On Saturday morning I received a text message from The Mister announcing that he was going to be traveling to the capital the next day. I didn’t even skip a beat. Immediately, I shot a text message right back at him announcing that we would be going along with him. I love our city, but every few months, I get a little bit squirrely and I need to get the hell out of Dodge in order to ghayer (change) my go (atmosphere). My new favourite hobby is mixing English and Arabic together. Actually, it’s not new. I’m just abusing you with it now.
Early Sunday morning – and by early, I mean 6:03, a full 3 minutes behind schedule – we rolled out of the driveway, headed to the bright lights, big city. Settling back into my seat, I felt satisfied, knowing that I had gotten us out the door, all necessary items in tow, and a clean house left behind (including made beds!). I had even had the forethought to pack up the kids’ school books with the intention of doing a little bit of math and social studies at the buffet breakfast. Nothing like a spread of sweet pastries to get the education mojo going! “Lola! That was correct! Go grab yourself a chocolate covered donut!” Did you, though, catch my clever use of the word “intention”? It gives you the impression that it could have possibly maybe have happened, but then gives you a glimmer of FORESHADOWING. I’m a talented wordsmith, people, because, in fact, not one shred of studying took place. When we arrived at the hotel, we went back down to the car to get the bag of carefully packed educational supplies and came up short. The Mister said, “I have a clear memory of putting the bag right here! Where is it?” The man may be a doctor of philosophy but I fear that his brain may be getting too full sometimes because it is CREATING memories. The bag was achely beside the back door of our house, waiting patiently to be put in the car. And that is exactly where it sat for 4 days. “I’m so sorry,” said The Mister. “Don’t worry. We probably needed a break anyway. This is min Allah (from God),” I said. We gently broke the bad news to the kids, to which Lola promptly replied, “That is NOT bad news.” She’s so smart.
But, I’ve gotten ahead of myself! Let’s flashback like a flashdance to the time when I was settling back in my seat, readying myself for the long drive ahead but feeling satisfied that for the first time in 4 years, I had gotten us ready for a trip (last minute, might I add) and even left the house presentable in case anyone broke in. You don’t want robbers thinking you are a slob! It wasn’t until The Mister pointed to the side of the road and said, “One!” that I remembered my road trip tradition. Counting dead dogs! It had been so long since I had been on this road (9 months! That is a whole entire human baby!) that I had forgotten my very own creative on-road entertainment.
Trip One (on the way up)
Trip 2 (on the way back)