We got back from our first big road trip with the kids this morning at 12:30AM.  We drove 800 something miles yesterday.  You do the math on that, but unless it’s a hovercraft that moves at the speed of light, that’s a lot of freaking hours in a car with a 5 and 8 year old boy.  Why did we do that to ourselves? 

Maybe because we stopped in Vegas on a Saturday night and–after explaining to the kids how awesome Vegas is, we realized it would cost a fortune and take us hours and hours to move about the strip, amidst three million 20 year olds.  When did everyone in Vegas stop aging at 25?  Was it always that way?  I thought old people like me still went there too?  And did I wear a bikini on the strip?  If I didn’t, I definitely missed out.  It looked awesome from my car.  (No, I’m not being sarcastic.)  Maybe because, at the time, my plastic cup was full of the liquid of the gods, causing me to forget what I was wearing.  Geez, I hope I was wearing something.  But I digress. 

 

And now I’m thinking how fun Vegas would be with my two little boys on a Saturday night.  The hotel room actually went up $50 as I called around to see if I could find a better deal.  We decided to hit the road.  The idea of paying too much money and still losing the kids amongst the mass of half naked 20 year olds would be too much.  And I am pretty sure I forgot how cute those little bronze bodies can be.  I found myself telling my husband, “Look at all those gorgeous bodies in Vegas!  When did everyone get so hot?”  Seriously, it was like an MTV video, and I realize that tells my age.  Still, when did that become the norm? 

 

So we hit the road again and next time we stopped, there was no room at the inn.  It’s less inspirational when you’re not the pregnant virgin Mary.  And since we were less desperate than Mary, we jumped back in the car and coaxed the children to sleep in the back of our rented car.  And hours later, we pulled into our home driveway.  It was kinda awesome to be home.  It was kinda sad not to have Grammy and Grandpa around to laugh and tell every single detail of our kids’ lives—and they loved it.  And yet, no amount of sadness could make us jump back into the car to listen to the kids talk about butts and poop for another 12 hours, interspersed with small meals from various dirty road stops.  Sometimes, the best option is to find the greatest joy where you are.  And with a sigh and a smile, we carried those beautiful boys into the house.  Hey reality, we’re baaaccccckkkk!