Tag: summer vacation

Summer Road Trips: Las Vegas, 1989

We made it to Las Vegas, but not before stopping for lunch at a Burger King where I wrote a bad review on a napkin hoping someone would read it. Hoover Dam didn’t make a huge impression on me. It was a long wall of concrete. My head ached. The relentless sun seared us on the way to the gift shop. I begged Mom for a Gatorade and downed it without sharing. Later, I figured out I might have had heat exhaustion even though we were in the car most of the time. The desert will shrivel all moisture out of you without notice.

“Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas” announced our destination. We were ready for a real shower in our hotel room. The lights were on even in the daytime as we drove down the strip to the Flamingo Hilton hotel, in all of it’s pink glory.

We unpack the car and follow Mom and Dad to the hotel lobby. The cool air provides relief and we’re giddy with excitement. Hotel stays were a rare treat for us and this one looked fancy, to us, anyway.

I’m expecting a quick stop at the desk, get the keys and room number, take the elevator, find the room, and sprawl out on one of the beds.

We have to wait in line. A long line. A line so long Dad asks Mom to take us to the waiting area in the lobby where other travelers wait with piles of suitcases and duffel bags. There is no place to sit.

I can’t laugh. I can’t cry. I can’t scream. I count suitcases. I listen to the slot machines in the distance still wondering why we’d take a family vacation to Sin City. Aren’t we supposed to stay away from sin? Here were, underage and right in the middle of it. If I die will I go straight to hell? I didn’t plan this trip, so hopefully not.

If we have another no vacancy situation…

Dad returns with the room key and we head to our room. Mom is the first to get in the shower. I decide to take a nap, still groggy from sleeping in the car. The curtains are pulled back so we can observe the view of a real city. I’m so tired I can’t even sleep.

It took us the rest of the day to settle in, eat a proper meal, go sight seeing and return for the night. Angie and I were on nude duty. We were tasked with covering Anthony’s eyes any time someone on the street flashed business cards with nude girls on the front. Of course, he dodged us every time so Mom intercepted him, yanking him close, pointing to some building or landmark as a distraction.

Uncle Danny and my youngest sister joined us the next day. She missed the adventure because they flew instead of road-tripping with us. Lucky.

We went shopping and traveled to ancient Greece at Caesar’s Palace. We watched a show, Legends in Concert, where Elvis, Sammy Davis, Jr., Frank Sinatra, the Blues Brothers, and Dolly Parton impersonators performed. Occasionally, we’d make sure casino security guards paid attention when we veered off the path and stepped onto the casino floor carpet. They were quick. We ate pizza at Circus Circus while we watched the trapeze show.

I didn’t know this would be my last family vacation before heading off to college. We drove each other crazy and almost renamed ourselves the Griswolds, but no one could top Clark, although we got close.

Mom flew back home with Uncle Danny, to get to work on time. I upgraded to the front seat, thank goodness, but I also had to fill in for Mom and make sure everyone was okay. There were less pit stops and there was no overnight stay. Dad was determined to get that twelve hour drive done in under twelve hours.

I saw the sign to Petrified Forest National Park as it grew smaller in the rearview mirror. My one little piece of summer, tucked away somewhere in my suitcase.

Summer Road Trips: Las Vegas, 1989

People at a scenic overlook at Grand Canyon National Park
With Dad at Grand Canyon National Park, 1989

The Grand Canyon

We slept in the car. Mom didn’t. She’s the type who needs a morning and evening shower. There wan’t anything else to do but fall asleep leaning against the car door, Anthony stretched out across the back seat bookended between his two sisters.

In the morning, we pulled out of the parking lot and into a service station. We’d drive to the Grand Canyon and do another national park drive through. Someone at the service station informed Dad about the showers.

Hungry, stinky, and bleary-eyed, it was hard to be excited.

Teen girl at Grand Canyon national park

And then we saw the views.

On the way to find the campground showers, we made a few stops at scenic overlooks.

You’d think the most memorable part of the trip was the magnificent view, but it was the showers. Dad split some quarters with Mom. He took off with Anthony in one direction and we took off with her in another. Not only were there few shower stalls, Mom put Angie and me in one stall and she took another.

“You’ll need to be quick and you’ll have to share. While one of you scrubs down, one of you stands under the water. When it runs out, it runs out.”

You have got to be kidding me.

We stood back to back because two teen sisters in the same space, in a shower, is mortifying.

“You’re hogging the water, MOVE so I can rinse my hair!”

It didn’t work. Midway through, the water stops.

“Go get more quarters,” I snapped.

Squeaky clean, Angie gets dressed and leaves me, drip drying, my eyes closed to block soap from running into my eyes.

“She ran out!” she announces when she returns. “You need to hurry so we can leave.”

Typical.

I get dressed, my hair half rinsed with soapy film.

We didn’t ride donkeys down to the bottom of the canyon like the kids on The Brady Bunch. No helicopter ride. No real camping, just a quick drive through with a pit stop for a shower. The canyon’s grandeur did take our breath away, but we weren’t there long enough to take it in the way such places deserve.

On this never ending road trip, our next stop is at Hoover Dam. I don’t want to see a damn dam.

They Hate Road Trips-2021

This is the first of my summer road trip musings, in reverse order to my childhood.

Texas-New Mexico state line

I grew up in the Texas panhandle, New Mexico nearby, but we never went there when I was a kid. No snow skiing or summer hikes for us. Our summer vacations, if we had one, were usually to south Texas to visit my dad’s side of the family. If we were lucky, we’d get to visit the beach, but we mostly stayed at my grandma’s and visited family.

The past two years, summer vacation plans fell through. We always go back home to visit our family, but now we travel north. Last week we spent the first half of our vacation with family and then invited my mom to tag along with us for a few days in New Mexico. Six years before, almost to the day, we attended the U.F.O. Festival in Roswell, spent a day at Carlsbad Caverns, slid down the dunes in White Sands, and did a tiny bit of hiking in Ruidoso.

Santa Rosa, NM

Albuquerque and Santa Fe were our destinations this year and I wanted to stop at as many roadside attractions as possible. In reality, we didn’t stop as often as I anticipated. I had a grand plan to map out everything, but the beginning of summer break had us busy with day long projects for two weeks straight. Not much time for planning. As I got lost in the depths of Pinterest and the web, I decided we’d play it by ear. I started my sightseeing list, asked the kids to do their own research and give me suggestions (they didn’t), and quickly realized we’d need more than three days to do everything. Plan B: do what we can with the time we have.

We stayed at a beautiful home in Albuquerque via Vrbo. We bought enough groceries to prepare breakfast and dinner. When we arrived, I almost didn’t want to leave the house. I spent the mornings on the front porch of the courtyard sipping my coffee while watching hummingbirds and other birds I couldn’t identify stop by the fountain for their morning sips of water. My mom joined me and we took our time catching up. It had been almost a year since I’d seen her.

The kiddos, right before they ditched us. I’ll take what I can get.

In Santa Fe, we went to Meow Wolf, the immersive art exhibit in a remodeled bowling alley. The kids ditched us. We went on our own and had a great time anyway. Parents with younger kids wrangled and steered them in the direction they needed to go. Some hollered at them to figure out where they had wandered off–there are lots of nooks, crannies, and secret passages. I don’t miss those days. But here I am, without my own kids. I didn’t experience their wonder or joy, but they did show me their pictures. Sigh…

We headed out for lunch then for some shopping. Even if they’re older, they still get tired. I didn’t get to pop in to as many shops as I would’ve liked. They aren’t much into shopping unless it’s for candy or ice cream. Kids have a way of telling you things without telling you things. It was hot and they were done with the walking even though they’d been fed. It doesn’t stop at toddlerhood.

We spent the following day in Albuquerque. The oldest didn’t want to join us and I didn’t prod. This is probably our last full-family road trip. Heading back to Texas, we stopped at a large souvenir shop I remember from my own last full-family road trip to Las Vegas before my senior year of high school. It’s funny, no matter how old the kids get, there’s still the allure of filling up a little bag of polished rocks. Although they had their own spending money, I bought them both said little bags full of rocks, the youngest correcting me, “They’re crystals, Mom, not rocks.”

As we got back onto the highway, my mom announced she bought me a little something. I turned around and she handed me a small plastic rectangle. I flipped it over and discovered my name printed on it. I squealed like a twelve year old on a road trip. There’s still the allure of getting a little license plate souvenir keychain with your name on it, no matter how old you get.

Souvenirs are my fave!

The Summer of Who Knows What

Years ago I started naming my summers as a declaration of my goals. I didn’t write them out in a fancy planner and vision boards weren’t a thing back then. Or maybe they were, but I didn’t know about them. Too busy with a toddler at the time.

The first one I remember was The Summer of Learning. I bought a guitar with the determination to continue plucking away at it throughout the summer. I hung out with kids at an after school enrichment class for students wanting to learn guitar. The choir teacher led it and welcomed me. Instead of signing up to teach an enrichment class, I joined one. I like to think I was modeling the love of learning something new. And hard. Summer break started and the guitar moved into my closet. It’s still there, awaiting new strings that haven’t been replaced. In years. I think it wants to play.

In the mornings, I sponsored kids who wanted to learn to knit and crochet. I knew how to make a basic chain, single, and double crochet stitches from my childhood. My mom taught me how to make these swirly worm bookmarks, complete with googly eyes. I made a few and abandoned the fiber arts, or rather, crafts. Knitting intrigued me. I found an old book from our library that had not made it to the weeding cart. I checked it out and taught myself the basics. Other kids were interested, so the group was born. I took it into summer break and learned to make cute little baby hats. Those were my projects that summer. Along with scarves I gifted people. Some wore them, some didn’t, but I made them and people gladly accepted them.

I read eight books that summer, too. This was back in the day when my kid was still young enough to nap once or twice a week. Yes, once or twice a week. My kids didn’t nap much. Ever. But I’d get my down time in the evenings and I’d stay up late only to groggily wake up early the next morning. I picked my books up in between toddler TV shows or play sessions over a makeshift cardboard box kitchen and Play-Doh. It was worth the mess.

One summer I named The Summer of Getting Stuff Done. The stuff to get done was fresh coats of interior wall paint, trying-unsuccessfully-to tend a bountiful garden, decluttering (always decluttering), freezer meal prep, exercising every morning at 5:30 a.m. Seriously? The early morning exercise sessions didn’t make it to the next summer. How did I do that though? And the freezer meal prep to toss into the Crock-Pot? They all hated the meals.

I don’t remember what I named other summers. I might have written them in a journal somewhere. Eventually I stopped because they flat out stopped working. Or I got tired. Or they stopped working and I got tired. I know one was The Summer of Baby #2 (who will soon be 12). I lost track after that. However, I started marking them with vacations.

My 40th Birthday BBF Bash to Las Vegas was one of my favorite summers. And the one to Mexico sans kids. And the one to Mexico with kids and Grandma the following summer. The less expensive one to New Mexico for Alien Fest on Fourth of July Weekend right before grad school. And the horrid one to Colorado after I finished grad school. Colorado was fine. The kids, not so much. They were at the age where their bickering was next level annoying. At least some of the pictures were good. And that’s been it.

I suppose last summer would be The Summer of…I’m over it. We all know how that summer went. Here we are…here I am, trying to figure it out. Maybe this time I’ll name my summer after I experience it. Find a name to fit after I get to know it. Let it play out and follow it where it wants to go. Our family has experienced many milestones this year. One kid composing a piece of music and graduating high school. Another starting middle school and experiencing all that comes with it. My husband’s semi-retirement. My move back to middle school in August. Planning a road trip; nothing fancy, but at least something.

Rather than take control, I’ll let this one take the lead. I’ll putter around my summer and do what I can without fretting. Get that guitar restrung and either learn to play it or give it to someone who will love it. Climb out of my comfort zone and join a writing group. Learn to play pickle ball because sports are not my thing. You know, push myself to do something hard. And read. Always reading. Hang out with my kids who no longer want to hang out. Maybe I’ll nap. Once or twice a week.