Pants-free parenting: Traveling with young kids can be a path to insanity

Hour nine of our 12-hour road trip was when the baby started chucking goldfish at my head. 'Frow!” He yelled and pinged my cheek with a festively colored red Goldfish. A green one hit my nose seconds later. 'Frow!”

Only minutes earlier, I had been tasked by my children with bending over to retrieve markers from impossible places. 'I need more markers,” my 3-year-old yelled. 'Color!” The baby shrieked pointing to where he'd just tossed a crayon.

I started getting carsick from trying to twist my body. 'Enough!” I said. 'This is not a fun car game. You drop it, you lose it until the next stop.” I turned back around and popped some Excedrin.

The kids cried for a few minutes until I passed out snacks and a little lecture on why they needed to please be quiet because mommy was dying on the inside.

I don't remember road trips being this difficult as a kid. I am the second oldest of eight and my parents drove us all over the country in our 15-passenger van. I mean, sure we were allowed to scramble beneath the benches and seat belt rules were lax. But there were eight of us. You'd think I would remember more whining and screaming and the head-pounding agony that I was experiencing as a parent. But I don't. I remember reading books and feeding my little sisters Cheerios. I remember huddling in the back with my siblings and telling stories. I remember my brother sticking 20 straws together and poking my dad in the next from three benches back.

I asked my parents if my memories were warped. I asked them this as I trudged exhausted into their house, carrying the baby who was damp from spilling juice on his pants, and digging Goldfish out of my bra.

My dad smiled. 'We ran a tight ship. I didn't let things get out of hand.” My mom nodded in agreement. 'You kids were such great travelers.”

I deeply love my parents, but people who choose to have more than one kid cannot be trusted.

'You are both full of garbage,” I said eating a Goldfish and letting the baby run free into their home. 'Tell me that you died on the inside while we traveled.”

My dad laughed. 'I think we died on the inside before we ever went on a road trip. By the time you have eight kids you just give up on so many things like sleep and sanity, that everything after that ...” he shrugged.

While I still maintain that my parents are not to be trusted. There is a lot of wisdom in my dad's words. As a parent of only two kids, I'm a little high-maintenance. I insist that my car has to be clean, that the living room is tidied, and that no one throws Goldfish at my face. But what if I gave that up?

When my daughter gave up naps at the ripe old age of 2, my husband and I drove ourselves crazy trying to get her to nap again. We did everything every book and online article told us. But inevitably, it all failed. Finally, when I just gave up and enforced a rest time, we were all suddenly happier. What if, like with nap times, I just gave up on sanity and leaned into the crazy?

On our trip home, I tried to be more relaxed. I let the baby scream hold my phone and tried to Zen myself into a place of not caring that there were now ground up graham crackers on the carpet. Instead of giving the 3-year-old all of the markers that were on the floor, I gave her one crayon and told her in my day all I had to color with in the car were unsharpened pencils. It didn't work. My head was pounding only two hours in.

I texted my mom. Who wrote back, 'Well, we didn't really travel when you were little. And after we had four kids you all started taking care of each other.”

This would have been useful advice before I decided to be all Zen about markers on the floor of the car. But four kids? I don't know if I'll ever find out if that advice is true or not.

l Lyz Lenz is a writer, mother of two and hater of pants. Email her at eclenz@gmail.com or find her writing at LyzLenz.com.