I've been a mom now for five years, five months, 9 days and 6 hours, so it's safe to say I know a thing or two. It's even safer to say I'm still learning a thing or two!

A few weeks ago, I stupidly decided to drive eight hours northwest to visit my family for Easter. The trip itself was not stupid; it was very thought out, down to the last tank of gas. The stupid part was at the last minute, Max found out he couldn't go, and instead of canceling, I decided I was cool enough to go it alone.

Never, ever travel a distance farther than two hours from your house, alone, with two kids younger than 10. I repeat: This is a very, very bad idea. Why, you may ask? Well, the No. 1 reason is that you are outnumbered!

Parenting is much easier when you have a partner. I'm not saying it can't be done solo -- I'm saying I have no desire to do it solo. My mom raised us by herself, and I now understand why we never went farther than the 90-minute drive to my grandparents. I also now understand why she kept a wooden spoon in the center console.

The first two hours were fantastic. The children got along, they played together and no one got carsick! Then they both magically fell asleep! I thought to myself, "Yes! I can do this; this isn't hard!"

For those of you not aware that children have magical telepathic powers, they read your mind. As I was dancing in my seat to some classic Bon Jovi, Felicity woke up. I looked at the clock and realized she had only slept for 30 minutes and thought surely the van ride would lull her back to sleep.

Refer back to the magical mind reading powers.

Just when I was thinking she would go back to sleep, she threw her sippy cup across the aisle at her brother, hitting him in the forehead and successfully waking him up. As I watched this in the rearview mirror, I saw Felicity devilishly look up at me and grin.

So now they were both up, and unfortunately we were only on Interstate 270, with about six hours left of our trip, depending on traffic. So I did what any good parent would do: I stuffed their mouths with snacks. Cheetos, raisins, suckers, whatever their little hearts desired from my emergency stash.

The problem with using snacks this early in the game is that you then run out of snacks when the kids are actually hungry, say, at 5 p.m. Said snacks also don't keep them occupied for longer than the bag of chips lasts.

Next up were the tablets. We limit our kids' screen time, but all that goes out the window on a long car trip. You hand those tablets to the back seat and pray to sweet baby Jesus that the battery lasts until you're at your destination. A word to the wise: The battery never lasts until you are at your destination.

So there I was, two hours from sanity, and the tablets both died. Because by this time I'd lost all sense of time and all brain function, I stupidly suggested the kids play together or read a book. You would have thought I had suggested they breathe underwater or feed themselves or, God forbid, go to bed, for all the dirty looks that one got me.

Finally, I did what every mother does when she's on her last thread: She pulls Hulu up on her phone and lets the kiddos watch Doc McStuffins.

An hour from my mom's house -- and after a gas break not 10 minutes before, when everyone told me they did not have to pee -- Cooper cried out that he had to pee immediately, and he didn't care where. At this point, we were in that one section of the trip where there was nowhere to stop, not even a rundown convenience store or hometown diner.

So I did what any mother of a crying 5-year-old boy who has to pee does: Pull off on the outer road so he can pee in the bushes.

And that was when the van blew up. OK, so it didn't really blow up, but it did smoke, and I did cry. There I was, hundreds of miles from home, about 50 miles from my nearest relative, and I had a van billowing smoke out of the engine compartment.

As I was struggling to open the hood, talk to Max on the phone and herd a 5-year-old back to the car, an angel named Jim showed up to my rescue. Jim helped me get things opened, laughed when I asked if I could make it to Kansas City with the radiator empty and antifreeze all over the place, and talked my husband out of driving all the way to Odessa, Missouri, to save me. Jim drove us to McDonald's, talked to my mom and even offered to buy us dinner while we waited to be saved. I stand by my previous statement: Jim was an angel.

After waiting another two hours for my uncle to get through Kansas City rush hour and get to us, we were finally on our way, my kids were finally quiet, and I was able to put things in perspective.

Yes, this was the worst trip imaginable. Yes, the kids fought, I ran out of snacks, the tablets died and the car blew up -- but we made it, and my kiddos had another Easter with family they will remember forever.

But this does not mean I will be traveling back home to Gower, Missouri, anytime soon by myself.

In retrospect, I realize the kids wouldn't have known or cared if we rescheduled Easter this year. I could have done it the week after or the week after that. But it was a learning experience, and what kind of mother would I be if I didn't take something away from it?