It's that time of year again and complete mayhem has broken out in the house. The attic door swings open, exploding with a heaping ball of dust. The smell of moth balls emanates throughout the space as a rickety old ladder wobbles back and forth. Suddenly, lawn chairs drop from the hole in the ceiling, followed by box fans, fishing poles, and sleeping bags. The hum of the air compressor vibrates the garage walls as many giant pink flamingos come to life, barricading the kitchen door. The screeching voice of my mother reverberates throughout the house, into the yard, and most likely across the entire neighborhood. She is packing for a trip and this tradition is my mother's greatest display of her extreme organizational skills, or so she
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Feeling relieved, the last bag is packed. The smell of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches fill the car. Our 2000, forest green, and a tad bit rusty, Ford Expedition overflowing with duffel bags, inflated rafts, and sunscreen, is ready to take off. There are three rows of seats, one for my parents, one for the oldest child, and one for the youngest child and her brother with the smelliest feet. All our bags are jam-packed at our feet, blankets are thrown throughout the rows, and everyone has their pillow set up and ready for the five-hour car ride. All the windows rolled down as warm summer air gusts throughout our car as we cruise down I-75. The excitement is billowing out the windows as mom cues up Take me home, Country Roads by John Denver. Before we know it, we hear the gravel rumbling underneath our tires as we pull into our home away from home. As soon as we step out of the car, we hear the kids running and their flip flops smacking against the pavement, my Aunt Janet yelling “Welcome! Welcome!”, and of course the sweet sound of soft waves hitting shore. We basically leave the car running, jump out to see our favorite elders who are moving a little slower and looking a little grayer, our cousin who was
Feeling relieved, the last bag is packed. The smell of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches fill the car. Our 2000, forest green, and a tad bit rusty, Ford Expedition overflowing with duffel bags, inflated rafts, and sunscreen, is ready to take off. There are three rows of seats, one for my parents, one for the oldest child, and one for the youngest child and her brother with the smelliest feet. All our bags are jam-packed at our feet, blankets are thrown throughout the rows, and everyone has their pillow set up and ready for the five-hour car ride. All the windows rolled down as warm summer air gusts throughout our car as we cruise down I-75. The excitement is billowing out the windows as mom cues up Take me home, Country Roads by John Denver. Before we know it, we hear the gravel rumbling underneath our tires as we pull into our home away from home. As soon as we step out of the car, we hear the kids running and their flip flops smacking against the pavement, my Aunt Janet yelling “Welcome! Welcome!”, and of course the sweet sound of soft waves hitting shore. We basically leave the car running, jump out to see our favorite elders who are moving a little slower and looking a little grayer, our cousin who was