The Family Chuckle: Family vacations never short on memories

It happens every March: I want to go someplace. I don't care where, just someplace. I want to pack light, stick a box of music CDs and magazines in the car, and take off to see new surroundings. We do a lot of that kind of trip -- just ramble around, pick a motel by how welcoming it looks; choose a restaurant by the number of cars in the parking lot. We see the sights until there are only enough CDs left to get us back home.

That'll have to wait a while. Right now I'd have to do the driving, and you can't pay attention to your driving and plan stories in your head at the same time. The stories are as important to me as seeing the sights. Besides, it wouldn't be good for Russ' recuperation to sit in one cramped position for so long.

Probably the first trip we'll take when he's healed will be to California to see the new grandson again. My computer screen saver is a slide show of Jasper. After I leave the keyboard idle for a minute so the slide show will start, I want to see Jasper in the flesh again, not just pictures.

Maybe someday we'll have fun trips with him like we had with our older grandchildren, Caity and Steve. From the time they were toddlers, we enjoyed weekend (or longer) jaunts with them.

Caity was her grandma's shopping partner. Whenever we went to Washington Square mall in Portland, we stayed at the same motel.

One evening as we checked in to rest up for the next day's big Christmas shopping excursion, Caity told the desk clerk in 4-year-old jet-setter fashion, "I call this our hotel. We always stay here when we come to Portland."

In the summertime I checked for activities that would interest children, and we'd plan a three- or four-day agenda, with something fun to see every day. At each motel Caity inspected the facilities, decided if the bathroom was four-star or just average, and unpacked her little suitcase into the dresser drawers for the one-night stay.

When Steve came along, we expanded the agenda so there'd be something to interest both of them, even though they're five years apart. On one trip we saw an outdoor play at the End of the Trail interpretative center in Oregon City, then to the beach and the wonderful Newport aquarium, then Eugene to see "Peter Pan" at their cultural center. We were lucky enough to have seats right under Peter Pan's flight path when he soared out over the audience in his almost-invisible rope harness. That was a trip to remember.

Oh, it wasn't all sunshine and lollipops. There was the Lake Oswego motel where our room's deck was right on the water, and lovable Disney-type ducks swam for our entertainment. I pulled some crackers from Grandma's ever-ready travel snack bag, so the kids could feed the ducks. Suddenly they were no longer Disney characters, but straight out of Hitchcock's "The Birds," squawking, fighting, lurching onto our deck.

We threw the crackers over our shoulders, ran inside and pulled the drapes over the sliding glass door. It took them a long time to give up. Every few minutes, little Steve asked fearfully, "Grandpa, are they still out there?" None of us wanted to open the drapes to check, afraid a ferocious feral duck would see us and fling himself at the glass.

The Renaissance Fair wasn't a complete success. They enjoyed the costumes and mock sword fights, but most of the historical content was over their heads. The refreshments made them decide that the peasants should have revolted. We left with a tall, cone-shaped hat like medieval ladies wore, with ribbons fluttering from it, for Caity, and a Robin Hood vest for Steve.

I hadn't realized that at Halloween the hat would require a medieval gown with those long, pointy sleeves that almost touch the ground, and that the fabric store had just such a pattern for me. Steve hadn't realized that Robin Hood wore tights with that vest, which is where he drew the line at authenticity. He trick-or-treated in a Robin Hood vest over jeans.

We learned a few things about traveling with grandkids. When you spend the entire day at an amusement park and end up eating dinner with exhausted kids at 11 p.m., you get funny looks. Especially if one kid is wearing a cast on his broken arm, and the other falls asleep with her face in her French fries. I expected Child Protective Services to appear at our booth any minute.

We learned that at an amusement park, even if a child reaches the height line that says she's big enough to go on a scary rollercoaster ride, common sense tells you that an adult should go with her. And since that kind of ride triggers Grandpa's motion sickness sensor, that leaves Grandma riding the rollercoaster. Yipee!

We could get lucky. Maybe Jasper will hate amusement parks. Sure! You bet! But we'll have some years of fun trips before he's tall enough to reach the line, anyhow. I can hardly wait.

* Donna Scofield is a freelance writer whose articles, columns and short fiction stories have appeared in numerous national and regional magazines. The longtime Yakima resident is retired after working as a secretary and office manager in Yakima School District elementary schools. She has raised two sons and two daughters.