This Reminds Me

Come and listen to my story ’bout a family headin’ south

The kinfolk were packed when Dad opened up his mouth

He said, “Mexico would be really fun to see”

So they rented up a ‘burb and hauled the family.

Progresso, that is

Black purses

Texas border.

Well, the first thing you know

They’ve spent all their money

Mom says, “Hey, let’s hit the beach, Honey.”

So they head over to Padre

To play out in the sun

Before heading home

Gosh, they had a lot’o fun.

Kick your shoes off.

Read awhile.

What’s a car trip without side jaunts?  We stopped at a citrus farm to pick oranges and grapefruit, includin this big-as-her-head whopper Hannah plucked.

We’ve ambled into Laredo, Progresso and Reynosa over the years.  The boundary signage is always exciting to see.  Julia hadn’t been in a foreign country since the Zurich airport nine months ago.

Julia was required to hold someone’s hand all the time, and we always traveled in packs of two or more with at least one adult.  Progresso was more crowded (with snowbirds) than Laredo, our formerly favorite Mexican shopping spot.  Drug wars with civilian murders have decimated the tourist industry in Laredo – sad, sad, sad.

Julia was intrigued with all the baby Jesus imagery.  “Mama, is not Christmas.”

Crossing from Mexico back into Texas by foot doesn’t require a passport until 2008, but we took ours for safety – five blue U.S. passports, and one wine-colored Russian passport.  After seeing what a Canadian student with a Jamaican passport endured with a quarrelsome border guard, we quietly pocketed them and used our drivers’ licenses to verify our identity, and vouched for that of the girls.  We’ll have an American passport for Julia in a few months.

The official weather reports stated “96 degrees”  in McAllen, but our car thermometer wavered between 98 and 101.   Yes, it’s February in Texas, too.

A view of the back of the rented Suburban in McAllen, post-Mexico.  Seasoned shoppers (like us) bring their own plastic mesh bags for hauling treasures.  Great for beach stuff, too.  Now you see why we call ourselves “The Beverly Hillbillies” when we take a road trip.  It was worse when the girls were younger with booster seats, strollers, etc.  Now we just need to leave more room for Rachel’s make-up bag(s).

Brrrrrr!  The water at South Padre was freezing!   Reptilians Keith and Lois actually went under; Hannah and Julia went out about waist-level.  Rachel and I were wise enough to hunt for shells on the much-warmer sand.  We used hotels.com to find the cheapest room possible, simply to shower before we started the five-hour drive home.  We left at least a pound of sand in the tub and sink.

Notable quotables:

From Lois – commenting on Rachel’s recounting the last time she was at Padre (for church camp) and meeting some beach bum whose cell phone number she still had – “Maybe you should call him for life advice.”

From Julia – frustrated at the number of stops between her and the hotel pool – “Light is orange, Dad, orange, orange, orange, go go go.”

From Lois – dumbfounded by Rachel’s shrieking the fourth time she accidentally hit the “open window” button on the unfamiliar Suburban door – “You worry me, Rachel.”

From Lois – tired of hearing Keith hiss “I know that” when his laptop GPS mechanically intoned “Off Route.  Off Route.” – “Dad, that’s no way to talk to your mistress.”

From Rachel, when asked by the border crossing agent if she was a U.S. citizen – “Si.”

From Lois – viewing a 15′ high plaster shark head shading the entrance of a South Padre souvenir store -  “I wonder what the exit looks like.”

From Rachel – dismayed at the grief her sisters dished her about her make-up trunk – “Why can’t we be a normal family and never talk to each other?”

Why indeed?

Ya’ll come back now, ya hear?

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