We used to be fun.  We used to travel.

The wife and I met when were just itty bitty college freshmen, with the world at our fingertips.  Shortly after we started dating our junior year, we studied abroad together in Ireland, and spent three weeks trekking through western Europe.

Cliché, yes.  But also fabulous fun.  And since we didn’t kill each other, we figured this relationship might be the real deal.

(Spoiler alert: we were right.)

After graduating, we were long-distance for a year, both off on adventures: me to the wilds of south Texas to teach the most brilliant students in the world (looking at you, Dragons!)  Her, to Russia, on a prestigious Watson Fellowship to study the survival of Orthodoxy under Communism thanks to the persistence of Russian wives and mothers.

(Have I mentioned that my wife is brilliant?  My wife is brilliant.)

I visited her that year in St. Petersburg, during my school’s winter vacation.  We relived our European adventures as she showed me the city she’d been living in for the past 6 months.

It was glorious.

In the years after we moved in together, then got married, we kept traveling.  We honeymooned on skis in Banff, Alberta.  We took two Caribbean cruises, where we rode horses in Mexico and swam with dolphins in Jamaica and drank a lot of pink things in between it all.  We visited Seattle and Washington, DC.  We rarely stayed in one place when we had time off from work.


And now…we have a baby.  He’s smart.  He’s CUTE.  He’s also a pain in the butt to travel with.

This year, we briefly talked about trying a trip to DC again over our Spring Break.  We have friends and family there who it would be fun to see.  We could go to the National Zoo and the Smithsonian museums and visit all the landmarks we love again.

Then we thought, who are we kidding?  Take a toddler to DC?  Stay in a hotel?  Lug a stroller around public transportation?

Not going to happen.

So instead, we’re packing up the car with a couple suitcases and the baby and the dog and going to Nonni and Pup-Pup’s.  AKA, my parents’ house.

We will play with the toys my parents keep stocked.  We will enjoy some Disney Junior on the luxury of their satellite TV.  We will explore the creek and the woods where I grew up.  We will go see the cows on my family friends’ farm.  Maybe we’ll leave the boy with Nonni for an afternoon and go see *gasp* a movie.

And I don’t mind at all.  Our traveling might look different now, but it’s still fun. It’ll be nice downtime.  It’ll be a getaway.  We will be together as a family.

It will be glorious.