"...a three hour tour?!"

For most of my life, I've loved nothing better than a good road trip, something I must in fairness attribute to Mom & Dad and all those minivan hours we logged driving across the country growing up (at least some of them in search of the elusive Buffalo Bill's grave.) I still generally feel the same way, but this- squinting into what looked and felt like a monsoon somewhere in eastern Tennessee well after midnight, frantic to get home to my baby- was not the stuff of which wanderlust is made.

It had been a really nice getaway until we hit the airport Sunday morning. I had obtained antibiotics and semi-recovered from strep in just the nick of time, we had just enough time to throw some stuff in bags and hope for the best packing-wise, and Mom and Dad saved the day and took Finley overnight so we could make a quick trip to Dallas for Jake and Liz's wedding without lugging ten pounds of diapers and bottles. (Mom shouted "have fun! get wasted!" out the door as we left at 4am.) All three of us had been sick and tired for weeks, and the 24 hours off was just what the doctor ordered. The wedding was beautiful (Dallas-tacular, resplendent with sequins and big hair and cowboy boots), and we got to drink beer, have adult conversations where we actually looked at each other, and sleep in at the adorable Hotel Belmont. We also had a few hours to play tourist in unexpectedly-snowy Dallas, a town we both really like, and we felt morally obligated to have booze for breakfast, play beer pong at The Nodding Donkey (check out who was-briefly- winning, Missy), and visit the George Dubya library and museum.

We also  made a BBQ pilgrimage to Lockhart's, where we ordered meat by the pound and drank Shiner in mason jars. Gotta love Texas. (We certainly do.)

Mom and Dad were the best, and sent us pictures of Finley's fabulous day, which apparently included watching John Wayne movies on the couch with Dad (as well as a serious diaper blowout, of which she was apparently pretty proud.)

Basically, it was shaping up to be the perfect guilt-free, kid-free overnight date, and we really felt like we were nailing it... until we got to the airport for our nonstop flight home and saw The Line.

Flights to the east coast had all been cancelled for weather, and the guy at the ticket counter patiently helped us look at every possible option- including flights out of any other airport in Texas and to anywhere from Boston to Nashville to Orlando- before informing us that the earliest he could confirm us on a flight was Tuesday night, arriving Wednesday morning. Into Baltimore.

Anxious to get home to Finley- and more than a little concerned about how much milk we had left in the freezer for her- I was in tears and on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

And that's how we found ourselves in a rented Hyundai Sonata, taking turns driving through the night on what would turn out to be a nailbiting 22.5 hour drive through pouring rain and occasional sleet, stopping only for heavily caffeinated products, a bit of Memphis BBQ, and a picture with the Arkansas sign, for Dad.

We finally, eventually made it back, grateful for teamwork, all-wheel drive, breastpumps with car chargers, XM radio, and Sheetz. And of course, Mom & Dad, who were cheerfully considering breaking into our house for more milk, and- according to Dad- supplementing with brownies.

In my head, Finley was starving and miserable, inconsolably missing her parents.
In reality, she wasn't even home when we arrived, boasting a busy Monday calendar that included birdwatching.

We, at least, were thrilled to have survived our Gilligan's Island-esque "overnight trip" and subsequent race across half the United States, with milk and BBQ on ice.

Finley put on quite a show last night, so I took a few "photos of the week." There's no place like home. Which is good, because we may never leave again.