Eleven years ago we bought a GMC Savana 12-seater van. We had Lucy that year, and she was our seventh child. If you haven't noticed, society has drawn a line in the sand and decided that if you have more than six children, you are a freak show and no longer allowed to fit in a minivan. So we were now a mobile circus. We named our van Big Red, and we were completely in love. We even took a photo with it to capture the beginning of a new era for the Craig Family.
Big Red has seen some things, my friends. In the past 11 years, Big Red has made three separate cross-country road trips and has visited 37 of our 50 states. It's been the backdrop for countless family lip sync parties and videos. It has been changing room and moving van. It has served as a “tent” a number of times, when I’ve gone on campouts with church youth groups and preferred the comfort and insulation of Big Red over an actual tent. And a clothesline for the times that the tent and sleeping bags got drenched and needed an elevated place to dry out. And it might surprise you to learn that Big Red had a starring role in the movie “Once I Was a Beehive” – where it transported the young women and their leaders for their annual Girls Camp trip and even towed the Ark. Big Red really nailed that role, I must say.
My favorite thing, though, was whenever we all piled into the van together, and to make sure all children were accounted for, the little drill sergeant in Katie would come out and she’d look over her shoulder and yell, “Count off!” “One!” an enthusiastic Abbie would answer. “Two!” Garren would yell. “Threeee,” Connor would respond, not enjoying submitting to authority. “FOUR!” Roxanna would rally, excited about almost everything at that age. “Five,” Tanner would calmly answer, not wanting to draw too much attention to himself. “Six!” Becca would cheer. “Pffft,” Lucy would offer up – because even though she was very advanced, she was only months old and didn’t know words, you guys. Lower your expectations, please. And then, Katie would turn and face forward again … and about 82% of the time, she’d be crying. It's only gotten more intense as we added Hillary and even in-laws to the count. It’s an emotional thing, to recognize that you have birthed enough people to fill a bus. And it's an emotional thing to have your people all together – this team of wonderful people you love with your whole soul.
We sold the van this weekend – but before saying goodbye to Big Red, we decided to take a few photos for posterity. Everyone tried to reenact their expressions from 11 years ago. So much has changed in the last 11 years – for our family personally, and the world at large. But one thing remains constant. When we are all together, there’s a really good chance Katie is going to cry.
The rumors are true, you guys. This summer, the Craig family pulled off a Griswold-worthy cross-country trip across this-here land of the free and home of the highway-bathroom stops! And it was glorious.
It all started when Katie’s parents declared they wanted to hold a family reunion. We’re fans of family reunions and of our families, in particular, so we were in. Then, they doubled-down by suggesting that since we are all spread out across the fruited planes and purple mountains (Katie being one of 10 children), that we should meet in the middle.
Kansas.
Which begs the question: Is Kansas … is that … is Kansas the middle? I’m pretty sure no. I’m pretty sure Hawaii is the middle. But then we crunched some numbers and turns out that if you’re going by budgets and expenses, Kansas is for sure the middle.
Then we decided that if we were going to drive all the way to Kansas, we should just make this trip – how the kids of 2014 say – epic. Yessir, we decided to go all the way! From sea to shining sea, baby!
Mostly.
If you're counting the Great Salt Lake as a sea, then yep! From Utah to Boston, Massachusetts!
For those of you keeping score at home, Katie and I have 8 children. (If you’re really a baller, then you know that one of our children is serving an LDS mission in Brazil and was not available for this road trip. But he’ll be available in 16 months, ladies…)
Anyway, the 9 of us piled into our 12-passenger van (alias: Big Red) and drove off into the sunset! Then we realized that was the wrong direction, so we turned that bus around and drove east! Like the old saying, “Go east, young man!”
We took 3 weeks, covered 17 states, and racked up 6,270 miles.
We made 8 lip sync videos. Technically, we made nine. But we never posted this one.
We saw lots, my friends. Lots. The landscapes, the cultures, the people, the foods. But not everything. And that was maddening to me. It was like ordering a sampler plate. You know how when you are eating a sampler plate and you’re like, “Well, that was the right amount of stuffed potato skins (Hershey, PA), but I could have easily eaten an entire dinner of those sliders (Washington DC).” It was like that. We were in New York for precisely 10 hours. TEN HOURS. Sure, we saw Lady Liberty and walked the Brooklyn Bridge and played in Central Park. But is that enough? (It’s not. It’s like one and half sliders.) But I think we really nailed some cities. Have you EXPERIENCED the St. Louis City Museum? (Answer: You haven’t, and you should be ashamed.) We embraced Washington DC. High-fived Boston. And gave Philadelphia a sporty bum-smack. But some places, like Chicago, demanded more of our attention. And we just couldn’t fit everything in, or we’d still be out there. I even saw a billboard in Iowa that said, “Next Exit: Ride a boat pulled by mules.” And I thought to myself, “YES. That’s precisely what I want to do!” But time mocked us right to our faces.
But, perhaps most importantly, you don’t drive across America the Beautiful without learning a few things. Here are a few nuggets from this trip:
1. Our van fits in parking garages with a minimum 6’8 clearance. Not 6’6, not 6’7. We learned this the hard way at a garage in Washington DC. Worst. Sound. Ever. The good news is that we’ve traveled in this van for 7 years, with 8 children, on road-trips, eating countless meals, and nobody but nobody is interested in buying this used van from us. We clearly do not care what it looks like. We’ll just continue to abuse it until it refuses to run anymore. Which, if it were a person, and that person were me, that would have been 6 years ago.
Parking my 12-passenger van in downtown Manhattan. What?
2. Everything takes longer with a big family. EVERY. THING. And when I say everything, I am mostly talking about bathroom breaks. Try this with me. Hold your thumb out in front of you. Close one eye and really focus on it. See your thumb nail? Not the entire thumb, just the nail. Have you got it? That’s the combined-size of my three youngest children’s bladders. If we were a band, this would have been called The Bathrooms Across America Tour. And for reasons as varied as the urinary habits of children everywhere, each bathroom stop took 45 minutes to three days. After I realized this pattern, I had to weigh our opportunities before parking anywhere. “Hmm. Do we want to see Midtown Manhattan, or go tinkles? There’s only time for one.”
3. I am willing to spend big bucks for good treats. And we ate some good treats.We made several ice cream stops. If we weren’t stopping at bathrooms, we were stopping for ice cream, my friends. And it was easily $40 every time. But I dare you – I defy you – to drive across America in the summer and not stop at mom n’ pop ice creams shops, fresh fruit shake stands, or frozen custard places every time you see one. Never mind meals or souvenirs or toll roads or parking garages or museum tickets or subways or taxis or whatever else – you will go broke on ice cream. And you won’t care. Because it’s delicious and you’re American and if you had to, I bet you could find a bank that would let you open a line of credit just for ice cream.
4. When I’m out of my routine, and there aren’t any other demands on me, it is the most wonderful thing to sit and watch my kids. At the end of our day in New York, we were taking the subway from Central Park to Battery Park, and we were the only ones in our car. Connor (17) was flag-polling on one of the vertical subway poles, and Tanner (12) grabbed his legs and was running him in circles. Some of the kids were singing. Hillary (4) was laughing. She was just laughing so hard with Becca (10) and Lucy (7). What was so amazing about this moment? I can’t tell you. I was just looking at my people, and I was overwhelmed with how much I loved them, and how much I liked them, and how much I liked being with them. I didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world than on that subway, with my favorite people. And I missed Garren (18).
5. Sometimes I’d just be doing my thing, lost in my thoughts – driving or sitting on the bed planning the day or wondering if there was something back home I was supposed to be doing – and I’d turn and catch Katie watching me. Just silently, intentionally watching me. And when I’d look at her, she’d just give me this huge smile, and say nothing. It is by far her most powerful way of flirting with me.
6. You may learn some starting things about yourself on road trips. I was standing in the parking lot of a Walmart on the Indiana/Illinois border when I had a moment self-reflection. It was 8 AM and the parking lot wasn’t overly crowded. The kids were waking up and stretching, and I’d already gone inside to buy fruit, muffins and a 3D Chrome VIP Lounge Toilet Seat. (Just kidding – I just Googled “weird things to buy at Walmart” and that was the first item mentioned.) Anyway, we were anxious to get to Chicago, so rather than sleep, we had driven through the night from upstate New York. With no hotel room or other accommodations, but still needing to look and feel presentable before heading to the Art Institute of Chicago ... (you can see where this is going) ... I resourcefully turned to the Walmart parking lot. I stepped outside, rubbed on some deodorant, ran a comb through my hair, and thanks to a conveniently located drain, brushed my teeth. Then I changed clothes ... in the front seat of my van. I remember thinking, “This can’t be the first time people have done all this in a Walmart parking lot.” And though my logic was solid, somewhere in the part of my brain that sorts through social mores, I could sense that this was something I should be more embarrassed about. But also, I was tired, I knew I’d never be in this place ever again, I didn't know a soul there, and kind of, I just didn’t care. And that’s when I realized who I had become.
7. I really, truly love the history of this country. I was inspired over and over as we visited these old cities and read about those who “more than self their country loved, and mercy more than life.” I felt profound respect for those who collaborated, compromised, worked, and served to create one nation under God. And I felt that plea that God shed his grace on us, and crown our good with brotherhood.
8. We did the hotel thing for a few nights, but our favorite is always the people we get to stay with. We truly appreciate siblings, cousins, even friends I’ve known since I was 4 years old. I also got to visit with a friend I hadn’t seen in 28 years, from when I lived in Hawaii, and another friend I worked with 20 years ago…about the time that Katie was the age that Abbie is now. (For reals.) Sincerely, friends. This country’s greatest commodity is its people! Not the ones you see on TMZ, necessarily, and not the ones you did or didn’t vote for, in particular, but the ones running ice cream shops and the ones riding with you on the Staten Island Ferry and the ones who welcome you into their home and feed you delicious food and the ones who sit with you in the ER and the ones that help you get your keys out of your locked car and the ones who apologize and the ones who forgive and the ones who tell you that you can buy the CD for the Gettysburg Driving Tour or you can look it up for free on YouTube and the ones who confide in you and the ones who trust you and the ones that hug you and love you.
My friend, Ann Marie, from Hawaii. We went to her Junior Prom. Most recently, we had lunch together at Katie's sister's house.
My friend, Terry, and his family. We've been friends since 1974. We were both single then.
My friend, Debby. She's great for a number of reasons -
but getting us a table at Grimaldi's and knowing the NY subway system makes her a national hero.
Katie was able to meet up with her high school pal, Beth.
And yes, it was as adorable as this picture makes it look.
One Sunday, we went to the church that Katie went to growing up in Reading, PA, and drove around her old neighborhood. It was so sweet to hear people gushing about Katie's family and their influence in the area. It was also sweet to hear Katie tell this heartwarming story about the first time she fasted, and Becca's hard-hitting follow-up question, "Which stall?"
If you don't have any MalleyCats in your life ... why?
Katie's cousin, Meredith, and her adorable daughters. It was minimal time, but maximum party.
Our friend Jjana, who literally gave up her bed for us.
And her husband Cliff (not pictured) bbq'd for us and it was insaaaane.
Katie's cousin, Marliese, and her family!
I have a sister named Marlise. TWO Marlises in my life? Yes, please.
Katie's sister, Shellie. Behind her? The Capitol Building.
But if you want something done, my money is on Shellie.
Katie's sister, Stephanie, and her kids. There was just enough room for me to sleep right in the middle, there.
9. I love cold cereal. I do. The “free-breakfast” hotels we stayed at all featured a variety – waffles, eggs, muffins, yogurt, bagels… No thanks. I’ll just have four bowls of Frosted Flakes and Froot Loops. Breakfast of champions.
10. At some point you begin to sense that back home, reality has not pushed “pause” while you’ve been gone, and Real Life is waiting for you at home. In fact, Real Life is mounting back at home. And you’re sad to see the trip come to an end, but grateful that you have a Real Life that you’re actually excited to get back to.
So that's it in a very small nutshell. In the end, we had one minor hiccup. It didn’t seem minor in the moment, but things are looking up. On our second to last night, our youngest, Hillary, took a spill down some stairs … and broke her clavicle. A quick trip to the hospital and an x-ray revealed a pretty bad break. The ER doc said that when we got back to Utah we should speak to a pediatric surgeon. We told the ER doc he was fired. Our doctor back in Utah assured us there was no need for surgery, and Hillary is on the mend!
I have never felt defined by the car I drive. I believe my dad cured me of this when, upon turning 16, he gave me a 1976 Honda Civic that had been sitting idle in the garage since 1952. The paint had faded (I’m assuming, since no self respecting car should ever be this shade of orange), there was no air conditioning, no stereo, and the passenger seat was broken, so that the left half of the seat kind of fell to the side, letting the passenger rest on the driver’s shoulder. This was perfect for dates, but not so great for my friend Steve.
Anyway, being 16, I threw in a stereo, and the car was perfect. I could not care less about what anybody else was driving, or how I looked cruising through the high school parking lot listening to Beastie Boys with Steve nestled on my shoulder. In fact, I specifically remember one time seeing a guy get out of his Chevy Camaro in the parking lot, and he was blasting Lionel Richie’s “Dancing on the Ceiling” on his car stereo.I thought to myself, “How embarrassing for him. He’s Once…Twice…Three Times a Nerd-o. He’s Nerdy Like Sunday Morning. I wouldn’t trade cars with him if he threw in a Brick…House!”So clearly, to me, music was more defining than the car.
And now, as an adult, I am equally disinterested in the kind of car I drive. My criterion is that the vehicle be able to comfortably get me from one place to another as inexpensively as possible. Alas, our 1996 Dodge Caravan could no longer perform this task, so we had to finally get rid of it.
We bought said Dodge Caravan in late 2001. At the time, it had about 42,000 miles on it. Final count as of April 2008: 193,842 miles on that baby, thank you very much. Really, it had wanted to die since last April. But we just wouldn’t let it.
The final hoorah for this poor van was last August. My parents and siblings and us were all getting together for a reunion in Breckenridge, Colorado.
We left Vegas and headed north that fateful morning. The sun was up and it was already 146 degrees. We got about 3 hours into the trip, just outside of Cedar City, Utah, when the air conditioning went out. It wasn’t Vegas Hot, but it was still miserable. Hours later we were all sweaty, stinky, suffering from heat exhaustion, and a little bit cranky. The stereo had gone out on the car months and months prior to this trip (so in my mind, the car had already been useless for quite some time), so we just drove in silence. Nobody was saying much to anybody, unless they were breathing threatening remarks about staying on their side of the seat or shouting “Stop singing songs from High School Musical!”But in my defense, with the oppressive heat, things were hazy, and I just couldn’t think of any other songs to sing.
As we finally reached Breckenridge, the temperatures were bearable. However, the transmission started acting really funny. It would take a while for the gear to catch. Hmmm. But we were distracted for a few days by the fun and frivolity of family and outdoor recreation. No sense worrying about the van. Who knows if we’ll ever really need it again?
Oh, right. We have to get BACK to Las Vegas.
Coming out of Breckenridge, we stopped at a gas station, and I poured some transmission fluid into the car. Truth be known, I resented even spending that much money on the car. I could feel the death of the car looming. I knew the end was near. It was time to pull the plug. But first, we needed to get back to Vegas. That’s all we needed. We needed to push this baby another 10 hours, and then she could give up. I wasn’t going to put another dime into this car. Not for the transmission, not for the air conditioning, not 25¢ to pump up the tire. Nothing. I wanted this van to coast right into our driveway and pass away, the way Johnny Depp’s boat sank just as he stepped onto the pier at the beginning of Pirates of the Caribbean.
I stood outside the van in that gas station parking lot. The air was still. The family, already sweating. But I knew we could make it.
Three hours later, I was feeling pretty confident. The transmission seemed to be holding up and we were making good time. But then, somewhere in the vast wasteland that is western Colorado/eastern Utah, my daughter Roxanna (3 at the time) started to complain about her tummy hurting.
“My tummy hurts!” she said.
“It’s the heat, Sweetie,” reassured Katie. “Have a drink of water.”
“But it reaaallly hurts!” answered Roxanna.
“Just hang on,” said Katie.
“Baaaaaarrffffff,” went Roxanna.
I mean barf of Biblical proportions, ladies and gentleman. To make matters worse, she had eaten a bunch of pizza before we left. To make matters even more worse, she barfed into Abbie’s hair, who was sitting in front of her. To make matters even the most worse, it was 112 degrees, so now we’ve got Barf Potpourri going on in the car for everyone to enjoy.
Katie climbed to the back of the van, holding out a towel for Roxanna to perpetually barf into for what seemed like longer than your average span of Vomit Time. There was nothing but freeway around. No towns, no rest stops, no gas stations, no off ramps…nothing. So I kept barreling down the highway until I could find something.
“It’s in my hair!” screamed Abbie.
“This is why my tummy was hurting!” Roxanna stated, in a kind of ‘I told you so’ fashion.
“WWWAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!” said a 20-month old Tanner, who was sick to death of his car seat and was happy to join in the anarchy.
“JUST WATCH A VIDEO!” I gently whispered to my children who weren’t barfing.
“THIS IS THE WORST BIRTHDAY EVER!” shouted Abbie, who was enjoying her 10th birthday on this very day.
Finally, I see a Shell gas station. Out in the middle of nowhere, with no neighboring town, there’s a Shell station. I don’t know where the employees are bussed in from, and frankly, I don’t care.
I pulled off the freeway, behind this gi-normous 18 Wheeler, but before the off ramp ended, the truck lost a tire…and I hit it. I mean, I hit it hard. We got some air between us and the ground. And as we pulled into the gas station, I could hear something underneath the van, dragging on the ground.
After I pulled into the gas station, I got out and look under the van. And there was this thing hanging from the van, and dragging on the ground. There were no fumes, no leaks or drips…nothing. So being the mechanic that I am, I knew exactly what do to.
"Where is your duct tape?” I asked the attendant inside the little convenient store adjacent to the gas station.
“Over there,” she pointed, as she put out her cigar.
"And your Wet Wipes?”
“We don’t have any.”
“You don’t HAVE ANY?”
She looked up at me from her Hunting magazine, and I shuffled two feet back from her, a little caught off guard and nervous that she was going to stab me with the bathroom key on my way out. I grabbed my duct tape and a bunch of ice cream bars for my desolate family.
I taped up this pipe thing under the van, Katie cleaned up the barf and the people covered in it (I am so in love with Katie, the most selfless person in the world), and off we went. We still had hours to go, and there were moments of uncertainty with the transmission, or the heat, or the pipe becoming un-duct-taped. But by the grace of Dodge manufacturing, we somehow made it home.
The next morning I was prepared to take the van out into the dessert and shoot it, but Katie suggested that we could actually get some more mileage out of it. Not another road trip, but at least around town. So we got the air conditioning fixed (for around $100!) and actually squeezed some more miles out of it.
By last December, the van would only go 25 mph, and it would not shift out of second gear. We knew the ol’ girl was done. We bought a new mini-van (Toyota Sienna, 8-seater), and the Dodge sat in our garage for a while. Until last Saturday, when I sold it to an acquaintance from church with the know-how to put in a new transmission and sell it for a higher price than I could ever get for it.
So hopefully the ol’ Dodge can do some good for somebody else now. But she’ll always have our love…our love…our Endless Love…
