So, I planned this vacation.  Because I did not learn my lesson, apparently, after the last vacation. That vacation where we blew out a tire on Interstate 10 when it was a hundred and six degrees outside. With a truck full of luggage. And dogs. And two small kids. And there I was thinking I had it hard, trying to keep the kids entertained and the dogs from dehydrating. But at least I wasn’t the one trying to find the spare tire underneath all the luggage.

Or the vacation before that when the kids unpacked their suitcases without my knowledge, and we ended up in Las Vegas with no socks. Or the time when we ended up in the snow with no hats or scarves and only one glove between us, thanks to their stealthy unpacking talents.

Or the time when we made it all the way to Mojave coming home from Phoenix, only to break the happiness spell by having to stop for gas, initiating a screaming fit that lasted the rest of the way home to Bakersfield.

Or the time my husband told the immigration officer we had no fruit, and I had nightmares for weeks about being him thrown into jail over his three apples while the kids and I waited on the side of the road, roasting in the heat, as they made us unpack every bag to see what other contraband we were trying to sneak across state lines.

Or the time we landed in New York and sat waiting on the tarmac for two hours after a direct flight from LA after driving to LA from Bakersfield, and my then almost three-year-old decided she was ready for the captain to turn off the seat belt sign. She screamed, “I am DONE with this PLANE!”  And I could not even take her out of her seat to rock and comfort her, and the other passengers just had to listen to her complaints until Daddy found some jelly bellies in his bag and started passing them to her one at a time and she was able to calm down.

Or the time I asked that same three-year-old if she wanted to go to the beach, and she said, “No. It’s wet.”

Or the time when the kids were 2 and 4 and within one mile of our house, after a seven hour drive, they BOTH decided they had to go potty right then and started letting out panicked screams to let us know that, NO they could not wait the ninety-five seconds it would take us to get to the house, so we set up their potty chair in the back of the truck on the side of the road and then they couldn’t even go.

Or the time they wanted to go on the cable car in San Francisco and did not even care that the line was two hours long for a four-minute ride.

Or the time we stopped at a Starbucks on a road trip–to use the bathroom–and ended up in a power struggle with our then seven-year-old who was quite sure that she was old enough to get her very own latte.

With our long and tarnished history of travel with children, I thought it would be a great idea to plan a trip that involves long plane rides in addition to long drives. And so, we sally forth on this next trip. I keep telling myself it will be fine. They are bigger now.

I will have to let you know how it goes.