Read Online Family - The Ties That Bind...And Gag! by Erma Bombeck - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Erma Bombeck
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They argued about whether or not you could use a yo-yo on the moon and whether or not hair would grow over a vaccination. They discussed at length what if a nun were allowed to become a priest, would you call her “Father”?
They threatened to “slap” a minimum of 55 times and “punch” 85 times, said “I'm telling” 149 times, and whispered, “I'll give you one where it hurts” too many times to count.
The only bright spot I can ever remember was once when I slumped against the door and it wasn't closed all the way and I nearly fell out.
It amazes me how every year, a childless writer will set down suggestions on the joys of traveling with children.
One article I read recommended you "put pillows, snacks, a change of clothes, and some of the children's favorite toys inside the car where they can be easily reached.
"Plan for rest stops about every two hours and, if possible, take a brief walk on these stops.
"Once back on the road, talk about what they saw and did during each stop.
“Use your imagination for other kinds of entertainment. Play guessing games and sing songs.”
Well, if that doesn't make you want to go right out and rent a child for your next trip ... nothing will.
But you're not talking to an amateur. I have traveled with children for the last twenty years and have been in three rest homes and two encounter groups, have written fifteen letters to Dale Evans asking for spiritual guidance, and was in analysis two years after I admitted abandoning a ten-year-old in a roadside gift shop. I have a few suggestions of my own.
The pillow is a great idea. The first one who whines, “Make him stop looking at me,” gets it... right over the face.
As for commercial games and toys, forget 'em. Children usually like to make up their own. In addition to “Get Mama,” there's “Name That Thud!” With her head turned toward the window, Mom has to guess what is making Robbie cry out in pain. There's “Window Roulette” where all the bodies in the back seat are airborne trying to get a seat by the two windows. Other cars will often slow down to watch this one.
I personally like “Statue,” a takeoff on the old summer game where Mom reaches over the back seat, gives each a rap, and no matter what position a child lands in, he must remain that way for the next 200 miles.
If you encourage a child to share with you his observations of the last pit stop, be prepared to hear language from a rest room wall that will make your radiator boil over.
Frankly, 1 have some questions about jamming a family into a car together for a couple of weeks in pursuit of happiness. It has been explained to me a thousand times, but I still don't understand why it is that men feel obliged to start a vacation at four in the morning.
I mean, what good are breathtaking colors of the Smoky Mountains in the dark? How can you feel the pulse and excitement of New York City when a passed-out wino is the only thing on the street? What good is a vacation if you can't keep awake through lunch?
We were the first family ever to “See America First” by headlights. Every morning before hitting the road, we would be awakened by the sound of the alarm going off in the middle of the night. Picking my way through the darkness, I'd guide arms and legs through clothes. It was like threading a needle with wet spaghetti. As the kids continued to sleep, I'd walk them to the car and arrange them in the back seat.
They never awoke asking, “Where are we?” It was always, “What time is it?” They could never play games other children played, like “Count the Chevys” or “Out-of-State License Plate Rummy.” There weren't any cars on the road.
We'd sit there like zombies, listening to the hog and grain markets on the car radio, trying to figure out which meal we would spoil if we ate a candy bar.
Once we stopped at a roadside park for a potty break, and I hooked my sweater over the hood ornament to keep from falling down. About the
They threatened to “slap” a minimum of 55 times and “punch” 85 times, said “I'm telling” 149 times, and whispered, “I'll give you one where it hurts” too many times to count.
The only bright spot I can ever remember was once when I slumped against the door and it wasn't closed all the way and I nearly fell out.
It amazes me how every year, a childless writer will set down suggestions on the joys of traveling with children.
One article I read recommended you "put pillows, snacks, a change of clothes, and some of the children's favorite toys inside the car where they can be easily reached.
"Plan for rest stops about every two hours and, if possible, take a brief walk on these stops.
"Once back on the road, talk about what they saw and did during each stop.
“Use your imagination for other kinds of entertainment. Play guessing games and sing songs.”
Well, if that doesn't make you want to go right out and rent a child for your next trip ... nothing will.
But you're not talking to an amateur. I have traveled with children for the last twenty years and have been in three rest homes and two encounter groups, have written fifteen letters to Dale Evans asking for spiritual guidance, and was in analysis two years after I admitted abandoning a ten-year-old in a roadside gift shop. I have a few suggestions of my own.
The pillow is a great idea. The first one who whines, “Make him stop looking at me,” gets it... right over the face.
As for commercial games and toys, forget 'em. Children usually like to make up their own. In addition to “Get Mama,” there's “Name That Thud!” With her head turned toward the window, Mom has to guess what is making Robbie cry out in pain. There's “Window Roulette” where all the bodies in the back seat are airborne trying to get a seat by the two windows. Other cars will often slow down to watch this one.
I personally like “Statue,” a takeoff on the old summer game where Mom reaches over the back seat, gives each a rap, and no matter what position a child lands in, he must remain that way for the next 200 miles.
If you encourage a child to share with you his observations of the last pit stop, be prepared to hear language from a rest room wall that will make your radiator boil over.
Frankly, 1 have some questions about jamming a family into a car together for a couple of weeks in pursuit of happiness. It has been explained to me a thousand times, but I still don't understand why it is that men feel obliged to start a vacation at four in the morning.
I mean, what good are breathtaking colors of the Smoky Mountains in the dark? How can you feel the pulse and excitement of New York City when a passed-out wino is the only thing on the street? What good is a vacation if you can't keep awake through lunch?
We were the first family ever to “See America First” by headlights. Every morning before hitting the road, we would be awakened by the sound of the alarm going off in the middle of the night. Picking my way through the darkness, I'd guide arms and legs through clothes. It was like threading a needle with wet spaghetti. As the kids continued to sleep, I'd walk them to the car and arrange them in the back seat.
They never awoke asking, “Where are we?” It was always, “What time is it?” They could never play games other children played, like “Count the Chevys” or “Out-of-State License Plate Rummy.” There weren't any cars on the road.
We'd sit there like zombies, listening to the hog and grain markets on the car radio, trying to figure out which meal we would spoil if we ate a candy bar.
Once we stopped at a roadside park for a potty break, and I hooked my sweater over the hood ornament to keep from falling down. About the
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