Some people love to take road trips.
We are not those people.
No, we are more the type of people:
- Whose entire goal is to get from Point A to Point B with no stops and in the least amount of time possible.
- Who panic when presented with two lane highways filled with never-ending traffic.
- Who drive to Las Vegas but then can’t enjoy New Year’s Eve because we are too busy resting up for our departure at 4:30 am on New Year’s Day to ensure that we remain unaffected by the other 1.5 zillion revelers leaving Vegas. (True story. Twice.)
So the 2 hour drive up to Santa Barbara was actually quite nice. Traffic was cooperative and aside from telling me that I was in need of a tan, Ali kept most of his comments to himself.
Also, because I sat in the backseat keeping constant vigilance, Maya didn’t throw up. Sure she used my white purse as a pillow and asked me every ten minutes how much longer we would be in the car, but she didn’t throw up.
And that right there? That’s a vacation in itself.
But then there was the drive back from our hotel.
Let’s just say that it involved a traffic filled 3 + hours, a 30 minute detour trying to find a Chevron (courtesy of our faulty GPS), and comments from my husband like, “Ameena, are you okay if I ram the car into this guy’s bumper so he’ll move faster? That’s the only way we’re going to get home by 2013.”
It’s good to be home.