Go West, Pasty Man
By the time you read this, one of the following will have taken place. I will once again be ensconced along the Dallas-Plano border, having safely returned from a family vacation without so much as hint of sun-induced color upon my glorious, pale body. Or, I will still be confined to a holding cell at the Dallas-Fort Worth International House of Airplanes, for what officials can only vaguely describe as “peanut-fee induced psychosis.” Let’s hope for the former.
Yes, the Fox family is tempting the natural order of God’s cosmos and traveling by air with two 15-month-old nut jobs. I mean, wonderful bundles of the Lord’s joyous bounty. We are venturing to San Diego, California, to join my wife’s family for a week of sun, surf and sea breezes. Or, more likely, sunscreen, sand chafing and shifting nap schedules. But we’ll be missing a week of June heat in Dallas, so who cares?
This will not be our first extended trip with the kiddos. We ventured forth at Christmastime to Kansas City (my family) and southeast Iowa (my wife’s). But that trip was in the family truckster – a Mazda6 station wagon christened Mimi – in which only we parents would be vexed by the various screams and smells emanating from the back seat.
Air travel, however, is another matter. While I’ve never attained true road warrior (or Admiral’s Club) status, I’ve been in enough terminals and inhaled more than enough recycled airplane air to know that there are usually just two outcomes to traveling with tiny humans: Nothing happens, or everything happens. Now, our kids happen to be blessed with fairly easy-going temperaments. When they get loud in public, they’re usually squealing with delight.
But still, let’s not count our chickens before they nap. We could be just one misplaced binky or unexpected ear pop away from Total Tot Meltdown. At which point, my wife and I officially become “those parents.” Yay.
Still, I’m looking forward to the trip. For once, I get to pre-board the plane without either paying for first class (ha, I say, ha) or wearing my fake leg cast. (Although, if someone can explain how one can truly “pre-board” anything, drop me a line.) I’ve also procured the weeklong services of one Class-A minivan. When the Foxes roll, we roll big, people. Please, keep your covetous thoughts at bay.
Of course, the point of any family vacation is to spend as much money as possible on as many frivolous items as possible. Snow globes, refrigerator magnets, soda can cozies and other ephemera-by-the-ton will make their way into our suitcase. Ensuring an overweight bag surcharge on the return flight. Or perhaps not. How much can a handful of squashed souvenir pennies weigh, after all?
Some form of relaxation will also occur during the week. Not within our actual family, but somewhere. Somewhere. We, however, will be bonding with the extended clan, shuttling to and fro and fro and to amongst some of southern California’s must-see locales. Because you’ve never experienced the magic of Disneyland until you experience it through the eyes of a child who’s current favorite word is “toe.” I’m just glad my kids have shown no fear in the face of giant, walking mice. And if I can sneak my son onto Space Mountain in his Baby Bjorn, all the better.
So why are we doing this? For the kids, of course. Just because they won’t remember it doesn’t mean they won’t enjoy it and learn from it. As educational a wonderland as our dining room-cum-play area may be, kids cannot grow mentally on Busy Ball Poppers alone. We’ve tried. There’s a wide world out there and if they ever hope to see much of it, they better get started now.
Besides, we’ll have plenty of photos to show them of the whole extravaganza. Including, perhaps, a lovely montage of airport security Tasering daddy. Dare to dream, little ones. Dare to dream.