After a week of vacation, the only thing left to do was come home. We had planned to spread the drive across two days, spending the night in St. George. The Bawdens were more brave, however, and decided to drive straight home.
In no hurry, we got up, ate our breakfast, and packed up our stuff. As we started driving, we noticed something surprising. The kids were being totally good. With each passing hour, we gave greater consideration to actually skipping the St. George stop and going right home. But it was hard to really convince ourselves.
Should we do it? Well, that would save us another day of unpacking and repacking the car.
But what's the hurry to get home?
If we don't stop, we won't have to deal with Tate continually jumping off the bed.
But what if we don't stop and the kids start freaking out right after we pass St. George?
In the end, we decided to be brave. We kept driving.
Despite the last hour-and-a-half being filled with Tate's incessant "Mom, mom, mommmmmmmm!" we made it painlessly straight through in about 10 hours.
By the end of the trip we still liked our kids, we still liked each the Bawdens, we still liked each other. We couldn't have asked for anything more.
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