It finally started to feel like summertime when we found ourselves trying on coonskin caps at a truckstop on 95, headed north on a 10 hour road trip to New York with five days off stretching, decadently unstructured, in front of us.
Boy, were we ready. (This
particular truck stop is famous in its own right, and set the tone for what would turn out to be a long weekend of kitschy roadside Americana.)
The destination was West Point graduation weekend. Seth had agreed to commission some cadets he had mentored
and- because I am particularly attuned to "Army kid" issues- it was important enough to me to teach the kids that you can, in fact, go back that I had agreed to sharing hours and hours of car time with people who are much less excited about the lure of the open road than I.
And it was absolutely worth every car meltdown about Leap Pad glitches and who was drinking whose water and what song we should listen to. F+F were elated to see their friends.
I got in a mimosa brunch with girlfriends, Hudson Valley views, and a mountain run I'm still sore from; and a sleepover with the Bier kids was survived. (Thankfully, not by us.)
In "cherry on top" news, F+F yelled "the Army team!" when they saw Michie Stadium, the hallmark of forever West Point kids. It was chicken soup for Army parents' souls.
Once we had a whirlwind of a graduation day under our belts, we decamped to a lovely lakeside cabin on
Greenwood Lake, which Ford adorably called "our log house," for some much-needed downtime
which included lakeside dining
early mornings that looked like this
and a pontoon boat ride in a surprise squall that still got rave reviews from the peanut gallery (pictured here huddled under boat covers while whining).
I desperately miss upstate New York in the summers, and enjoyed the heck out of our brief but gratifying "fix."
It was hard to leave, but we headed out Monday morning for Lancaster, PA, excited about
this roadside attraction which didn't disappoint. (The "world's largest miniature village" even includes an hourly "pageant" featuring a blonde Jesus superimposed over the Statue of Liberty while "God Bless America" blares and red, white, and blue floodlights illuminate the miniature train tracks.)
Lancaster was the stuff that tacky road trip vacation dreams are made of, and Seth and I had capitulated to the tyrants and agreed to spend our anniversary in a
hotel oddly and hilariously made to replicate Fulton's actual steamboat.
(It did have a train playground, a pool, and a bar, so who's complaining?)
Ford was the only one of us who got in the requisite Memorial Day workout,
and we all enjoyed a round of mini golf,
even Handsome Ford, who proved he really is a terrible sport who can throw a fit anywhere.
In case there was ever any question about that.
And then, the morning we had all been waiting for. (And by all, I basically mean me.)
Dutch Wonderland, an amusement park in Lancaster, that was supposed to be perfect for kids not tall enough to ride roller coasters at bigger parks.
It was everything we had dreamed of, minus rampant discrimination in the form of Seth being told he couldn't ride rides with a prosthetic repeatedly. We navigated those issues as best we could, had an absolute blast on rides like the family log ride,
and laughed at the knockoff characters
and carnival-esque rides like these stupid frogs the kids loved.
Plus the bizarre Amish overtones that had the kids "milking" cows and driving "buggies."
But which at least (because their father is insanely indulgent) scored them pony rides.
Finley discovered a serious affinity for (four year old- appropriate-ish) roller coasters,
while staunchly safety-conscious Ford rode the monorail like this. You know, just in case.
There was even a kid-sized water park,
with water slides three of us loved
and one of us did the Waterpark Walk of Shame trying to avoid
(instead enjoying the "scary slides" like this.)
You know it's been a successful day when it ends like this.
The kids were snoring too loud to even appreciate the "Lancaster traffic jam"
They woke up about the time we were trying to avoid the thing we miss least about DC:
so we took them for an uber-romantic anniversary dinner at a ridiculous
riverside dive bar in southern Maryland
where we had Finley take this anniversary photo
while we enjoyed a beer and the sunset with our very favorite people
and an anniversary dinner that consisted of fried everything and a pitcher of Bud Light.
Cheers to 6 years, Nieman-style.
(Later, Seth and I cracked up about the fact that road trips sometimes mean cruising into Sheetz at 1am with 3 miles to go before disaster strikes.)
It was a weekend to remember; a celebratory return to what will always be one of our favorite duty stations, valuable summer road tripping with our kids, and an apt and funny toast to 6 years together.
My favorite photo of the week is still probably this hilarious one, of Ford in a borrowed Spiderman suit in a Panera parking lot in Pennsylvania, exhibiting pure road trip joy-- and pretend web shooters.
