this weekend was our first road trip with stink (our koala bear of a 7 month old). it was going to be a four hour drive. i polled the other mummies for exactly how to go about things so the road trip would be executed with supernanny-like precision. the way up was dreamy. stink slept. we drove straight there, having more than enough time left over to congratulate ourselves on our epic parenting.
but then we had to drive home.
and we made a few rookie mistakes that left us with a screaming little man, howling his way down the hope-princeton. i nursed. i gravol-ed him up. nothing. just our sad sack of a baby wailing at the unfairness of life
now i’m not someone who stops to smell the flowers. i am destination oriented. and while my hubby tends to be more laid back, i could see him watching our ETA rapidly creep up on the GPS out of the corner of his eye.
we didn’t know what to do. neither of us wanted to stop. we’ve been together twelve years, driven this road dozens of times, and never paused for more than a ten second pee break. i mean, smelling flowers gets in the way of the goal.
but we did anyway. we pulled over at a random rest stop, tumbled our disheveled selves out of the vehicle, and threw a blanket down on a patchy hill.
we watched the traffic zoom by.
we got dirty in the grass.
we made a memory on that patchy hill in manning park.
and realized that now that we’re parents, our definition of a goal needs to change. because it really has nothing to do with the destination, and everything to do with smelling the flowers.
or, in our case, the grass stains.