On the Road

Isaac and I, within 12 months, have driven from the Gulf of Mexico in Florida, to the Atlantic Ocean in Virginia, to the St. Lawrence River at the Canadian border. This trip alone, my parents, kids and I drove about 2,000 miles, mostly up 81. 

We saw Amish carriages, decaying silos, massive rivers, beautiful lakes, and stopped in places we’ve never been before. 

“That was a really fun trip,” has been the refrain since we returned, or Isaac’s version: “I sad that Grandma and Pa went away.” It’s even more fun given the uncertainty we all felt after the first day’s snafu with our mistaken destination. 

“What’s the worst road trip you’ve ever been on?” I’d asked my folks, trying to lighten the mood that first day. 

“Well so far….” deadpanned my mom. 

My kids did GREAT. They had their tired moments, but considering there were five of us sharing a hotel room for multiple nights, everything went really well. They napped in the car. And on the boat tour of the Thousand Islands. They hiked and swam and ate and giggled. They were so great in the car. Having such great little travel buddies makes me feel like I can do anything. Not to mention, they’re just good company!! 

The conclusion of the road trip posts is at the bottom of all these adorable pictures of sleeping kiddos. 

New York wreaths

Stained glass in the 1830-something church Mrs. Marsh’s ancestors helped found. 

So many of my little kid in New Jersey memories are tied to the First Presbyterian Church of Hamilton Square, New Jersey: the Hanging of the Greens before Advent every year, where we’d make miles of paper chains and one time a girl stapled her thumb and started crying; coffee hour; square dances; messing around while my mom was leading a bunch of kids in the “Zacchaeus” song, and getting in trouble and having to go sit down in shame; Sunday school with my friends; admiring the older girls but running away when they wanted to pick me up and play mommy; making paper airplanes out of the bulletin during church so I could run up to the balcony afterwards and soar it out over the pews; my dad farting in church one time and someone saying, “Kent is sitting in his own pew;” getting to wear my first pair of big girl church shoes: ballet flats with no little kid strap across the ankle. 

And OF COURSE lots of little kid memories involve my favorite babysitter, Jean, who had us over for breakfast the last morning of our trip. Isaac immediately loved her. He came running into the dining room to tell her and me, “I was building with the blocks and I built a really tall robot and it scared me so I ran in here.” Jean taught me the card game War, which I taught to Isaac. It’s less fun than I remember as a three-year-old, which makes Jean that much more awesome. And she made strawberry-rhubarb pie, and I had to have two pieces because Eloise or Isaac ate my entire first piece. 

We had a delightful dinner with the Doolittles, and got to see my old buddies Abby and Eric. Our kids chased bubbles and played while we compared ridiculous little kid stories. Anything can happen, and I feel like so many updates include death and life tailspins and whatnot. It was so refreshing and so fun to laugh and chat and update each other with happy news. 

My mom realized she was about my age now when they moved to New Jersey just weeks before I was born. She was my age when she knew all these people who turned into life-long friends, their surrogate East Coast family. I wonder who I’ll still get together with 30+ years from now. I like to think about that. 

“Like cold water to a weary soul, so is good news from a distant land,” (Proverbs 25:25).