Making plans was part of what made them "them." Traveling was in their bones. They loved to book flights, pack bags and find great, new places to eat. Then the babies came. Traveling was on hiatus. Diapers and feedings and running and screaming and crying. A plane was out of the question. Two adults? Three kids? The math never made sense.
But the great east winds called. The tide rose with their desire to visit family and eat lobster. They rationalized a non-stop flight would surely be no problem. As long as they didn't have to change planes, they could make it across the country with three, nineteen-month old darlings. They would just sit in laps and in the extra seat and read books and munch on snacks for 4 1/2 hours. No problem. The east winds beckoned louder with each rationalization.
We are home from our vacation. Our kids touched the ocean, saw lobster, mimicked seagulls, learned the word "boat" and got lots and lots of love from dear family. The plane ride is a dark, messy blur of fits, naps, kinds looks from strangers as well as a few dirty ones. (Looks that is, the strangers seemed cleaned.)
I wish we could've clicked ruby slippers together instead of hauling three car seats, two strollers, three blankets, three carry-ons, three busy babies and two exhausted parents through the airport. But we are home now. The memories of an amazing, first family vacation are stronger than the plane ride getting there. We all had a blast. Although, I might calculate how long the drive is for next year...