Traveling with Kids. Also, I am Scared of My Spawn.

Even though it is - I believe - common knowledge that young humans go to bed earlier than full grown humans, for some reason it doesn't fully register how that will dictate so much of your life until you are in it.  Bedtime is sacred, because without it, there is End of Days-type chaos, complete with blood curdling screams, gnashing of teeth, eyes rolling back in head, occasionally swarms of locust, etc.

The first trip we took with Edie was when she was seven months old.  And it quickly dawned on us that if we wished to survive this ill-advised escapade, we would need to put her to bed relatively on time.  Ok, that makes sense.  But, what of you, the parent, once The Scary One is asleep?  Well, you can try to make some sort of game out of it.  (Who wants to play "Anne Frank?!")  Or you can do what we did.  Hunker down behind the hotel bed, plug in two sets of head phones into the DVD player you purchased under the duress of nearly-expired credit card points, and watch The Sopranos really, really (really) quietly.  Edie was unimpressed with our efforts, however, and sent us this message by waking up every. hour. all. night.  She woke up with this cute little peep.  Almost like "Hey, mama.  I'm not sure where I am. Can I have a cuddle?" Nope! That's not true! Hahahah!! Actually she woke up as if Boogey Man himself was playing peek-a-boo one millimeter from her face.  Edie's special brand of alchemy which converts exhaustion into rage is really something.  Edie has gotten better to travel with, now approaching three years old.  But, that's not really much of an endorsement considering the baseline.

We are currently planning a long road trip to the in-laws for Thanksgiving.  Seven hours according to Google maps.  To me, that is tortuously long. But, see, it's even a little worse than that. Because during the day, Eli nurses about every ninety minutes, requires being held in my arms for an absurd rain dance of sorts in order to defecate (and if the dance is done improperly, he'll just scream and writhe in pain indefinitely), oh and he poops half a dozen times a day, plus he hates the car and the car seat and will also scream about this particular brand of confinement/isolation for an amount of time whose limit we've not yet discovered.

Allegedly, there are babies who don't mind cars.  Some of these "babies"** even stay in their car seats while their parents eat out or socialize.  (**Maybe they're babies.  Maybe they're automatrons put into circulation by some underground population stimulation cabal.  And if so, hey, cabal! What's a lady got to do to get implanted with one of those automatrons?)  I don't make this version of child, though.

I am not not content to sit and worry, however.  I am a woman of action.  So a plan is in place.  And this plan is - ETD: Three In The Morning.

3:00 a.m.  Not a time for the faint of heart.  But we need to play to our strengths here.  Will and I are outmaneuvered by these children all the live long day.  And though they can and do haunt us at any time, statistically speaking, we are left alone for almost the entire night.  They do require some modicum of rest for survival, and their blessed circadian rhythms seem to pull them into slumber best during the darkness.  Will and I also require sleep.  But we have additional tools, including coffee, snack food, and a delicious adrenaline and cortisol cocktail produced by the fear state in which we live.

My fat-cheeked oppressor.

I have been introducing the idea of a middle of the night flight to Edie for a few days now.  She does not like changes or surprises.  And it seems like a messy ordeal to get an Amber Alert wiped from your record, which would inevitably result after our first stop on the road, as our tear-stained and drunk with exhaustion toddler would almost certainly yell out the window some variant on "Take me home! I don't want to go with you! Why did you take me from my bed! I don't like this!"  So I've been trying to make this all seem like an exciting adventure, with the end point being her beloved Grandma Sally.  So far, my campaign is a dud.  Our last conversation about it went like this: "Remember how we are driving to Grandma Sally's for Thanksgiving?" "Yeah" "Well, it's a loooong drive. It will take most of the day." (Child's eyes narrow in a "what's your point?" fashion) "So, to make it easier, we are going to leave when it is really early.  So early, it will still be dark out! And I will pick you up and wrap you in your soft blankets, put you in the car, and you can go back to sleep! Sound good?" (Eyes widen) "Why?" "Well, if you sleep, the drive will seem shorter" "But WHY?" "You will be comfy and so tired, so you should just sleep." (Eyes well with tears) "Why are you gonna do dat? WHY?!?" "Honey, we will all be there, it will be fine. And then we'll be at Grandma Sally's so quickly!"  "I'm NOT gonna sleep! I'm gonna SCREAM! And I'm gonna WAKE UP ELI!"  Fabulous.  Way to be a team player, Edie.

But, I mean, come on. Can she really make good on this? She's two.  It will be the middle of the night.  I am trying to find some comfort in science, here. She's got to sleep, right? (Repressing memories of Edie staying awake for entire transatlantic voyages). WHAT DOES SHE WANT FROM ME?  My youth, beauty, and my iPad.  All these things I have sacrificed at her altar, yet she scoffs.  (Seriously. She scoffs at the iPad.  Once she realized it was a device we gave her for our convenience, she shuns it, often crying at its mere suggestion.)

That said, I am honestly looking forward to being at my in-laws for a few days.  And perhaps, living there forever if I am unable to work up the nerve to leave.