I’ve made my fair share of impulsive decisions after a few too many drinks, but suggesting a cross-country drive to Cleveland might just take the cake. Don’t get me wrong—Cleveland has its charm and is my hometown—but it’s a whopping 2,400-mile trek from our place in San Diego. Is it feasible? Sure. Was it wise considering we’ve inadvertently welcomed three little ones into our lives in the past three years? Not at all.
Our initial goal was to reach Phoenix on the first leg of the journey. My partner, Lisa, and I planned to indulge in a night at a four-star resort for around $65—a steal during the scorching summer months in Phoenix. We figured the kids could manage the five-hour drive with a mix of napping, screen time, and the occasional bribe of sugary snacks. Yeah, that was wishful thinking.
Less than two hours into our journey, chaos erupted. All three boys were wailing and shouting—nonstop. Toys and comfort items were met with disinterest, and the only solution suggested by our nearly three-year-old, the designated leader of the group, was to heed his cries of “I wanna get out!” and pull over.
After a brief pit stop at a bug-infested fast-food joint, we resumed our journey. The promise of french fries seemed to appease our two oldest, who silently agreed to cooperate for the next stretch of the trip. And they did try—though I suspect every parent thinks their kids are sweet, even when they’re acting out. Just 15 minutes later, that fragile agreement shattered.
We were crammed in a 6 x 15 Mazda minivan, a mix of luggage and pandemonium. The boys’ relentless screams were driving me up the wall. I turned to Lisa and asked if we should just turn back, but neither of us had the heart to say it aloud. We just needed to reach Phoenix, which felt like an eternity away.
As I focused on the road, a police car’s flashing lights appeared in the rearview mirror. Memories of my interactions with the law flooded back—times when I was unjustly treated because of my skin color. I took a deep breath, positioned my hands on the steering wheel, and prepared to switch from casual to formal as the officer approached.
“Why are you driving so fast?” he asked, shining a flashlight into the van.
“How fast was I going, sir?” I replied, trying to remain calm.
“87,” he said, looking at me skeptically. I exchanged glances with Lisa, who couldn’t hear over the noise.
“Uh, he said 87, but I doubt I was going that fast…” The truth was, I was definitely speeding. My mind raced calculating the potential ticket costs, which could easily reach $400.
“Where are you headed?” he inquired.
“Ohio, but just Phoenix tonight, sir,” I answered.
He glanced into the back at the chaos erupting from our kids. “I’m just gonna give you a fix-it ticket. Update your driver’s license to your current address within 30 days.”
With a newfound commitment to obeying speed limits, we finally rolled into Phoenix around midnight. The kids were completely out cold. We lugged them and an absurd amount of luggage to our suite, where Lisa and I decided to unwind by raiding the minibar. One drink led to two, then to a few “adult activities” until our three-year-old walked in, leaving us both startled.
As we traveled through Arizona and New Mexico, we developed a routine that helped ease the journey. I took on most of the driving, with a baby toilet and cooler within reach. Lisa worked her magic from the second row, soothing the boys while also managing the baby. Our strategy was to avoid small towns and hit major cities each day, taking breaks every couple of hours for the kids to stretch or use the restroom—after all, being stuck in a seat for hours is no picnic.
After a surprisingly quiet Albuquerque, where we encountered more grasshoppers than people, we hit the road early the next morning but not without delay. The boys struggled to adjust to waking up in a strange place, resulting in more hair-pulling and tantrums. Eventually, we resorted to allowing them to ride on the luggage cart, hoping hotel staff wouldn’t intervene.
With a late start, we drove through the monotony of the highways, realizing we were far from our destination, Oklahoma City. We made an unscheduled stop in Amarillo, Texas, just in time for the annual Longhorn Cattle Drive, which entertained the boys—at least momentarily.
Eventually, we arrived in Oklahoma City past midnight, using our refined hotel check-in technique once again. I would drop Lisa off at the entrance for the room keys while I handled the kids and luggage. After a long day, I found a local convenience store with late-night beer, which was a welcome reward after all the stress of the trip.
The next leg brought us to St. Louis, where the drive felt infinitely longer due to the kids’ antics. We arrived just as a Rod Stewart concert was letting out, and after battling the chaos of check-in, we finally settled into our room. The boys bounced off the walls as they discovered the joys of a hotel room.
The following afternoon, we finally made it to Ohio, starting with a visit to Lisa’s family in the countryside. Eventually, we rolled into Cleveland, where the weather felt surprisingly pleasant. Three generations of family gathered on the porch, sharing laughs and stories while the boys entertained their grandparents.
This trip was full of chaos, unexpected challenges, and bonding moments that we’ll laugh about for years to come. And while the kids may not remember every detail of this journey, the memories we created as a family will last a lifetime.
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