I think of these things when we plan trips to far off lands. It's not like we go on vacation a lot, but even road trips to San Antonio gets me thinking about baby-time and toddler-time and how they relate to adult-time. I also think about how jumping in the car and heading to New Orleans, at one point a grand idea, is now nearly out of the question. It's not that Rowan travels poorly, it's that I have no patience in packing for these excursions. I give Cheryl enough guff for packing 12 pairs of socks for a weekend in Houston. I nearly blow a gasket when I think of all the kid stuff we have to add to it. It's not for the patient or weak of heart. Trips to Houston have evolved from cloth diapers to disposable because lugging around 20 dirty diapers in a grocery sack was starting to get hazardous to our sense of hygene.
It's not to say that all trips are bad, but the reason you go on vacation is to get away from it all. Somehow taking a diaper bag and suitcases and toys and books and toiletries to me isn't really getting away, just taking it somewhere else. I'm just transporting a lot of stuff to another geographic location, and I hope to hell it fits in with the decor and outlets. Getting away would be winning that vacation show that doesn't tell where you're going and you can't take much with you. That's getting away.
But guess what, I can't do that. Cheryl can't do that. Well we could, but only for a short time. It's not like either of us can just pack up and leave the familial unit for two weeks and jaunt about in the Mediterranean. But it's part of being a parent, and sometimes the little trips to Sea World or the zoo is enough to keep you sane while at the same time running around like a crazy person making sure your pride and joy isn't getting her fingers bitten off. Watching a child learn and grow and explore is a kind of vacation. You stop being so clinical and logical and responsible and just open your mind to the wonders that surround you.
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