Like millions of Americans, Mrs. Blackwell and our little guy hit the road for Thanksgiving. For our little jaunt we were also joined by a family friend.
|Pictured: Your dad on every road trip you ever took.|
And who wouldn’t?
My cliché vision of a family vacation includes a haggard set of parents, worn down to their last nerve.
There’s a mom, tired, hair totally askew, trying to make the baby and/or kid(s) quiet down.
And there’s a frazzled, road-weary dad, hands clenched like vices on the steering wheel using the remaining shreds of his will power to suppress expletive-laced rants at other drivers.
And throughout this little sojourn, a baby’s cries would provide soundtrack, effectively fueling the desperation and closterphobia.
Well, none of that happened.
Mercy of all mercies, the baby slept. (So did his mom for that matter.) Traffic was light and we even managed to squeeze some shopping into our trip.
Throughout all of this, the little guy was pretty well perfect. I know, I know, just what you'd expect a doting father to say. But, seriously, the kid just sat back and enjoyed the ride.
This was the first such trip I’ve taken with the little guy and, if he keeps this up, we’ll have no excuse to not take long road trips anywhere.
And with that, his grandmother in North Carolina is eagerly awaiting plans for our impending arrival.