by Betsy McMillin

This article is my Holiday gift to you. No advice, no deep thoughts, just the gift of a thought: “Thank God I don’t have to travel with six kids.”

Many of you will be traveling soon, by car, plane, train. And yes, we all have our horror stories of that awful trip: stranded at the airport for endless hours with small ones, finally getting to Disney World only to have kids come down with chicken pox, stuck in traffic forever sans snacks or a porta-potty.

My traveling story isn’t quite that. The grim reality of my story is that this is pretty much how it is every time we travel. This is the story of a trip we took recently. Traveling with any number of kids can be hell. Every day when I pick up my half-day kindergartener I have only him and his three-year-old sister. It is only a ten minute ride. They bicker the whole way home, or get the sillies and screech with delight.

That being said, traveling with six kids (much longer than ten minutes) brings a whole new element of “fun.”

Add to that: our dogs are a big part of our family and come along most times. We can’t leave our older large dog home or in a kennel as he has all sorts of medical problems no one wants to deal with. Our little Jack Russell? She is our (somewhat obnoxious at times) baby and extremely attached to us. She comes along too. We are lucky to find dog-friendly hotels, but every time we take them I strongly consider being a pet-free family.

It all starts in the driveway. We haven’t even left yet.

We don’t travel much, so my kids are always over-excited (read: hyper) when it is time to get the car packed. They inevitably always jump the gun and get their stuffies/lovies/pillows and get cozy and settled in. About one hour before we have to leave. This results in me yelling about how ridiculous it is to sit in the car when they will be doing that exact thing for hours. It also leads to fighting over space, who sits where, crying about stuffy-stealing, older ones yelling “shut UP!”, the need for a drink (the kids water, me something stronger) and also the need to go pee. Luckily, we are still sitting in the driveway.

At this point I usually tell them all I am not going (which elicits howling from the three-year-old, the rest of them know this routine). I get out of the car, pace in the driveway wondering why in God’s name I ever had six kids. I take a few drops of Rescue Remedy and get back in. As I get in, the little dog bolts out, and off she goes chasing a squirrel. A few minutes and a piece of cheese later she is back in and we are off.

It is quiet as we get going, everyone interested in the book they brought or small toy. Tween/teens are plugged into music or their laptop. I am cautiously optimistic with this break in insanity, hoping it is a good sign. I am always wrong. Part of my problem is that I have a antiquated view of how traveling with kids should be. A 70s approach… kids looking out the window, mesmerized by the sights, playing car games: 20 Questions, the Alphabet Sign Game, My Father Owns A Grocery Store. While we actually do play these games, it is me and only three of the kids. I do enjoy it and so do they, but it is short lived.

The only game my 12-year-old and husband are interested in playing is “Punch Prius,” their version of Slug Bug. You see a Prius first, you punch your opponent.

We are all in the mood for something in the treat category and we decide to do the unheard of… suggest that we stop at McDonalds. Note: Our family hasn’t eaten at McDonalds (and many other fast food joints) in almost six years. That means my two youngest have never been there. Yes, the occasional (maybe three times a year) Wendys or Taco Bell, but no, no, no McDonalds. We give up one chain every New Year, and my husband keeps us all honest. If it were up to only me and my twelve-year-old son, we would be visiting McDonalds on a regular basis. But we hang with the family tradition and are now quite proud of it.

But today is different, we are all over-the-top with boredom and my husband must be a bit out of his mind as well, as he agrees to the break in proticol. My son and I are delirious with happiness, high-fiving over the seat as we pull up to the drive through (doesn’t take much for us I guess). There is peacefulness, quiet, as we all munch and slurp on our grease, salt and sugar.

Until a half hour later, when the true “Big Mac Attack” sets in… the gut ache from hell we knew was coming, but went ahead with the grease-fest anyway. No high fives now. My husband is shooting us all knowing looks that scream “told you so!”

As boredom sets it yet again for my twelve-year-old, he finds a laser flashlight. The little red dot acts like a bug on the floor and our Jack Russell goes insane, trying to catch it. This thrills my son, as he points it all over the inside of the car, everyone screaming as the dog jumps all over the place to find it. I can’t help but thump my son on the head and rip the flashlight out of his hand.

We finally give in and put in a movie on the portable DVD player that sits on the cooler between seats and has the tendency to slip and fall off. Nothing fancy attached to the inside of the car, or hand held games for everyone. But it works and keeps peace for two hours.

We are finally to our destination, and being that most of our traveling in the winter revolves around hockey tournaments, we are up north again. This time in the Upper Peninsula. Since we don’t travel much as a family (airline tickets for eight? Not in the budget), we see these tournaments as a chance to stay in hotels, eat out and see some sights. And of course, “bond” as a family. And by bond I mean be stuck together in a small space with not enough beds, not enough snacks or fun things to do. We have to get a suite and even then we are pushing the fire code.

As we settle in, our older dog needs to go out. Our ten-year-old daughter is the dog lover, so she volunteers. She gets him into the hall, but then his fear of stairs kicks in. She attempts to get him in the elevator but he’ll have no part of that either. He isn’t tiny, about 75 pounds, my daughter weighs maybe 50 pounds dripping wet. As she attempts to get him into the elevator he decides enough of all this and lets loose with a huge stream of pee… right there in the hall. My daughter runs into our room yelling “He’s peeing!” which means she is all done with dog duty. I run into the hall, only to see him creating a huge pool, right in front of a housekeeping staff member. I weakly say “he doesn’t like stairs… I am so sorry!” then lamely throw a towel over it and attempt to soak it up. I am not only the crazy mom with six kids, I am also the mom of a dog who pees in hotel hallways.

We head to the pool, and as at every hockey tournament weekend filled with parents, I am the only mom in the pool. One mom comments “you must love to swim” and while this is true, the deciding truth is that I have a three-year-old. If she wants to get in, I get in. And of course, she wants to get in. I pull at my suit, because I forgot to shave (or more likely didn’t have time). My head spins around as four kids simultaneously call “Mumma! Mumma! Watch this!” as they attempt some silly little skill in the pool. I try to take it all in, but all I want to do is slip into the hot tub and not watch any child under the age of, well, 18. All the other parents (none have little ones) are sipping drinks in the other room that looks out onto the pool. I feel like an outsider, a person who is part of the team but who can’t be allowed to play because of other commitments. I normally love my role as mom. Right now my commitment is my six kids. Sometimes I am glad to have an excuse to not do what everyone else is doing and focus on my kids, but sometimes, like right now, it is hard.

I wait until everyone is about asleep in the room and, instead of socializing with the other parents, I get some writing done. I may be on “vacation,” but I I still have a piece due for A2Politico. Then, I slip into a bed that is already overcrowded.

The weekend continues on, us shuttling from ice rink to hotel and back again a few times over. My fifteen-year-old-daughter adds a new twist: she lets us all know in no uncertain terms that she is now sick of hockey, sick of rinks, sick of these small towns with nothing to do. Ah, traveling with teenagers. She torments the littler ones, turns icy, sarcastic and is ticked off at her parents. Angry at us for having five more kids, angry for being in a hockey family, angry for not being able to get her homework done, angry for having a dog that pees in the hall and angry at the town for not having any good resale shops. I want her to have some fun, watch her brother play some killer hockey and be proud of him. I fear it won’t happen.

We are at the final game, and my teen daughter is intently watching the game, as well as taking breaks to play with and keep occupied the younger three so I can watch too. Her rant is over, and she is returning to the normal, helpful, awesome daughter I know so well. Her brother is having a deadly “on” game, doing what he does best: defense. I sneak a peek at her and see her smiling as she watches him play. She rarely goes to games with us, so this is new to her and she is obviously impressed. She cheers for him, asks me questions and is truly enjoying herself. It makes my day. Then at the end of the game, they announce the MVP, and it is her brother. When they call his name, she is so thrilled. She jumps to her feet, cheers and is so proud of him. That  is my moment.

The next morning I am still thinking about the day before; my son is thrilled as his team is doing well and he is doing his personal best, my daughter is still being kind to everyone and the little ones are loving their breakfast. Well, not every little one. My eight-year-old won’t eat and complains of a stomach ache, which is common for her. I blow it off, it happens to her all the time. She doesn’t look good, but I don’t pay much attention. She won’t eat, even though I tell her now is the time to eat and it may be awhile until lunch. She is quiet and slumps against me, another common thing for her. Then she says those dreaded words “I think I’m gonna throw up!” I don’t know where the nearest bathroom is, so I yank her hand, pull her to the stairwell, yelling over my shoulder for my husband to watch the other little ones. I pull her as fast as I can back to our room. Up the stairs, down the hall, almost there when blecccch. In the hall. A mess in the hall. Again.

So I spend the last of our “vacation” in the car with her as she sleeps instead of watching the last game, as we are checked out of the hotel. I have many plastic bags and water, wipes.

The car ride home is, as usual, quiet. The ride home is always quiet as everyone is over-tired from late nights, early mornings, long busy days. I sit in the back next to her, dozing along with her. It is finally, for the first time in three days, my turn to do nothing.

We pull into our driveway and as always, I am so relieved to be home. Yes, the fighting will continue. There will be unpacking to do.  I’ll have to cook, pack lunches, help with homework, and do laundry again. Our routine will be back to life as usual.

But life as usual is just, well, normal. And after a typical “vacation” like we tend to have, normal is pretty darned safe and… pretty close to perfect.

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Are you traveling soon with the kids? Here are some great resources to help you get organized and make the trip more bearable.

1. www.travelingwithyourkids.com
2. www.flyingwithkids.com
3. http://allears.net/pl/kids5_11.htm (great misc tips, some specific to Disney World)
4. www.travelwithkids.about.com
5. www.guardian.co.uk/travel/2008.jan/8<(50 Top Tips for Traveling With Kids)