I’m taking half of my spring break to visit my parents.  The worst part of visiting my parents is the drive.  Seven hours is about average.  I invited my niece to come with me but she is working.  My husband is taking the second half of the week off, but needs to work the first.  So I am making the trip solo.

The first hundred miles are generally the worst and today was no exception.  My phone kept encouraging detour after detour, which I gamely followed but I’m not sure any of them actually helped.

When I was a kid, my dad would talk about making good time.  I think that is in the dad handbook, that particular phrase.  I was making terrible time for the first few hours of the trip.  

I pulled out of a traffic jam and got some gas.  Some Girl Scouts were outside selling cookies in the cold and the wind.  I intended to donate a dollar like I usually do, and tell them I already bought, which was true, but I ended up buying two boxes.  I put them in the trunk to prevent myself from eating them on the ride.

Finally I left the sprawl of the region I call home and the road started to open up a bit.

I got the migraine eye twinge about thirty miles north of the state line.  I stopped at a truck stop and took an Imitrex and a Tagalog.  I  could not add an Anaprox because I had already taken one earlier in the day.  I kept going.

But then two hours later, I felt worse.  I pulled into a rest stop and took the Anaprox.  I emailed my mom–she hates texts–to let her know I would be delayed and rested in the car for about 20 minutes.

I got back on the road.  A couple of hours later I saw I had voice mail from my parents.  I stopped to listen to it.  It was my Dad, panicked about my driving with a migraine.  I called home to tell my parents not to worry.  My mother answered the phone, and even though I fully intended to tell her I could finish the drive, I am sitting here at the rest stop waiting for my parents to pick me up.

It is nice to be so loved and cherished.