Last weekend I drove to Washington, D.C., to meet hubby. He had flown directly from one business trip to the next, causing us to be apart for three weeks. Needless to say, the adrenaline was flowing as I loaded up the minivan and set out to bring him home. Adrenaline is a good thing, especially when you are making a twelve-hour road trip with a two-year-old and a three-year-old.
We arrived with hardly an incident, unless you count the West Virginia fiasco. Somewhere in them hills (saying ÒthemÓ is one of the many hazards of lingering too long in West Virginia) is a rest stop with an inviting grassy area. I released the little ones to run off some energy, and realized too late that the grass was actually a marsh. Daughter called out, ÒHey, Mommy! It’s like in the bear hunt book Ñ squelch, squerch, squelch, squerch!Ó
I called for them to come back, but as two- and three-year-olds tend to do, they thought it was funny to run from mommy. Laughing and squealing, they ran further into the swampy mess. I let out a sigh and began squelching and squerching after them.
I grabbed toddler up by the waist, successfully covering the front of my pants with mud. With one child under my arm, I ran after child number two, constantly aware of the depth of the mud over my flip-flops.
I corralled them back into the dreaded public restroom, and began the clean-up process. I sat one on the sink and much, to my horror, the other decided to sprawl face down on the floor. In my opinion, this trumped the time he mimicked a buffalo by licking the identical spot on a metal rail.
A thorough washing, a quick sponge bath with the hand sanitizer, and we were finally back on the road.