We got a long way to go, and a short time to get there...

 "You know how you can see state and country borders on your GPS?" Brad asked while driving late at night through the Arizona desert on his way to San Diego. "Yeah," I answered, one eye on the TV as I worked my way through my third bag of Snyder's Honey, Mustard, & Onion pretzel pieces. If I wasn't going to sleep for a week, I might as well give myself gut-wrenching heartburn on top of it. Brad waited until I finished crunching before speaking again. "Well, the Mexican border is less than five miles from here."

I groaned. After a goodbye dinner with my folks, my dad had ushered us all into the restaurant's glass vestibule for a speech. I readied myself for a heart-wrenching message sprinkled with sage advice. He cleared his throat. "You two remember," he said pointing at Savannah and Sydney, "You're less than ten miles from the Mexican border..." "Dad!" I interrupted, "Really!?!?! THIS is the speech you have prepared for your granddaughters? Where is the We're proud of you? The Go get'em! Your send-off is a diatribe about illegal immigration?"" Side-note:  This is NOT a story to recount later three margaritas deep at a Mexican restaurant to your friends. You will get elbowed and shushed. Someone will also probably spit in margarita numero quatre.

As it turns out, my dad wasn't too far off. PLEASE don't ever tell him I admitted that. Having lived the bulk of our lives in Western New York, we Mosimans are very comfortable living along an international border. Oh yes, from time to time, we have to shoo those pesky Canadians back over to their side when they're desperately seeking out a Dunkin' Donuts but we understand. Everyone gets sick of Tim Hortons after awhile. But I guess that the Mexican border is just a little different.

"There are a LOT of helicopters," Brad reported. Hmmm. Must be like those tourists excursions so popular in Niagara Falls. "I think there's a check-point up ahead," Brad said, "I'll call you back." Hmmm. They're probably conducting a safe-vehicle check like they do in New York...making sure your tires are filled with the correct amount of pressure and so on. How thoughtful.

Another little detail to make this quaint story a tad bit more entertaining is to know that one of Sydney's favorite movies is "Smokey and the Bandit." I'm not sure what that actually says about her but, yes, she can sing the ENTIRE song as well. She insisted that this little cross-country road-trip would be just like the movie. Sydney and Savannah riding in the "Bandit" car with Brad, hauling their precious cargo in the moving truck, would be the "Snowman." Well, "Bandit" apparently, was easily waved through the checkpoint, speeding happily off into the distance. "Snowman," in his suspicious moving van, was immediately pulled over. "Open the back, please," came the polite but firm request. Brad, a normally law-abiding person, would have loved to if he had actually had the combination for the recently-purchased $1.37 padlock which, humorously, was in "Bandit's" glove compartment. After finally getting a-hold of his good buddies, Brad spun that lock several times, unsuccessfully. Turns out that "Bandit" included a wrong digit and was now out of cell phone range. Brad, at this point, was pleading for bolt cutters and Savannah was desperately trying to turn the car around to get back to her father but was intimidated by the 100-feet-tall signs screaming, No Emergency Pull-Overs EVER. "Look, there's a place to turn around," Sydney pointed. They stared at the mass of patrol cars, the flash of blinding lights, and the hogtied individuals on the ground and decided to skip that particular turn around. "I'm sure Daddy will be just fine," they assured each other.

After finally getting the lock open, Brad's van was thoroughly inspected and deemed free of invasive houseplants or fresh fruit. Whew. Wait. What?!? According to Brad, it was an agriculture inspection. Thank goodness for the helicopters and zip-ties! See! My dad didn't have anything to worry about, after all. Good thing we lived along the Canadian border for so long so we're used to these things.