We are in Pennsylvania for the week visiting my sister. My parents came with us and let me tell you I will not be planning any major travel excursions in the future without them. They seemed to actually enjoy sitting next to a sixteen-month-old strapped for hours on end in her carseat, whereas I would rather have applied burning coals to my eyelids than do so.
Molly and Frankie both did surprising well. They both took a nap and Molly fell asleep for the night for the final couple of hours of the trip. The only surprise was that Frankie was not all that interested in watching her portable DVD player, unlike the last road trip we took where she literally was glued to the screen for twelve consecutive hours of Thomas the Tank Engine. I was sort of counting on her mentally checking out for the duration of the trip, so I felt a bit begrudging when I actually had to read books to her. I was really counting on the electronic parenting.
Since my sister's house is not set up to accomodate all of us, we were blessed with the incredible good fortune of having my friend Christine's house to stay in. Christine and I were college chums and, serendipitously, her husband wound up working for the same financial firm as Molly's husband. Now Molly and Christine are close friends, their families spending long evenings playing Settlers of Qatan, the lure of which I have never understood. Since Christine's family was going to Wisconsin for the week, they very generously offered us the use of their sprawling five bedroom home. It is the most bucolic setting, all lush green yard with huge poplars and perennials and, the piece de resistance, a chicken coop with six little teenage chickens, including a white one that looks like it is wearing very fabulous vintage feather-covered go-go boots.
The set up could not be more ideal. Huge house, plenty of beds, a crib, and no need to haul the many accoutrements a baby usually entails. Plus seventies-style chickens. Perfection.