Oh ... Now I Get It

The longest leg of a road trip is the distance between the front door and the car.

My Mom used to say this all the time when I was growing up. In my literalmindedness, I used to think that was such a ridiculous thing to say. Everyone knew it was just a few steps between the front door and the car parked in the driveway.

As our family prepared to leave for a vacation last week, something sank in. As I poured myself one more cup of coffee, I looked over my volumes of lists of things to do before we left. I had various columns in an effort to sort out and categorize my To Do list. I had a column for each of the four children; then there was the Food/Snacks column; then the Travel column, for guide books, the map, the brochures.

While I began sweating profusely over the task at hand (Item To Do #13 - shut down air conditioning to save energy), my kids sat slouched on the couch.

"Mom," sighed one of my sons, "when are we leaving??"

By their calculations, we should've left hours ago. They had packed their most necessary items: iPod, underwear, and a swimming suit for the hotel pool. They had movies and CDs for the car, and they had their wallets stuffed with coins for the perfect souvenir they were sure to find.

"I just need to do a few more things," I told them, and they rolled their eyes.
I turn the page and read the To Do column on page 4: "Close and lock windows."

I am sweating even more. I dump out the rest of my hot coffee and wonder if I have time to mix a batch of cold lemonade instead. Never mind; it's too late to dirty any more dishes. That was #11 on the list: NO DIRTY DISHES IN THE SINK!

So this is what Mom always meant. Just getting out the door and starting the vacation is the hardest part. It's so hard to let go, so tough to choose just a few items to take along on our travels, to try and anticipate what exactly we will need for the next few days while our house sits empty and lifeless. And un-air conditioned.

My kids are glaring at me now as I rustle through my voluminous To Do list one more time. In them, I see the reflection of a younger version of myself, wondering why it was taking my Mom so long to get ready for a trip.

I really, really need a glass of lemonade right now. Maybe I'll get it after I find the camera charger and grab the first aid kit.

"You know what Grandma always used to say," I smile, trying to cajole my kids into a better mood. "The longest leg of a car trip is—"

"The distance between the front door and the car," they chime in with bored voices. "We know," says one of my sons. "You already told us."

"Like, a thousand times," my other sons adds.

"Oh," I say sheepishly. "Sorry." But inside I'm laughing. No, I'm cackling. It will all come full circle, like it did with me. Someday, they'll be the adults who have to think of everything. They will be the ones who have to wrestle with the endless lists, the planning.

I get it now, Mom. The longest part of the trip is just getting out the door. Oh, I get it.