I'll admit that I was secretly scared of the 15- to 17-hour trip to and from Florida. With Zane self entertained a very good part of the way, and Vanessa easily entertained by DVDs and sporadic reading, talking and playing games, the trip seemed somewhat easy. Zane didn't complain but a few times shortly before the end of days traveled, and even then it was short-lived and guessed to be his need to relieve himself. (Yep, he pooped minutes upon arriving at his destination.)
Real credit goes to Daddy, though, for getting us to
there from
here, and getting us to
here from
there.
Where we stayed
there is smaller than our home
here. The neat thing with vacations for us is that Vanessa never refers to the place we stay at as "home" -- she always says things like "Let's go back to the vacation house." Yes, I can over analyze it, but it warms my heart to think that she knows down deep inside what makes a
home.
The place we stayed
there had a patio. Like our kitchen and living room are most often used
here, because the weather doesn't always permit, the patio
there was used for eating bites of food, drinking coffee, playing on the iPad, climbing, reading mags and books, and checking out random life, like the egret, alligators, lizards, and heron.
The first day
there we brought in a table for Zane to use. But like
here, at home, he used it to gain access to things. Encouragement to use the table dwindled, just like
here.
Also like
here, Vanessa and Zane made piles of blankets and pillows to leap and bounce on.
And just like
here, Daddy woke each morning to the kids pouncing him and shrilling in his ears.
Although not our home, our vacation house helped us to capture memories -- memories we carried from
there to
here.
