Family vacation, and other things that are better in theory
A week from yesterday, my immediate family will be congregating in Banff to celebrate my parents’ managing to survive on this planet for 60 years. I’m not sure why they want to celebrate such a milestone with company; my hunch is that they just want to hang out with their grandchildren, and feel obligated to invite the kids’ parents. Why Matt and I are invited is anyone’s best guess, seeing as how we’re not procreationally inclined.
Thankfully — for the sake of my sanity — Matt has to work until Tuesday, at best, so we’ll all have two more days of enjoying the idea of all being together before reality sets in and we actually are all together. In one house. ALL OF US: three children ages 1 to 5 — actually four, counting the fetus — and seven adults. And my brother.
This trip also involves two ten-hour drives with just Matt and me. As much as I love a good road trip, Matt does not. In fact, he gets downright cranky when I want to pull over and read the historical site signs (Cliffs Notes got NOTHIN’ on the U.S. government’s ability to condense history into one single paragraph and then engrave it onto a old-growth wooden sign). So we’ll be bringing our respective iPods and I shall attempt to wrest the driver’s seat from him so we can stop and get photos that don’t involve the mileage or odometer or other signage that includes the figure “1137“.
If everyone survives, we’ll return bruised, battered, and — most importantly — WITH A PUPPY, whom we’re picking up on our way back. Personally, I think some bulldog wrinkles will be all that’s needed to assuage my battered soul.