Spring Break: A rite of passage for teenagers; a getaway for the young family and the week the rest of the vacationers stay home!

We always tried to do something for My Three Sons during Spring Break. It wasn’t usually a vacation in Aruba (okay, it was never a vacation in Aruba) but we attempted to give them a memory somewhere.

This particular year, going back to when our youngest was about six and my oldest had just turned 17,  The Sweetheart couldn’t get away at that time but my best friend, and SIL, Sue had a timeshare at a resort in Myrtle Beach. Her hubby couldn’t go either so we had this brainstorm that we would take all the kids, and then some, and go by without the Men.

Our caravan grew to include HER parents, MY parents (the four of them were also best friends) and the best friend of our two oldest sons. We had friends!

We had three cars in this entourage and for some reason I was chosen to lead the pack.

Let’s pause a moment here to fully get the picture. Shortly before this vacation that soon would be lodged in our memory banks forever, The Sweetheart decided we needed to trade cars. I didn’t agree as he had just bought me a brand new Honda Accord and I was quite happy with it. I actually think we leased our first car ever and I’m sure it was cheap. I wanted a new van, for crying-out-loud I had THREE BOYS, but the Accord was also brand new so I sucked it up.

We hadn’t had it very long when he came up with the bright idea that we needed a bigger car. And it had to have leather…again, three boys. So, one day on his drive home from his job as an air traffic controller at the Indianapolis Center, he stopped and looked at a car that he thought would be perfect for me. He came home all excited telling me about the low miles, what great shape it was in and…it was leather and loaded. He insisted we drive up and see it.

I got out at the dealership and scanned the lot…I didn’t see anything I was overly excited about but he did. Grabbed my hand and pulled me towards his new-found love. There she stood in all her glory. This wasn’t a new family vehicle to me. This, folks, was a police car.

Okay, I will give him the benefit of the doubt. There was no wide white stripe down the middle, no extra antennas where they shouldn’t be, nor were there any flashing lights mounted on top. It was a black Mercury Marquis and all I could see was a state trooper getting out and asking me for my driver’s license.

The Ford Crown Victoria was identical to the Mercury (or at least to me) and the police version was termed The Interceptor.

We took it for a test drive and three people pulled over.

There have been some rare times in our marriage that I could not persuade my beloved or change his mind. This was one of those.

Fast forward a few months later and we are preparing for our trip. My SIL and her two youngest girls were riding with me and my two youngest boys. There was plenty of room in the backseat for a five, six, eleven and twelve year old. We were set.

In the Jeep behind us were my niece Juli, my oldest, Kyle, his best friend since birth and cousin, Jeremy and their best friend, Nate. Bringing up the rear were our parents.

Let’s head south!

Everything was going great, and everyone was getting along well, until we hit construction in Louisville. All of a sudden, flying down I-65, the oldest daughter, my beloved, sweet niece, Dacia, hollers out that she is about to be sick. Seriously people, the words were hardly out of her mouth until we hear that sound that no parent wants to hear…especially on a road trip.

Immediately, the other three begin yelling and begging to get OUT of the car. I am trying my best as navigator to find an exit and get off of the highway but not fast enough because the youngest, sweet, adorable little niece, Jenna, (give her a break, she was only five) hollered out, “Mommy, I don’t like that smelllll….” Her words trailed off as we heard a heave from the back seat and she throws up right in her lap. By then, my sons were literally beside themselves screaming to VACATE THE CRUISER NOW!

I don’t believe we had cell phones then, or certainly all of us didn’t, so it was a game of follow-the-leader for the rest of the rat pack.

I pulled over next to a construction site and we all piled out of the car, some more dramatically others. The rest of the caravan arrived to see what was going on and out of 14 people in attendance, only TWO came to our aid. You guessed it, The Blessed Grandmothers. The rest of the entourage watched, and laughed, from a distance.

Here is where the beautiful leather in this police vehicle came in handy. We cleaned everything up, some even changed clothes, and we were back on the road after a short stop at a gas station for some even better cleaning up. The Sweetheart, had he been there, would have been patting himself on the back.

That wasn’t so bad, we assess between deep breaths of fresh air coming from the open windows.

We made it to the beautiful resort in Myrtle Beach and began our memorable vacation. We had a wonderful time; great food, great weather and great fun.

The week flew by all too quickly and it was time to head home. Dacia, the sweet one with the tummy problem on the way down, hadn’t shown any signs of sickness all week long. Jenna, her little sister, was also just fine. We decided it must have been something Dacia had eaten (and Jenna had to breathe in) so we basically forgot about it.

We are all loaded up and were heading out of Myrtle Beach, leaving the carefree life of Spring Break freedom behind us. We were barely out of the resort community, definitely not out of Myrtle Beach proper, when Dacia pipds up, “Mom, I am going to be…”

And the nightmare returned.

Projectile.

Now there’s a word you don’t use very often. The synonyms for this word are other neat words such as missile and rocket.

That is what it felt like to me as a stream of unwanted stomach refuse was literally hurled from the back seat, over the front seat and sailed past my ear and then came in fierce, direct contact with the steering wheel and dash of my new, but not so loved, police car.

I had been hit.

Remember, The Interceptor? I had just intercepted, along with the car and Dacia’s mother, a most unwanted attack of the most putrid kind. Her aim could not have been any more direct had she tried.

I pulled into a gas station that appeared out of nowhere and by now we were good at this: Everyone out of the car at lightning fast speed and clothes, backpacks, blankets, pillows and toys flew everywhere.

Poor Dacia was standing in the gas station parking lot still deathly sick. It was not a welcome sight. The Blessed Grandmother’s, again, were our only friends. The Three Amigos, Kyle, Jer and Nate, were staying way back in their Jeep but I don’t remember anyone laughing this time, or at least not out loud. I think Juli might have gotten out to help but my memory is pretty fuzzy…I was too busy cleaning unwanted bile out of my hair.

We were running back and forth in the gas station to get wet towels, dry towels, anything that would clean up the car while my Sue and Mamaw Bert tried to clean up Dacia. Yes, if you are wondering, the manager of this establishment was mortified at the sight unfolding at his place of business.

Have you ever tried to clean vomit off of your radio, air conditioner vents and cassette player? (Remember, this was the 90’s.) It was not easy, especially with paper towels from a convenience store bathroom.

Somehow we accomplished the task set before us. We were forever indebted to The Blessed Grandmothers, Mamaw Bert and Mamaw Sandy, for their bravery and we were back on the road.

Now, in defense of Dacia, (yes, I have her permission to share this story), this was a violent bug that she had. The poor little thing was sick the entire trip home. She had to keep a bag with her in the back seat and she was simply miserable. To her delight, a few of her traveling companions vacated their positions and rode with The Grandparents. This at least gave her some room to lie down. Dacia is now a beautiful mother of two sweet babies and a DIY blogger in her own rite! Go check out her Lemon Drop Life!

For years we have referred to that trip as the Vacation from The Pit. But it really was a great week in spite of the drive down AND the drive back. When I asked Dacia if I could share this story, I texted and said it was the best memory I had of the worst car I had ever owned. She replied, “THAT’s the best memory?!” Yes, it is the ONLY memory!

But then I began to search my memory and found out that isn’t true, Dacia. I have other memories…

• I couldn’t see over the dash but was too stubborn to get a pillow.

• People couldn’t see me from behind and it looked like no one was driving this car.

• Every time I would head up Highway 37  people would slow down when they glanced in their rear view mirrors or passed me.

• Then, embarrassingly, when they realized they just hit their brakes for a 30-something, 5 ft. short WOMAN in a fake police car…they pointed and laughed.

Thanks, Sweetheart, for the memories.

 

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