Last week we flew with Tom to Illinois to visit one of his great-grandmothers. Then we drove to Indiana to visit another one of his great-grandmothers. Then we drove back to Illinois to visit with the first great-grandmother again. Then we flew home.
I knew that this week I’d be writing a blog about the craziness that is traveling with a toddler.
I just knew it!
And it was crazy.
I was the one who got motion sickness every time we were in any type of traveling vehicle.
I was the one who missed the naps.
I was the one who almost cried out of frustration.
Tom thought the entire trip was awesome!
He did great on the plane. He took short naps on the plane both times.
He thought the airport was the greatest. He wanted to stay on the train.
He thought the park-and-ride bus was pretty awesome.
He didn’t mind the car ride from state to state in the least.
He loved visiting with his great-grandmothers and extended family, and was more than happy to shout “Hi!” to everyone he met.
He loved running down the halls, running in the yard, going on walks over a bridge, playing with rocks, turning everything into a train track, throwing flower petals off a balcony, and watching Toy Story 3 four times in a row.
He loved his great-grandmothers. And his aunts and uncles and cousins.
(I loved all those things, too! I just felt sick on the way to those things…)
He was awesome.
Well, when we landed back in Atlanta and got to our car, I immediately got my hair stuck on the coat hook in the car, then Tom poured pureed fruit all over his legs and carseat, and then Kev took the long way back to the interstate.
So I buried my face in Tom’s elephant and screamed.
And then I started feeling sick again.
And that’s how I did on the trip.