Years ago, several members of my immediate family went to St. Louis to visit my dad’s brother as kind of a group vacation. At the time, I lived closed to eight hours from St. Louis. I was fresh out of college and working at a job on campus. My car wasn’t running the best, so my parents picked me up so that I could go on the vacation, too.
After the visit, I rode back to my apartment with my brother, his wife and their 22-month-old son. They were on their way to visit her folks, and the town I lived in was along the way. For almost the whole eight hours from St. Louis back to my apartment, my young nephew cried because he didn’t like being in his car seat. I tried to amuse him. I made silly faces, I sang songs, tried to engage him in a game of pattycake. Nothing worked. He didn’t even take a nap, not until we got to my apartment anyway.
This memory is very much on my mind now as my husband and I make plans to go visit his grandmother some 11 hours away. Our little girl used to not mind riding in the car, but over the last couple of weeks, it’s hit or miss whether she’s happy back there. Hopefully, it won’t be that bad for her.