Easter Road

For Easter, good Catholics that we are, I suggested we take the family on a road trip to the Anza-Borrego desert and forgo church (gasp!) because going to church on a holiday is its own special kind of hell: so crowded that I feel nauseous, 2 of our 3 kids crying or making a fuss in general. So we in fact rarely go to church, which I confessed to the priest one time, telling him about how we couldn't hear mass in the crying room because of, well, all the crying. He said we had to take care of our kids first. I liked him.

Anyways, off we went to the desert, planning a picnic. A French picnic, because Kid 2 believes that French know how to cook. They had a French picnic at school, with cheese and bread; he said, "Mom, let's go visit France, you can be an artist and I'll eat. France will be my food life!!" He then warned me, "But I can't have wine." Yup.

Cadillac thought that it was more north than east, so he drove us up and up and up the 15, then thru Wynola/Julian. At some point in Escondido, I looked at the map and wondered aloud where the f he was going. The route meandered 2 lane up and down mountains, until I felt sick.

Finally, near julian, we stopped to pee, at some grocery store at the junction of two highways that we always stop to pee at. By this time, Cadillac's circuitous route had added an extra hour's so of driving. I bought a sandwich; the kids claimed they weren't that hungry, so they got chips.

I'd looked at the Borrego website that morning for their Wildflower Report. Lots, they said. We finally got there and there were-- daisies. Big whoop. Like here.

The place was swarming with wildflower touristas. We found a place to park by the Visitor's Center, then walked in and peed and looked at the exhibits. The place was packed, the AC nearly non-existent, and everyone in there seemed to be anti-deodorant.

Then we found a picnic area in a copse of fat palm trees. Me and the girls staked out a bench while Ethan said he had to pee again, and Cadillac took him off.

So the girls and I messed around, waiting, and then I heard beeping. More beeping, then my name, bellowed. Something had happened. I picked up Kid 3, who wailed, and said, "Let's go!" to Kid 1, and we raced across the sandy dust back to the car.

"I'm writing a letter," Cadillac growled. "That park ranger wouldn't let me get out to get you. Now I don't feel so bad that our son threw up all over the outside of the bathroom."

Oh. Apparently a morning spent eating candy, going on mountainous roads, and then eating Fiery Cheetos isn't good for a little tum-tum.

We drove to a closed mall parking lot and gave the kids enough food to tide them over. Kid 2 felt better once he had some baguette in him, and back we went. I'm sure Kid 3 was wondering why the heck we'd wasted all that time driving to the desert, but there you have it.