"Where we going?"
That was a fun question all day, let me tell you. Almost as fun as my son reverting to calling me "Mister Driver" whenever he wanted to listen to a CD. With eight "i"s. "Oh, mister drIIIIIIIIIverrrr...." *kick* *kick* *kick*
Next trip, the lad with the rock'em-sock'em robot feet sits in the third row of the van.
But considering it was about 5 hours to Canton, certainly Erin's longest trip in the car, and Ryan's longest since he had anything resembling an attention span, they did very well. We left nice and early, so we wouldn't be in a terrible hurry and add to the stress. Erin slept the first hour and a half or so, leaving us to only have to keep Ryan entertained, pointing out the cows and the horses and the barns and the wind turbines and the tunnels and all the other Redskins fans heading out to the Hall of Fame ceremony. Even the rest area in western Pennsylvania we utilized for lunch was chock full o' nuts in burgundy and gold, pointing thumbs up and sports-dude double-points in my "81"jersey-wearing direction.
After both kids napped in their seats in the afternoon, we stopped about a half-hour away from the HOF to gas up and switch the family into their Redskins paraphernalia and mount the flags on the windows and slap the Redskins tattoos on and install the eight electronically controlled three-yard long roof-mountain horns that played "Hail to the Redskins" when you honk the horn.
Okay, no, but there's a gift idea for Ainsley.
After the nineteenth time of asking where we were going, the answer seemed to finally sink in to Ryan cranium:
"Where we going?"
"We told you, Ryan. To the Hall of Fame to see Mr. Green and Mr. Monk."
"Oh."
pause pause pause
"What color is Mr. Monk?"
Next trip, the lad with the rock'em-sock'em robot feet sits in the third row of the van.
But considering it was about 5 hours to Canton, certainly Erin's longest trip in the car, and Ryan's longest since he had anything resembling an attention span, they did very well. We left nice and early, so we wouldn't be in a terrible hurry and add to the stress. Erin slept the first hour and a half or so, leaving us to only have to keep Ryan entertained, pointing out the cows and the horses and the barns and the wind turbines and the tunnels and all the other Redskins fans heading out to the Hall of Fame ceremony. Even the rest area in western Pennsylvania we utilized for lunch was chock full o' nuts in burgundy and gold, pointing thumbs up and sports-dude double-points in my "81"jersey-wearing direction.
After both kids napped in their seats in the afternoon, we stopped about a half-hour away from the HOF to gas up and switch the family into their Redskins paraphernalia and mount the flags on the windows and slap the Redskins tattoos on and install the eight electronically controlled three-yard long roof-mountain horns that played "Hail to the Redskins" when you honk the horn.
Okay, no, but there's a gift idea for Ainsley.
After the nineteenth time of asking where we were going, the answer seemed to finally sink in to Ryan cranium:
"Where we going?"
"We told you, Ryan. To the Hall of Fame to see Mr. Green and Mr. Monk."
"Oh."
pause pause pause
"What color is Mr. Monk?"
posted by Dan at 2:14 PM
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