Back in the days I was traveling as a solo parent of two kids under three years of age, there was an inverse relationship between planning and crying. And I don’t mean the babies.

The first time I ventured up the coast, San Diego to Portland, I spent a week-and-a-half OCDing the fix for every possible malfunction or affliction. An extra full-size tire for my newish Subaru. Ipecac syrup in case one of the children Hoovered a poisonous plant. Cloth and paper diapers (who did I think I was kidding though. I never used cloth diapers on the road). Strained sweet potatoes and grapes cut up into non-chokable quarters. Labeled Tupperware for everything from apple slices to Zwieback. A highchair and a booster. Flashlights and binoculars. A portable crib. Two different first aid kits. Car toys for the one-year-old, and different car toys for the two-year-old. Earplugs for the mom. Rafi on the cassette player.

This little sweetie was a fireplug at age one.

This was pre-cellphone (and certainly pre-smartphone). Before insta-answers to everything on the internet. If you were planning a trip, you’d go to Triple A and have them map out routes. Possibly you would purchase a Thomas Guide for your destination city for granular information. If you got lost, there was no Siri barking directions out your blue tooth. You had pull over. Sometimes read by the map light. Do they even have map lights in cars anymore?

Everything so nice and neat. At the beginning.

 

Oddly, I had some déjà vu moments preparing for and taking this Spring Break with Whole30 and Rottweiler puppy trip. Even though technology has made getting lost impossible (and finding a restaurant with Kobe beef lettuce wraps easy), 1,050 miles is still 1,050 miles. Several days before we left I spent sleepless hours envisioning the various coolers and bins, ingredients and meal plans I’d be packing. Some pre-made and then frozen meals. A couple bottles of almond milk squeezed fresh just before departure. Then there was the whole Chinese box puzzle of packing it all in yet another Subaru, along with Jaxx, his crate, his food, his toys.

At least there was a husband this time around.

Just like in 1989, I over-packed. But not one tear was shed! Here are some hindsight tips:

Probably don’t make a whole tree’s worth of almonds available. You’ll pop them like M&Ms and your gut will be a tad pissed off.
Rewarding your dog with a bite of your hamburger patty seems like a good idea, but will resort in a day of vomit.
Boiled eggs are the bomb. Especially smeared with compliant baba ganouj.
Slicing up mangos is a delicate operation, and best not tackled while driving.
Shredded chicken wraps sound like a good idea. I envisioned finding a park and having a picnic. The weather was far too crappy, so I made them in the car and offered them to Kirk when it was his turn to drive, and it was mess.
Berries and grapes are terrific road snacks, but Lara bars are even better.
Thank God Jaxx is crate-trained. We could never do this if he wasn’t super comfortable spending hours in a crate. (Though, he’s much less happy about going in the crate after spending hours and hours in it.)

We stopped every 200 miles or so, at the direction of a Google-mapped dog park. Turns out, Jaxx has become a humper. Natch. An eleven month old in-tact male Rottweiler, under certain circumstances, can be a handful. Even one who is mostly trained. Especially when an unspayed female shows up. Luckily, Jaxx will do anything for a hotdog.

I stared those suckers down, but nary a bite.

Another Murphy’s Law sitch: the dreaded Spring Break grunge. With every mile, Kirk’s coughing and sneezing fits increased, so by Redding, he was in full blown hack. That’s when we decided a warm meal was in order. We enjoyed every bite of our thirteen dollar Kobe beef patties, and my darling husband is now officially un reset. I watched him devour half a platter of French fries, and contemplated having one. But one leads to thirty-six when it comes to fries, so I abstained. And it wasn’t terribly hard. But I will say, my “reward” of two-day old grilled shrimp once back on the road was a tad disappointing.

Even fresh cilantro and pom seeds couldn’t make this yummy.

We are now in Southern Cali for a few more days, enjoying our kids and the beach and all the fresh produce. Funny how my 1989 trip continues to linger as we map out all the meals, activities and micro-obsessions. Right now? I’d love … LOVE … a glass of Tempranillo. And some crackers. And a hunk of Irish cheddar.