A short drive
And four stops later...
We instituted quiet time on the drive and Kate said, “but, but, I just need to tell ya something,” over and over again until I sharply turned to the backseat and said, “OKAY! What?!” She looked sideways, and then up, and then said, “um, um, um,” and looked out the window trying to think of something.
The GPS said 83 miles until we arrived at our Airbnb. The kids sat three across in the middle row of the van, and I continued to pass pretzels and Annie’s fruit snacks, and anything else I had in hopes to re-fill their tanks. We had spent the morning in Denver, the girls biking and running and swinging and sliding at one of the coolest parks to date.
On paper, the drive ahead from Denver to our rental was the perfect nap-window.
Fifteen minutes into the drive the baby wouldn’t stop crying. I knew it was because he was hungry. We pulled off at an overlook. I unbuckled him from his car seat and brought him to the front seat where he immediately twisted himself upright and banged his hands against the passenger window. He continued to clap and make faces at Clayton across the middle console.
With no interest in eating, we fastened him back in and headed further west. I searched Spotify for “nap time mix” and selected the “Made For You” option that came up first. Clayton cracked open a La Colombe Cold Brew Latte and we both faced forward hoping for a quiet ride.
We passed the last few neighborhoods on the outskirts of Denver and the girls marveled at the mountains in the distance. A long brick wall designed to separate the highway from the seven-digit homes beyond it blurred past the van windows.
“Look at the mountain tops, Kate-a!” Caroline announced in her booster.
“Those aren’t mountains, those are bricks!” Kate said in the tone she uses to get Caroline riled up.
We drove another thirty minutes and Kate announced she needed to poop. She had finished her doctor prescribed MiraLAX + water combination before getting in the van, and any mention of needing to go potty sent spikes of adrenaline through our veins.
We told her, “okay, and hang on, and just a few more minutes,” as we sped towards the next exit. We pulled off and found an empty parking lot next to a school bus full of white-water rafters in their helmets and yellow life vests.
The travel potty sat stationed behind the van, and as the girls climbed out of the van, we begged them to be quiet because the baby had finally fallen asleep. Both girls took turns going potty as the sun beat down on the blacktop where Kate scrunched her face and “tried.”
We loaded the girls back in and headed further west. Thirty minutes later, the baby was awake and wailing in his car seat. The pacifier wasn’t pacifying— we needed to stop.
We pulled off again at a Holiday Inn, 18 minutes from our Airbnb. The entry to the hotel had two leather chairs as if designed for me to have a quiet place to breastfeed the baby.
He finally ate, and we loaded up again and drove across the highway to the Safeway to pick up groceries we needed for the next few days. We put the baby in the seat of the grocery cart and Kate sat criss-cross applesauce in the back. Caroline jumped on and off the side of the cart. We got a seedless watermelon, olive oil and a few other staples.
We checked out with the groceries. We clicked everyone back in and 18 minutes later, we arrived.
