I’d been looking forward to getting home for days. Weeks, even. Because I knew that, as soon as I pulled into town, I was going to leave Robbie, Justin, and Barkley for a few glorious days all by myself. Well, kind of.

We pulled into town around 12:30 Thursday afternoon, and my sister, Hilary, met us at Mom’s house. We hugged and visited and ate cupcakes (isn’t that what you do when you’ve just driven a thousand miles?). And then I left. Quickly. Oh, sure. I gave Justin a few instructions, mostly, “I don’t care how you do it, and I know it won’t be like I do it. But just make sure the dog and the baby are still alive when I get back. That’s it. Good luck.” A quick kiss and I hit the road, all by myself.

There wasn’t even a car seat in the back of the car (I’d borrowed my mom’s). No mess. No Elmo. Just music I wanted to listen to. And an errand I wanted to run (hello, Gap Outlet! – a REAL outlet) without anyone grabbing clothes or making me rush because he had a dirty diaper or a rumbly belly.

And then I was there, at my aunt’s lake house, ready for some glorious time to myself. We sat out on the boat for a while. We drank for a while. We lingered over dinner (when was the last time that happened?). And, amazingly, I slept for ten hours. I lounged in bed for an hour, reading a trashy Nora Roberts book. I took a walk around the lake (not realizing that it was a 7.5 mile loop that would take me nearly two hours). I lounged in the sun and took a boat ride.

Of course, I painted an adirondack chair for my aunt and ran some errands with her, too. After all, it couldn’t be a completely free ride! I had to earn my keep just a little. And, you know what? I was really excited to see Robbie when Hilary brought him up to the lake house Saturday.

I’m sure they’re supposed to be fun. I mean, who doesn’t love a good road trip with an almost-two-year-old? And, true to form, ours was full of excitement. And Elmo. Lots and lots and lots of Elmo. A good twenty hours worth. On repeat. And there was more. So much more.

Justin didn’t get in until 2:00 Wednesday morning, and we’d planned to leave at 6:00. Being the kind and loving wife that I am, I let him sleep until 7:35. We had our coffee and hit the road by 8:35, sure that we’d pull into Lexington by 12:30. Or even earlier. After all, the GPS said 12:35, and we all know you can drive faster than the GPS and beat the arrival time.

The weather was gorgeous. Robbie was placated by Elmo and his new coloring book. Justin and I hadn’t heard it enough for it to be jarring just yet. Barkley was well behaved. Traffic was light. Things were good. Really good. Great even. And then we hit New York. And stayed. For three freaking hours. Yes, that’s right. It took us three hours to drive through the city. Fortunately, Robbie stayed calm and made at least that part bearable.

Suddenly, the traffic cleared, and we were off. And still what felt like a million miles from home. Justin and I tried our best to tune out Elmo. We tried to trick Robbie into watching another movie. We turned up the radio. We did it all. None of it worked. Even when he took a nap, we had to leave that blasted DVD on because as soon as it was turned off, he woke up crying for Elmo.

At 8:45, we had a wake-up call. I was on the phone with my mom when it happened. I felt the car slow down and was sure our engine problems were back. Justin motioned toward the windshield, and I saw it. The deer. In the middle of the interstate. It jumped part way across the road and then turned around and came back toward us, headed straight for the car. Justin braced for impact as I stared the deer in the eye, panicked about how this was all going to play out.

And then it was gone. Nowhere. And we were safe. Nothing hit the car. No one was injured. Just like that, she was gone, serving whatever wake-up call she was intended to (I’m going for a “don’t-ignore-the-little-details-for-the-sake-of-the-big-picture, but you can take from it what you will).

We made it as far as we could, but by the time we rolled into Charleston, West-by-God-Virginia, Justin and I were done. So was poor Robbie, who’d been crying about his booboos from the car seat for thirty minutes. We realized he was running a fever, and Justin set to work rubbing Robbie’s feet, which had become swollen after sixteen hours in a car.

After learning that the first hotel we stopped at was full (Seriously? On a Wednesday? In West Virginia?), we found a Residence Inn with openings and piled into the bed. All of us. Justin. Robbie. The dog. And me, on the very edge. Robbie, despite his sheer exhaustion, took care to tuck Justin and myself in for the night before laying down. He handed Justin Cookie and lovingly gave me Moo. Then he offered Elmo some milk (I still need to check to see if that soured) and laid down to go to sleep.

We tried it again. You know, the whole movie thing? We were going crazy in the house with Robbie last Saturday and the weather wasn’t fabulous. So, what occurred to us? Yeah. We thought a trip to see Cars 2 would be great. And it was. At least it started out that way.

When we got to the theatre, we explained to Robbie that we’d be seeing a move about cars. He yelled, “Oh, boy!”, giving me the false confidence that he actually understood what I was talking about and would participate like a big boy.

We got some popcorn and settled in the theatre. Rob was entertained by the movie and the popcorn and the drinks for about 45 minutes, far longer than his last movie attempt in December. And then, suddenly, it was over. He had spilled a bag of popcorn on the floor and started eating it. He tried to climb the chairs in front of us, much to the irritation of the seven-year-olds seated there. He wanted to run up and down the aisles. He. Was. Done.

And so were Justin and I. Not entirely drawn in by Cars 2, I was actually relieved to have an excuse to leave. Except Robbie was soaked. All the way through. So, it was time for a quick trip to TJMaxx to find a new outfit before heading out on our next adventure, a trip to the beach to try to wear Robbie out. Actually, it was followed by two trips because they forgot to take the sensors off the outfit.

And then we were off to the beach. You know, to wear the kid out? Let him run around on the sand? Well, he didn’t get the memo that he was supposed before he got to the water. He was soaked. And crazy. And not at all tired. Especially after an ice cream cone. And a lost phone on my part. But it’s the stuff memories are made of, right? Driving an hour each way to the beach in hopes that an hour of activity will wear your kid out?

Rob loves the bath. Has for a long time. He loves sitting in the bath, standing in the bath, playing in the bath. Oh, and drinking the bath water. But he does not like to swim in the bath, or, as he puts it “sim”. Until last week (I know, I’m really behind on the blogs!).

I put Robbie in the tub and turned around to put clothes in the hamper. The next thing I knew, my little fish was belly down and kicking in the tub. Surprised, I asked him what on earth he was doing. He looked at me, raised his eyebrows, and said, “Simming, Mama.” Of course. Silly me.