Family vacation nightmare

Putting ten people who are all slightly related within five miles of one another — actually in the same state — big mistake potential. All family members in one house for one week — bigger potential.

I was raised on a strong dose of Father Knows Best, the Osmonds and Little House on the Prarie. I actually thought brothers and sisters were supposed to like one another. I worked hard at that goal. I made my kids stay home on Sundays and play with irk one another.

I should have known my family would be different. When all four gathered in the same automobile, they teased and argued with one another incessantly. I’d pull the VW Vanagon to a curb, turn off the motor, climb outside, and sit crouched on the curb. Heads popped out of open windows. “Why’d you stop?” one screeched. “Hot Wheelz is hitting me?” squealed another. “I’m hungry,” whined Cheezy.

“Can’t you all just get along?” I asked in the memorable words of Rodney King. “I’ll get back in the car when you do.” Even short excursions to the corner market took hours.

But the desire for the perfect tight knit family was deep rooted. A couple of years ago I had the bright idea that a family vacation might just be what everyone needed. Anyone with this inspiration meant someone with a strong desire to be institutionalized, because, at that time, everyone included a step father, four adult children, one son-in-law, one grandbaby, and me.

We settled on Vancouver — mild temperatures, close enough to be affordable. At the destination airport, they pulled two of the eight of us out of the customs line into more intense screening. (Looking back, singling out only 25% for our group may actually be pretty low.) As they escorted them behind closed doors, I heard the snap of a rubber glove. From the airport, we squeezed into a rented van and headed to the hotel. Great start, huh?

Did it get better, you ask?  I don’t remember.  It’s all a fog.  But then again, we were in Vancouver in the winter.

As we disembarked from the plane going home, the GAP — she’s the unscathed one, that’s why we call her the Gifted American Princess — handed me a trinket. A golden maple leaf keepsake.

“Don’t let me do this again,” I said to my husband. But just like childbirth, I thought I was ready for another try. Now two days before the excursion, I’m flat on my back in labor on that cold delivery table again — this time a rented house in Lake Tahoe. “I’m tempted to ask my husband, “Why didn’t you remind me?” but I know his answer, “I did, you just weren’t listening.”

If this journey doesn’t work out, I’ll wear the whole darned maple tree around my neck as a reminder — no more peacekeeping missions.

Related posts:

1. Let me introduce you to my family
2. The secret of coping with bad days
3. Honeymoon mistake
4. List for the doctor
5. What’s in a name?