I’m taking half of my spring break to visit my parents. The worst part of visiting my parents is the drive. Seven hours is about average. I invited my niece to come with me but she is working. My husband is taking the second half of the week off, but needs to work the first. So I am making the trip solo.
The first hundred miles are generally the worst and today was no exception. My phone kept encouraging detour after detour, which I gamely followed but I’m not sure any of them actually helped.
When I was a kid, my dad would talk about making good time. I think that is in the dad handbook, that particular phrase. I was making terrible time for the first few hours of the trip.
I pulled out of a traffic jam and got some gas. Some Girl Scouts were outside selling cookies in the cold and the wind. I intended to donate a dollar like I usually do, and tell them I already bought, which was true, but I ended up buying two boxes. I put them in the trunk to prevent myself from eating them on the ride.
Finally I left the sprawl of the region I call home and the road started to open up a bit.
I got the migraine eye twinge about thirty miles north of the state line. I stopped at a truck stop and took an Imitrex and a Tagalog. I could not add an Anaprox because I had already taken one earlier in the day. I kept going.
But then two hours later, I felt worse. I pulled into a rest stop and took the Anaprox. I emailed my mom–she hates texts–to let her know I would be delayed and rested in the car for about 20 minutes.
I got back on the road. A couple of hours later I saw I had voice mail from my parents. I stopped to listen to it. It was my Dad, panicked about my driving with a migraine. I called home to tell my parents not to worry. My mother answered the phone, and even though I fully intended to tell her I could finish the drive, I am sitting here at the rest stop waiting for my parents to pick me up.
It is nice to be so loved and cherished.