
We’d leave overnight – sometimes after bedtime. I’d be sleeping in my clothes, with the anticipation finding me facedown on the bed, with one sock hanging slightly off. It’s the half sleep of someone who knows she’s going to be woken up soon for a 12 hour drive to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. One of my parents would come to my door, with the car already loaded with seven suitcases and road trip essentials. “It’s time,” they would say. And indeed, it was time.
My dad is a nighttime driver, and daytime too, but the fact that he had the stamina to drive a family of seven from around 8pm – 9am or so amazes me as a parent of two, almost three. Maybe it was the quiet of the night – without bickering or slow drivers. Just an open road and two weeks of straight sunny fun. My mom would make up a giant cooler of bologna sandwiches, snacks, fruits, and drinks. There were no timing rules on the road. If you could enjoy your sandwich at 11pm, watching the dark blurs of Route 95, then why not? It’s still fun to imagine what all those dark shapes and wonders are in the daylight. To this day, bulldozers are dinosaurs and hotels are castles. Even more so now that I have kids, but that part of me never even faded.
My mom can read in the car and can fall asleep anywhere. I can’t read in the car, but I can fall asleep in it. This is a skill I didn’t possess as a kid – I thrived on being the only kid, the only person other than my dad who was wide awake. Who knows if I ever slept at all during those nights? Sometimes during the night, you fall in and out of sleep by the hour or half hour, and it can make you feel like you’ve been wide awake the entire time. You haven’t, though. You fall in and out of waking and sleeping dreams; of half moons and blurry shapes and wonders too. Sometimes every time you fall asleep, just so, you wake up to a startle or a car horn or a 4:00am traffic jam, or to the shape and sound of your own heart. There’s always something there to see.
Our trip generally ended one hour before the destination. I don’t remember if we met friends or had a specific McDonald’s in mind – based on tradition and highway accessibility – but that was the one time a year I’d have McDonald’s breakfast. Then we’d all seven be wide awake on the road, shouting out the sights of fireworks shops, mini golf adventures, and eventually – our first glimpse of the sea. Wide and blue, but never changing. Our reward at the end of a painless 12 hour road trip; and at the end of the road where our overly air conditioned condo proudly stood.
2020 was our first year without a Cape Cod vacation, which was partly due to no longer having a Cape Cod house and partly due to pandemics and pregnancy, but mostly pandemics, and for trying to save money for a project I haven’t talked about nearly enough yet. It’s sort of too big. All I can tell you is that when I walk out of my front door and turn right, even only hours after having done it previously, I don’t even know where I am anymore. The landscape is changing.
That annual Cape Cod vacation for ten years, though. It wasn’t 12 hours, ever, but we would leave in the middle of the night to avoid Cape traffic. Cape Cod traffic is a bear, probably not unlike the Baltimore or DC traffic my dad was trying to avoid. You get the same rewards on the journey. Are we there yet? Of course not. Have you seen the giant windmill that looks like it’s slicing cars in the middle of the road? Have we crossed the bridge at sunset yet? Have we seen the shacks and shops with floats and swans strapped to their roofs? Then there’s the first glimpse of the ocean, although we had to get all the way to the end to get to that reward. There’s the restaurant, Moby Dick’s, where we’d all shout with an emphasis on the second word, because we’re all 12-years-old at heart. We get squirrelly through the last hour on the road.
I’ve been waiting five+ months, to be there yet. I no longer know what “there” is. I think that’s the problem. It’s not just that the novelty of the novelty of the hunkering down in the pandemic has worn off. It’s that morale is low when you can no longer pretend to assign deadlines and dates to it. Two weeks off of school? Well, that’s annoying, but sure. Let’s do it for safety. Until two weeks grew and overstretched and got bloated into a murky amount of time. And now who knows what it will take? A new President? Well, no. One person/administration can’t change this. A vaccine? Well, no. People are fighting against one, even though there’s nothing to fight against or for. Yet. And will it be 73% effective? 100%? Will it be mandatory? I don’t think so but to even be widespread would take months and months. Two weeks used to sound like a lot. Now it’s widespread and stormy, and nothing like a calm blue sea reward. Are we there yet? Well, no.
Will we recognize the familiar sights when we’re close? Herd immunity or vaccines or the strange silence of a defeated virus, stamped into the earth, never to return, or at least not in full force? Sometimes it all seems too good to be true, even though we all know its end is inevitable. More so than our own. There’s talk of social distancing and mask wearing, to some extents, for one, two, even three years. And then of course, we have the trauma and panic, that might last forever, or only as long as the pandemic, or won’t even make a dent. What is safe anymore, anyway? And are we there yet? What if climate change is the really big bad guy at the end of the video game, and all of these viruses and arguments are just more of the same of this:
It’s enough to keep you awake at night, but not in that beautiful way in which you eat peanut butter sandwiches in one state, and watch your dad maneuver the way across another state line. No, this is wondering when and if you’ll ever sail down the open road with glee again. Or if your kids will? Well, of course they will. They know nothing else but to point out the fireworks shops and mini golf adventures. They know nothing else but to point out sea shacks and floaty swans strapped to roofs. Some lucky family will get that swan, oh yes. Or the pleasure of borrowing it..
If you close your eyes, can you see it too? Still? Where bulldozers look like dinosaurs, pointy top hotels look like castles, and you are the royalty of the open road. Looking for delights, or hurtling past them while your kids do more of the same, their faces pressed against open or closed glass windows. Are we there yet? Can you see us getting close? What will it look like; will we know it?
That first glimpse of open sea, or your overly air-conditioned condo. The ability to sail through the roads and the waters, your only fears being the occasional shark or storm cloud ahead.
I’m linking up with Finish The Sentence Friday (FTSF) for a new prompt. This week’s awesome Mardra topic is “Are We There Yet? (photo prompt).” You can link up your own post HERE.
Aw, definitely gave me all the feels today. Hugs and honestly not sure if we are there yet and when we will be, but still we keep on moving forward somehow. <3
And if we’ll know when we’re there. Sigh. Better and brighter days ahead.
Oh my goodness this post just pulled me in friend. I feel like we’re kind of still in the middle, but we’re moving forward. At least I hope so.
That’s how I look at it too. More knowledge is power.
Ooooo! Are you putting in a pool???
Nope! I’m so anti-pool. Long story. I like visiting them, though. We are laying out the foundation for an addition! Two car garage, three new bedrooms, two new bathrooms, and a den. We were outgrowing this house.
Oh wow, that is so exciting!!!
I truly try to embrace that we are one day closer to a better tomorrow – a vaccine, a new president and maybe a kinder nation? It feels like a never-ending trip sometimes.
Oh- you reminded me of how I was terrified of bulldozers as a kid (I thought they were like dinosaurs LOL) and how much I loved bologna sandwiches! How exciting for your new additions :).
Oh, that’s so funny! We both thought they were dinosaurs and you were scared and I was like, “STOP THE CAR – IT’S A DINOSAUR!”
I haven’t had bologna since.. well.. since I was pregnant with Scarlet and craved it and probably shouldn’t have had it. It was worth it.
I love that this post has multiple meanings. In some ways we are never ‘there yet’ because we’re always striving and dreaming. But your actual memory of asking ‘are we there yet?’ is like magic. The road trip of childhood. Well, we’ll just keep waiting.
I’m intrigued by your yard reno or whatever exciting thing is happening there. I’m sure you’ll be telling us more about that. 🙂
Between the ever lingering effects of this pandemic, and the presidential election just over two months away our feelings of impatience, unrest, and anxiousness are very high right now. It seems like we’ve been trying our best to deal with all these feelings for a very long time, and for how much longer? I’m at a loss for an answer to: “Are We There Yet” but the question leads us to believe we are on our way. To being in a better place, a more comfortable situation, or even a return to the more familiar pre-pandemic lifestyle that we may have taken for granted a little. I can’t help but feel that better, brighter days are ahead of us and we will get there to live them and enjoy them together!
“Woah we’re halfway there. Woah living on a prayer… We’re going to make it I swear!”
Now I am going to be singing that all day. My fault 🙂
No, we aren’t anywhere yet really, yet it feels like we are everywhere too. How does that happen?
What are you guys building?
Another gorgeous trip with you. We didn’t have family vacations, yet I felt right with you that whole night drive. A slice of innocent wonder and bologna sandwich. Perfect.
Are we there yet? God, I hope so. It feels as though we’ve been here forever, stuck in this strange and unfamiliar place, waiting to exhale. I loved hearing about your family childhood road trips and bless your parents for packing all the kids in the car for a nighttime drive. I… can’t imagine 🤣 maybe because I have one and we took her to the lake up the road and I had panic. But those were good times and I’m happy you have these vivid memories of roadside attractions and McDonald’s breakfasts.
Hope you’re having a great weekend!
Hi Tamara, reading your journey reminds me of the stories my husband has told me of the long holiday drive they used to do in South Africa when he was a child. We can’t go anywhere without him wanting food for the road (a throwback from his childhood days). Glad to read that giant animal inflatables being strapped to car roofs isn’t just a thing here! Flapping in the wind and often bigger than the car itself… Indeed will we know when we are there? Whether it’s a holiday destination or beating this damned virus!
xx
Lovely, as always. I could picture you awake in the car in the middle of the night while your siblings slept and your dad drove, eating a sandwich and staring out the window. I know we’re not there yet with all the pandemic stuff – but hopefully new leadership, a vaccine, something, anything, sooner than later?? Gah. I feel all of this. And I’m dying to know what you’re adding to your house! A pool????? That’s my guess. Or maybe you’re pouring foundation for an add-on for your family add-on?? Do tell.
Ah, I felt so much joy and angst reading this today! Things just keep getting weirder and weirder, don’t they? I loved reading about your magical roadtrips. I have some memories like those, and you brought them back for me.
Hi, Tamara! So many thoughts… here are just three…
1. All I can think about is a McDonald’s breakfast.
2. Your family trips sound familiar and heavenly.
3. Favorite line? “I no longer know what “there” is.”
All the best as you wait – and wait and wait…xoxox
And I finished a post this morning, but the window closed so I couldn’t link up.
If you’re interested: https://livingcenter.me/2020/08/31/there-and-here/
When I read the line asking if we’ll ever hit the open road again with glee, I stopped. That one hurt. I really hope so, because it would be incredibly sad if we couldn’t. Really, really sad.