Gatorade - Instant Pee Maker!

Last summer,  I became a pro reasonably adept at being able to handle road trips and day-to-day activities with the kids.  I knew the  steps that had to be completed before we could leave the house on time and I knew all of the retorts to the 8,999 requests that I would hear before we left the house.  I learned how to say no without feeling guilt ridden and how to tell when an argument was brewing that would require adult intervention. I tell you, I thought I had this mom stuff down pat.  But that was last summer.   And if you don't use it, you lose it.  All that hard earned kid knowledge...just out the window.

I made my first tactical error within the first hour of our road trip from SC to VA: 

              

  I handed them the 32 oz bottle of Gatorade that 'Mater (their Dad) asked me to                 buy for them.  

I figured it would be easier to give it to them immediately rather than fielding unending requests  "for a sip". Man, am I dumb sometimes.  A 32oz bottle of gatorade will hydrate the bejesus out a child. In exactly one hour.  They drank that bottle so fast I'm thinking of putting them into a chugging contest at college, any college, and I know that they will walk away undisputed champs.

I am convinced, gatorade or not, that any open, desolate stretch of road will trigger a child's bladder.  This interesting biological phenomenon has forced us  to use gas stations that I would normally only consider stopping at if I couldn't find a tree to hide behind and didn't have a scrap of a paper napkin.

You know those gas stations. The ones that offer Live Bait! Fireworks!! T-shirts!!!!  Hermit CRABS!!!!! and where the locals hang out, smoking cigarettes in the store. So, not only do I have to contend with the cigarette smoking locals staring at us  as we maneuver through the aisles of cheap Chinese made toys and whatnots,  we have to now wade through aisles of crap that is simply irresistible to kids. Ooohh can I get this?  Want. want. want...ugh.

On this trip, we were lucky enough to be able to stop at the infamous  South of the Border.  Oh. My. God. What a dump. I felt as if I was in the Griswold Family Vacation movie to Wally World.  It has certainly lost its childhood luster for me. But they had bathrooms and the kids eyeballs were starting to float so we ignored the trash blowing around the joint and the weird smell and made our way to the bathrooms.

Blondie ended up in the stall next to me and after a few seconds I hear her little voice float over to me and say, "Ms. Allison, what does M-A-N-E-A-T-E-R spell?"

"Um, maneater....why?" 

"There's a picture of a shark with a person in its mouth on my door and that's written above it."

It could have been worse. Way worse.  I'll let you use your imagination because, lord knows, I had some vivid, x-rated imagery running through my mind.  It was easier when they couldn't read, mainly because I still don't know how to answer the question "What does it mean 'call Sherry for a good time'?"

The next gas station we stopped at had no paper towels, a broken sink, and permanent yellow stains in the toilet, but, as Blondie so succinctly put it:  At least it didn't have writing on the wall. 

Amen to that sista'.