I took the kids (sans husband) off to Washington, D.C., last weekend to celebrate my brothers' (yes, plural) 50th birthdays (I have multiple brothers thanks to multiple marriages amongst my parental units). We flew Southwest out of Indianapolis, via Atlanta (because Georgia is TOTALLY on the way to Washington, D.C., from Indiana, am I right?), arriving at sunset on a muggy evening.
It was Max's first time on an airplane, and he did great! Emma had been on two other plane flights before, but she was tiny back then. She took along her stuffed animals and her camera, the better to document the trip. While in D.C., in two and a half days, we met up with a childhood friend of mine at the Natural History Museum, got caught in a torrential downpour, listened to my dad's string quartet play an excellent concert, met up with a college friend at the National Zoo, got caught in another torrential downpour, walked literally miles, had a birthday party, ate lox and bagels and helped an asthmatic bulldog breathe.
So, all in all, a typical vacation. Too many things packed in too short a time. But it was great seeing my siblings and their kids, not to mention my dad and stepmom. The grandchildren all got along great, from the 8-month-old to the 30-year-old. And since it had been about seven years since all the siblings were together, we had a lot to catch up on.
And in two weeks, I get to do it all again, as it's my hubby's high school reunion time. But this time, we're driving. And I'm not doing a darn thing.