Beach bums to station wagon

We coasted down a Florida highway in the dark, following the well-maintained reflective lines to family. A pineapple leaned against my knee, and two wine bottles clinked together in my bag. Tess and Remy snuggled their bunnies and teased each other while Flamine watched a movie and snoozed. The car was actually packed to the gills, and our rooftop carrier bulged. Sandy beach toys, goldfish crackers, and wedding finery all fight for space with trashy novels, diapers, and the double stroller.

Dave and I howl about how even thinking about having a third child does this to two adventurous big kids. The last time we had a warm vacation, we were bombing around Puerto Rico with no plan, no reservations and no thoughts of anyone but ourselves. This trip has been planned and timed carefully to make hours of road time as painless as possible; aka maximize child sleep widows. On the way to the wedding, the kids chanted,

Sassy and Poppi!

They knew something fun is coming. And somehow transitioning from beach bums to stuffed station wagon didn’t deflate our egos. The oceanside drive we would’ve reveled in flew by in the dark while little heads nodded in unison behind me. I would never choose – okay, rarely choose! – the beach bum trip over the station wagon trip.

At the end of the festivities, our kids skipped to the car. They like this road trip! That’s a surprise – one of the good ones. 🙂 We’re bombing back to Milwaukee, watching fall unfold in super speed around us. The kids haven’t quite figured out that the beach and pool are behind us. In fact, I suspect the chilly air will stun them. Everyone’s handling the days in the car well, but home’s calling our names!

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