I'm driving. Scott is sitting in the passenger seat with his laptop at his side, ready to work on spreadsheets for work while we travel. Our children are seated with electronic games and books resting in their laps. We say a prayer while I pull out of the driveway. We're heading to North Carolina to visit my brother and his family. Our sons share a birthday and we are going to celebrate it together. Only a few weeks ago, his wife gave birth to their third child, a girl, and we can't wait to see her. The Wands love babies.
We're so happy. We love road trips too. The first stop is going to be at the gas station 'cause the Wands can't travel without snacks. On the way, we pass a large cemetery. And then it begins. "Do you know why there is a fence in front of the cemetery?" asks my husband. Heads pop up. "Because everybody is just dying to get in!" Groans. "Do you know how many dead people are buried there?" Silence. "All of them!" Giggles. I give my husband a slightly amused look. Jokes. He is turning into his father. Scott is grinning. I think of an excited puppy with his head hanging out of a pick-up truck window. Scott especially loves to travel while I am driving.
We pull into a Mom and Pops style, rural, convenience store. Daughter number two walks in with us while the rest of the herd waits in the van. My husband wanders over to the back and begins to fill his arms with various bottles of orange soda and Sierra Mist while I look around for a cappuccino machine. I can smell smoke and I see a lady sitting at the back of the store working in books while a cigarette dangles from her lips. She looks up and nods at me. The entire place has a musty smell. I can't find a cappuccino machine and then notice a diner attached to the back of the store. I order a small cappuccino and am handed a rather large Styrofoam cup filled to the top. I take a sip and it is really good.
As we climb back into the van, Scott begins passing out drinks. This is exciting for my children. They are only allowed to have one glass of decaffeinated soda on Fridays. This is a Saturday and each child is receiving his own little bottle. The sound of "psssstsss" from all the tops opening happen simultaneously. I barely pull onto I-95 when Scott pulls out a bag of caramel "Bulls-eyes". He begins throwing them to the kids like a fireman in a parade. I shake my head. It is only 9:30 in the morning.
I glance at Scott and still see his laptop on the floor next to him. He pops in a Disney CD and begins to read the newspaper. I am sipping my cappuccino (this is a treat for me too - did I say it was really good?). "Lion King!" My husband blurts out after the first few notes. The music continues. Scott smiles at me triumphantly. I smile back. He always does this. He is playing his own little game of Name That Tune. Game shows. Did I mention that he is turning into his father? It is a good thing that I happen to really like his father. "Tarzan!" He shouts without looking up, still turning the pages of his paper.
The "Pedro" signs for South of the Border begin to appear as we draw closer to North Carolina. The laptop is finally opened. Scott is deeply engrossed in his paperwork. The song on the CD is from Mulan. "Who is that girl I see, staring straight back at me?" he sings along. He is oblivious to the fact that he has been singing several princess songs in a row and this line finally makes me burst out laughing. He looks up and starts looking around for what I am laughing at. Pedro continues to call to me from the road, the CD is now turned off, and Scott comes up with another way to entertain himself. "You need a GPS", he announces. "A Yoda GPS." He begins his Yoda impression. "Turn right, you will", he commands me in his Grover-like voice. I am tempted to just let go of the wheel and use the force to teach him a lesson, but I manage to resist the temptation. After about ten minutes of this, Scott receives a warning look and turns the "GPS" off and the radio on.
A bag of peanut M&Ms is opened. Daddy counts out little piles of five candies for each child and passes them back to the kids. Daughter number two quickly devours hers and I see her ever so carefully slip her little paw into the M&M bag for more. She knows I can see her and is peeking at me hopefully in the rear view mirror. The Mama is sneaky too. I grab her wrist unexpectedly and startle her. This convinces Daddy that everyone needs another handful. Three cheers for Daddy! Eager hands reach from the back of the van.
We pull into my brother's driveway. The side door of the van slides open and three little boys spill out and land on top of each other on the the front lawn. They scramble to their feet and race to the door. "Don't ring the doorbell!" I yell as I race ahead of them to the entrance. "There is a baby here, now!" We briefly compose ourselves until the three boys begin hammering on the front door with all of their might. My brother's twelve-year-old sister-in-law opens it, and my sons run past her to excitedly pounce on their cousins. While introducing myself to my brother's mother-in-law, I hear a little commotion behind me. "Is the baby in here?" child number five excitedly questions while grabbing the doorknob to the master bedroom. Child number four is at his side. I fail to stop them in time. The door flies open and reveals my sister-in-law, Regina, sitting in a rocking chair breastfeeding little Clarissa. Luckily, she is well-covered, but my boys are undaunted. They crowd up to her and try to move the blanket away so they can see the baby. I block them. "I remember those", my five-year-old announces while pointing towards her chest." (He does? Then I recall that it was only two short years ago that he had stopped nursing.) I shepherd the boys from the room, cross my eyes at Regina, and manage to shut the door. My brother arrives.
Regina's mother, Josie, is only five years older than me and speaks very little English. She leads me into the kitchen to show me our lunch, "Filipino spaghetti". The pots on the stove look like something from the back of a restaurant. They are huge. A large platter is placed on the table and we gather, bless, and devour quickly. The spaghetti is tasty. My sister-in-law translates the ingredients to me as her mother tells them to her. Ground pork, a mysterious sausage, chopped onion, two heads of garlic (not cloves), a large can of tomato sauce, salt, pepper, soy sauce, and two bottles of banana sauce. There is a familiarity to it, but I can't place it (a Chinese restaurant?, a stir fry?). My mother and step dad arrive.
Later, there is a snack of "sweet rice". Josie pulls out an enormous wok-like pan and boils two cans of coconut milk until they reduce. Meanwhile, in a separate pot, she adds a little water to "hard brown sugar" purchased from an Asian grocery and melts it down to a caramel. I sample a piece and it tastes like molasses candy. She adds the rice to the syrup and coconut milk, and just when I think it is almost over, the work really begins. The tiny little woman with two large tools begins scraping and tossing this heavy, rice mixture for about an hour, until it becomes a large, caramel-colored sticky mass of goodness. Daughter number two is hovering over Josie. She is a fan of rice pudding and is anxious to sample this. Finally, the treat is spread into a serving dish for all to enjoy.
My step dad, brother and I make a run to the Wal-Mart to purchase one more birthday present and dinner. As we stand at the counter of Poppa John's, the cashier refers to me as my brother's wife. Kris and I look at each other and exchange an "Ew!" expression. I then enunciate very clearly that I am this man's older sis-ter. My brother begins chatting with the cashier. He is explaining to her how he handles women. "Let them think they are always right." She smiles at him politely and looks at me. I read her face. "Is he for real?" I smile back. "Don't fall for it." As we leave, I ask my brother if there is anyone left on this planet that he has not offended with his torments. He has to think about that one. We pile five large pizzas next to my step dad, who has graciously insisted that I sit in the front seat. My brother teases me the entire way home by responding to everything I say with, "You're absolutely right, Jenny."
Two little birthday boys are anxious to open their presents. We sing, open gifts, and eat ice cream cake. Eight children, a baby, and and seven adults scatter around my brother's house engaged in various activities. My now eight-year-old nephew is playing with his new "Sorry" game in a corner with his twelve-year-old "auntie" and teenage female cousins; while my now nine-year-old son is playing with his new Star Wars flight simulation game thingy on my brother's humungoid television. There is a small line of boys and two grown men waiting for their turns at the game. The women are cleaning up from all of the eating and chattering in two different languages. Baby Clarissa is being continually passed from person to person - the best new toy of all.
Bedtime. The bathroom lines begin. Kids are running through the house in jammies, the sink seems to be continually going, and Regina and I are arranging blankets and pillows all over the family room floor. When preparations are complete, my mom and step dad are in the guest room, and Josie and sister-in-law are sharing bunk beds with my brother's birthday boy. My brother, Kris, and his wife and baby are in their room, the Wand kids and one escaped cousin are scattered on the floor, and Scott and I are surrounding them on the couches. Little six-year-old cousin and my five-year-old are inseparable and way too silly for bedtime. The lights are off and cousin keeps getting up and pretending to bump into furniture because it is dark. My son finds this hilarious. I use my nicest, firm warning voice, and get them back down. But now they are thirsty. I climb off the couch and two shirtless boys in their practically matching Star Wars jammie bottoms patter behind me into the kitchen. I give them each a plastic cup, fill them with water, and scoot them back to the floor. Finally, the giggles and squirming subside and the sound of gentle snoring drifts into my ears from various locations of the house. It takes me awhile, but I finally doze off.
I wake up first and use the opportunity to read and shower before the bathroom line begins. Afterward, I begin waking up my kids one at a time and have them do the same. Soon, the rest of the family awakens and Regina and I begin breakfast. I crack about two dozen eggs into a couple of bowls with a shot of milk and a bag of cheddar cheese while Regina pops biscuits into the oven. We work as a team to scramble the eggs, place them in a large serving bowl, and then rip into two packs of bacon. While Regina begins sausage gravy, I flip the bacon with tongs in two large frying pans. I look behind me and see Josie leaning up against the sink watching me. I start to laugh. I point the tongs at her. "You are lost!" I tease while Regina translates. She is a Filipino Mama and someone else is in the kitchen. "My tongs! My pans!" I tease. I do a little victory dance in front of the stove. I offer to let her hold a spoon to make her feel better while I cook. She giggles, but does not move from her spot. I suddenly begin to feel self-conscious. I try to turn the bacon as professionally as possible. I reheat my leftover cappuccino from the gas station while my step dad spikes his coffee with chocolate powder.
My brother enters the kitchen. He is a man who is used to being in charge. He is an Army Major who will soon be attending Lieutenant Colonel school, and when he uses his military command voice, his sons rethink whatever it is they were getting ready to do (and so does everyone else for that matter). He is inspecting the sausage gravy. He clearly adores his wife and his voice is gentle as he tells her how to multiply the gravy with a can of cream of mushroom soup. His directions are very specific. "Stir the gravy at twenty second intervals.....(in the microwave)" He repeats them about three times when I threaten him with my tongs and chase him out of the kitchen. He walks out backwards, still reviewing the directions......
After breakfast, the family begins searching for Nerf suction cup darts that go with my son's new over sized gun. Three are still missing. The darts have been stuck everywhere from the doors to the foreheads of all the boys (and some of the girls). My brother finds two protruding from the front door and my oldest son finds one in a plant in the backyard. Soon, the van is packed, and kids are sitting on the couch posing for a picture. Regina announces, "Everyone say Filipino spaghetti!" The kids obey and pictures are taken. We are given a cooler filled with leftovers and begin the journey home - right after we stop at the gas station.
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