Yes sir, that there pan’s been seasoned REAL nice.”)

I inherited a curse. No, really. Ask anyone. People refer to it as “The Mahoney Luck”. Others in the family call us the Griswolds. This curse goes wherever we go, and seems to gather great strength whenever we get farther than 30 kilometres from our home.

I’m sure it’s from my husband’s side of the family. I do recall going on many an excursion as a child and not managing to pitch our tent next to a red ant hill or a wasp infestation. I recall one summer driving to Saskatoon and back and not once being stranded on the side of the highway. I think my reasoning stands.

People get a terrified look in their eyes when I tell them we’re going away.

“Have you mapped out the closest hospitals?”

“Did you update your life insurance including accidental death and dismemberment?”

“For the love of God, can’t you guys just stick a tent in the backyard and stop the madness!! You know nothing good can come from this!!”

Last night, Heath and I discussed our summer plans. We decided against the whole Europe thing (who wants to see a bunch of old castles and artwork?), said 'it doesn't really appeal to me' to all those flashy overpriced venues such as Disneyland and 6 Flag Magic Mountain, and vetoed the lameness of hopping on some silly monstrosity of a cruise ship that serves food 24 hours a day and has daycare for your children. Who needs that nonsense?

Which of course means we planned a road trip. We love those. Four kids in a minivan, driving far far away from our mechanic who's children we have put through college. Far far far away from the safety of our little home, where the electricity works and water flows. Far far far far away from sunshine, clear skies and a warm breeze.

This year will be better though, because we get to add a 70 pound dog into the mix. Let the Griswold Annual Road Trip begin.

I'd promise to post pictures, but the camera seems to break/fall in deep water/get run over by a wayward seniors bus/ eaten by a bear on our road trips. Perhaps Eilidh could draw a picture or two. I hear art therapy is a wonderful thing.