When I first was persuaded chose to embark on our vacation to Montana without the Wee Golding, it seemed like an tolerable excellent idea. 6 whole days without picking up/carrying anyone might improve the asymmetric hypertrophy of my paravertebral muscles... no asking 487 times a day if anyone needs to use the potty... no eating dinner at senior citizen hours.... we might just be able to do things that didn't fit into the nap/bedtime/snack schedule or motor skill set of a 2 year old... I might be able to sleep past sunrise (the latter didn't happen, thank you mini-human alarm clock that has trained my body to wake up at the crack of dawn even without the deceptively sweet call of "Mommy, come wake me up!"). It sounded promising.
The first few hours of the trip were a bit sketchy, as it seemed that every adorable child between the ages of 0 and 4 decided to travel on the day of our departure with their tiny little Dora backpacks, all strategically placed to make me question the decision to leave E behind. Where were all the little holy terrors when I needed them? Not a rhetorical question. Answer: on the return flight to GSO.
But I rest assured knowing Elle would have a blast with Grampa/Mimi and Sandy/Clay.
She fastidiously made sure her wheels were clean before the trip.
And away she went.
Like good parents, we made sure the gas tank was full before she left.
Once in route, we decided to take advantage of our toddler free time. We bent rules. We ran with scissors. We recklessly abandoned any concept of portion control.
Mmmm. Airport breakfast.
We drove vehicles that have never been in the same zip code as a car seat.
We did not always heed warnings.
I still maintain that, in the court of law, this sign could be interpreted to mean only handicapped persons are not allowed to approach elk...
The foreign languages on this one translate into: Don't let your knee-sock wearing purse-carrying tourist son play hopscotch in the hot springs.
There was no mention of not licking them.
Gored seems like an unnecessarily graphic verb to use here, but apparently the point was not clear enough. Who can resist a buffalo?!
I suspect Yellowstone management put up this sign after the Marmot Incident last year.
Sorry about that buddy. He looked noticeably relieved this year.
While we didn't molest or feed any animals, we did happen upon this young black bear on our way home from the park. We were only about 15 feet away, but thankfully protected by 8 cylinders and a brush guard donning Suburban.
We didn't completely disregard our parenting personas, instead demonstrating occasional acts of responsible behavior. I kept my trusty bear spray handy at moment's notice.
If that didn't work, I was ready to splash Diet Coke in his eyes. Who's YOUR bear daddy?!
We caught only our allotted number of rainbow trout from the Yellowstone River, dutifully throwing back the "cutthroats". We pan-fried our spoils so that their little scaly lives wouldn't have been lost in vain.
We visited the world's most famous geyser, and I discovered that "Old Faithful" actually has nothing to do with the consistency with which my child will pee as soon as her diaper is removed. This geyser was minimally more impressive.
We snuggled and cuddled in caves and on top of mountains, quoting Elle's book "We're Going on A Bear Hunt" in her honor.
And, despite our attempts to be hip young whippersnappers again, we were still in bed at a reasonable hour every night. But for a sunrise like this, wouldn't you?
