Poetic Earth

From Survival Mode to the Open Road: Our Long-Awaited Family Road Trip

It was the last week of school for our Pre-K’er, and I felt genuinely accomplished that she made it to school nearly every day she was supposed to. I never imagined being a stay-at-home mom would be so exhausting. With a three-year-old and a one-year-old in tow for every drop-off and pick-up, was a full-time job in itself!

I don’t know why people glamorize parenthood so much. Yes, it’s the most magical blessing I’ve ever experienced, and watching my little humans grow into their own is indescribably beautiful — but it’s also one of the most tedious, soul-draining jobs out there. It demands every ounce of patience I never knew I had.

We have been so engulfed in being parents that the last time my husband and I took a vacation was back in July 2021, when I was pregnant with our second. We packed our dog and what felt like our entire house into the car and headed to a hotel off the coast of Galveston, Texas. That trip… well, it became everything it wasn’t supposed to be.

We waited hours to check in. The room we got wasn’t the beach-view one we booked — it was on the third floor facing away from the ocean. And to top it off, my husband found a bloody rag under the mattress. The hotel was full, so there were no alternative rooms. It was a mess, and trying to get a discount felt like pulling teeth. We still tried to make the most of it — rented a golf cart, explored Galveston, and tried to enjoy our $3,000 “vacation.” But in truth, it left a bad taste in our mouths.

Since then, life has been one long stretch of just trying to survive. A real vacation seemed like a far-off dream. After having our third child, I knew he would be our last (hopefully!), and I started thinking about how we could finally begin living a bit more — becoming financially stable, looking for a house, and eventually, finally, taking a proper vacation.

Then came the unexpected spark! The week before our Pre-K’er’s last day of school, my husband found a rare car part for his build — in California. The seller wouldn’t ship. My husband was ready to make a solo drive across states just to pick it up. That’s when a lightbulb went off: my brother lives in Arizona. A quick Google search showed that Arizona was 14 hours from us, and Chino, California (where the part was) was just 6 hours from there.

So I pitched it: what if we turned this into a family road trip? Visit my brother, his wife, and also three children — something I’d always wanted to do — and make the whole trip an experience. My husband was in, and my brother said yes. Just like that, the planning began.

We mapped out gas stops, figured out a budget, made pet-sitting arrangements (my mom took our dog, Max, and my mother-in-law watched our dragon), and loaded up our cooler with milk, ham, cheese, water, and snacks from H-E-B. Bread, jerky, chips, and Goldfish were essential road trip must-haves.

The night before, we cleaned the RV, unplugged the fridge, packed up the car, and prepared to just wake up, brush our teeth and hair, and hit the road.

We were finally doing it. After years of chaos, diapers, sleepless nights, and survival mode — we were on our way.

We began our trek from Central Texas, just outside Austin towards West Texas. I had been out that way before in my early 20’s while my little brother was stationed in El Paso. It had been a while since I made that drive but I did remember the few stops in between and how much dust and rocks were out there. Past El Paso, I had no idea.

Low Budget, Low A/C, High Hopes: The Reality of Our Road Trip

Did I mention we only had enough money for gas and basically no A/C? Yeah… I had completely forgotten that tiny detail in all my overexcitement. Thank goodness we left early in the morning and lucked out with a cloudy Texas sky. We made it all the way to El Paso by around 2 p.m.—right when the Texas sun finally decided to clock in and turn up the heat.

El Paso was our big pit stop. We pulled into one of the many local Walmarts and spent a good hour just walking around, stretching our legs, cooling down, and letting the kids burn off some energy. But I’ve got to be honest: West Texas didn’t charm me one bit. My little fairy heart just couldn’t cope with the lack of greenery. No trees, no flowers, no lush landscapes — just dust, rocks, and heat. Totally not my vibe.

As we left El Paso and headed toward New Mexico, I turned to my husband and said, “Go ahead and cross off Sierra Blanca and Van Horn from the Land Watch list — we’re not moving out here. Ever.” I need color, texture, something alive — not just stretches of beige and rock.

New Mexico, though? Surprisingly breezy. A short and sweet drive that went by faster than I expected. So fast, that we nearly missed the time change back one hour. Before we knew it, we were entering Arizona around 7 p.m., and the best part? The sun was finally starting to set, and my struggling A/C got a break from its uphill battle against the heat.

A Long Road, a Late Arrival, and a Flash of Freedom

The ride through Tucson was a sight for sore eyes. Even though it was late at night, I felt an unexpected comfort wash over me as we drove through the city. It had a pulse—lights, life, something familiar. For a moment, I even imagined living there or somewhere nearby. The idea didn’t feel far-fetched.

But as the hours wore on, so did our patience. We found ourselves crawling down a dirt road that seemed to stretch into eternity. Our eyes were heavy, the kids were over the Goldfish crackers, and the novelty of adventure had worn thin. We finally pulled up to my brother’s house at 10:30 p.m.—and thanks to the time change, it was technically 12:30 back home. That made us two hours behind, and our bodies felt every bit of it.

I stepped out of the car, half-dazed, and walked around to the back driver’s side to get the 3- and 4-year-olds out. Just as I rounded the corner, I felt something brush up against my leg.

And I lost it.

I shrieked, jumped onto the side of the car like a feral cat, and clung there for dear life as my husband opened the door, startled. My brother, hearing the chaos, came outside, confused and concerned. Breathlessly, I begged him to grab a flashlight and check the area—because at that point, I was convinced I’d been attacked by a desert creature.

Like a champ, he returned within a minute and circled the car with the flashlight.

“I don’t see anything—you’re clear. Probably just a rabbit, we have a ton of those out here,” he said casually.

“Yeah, you’re clear. Now can you get off the car so I can get out?” my husband added, half amused, half exhausted.

With my heart finally settling back into my chest, we unloaded the car, blew up the big air mattress, and stumbled inside. The kids were wired from the long ride, but after about an hour of decompressing, we all found our corners and collapsed into much-needed sleep.

The next morning, we woke up around 8 a.m. to the smell of coffee and fresh air. We had breakfast, and I gave the kids a bath to wash off the road trip grime. My sister-in-law, saint that she is, offered to watch all the kids so they could play with their cousins and we could finally relax.

Let me tell you—I was in no position to decline.

I hadn’t spent a full day alone with my husband, child-free, in years.

California Dreaming (and Dozing): From Chino to the Hollywood Sign and Back Again

Around 10 a.m., my husband and I exchanged that look—the silent, mutual agreement that it was time to go. The kids were settled, the coffee had kicked in, and we still had a six-hour drive ahead to Chino, California to pick up the rare car part my husband had been obsessing over. He just couldn’t live without it.

The drive from Arizona into California? Honestly, it felt like more desert. In my eyes, nothing much changed. Sure, we passed through Phoenix, which was a cool blip on the radar, but crossing into California was… underwhelming. No grand entrance or scenic shift—just more dry land and a “Here ya go.”

Still, a few things caught my eye. We passed the Sunlight Desert Solar Farm, which stretched so far it looked like a lake shimmering in the heat. Then we crossed the California Aqueduct, which felt oddly monumental in an otherwise uneventful stretch. Mostly though, it was rest stops, small towns, and a whole lot of beige.

But the deeper we drove into California, the more the scenery began to change. Slowly, the green crept in—Palm trees, bushes, and finally, hills. Real hills. Chino turned out to be a pretty decent little town. We met the eBay seller, made the bumper exchange quickly, had a short chat, and crammed the part into the car.

With that mission accomplished, we had a choice: head back to Arizona, or squeeze in a quick detour to Los Angeles. My husband asked where I wanted to go—the Hollywood Sign or the beach? Since hitting L.A. already had us staring down a 7-hour return drive and it was already 6 p.m., I went with the Hollywood Sign. Something about it felt symbolic—like we needed to see something iconic.

We entered the chaos that is Los Angeles traffic and made our way to the Griffith Observatory. In true road trip fashion, we overshot the parking lot and had to ask a security guard for directions.

“The Hollywood Sign is right behind you,” he said, pointing. And just like that, I turned and there it was—surreal, dreamlike, almost like it wasn’t real. We quickly looped around, found a spot on the hill, and ran up to snap a few pictures while the sun dipped below the horizon. On the way back down, I caught glimpses of the Greek Theatre and those towering, movie-star homes you only ever see on screen. It felt fast and fleeting, like L.A. was just passing through us.

By 7:30 p.m., we were already on the road back to Arizona.

We meant to make it back by 2 a.m.—but reality had other plans. The drive hit harder on the way back. My husband had to pull over three times to take 30-minute naps, and at one point, we were seriously considering crashing at a truck stop until sunrise. But I was determined to sleep in that air mattress, not the car. I offered to drive the final stretch.

We rolled back into my brother’s driveway around 5 a.m., exhausted but triumphant. We collapsed into bed and, by some miracle, the kids slept in until almost 10 a.m.

That day felt like a reward. We had breakfast, gave the kids some space to roam, and planned a little desert photo shoot with the beautiful cactuses around my brother’s house. We played, laughed, danced, and sang—all of us soaking in those rare, joy-filled moments of connection. My kids were with their godfather and cousins, and I could see how much it meant to them.

As the day wore on, I told my brother we’d probably leave around 3 or 4 a.m. to start the trek back to Texas. He looked at us like we were absolutely bananas. And, to be fair, we kind of were.

Still, somehow, we managed to squeeze in one more nap before packing up—physically tired, but emotionally recharged.

Homeward Bound: The Final Stretch

After a full day of family, desert sunshine, and one last nap, we tucked the kids in, loaded up the Subaru Forester, and crashed around 10 p.m. Surprisingly, the baby woke up crying at 3 a.m.—and instead of dreading it, my husband and I looked at each other and took it as a sign: Let’s hit the road.

We changed him, gave him a bottle of milk, and buckled him into his car seat. Quietly, we packed up the last of our things, folded up our makeshift beds, and gently woke up the girls. By 3:20 a.m., we were in the car, ready to head back to Texas.

We gave my brother and sister-in-law sleepy hugs and whispered thank-yous for everything—the hospitality, the laughs, the much-needed break. Then we were off.

The kids were asleep before we hit the main road, and this time, my husband had a more focused plan. Fewer stops, more drive time. We made it to Las Cruces, New Mexico by 9:30 a.m.—just in time for the kids to wake up and need a break. We parked at Walmart, stretched our legs, and walked around aimlessly like all good road trippers do.

We grabbed a loaf of banana bread to share and headed back to the car to make sandwiches in the trunk—ham, cheese, chips, whatever we had left in the cooler. It’s our little road trip ritual: gather around the back of the car and eat like we’re on a picnic in the middle of nowhere.

From there, we fueled up and made our way to Fort Stockton, Texas. The drive seemed lighter this time—maybe because we were so close to the finish line. Rest stops blurred together, and before we knew it, we were in El Dorado, just three hours from home.

We filled the tank one last time to make sure we’d make it the rest of the way. The kids were getting antsy, the cooler was nearly empty, and we were officially running on fumes and determination.

By the time we pulled up to my parents’ house to pick up Max, our beloved black German Shepherd, it was 11 p.m. He greeted us like we’d been gone for months, tail wagging, full of happy whines. That moment was the unofficial “we’re home” stamp.

We drove the last few minutes to the RV, parked, and did what had become tradition on this trip—unloaded the car, climbed into bed, and slept like there was no tomorrow.

The Final Mileage: 42 Hours of Chaos, Cuddles, and Connection

All in all, the kids road-tripped for 28 hours, and my husband and I added an extra 14 on top of that—over 42 hours of windshield time, desert dust, wholesome picnicking, and unexpected laughter.

Would we do it again?

Absolutely.

Below are just some of the snap shots of our trip! I left my brothers family out as to respect their privacy! Thank you for reading!