The last day. We woke up to my mom making breakfast in her van—classic—and my dad playing nature guide, pointing out every woodpecker he could spot to keep our son entertained while we packed up. Honestly, it was the perfect little send-off. We only had about four hours to my parents’ house to pick up our other car (left there from our last big trip), and then just two more hours home—if the traffic gods were kind.
The drive was… fine. Nothing too dramatic, which I was grateful for because I was tired. Not just physically, but that “we’ve-been-on-the-go-for-nine-days-with-kids” kind of tired. When we got to my parents’, all three kids insisted on riding the rest of the way home with me. Which worked out, because I was in the faster car—definitely faster than the camper van—so we made great time and totally beat Daddy home.
By the time we pulled into the driveway, I was running on fumes, but weirdly content. And major win: I think this was the best packing job I’ve ever done for a trip. Everything had its place, the van wasn’t a disaster, and the post-trip laundry pile wasn’t terrifying.
We made it. Nine days, two parks, one race, 12 hours down, a beach, a zoo, a campus tour, four generations, and zero crowds at LEGOland. The best kind of family trip—chaotic, sweet, and unforgettable.
Run Teach Bike 