Driveway Camping

Since long before our second daughter was born, we’d been planning on hitting the road for at least a 6 week trip in the trailer on August 15th, what would be her 6 week birthday. So when the idea came up for a camping trip with friends on the weekend before, we thought what the heck. They were looking for an opportunity to get their little girls out into nature and into a tent for the first time. We were just looking for any excuse to use our newly renovated trailer, knowing full well it wouldn’t exactly be “camping” for us.

In fact, as excited as we were to get traveling, we couldn’t exactly wait until then, and the Friday morning a week before that, we decided to take a drive out to the coast to explore, figuring we’d stop in at the rangers kiosk to inquire about when the first come first served sites usually filled up. What they told us was not encouraging, and I even drove the 35 minutes out to Bodega Bay the Weds before we planned to leave to try to secure a site. On top of quoting a policy that wouldn’t have allowed them to give me a site – even if I paid for it – without physically having the trailer there, there was nothing available. Of course, I was welcome to return the next morning after packing up my entire family and hitching up the trailer to inquire again on the off chance something had opened up.

For some reason, it seems to be much harder to find a campsite from home than it does while on the road. On the road, it all tends to just work out. There’s always one last space or another campground or National Forest road or free boondocking spot not too far, but for this weekend, trying to coordinate from home, we were shut out and gave our friends the bad news that they’d have to reschedule for another weekend without us.

But we’d gotten it in our minds that we were going camping and had been packing for almost a week, working on the trailer for over 6 months. From a practical standpoint, there just comes a tipping point, particularly packing with kids in mind, when things like diaper changing supplies, special pillows and blankets and a plush zoo of stuffed animals need to be moved, and once that happens, there’s no going back. So we didn’t. We just moved into the trailer. In the driveway.

For the rest of the weekend, we went about business as usual - running errands, taking Wynne to the park, bouncing the baby, walking around outside, making dinner - the only confusing moments being when we’d tell Wynne it was time to go inside; We’d promptly head toward the trailer while she was running for the house. “No, to the trailer,“ we’d tell her, and she’d look back, starting to understand, “My taila house?” The first night, she woke up at 1:15 am and, after welcoming an invitation to join me on the pullout bed where I was nestled inside a sleeping bag, Ann and Mae occupying the full bed in the back, proceeded to chat away happily for the next two hours. But, it’s a good bet the same would have happened in the other house, and we’ve always said, if we’re gonna be exhausted chasing a toddler and tending to a baby, we’d rather do it where we wanna be.

Meet your sister, Mae

“Okay, goodnight. Get some rest. I’ll be in to check on you in fifteen minutes.”

The nurses at the hospital meant well and, of course, were just doing their job: caring for not only a newborn baby but a mother recovering from abdominal surgery. And that meant frequent checks of everyone’s vital signs, administering tests and issuing painkillers around the clock, a bit frustrating when you’ve just settled a newborn into the clear plastic bassinet provided by the hospital only to have a nurse just starting her shift at midnight burst into your room and rouse her by inserting a cold stethoscope underneath your artfully wrapped swaddle.

But this experience was still easier than our first time on the labor and delivery ward. As first-time parents, we’d been monitored minute by minute, forced to fill out forms documenting our baby’s every ingestion and digestion, and scolded for a brief period during which a knitted beanie was not pulled down snuggly on her head for warmth. When we inquired as to why this time they’d let us crank the AC in the room and run a floor fan 24/7 in an effort to combat the stifling claustrophobia of still hospital air and had been told the paperwork was optional, they were satisfied by confirming that we had another child at home and that it was still, in fact, alive.

The first night, it pretty much all came back to us. We’d been commenting to friends about how little we felt like we remembered about caring for a newborn, but in truth, a little skin-to-skin contact and constant access to a mother’s breast was about all there was to it in the first hours. After a middle-of-the-night post-feeding diaper change, I wrapped Mae back up in stiff hospital blankets pilling from thousands of washes over the years, cradled her head in one hand while supporting her body in the other and found myself bouncing at the knees to the beat of Bob Marley’s “Buffalo Soldier,” a tempo I’d figured out had been just the thing to put our first daughter, Wynne, to sleep. Sure enough Mae’s tiny eyes rolled back in her head and eventually closed, and I flashed back to hundreds of times before as I leaned her into the bassinet, contorting and wincing while gently extricating my hands from beneath her. 

The next morning, I dug through some old pictures of Wynne in her first hours and put them side by side with Mae’s. On one level, these two newborns wrapped in the same hospital blankets and topped with the same hospital beanies, looked almost identical. But knowing Wynne as we do, the characteristic smile in her eyes and her observant nature, we could see “her” immediately in one of the pictures. When looking at Mae, it was hard to know what to see because we don’t quite know her yet.

 

I left the hospital that afternoon to spend some time with Wynne. On the 15 minute ride home, I couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow I was traveling two and a half years through time. I’d left an 8 lb baby, only 12 hours old, and by the time I got home, she was walking and talking and making it clear in no uncertain terms that she would prefer cold hotdogs over a quesadilla for lunch and that afterwards she would like to play with some bubbles. What a huge difference 30 months makes at this age.

We’d been talking to Wynne about being a big sister for a long time, and she seemed to understand that there was a “baby in momma’s belly.” She even took to asking anyone with a less-than-taut six pack if they too “got a baby in there?” She’d been asking to read to the baby and hug the baby and kiss the baby goodnight. While other friend’s toddlers were fighting over Play Doh and blocks, she’d be waiting patiently for a chance to hold one of their baby brothers or sisters. This little girl was ready for the job of big sister.

But still, we had our concerns about their first interactions. The fact was, her mom and dad had been gone for four nights now, and despite the welcome consolation prize of uninterrupted time with her Grammie visiting from the east coast, Wynne was feeling a little fragile. We’d read somewhere about having the toddler receive a present from his or her new baby sibling, a peace offering straight from the womb. Mae had, in fact, been thoughtful enough to buy Wynne an incredibly soft teddy bear with a strong likeness to the “honey bear” she’d yet to realized had a name very similar to her own. And Wynne had scoured the Internet for a smaller version of her special orange and white “Kitty Kitty” for her new sister Mae. (Okay, we assisted both of them a little with their gifts.)

We timed our arrival home from the hospital to correspond with the end of Wynne’s nap which, of course, she refused to take on this particular day. We walked in the sliding glass door, fending off Gorilla’s sharp claws as she jumped up, only slightly less excited by the new smelling animal strapped into the car seat than she was about seeing us again after four days, and made our way to the living room with Wynne repeatedly asking “That my baby? That my baby?”

As we pulled Mae out of the car seat and settled her into Ann’s lap for a reassuring snack, the scene was about as perfect as we could have imagined. Here Wynne, meet your sister, Mae.

IT’S… A…

IT’S… A… Our doctor was purposely drawing it out, knowing that we had opted not to learn the gender of our second child until “it” was born. In fact, we’d been referring to “it” for the past nine months and tended to get some odd looks from people when we did. But the reality was that, unlike with our first child where we had ourselves convinced we needed every last thing off a lengthy registry list the instant she was born, the second time around, we knew we’d be fine with one pack of newborn diapers, a velcro swaddle, two long sleeved white onesies and maybe a pacifier. If it was a girl, we had two-plus years of cute clothes we’d acquired from friends and second hand stores for our first daughter. If it was a boy, we’d put the word out to friends with boys and make a couple shopping trips in the first weeks. And in the meantime, he could rock a pink John Deere onesie.

That being said, we pretty much had it in our heads that “it” was going to be a boy. Ann said it “felt like a boy,” unsolicited opinions from passers-by were in accord that she was “carrying low,” and friends all agreed that the lack of nausea during early pregnancy pretty much confirmed it. We were even confident enough to politely refuse our gardener’s offer to have his sister dangle a gold ring by a strand of Ann’s hair over her belly to verify that it would spin counter-clockwise. Yes, that’s how convinced we were.

Still, we’d put some thought into names from both genders, our process revolving primarily around staying through the credits of our weekly date night movie to read the names and pitch the interesting ones to each other. 

“Pete?” 
“Lucas?”
“Charlize?”
“Pierce?”
“Best Boy?”

And by Ann’s due date, we’d settled on two favorites for each gender, though we both openly admitted that we really only liked the top one for each and were just keeping a backup because it seemed like something people did. You know, just in case he didn’t look like a “Pierce.”

But the day had already not gone quite as we planned it. Despite being told by Ann’s doctor after an appointment the afternoon of her due date that he didn’t see any signs of labor coming on and would be very surprised if it happened within the next couple days, by 2:00 am that night, the app she’d hastily downloaded onto her iPhone confirmed that her contractions were 4 minutes apart and lasting 1 minute each, the universal metric for “time to go to the hospital.”

After over 12 hours of labor with contractions of increasing strength and frequency, only the last 2 of which were softened by the blissful effectiveness of the epidural - administered by our specifically requested nurse anesthetist, Misty, who had been there for the first birth - the doctor had announced that he expected a few more hours of the same with the baby coming soon after. Of course, we’d received the same prediction at about the same stage the last time, and the similarities just kept right on coming.

Next exam. No change. Let’s wait and see. Next exam. No change. Tweak the drugs to strengthen the contractions. Next exam. A little change. Brief hope. Next exam. No change. Contort mother into positions made only more awkward by the lack of feeling in her legs. Next exam. No change. Utter the words “failure to progress.” Introduce the possibility we’re heading towards a C-section. Again.

And just like last time, we placed a late night call to my brother, a family practice physician who has delivered thousands of babies and provides just the right mix of straight facts, holistic considerations and experience-based opinion, and we all agreed that it was time to throw in the towel. Ignoring the fact that one floor down was an operating room prepped and ready, staffed with a team of skilled doctors and nurses who performed this procedure with regularity, that could all but guarantee a healthy mother and baby within the next 30 minutes after almost 24 hours of constant labor did not seem prudent.

… GIRL! And that was the last surprise of the night. A girl. Not what we’d convinced ourselves to expect but immediately familiar. We were suddenly once again in the same hospital with many of the same nurses holding a tiny swaddled baby topped with a fuzzy pink hat that had been knitted by the hospital ladies auxiliary, just as we’d been two and half years earlier. Of course, the familiarity didn’t diminish any of the excitement, and once we were finally back in our room on the maternity ward, we cycled between staring at each other in disbelief and at this perfect little 8 lb 10 oz bundle, Mae Carolyn Zimmerman.

A Year of Wynne

January always brings reflection, looking back on the past year and measuring yourself against where you thought you might be at this time. We’ve been through a lot since getting married and setting off on a 5 month honeymoon on the Pan American Highway just over two years ago. Since then, we “bought the farm” and have been learning the answers to such seemingly simple questions as “Does a hen need a rooster to lay eggs?” (answer is No) and “How much llama poo will fit in a 33 gallon trash can?” (answer is a lot).

Last year at this time, we were counting the days until the birth of our first child. Every movie we went too, we made the comment that it could be our last for a while. We knew that mornings when we slept until 9 might not happen again in the foreseeable future. We were optimistic that we’d still be able to live our lives the way we wanted - combining both the travel we loved and the close connection to our food and land that we’d been recently enjoying - but either way, we were mostly just excited to be parents.

This blog is basically just a journal for us, but we’re happy when someone gets something out of it, whether it be information or entertainment. We devoured the blogs of other travelers before setting out on the Pan Am and can currently be accurately described as “Google farmers.” We appreciate it when other people have – even if it’s also narcissistic and self indulgent – taken the time to document something that might be helpful to others. With that out of the way, he’s a completely narcissistic and self indulgent look back at our past year with a few links that someone might just find useful.

Wynne Marilyn Born was born January 4th, 2012 at 7lbs 2 oz. There was no frantic taxi ride to the hospital or slapstick falls resulting from the water breaking on the kitchen floor. Not to say there wasn’t some drama but in the final analysis, everything went well. Read the birth post and another about our first few days in the hospital with our newborn.

At 3 1/2 weeks we started to see the first smiles, though they were often preceded or followed by assorted random facial contortions that made it pretty clear they weren’t intentional.

Just before 2 months, she’d figured out that a smile got a good reaction. Read a bit more about our first thoughts about what kind of parents we’d like to be.

… but soon after had perfected a dead pan that often got an even better reaction as people made ridiculous faces at her to try to get her to break.

By 3 months we’d fallen into a nice routine. We were starting to feel like we might actually know what we’re doing taking care of this little one, and we were able to turn our attention to some things going on around the farmlet (like raising pigs for the freezer and caring for a wounded lamb).

In her 4th month, we gave her a taste of the travel we love to do with a two week trip to Japan to see where her grandma and grandpa spent their childhoods. That age was actually a perfect time take her since she really slept anywhere (the louder the diesel engine, the better) and only needed mom for food.

But we came home to a lesson about life and death. Okay, fine, she just came home to get to see super cute little chicks, but daddy had some messy clean up to do…

Soon enough, our thoughts turned to getting back on the road. A new Airstream trailer and an invitation to see some friends we’d met in Central America were all the excuse we needed to once again point ourselves south and set our sights on new experiences.

Wynne likes to hit milestones on her monthly birthdays. At 5 months to the day, she first rolled over. She’s growing up so fast…

6 months was all about sitting up and starting to see the world from a new perspective. Meanwhile, Ann and I got back into the farmy tasks of the early summer: tending to a new flock of chickens after tragedy struck yet again and coordinating the sheep and their new protector – Michelle Ob’llama - to keep the grass mowed.

As Wynne’s nap schedule became more consistent, we had a lot more (at least more predictable) time to harvest from the garden and cook.

When she hit 7 months, everything was interesting (and delicious – sometimes including food but mostly things like sand). We spent three weeks on the East Coast visiting her other set of grandparents and were motivated to write a post about traveling with an infant.

At 8 months, her personality was becoming more clear. We spent a couple weekends camping and listening to music with friends and family before returning home for marathon canning sessions that inspired some thoughts about our general preparedness.

As our second Fall on the property began, we tackled a few tasks like repairing the greenhouse that had been on the list since moving in. Of course, the 9-month-old Wynne needed to be involved in everything.

 

At 10 months, we put her back on a plane for a  long weekend in Mexico where we just happened to come across some overlanders who had read our SF to Panama trip blog and were just at the start of their trip.

Soon after returning, we’d get visits from two more couples from the ”Overland Extended Family" and got to show them the kinds of things we’re now concerned about on a daily basis, like gender ambiguous chickens…

11 months was all about walking for little Wynnie, although at this point, only with the supportive hands – or at least fingers – of one of us. That wasn’t always easy for me, especially with a swollen hand from an “incident” with yellow jacket nest while getting things ready for this year’s pigs.

And by her first birthday, she was ready to set out on her own. Well, not without a walker and about 17 stuffed animals.

 

I’d say this little girl’s had a pretty good first year.

And looking forward to this next year, we have to wonder, what’s next? Talking I guess…

“Really? You’re gonna give me this egg?”

“What if just took it and smashed it like this?!”

“Come on, I was just messin’ with you!”

“Did you really think I was gonna smash it?!”

“You shoulda seen the look on your face! Like ‘Oh no! Don’t smash it! Wa wa!’ Classic!”

“This has been fun.”

Thoughts and logistics on traveling with an infant

Don’t be scared

The first few days with a new baby were actually some of the easiest for us. She slept about 20 hours a day and didn’t need much more than her mom’s boob. But just when we were lulled into a false sense of security, things started to shift. We started having to learn to “read” our child, picking out the signs that she was hungry, tired or wet and testing out all the soothing and sleep techniques other parents had been saying had been invaluable to them. Of course, what worked for one baby or set of parents might or might not work for another. Some babies only sleep in a swing. Some only on a parent. Some warm. Some cold. About two weeks in, we felt like we’d figured out our particular baby, what she needed and when she needed it. Despite everything we’d heard, I’d even go so far as to say we had her – or should I say she had us – on a schedule. And it even included things like sleep for us and dinner and an hour or two on the couch each night.

But one night, something didn’t fall into place, and we had a dreaded “meltdown.” She was inconsolable, turning bright red and gasping for breath between each cry. We went into panic mode, trying everything we’d been been told or could find on Google, but nothing worked. After what seemed like hours (but was probably 20 minutes), she finally collapsed, exhausted from the battle, but we were rattled. The next day, we threw everything we’d learned out the window, almost literally tiptoeing around her for fear of another meltdown, until we came to a realization; Things are going to change. She’s going to have good days and bad, and she’s going to be developing new awareness and abilities everyday. But we know her better than anyone else and want the best for her, and she’s “ours” to take care of. Plus, we’re grown-ass adults, and we’re in charge. Under MY roof and all that stuff. Sure, we’d need to be flexible, but that’s a lot different than being scared of her. That was something we promised ourselves and each other we would not be.

The Benefits and realities

We had a chance to put our money where our mouth is on a three week trip to Japan when she was three months old and don’t regret it for a second. We found that age to be very manageable for travel; Out of necessity, she learned to sleep just about anywhere and we learned to how to feed, change and generally maneuver her through a wide variety of situations. In three weeks, we went from being unsure about taking her out to lunch near our home to eating 45 meals straight in restaurants and riding the Tokyo subway, the bullet train and stinky diesel busses and ferries. Of course, it wasn’t all a walk in the park (except when we took walks in the park, I mean), but in the end, we felt like the experience was invaluable to all three of us.

We do know that travel will become more complicated once she gets more mobile and, well, “opinionated,” but we look forward to facing those challenges as they emerge. Again, we’re choosing not to make decisions based on being “scared of her” (or other people). In our experience, we’ve found her to be incredibly flexible and airline personnel and other travelers to be helpful and genuinely happy to see her. Remember, over three quarters of Americans (86-87% according to the Department of Health and Human Services) have or will have children and many on your flight are probably sad to be traveling away from theirs or excited to be going to visit. We were checked on, cooed at, brought to the front of lines and generally made to feel a bit like VIP’s. Of course, one can be put off by comments on blogs from people who say children shouldn’t be allowed to fly and that they ruin the flight, but really, who do you think has the time to post this stuff: Parents typing with one hand while feeding a baby or disgruntled losers sitting alone in sterile hotel room somewhere?

As I type this, we’re in the Boston area for three weeks visiting Ann’s family and some friends, and little Wynne is now seven months old. She did great on the 5 1/2 hour flight out with Ann making slight variations in her schedule to align feeding with take off and landing (to reduce pressure in her ears) and fitting in a couple nice long naps in the air. In addition to giving her some great time with her grandparents, aunt and uncle and cousin, it’s incredible how we start to see even familiar places differently through the eyes of our child. We really look forward to a lot more traveling and to showing her – and ourselves *through* her (cue dramatic music swell) – the world. Although I will say, she seemed thoroughly unimpressed by our visit to the really cool Drumlin Farm near Boston. “Big deal, I have sheep, chickens and pigs at home. Do you guys have a llama? I didn’t think so.”

Travel Logistics

For Japan, we brought along a “travel system” with a stroller and car seat that easily click together. Because we did not buy a seat on the plane for the baby (not required until the age of two and/or parental loss of circulation in the “lapular region”), both the stroller and the seat had to be gate checked. Admittedly, I don’t really want to know what those items went through out there on the tarmac, but I have to believe that the baggage handlers (remember, 86-87% breeders) would go a little easy on them and/or that anything that would cause major internal damage would leave an external mark.

Going through security took a couple more steps of unloading and unclicking and folding but ended up being quicker because we were routed into a family-only line (Ha ha! Get a baby, losers!). Having the stroller either for the baby to snooze in or alternately to haul backpacks and plastic bags crammed with soggy $14 airport sandwiches was great. And again, at boarding, we were invited to pre-board and just unclicked the car seat and folded up the stroller when we got to the end of the jetway. While we were able to borrow a car seat for this Boston trip, we did bring along the Hummer-of-all-terrain-strollers, the BOB Revolution SE, and had no problems with security or gate check.Why not bring it? A note, you will likely need to get a gate check tag from the gate agent so mention to them that you have a stroller with you before boarding. While we did buy a travel bag for the Japan trip because we figured it would make packing in taxis and airport vans easier, we opted out of the bags they make for car seats because we were afraid they would make us look like miniature people. Do people really haul these things around?

For Japan, while there were times we left the hotel “lean and mean” with only the ERGO carrier, we were very happy to have the complete travel system with us. Inevitably, there are diaper bags and backpack carriers that need to go out with you on daily excursions, not to mention souvenirs, snacks, jackets etc. In any case, at 3 months, our daughter wasn’t ready for a small umbrella stroller or similar. The rolling red pod became fairly ubiquitous around town as we chauffeured her to the sights and showed her off to the locals.

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I can’t resist reposting this little video I made of all the “pod’s” adventures…

For stairs, we’d either unclick the car seat with one of us carrying it under an elbow while the other collapsed the stroller (the one hand fold of the Britax b-Agile and City Mini’s is great) and carried it down the stairs or “fly” her down with one of us holding the front wheel and one holding the back handle. By the end of the trip, I would often just hook an elbow under the whole apparatus and lift it off its wheels (contrary to manufacturer recommendations…). We always collapsed the stroller on the subway out of consideration for commuters and, while we weren’t always the best (read: never did it once) at asking taxi drivers to wait while we buckled the car seat in, she always rode in her seat in the middle position with her two parents holding on with a white-knuckle grip. For this Boston trip, we figured out that we could get a private towncar *with a car seat* for $100 each way (we live in the boonies about an hour and a half from the airport) instead of paying something like $300 to park at the airport for three weeks.

getting a passport

While in Boston, we’ve been planning our next trip, a long weekend in Sayulita, Mexico with a group of friends – including 3 kids under 2 years old. I thought this would be a good motivation for me to put together some of the resources we used to get a passport for an infant.

The Department of State web site actually has everything you need to get started with a passport for a minor under 16. For proof of citizenship, you will need a certified birth certificate. This means, not a copy and usually with a raised stamp or seal that can be obtained from the county or city clerk. You can fill out the passport application online or print it and fill it out by hand (if you enjoy hand cramps and live in 1980). Note: If your child does not yet have a Social Security Number, enter all 0’s in the SSN field. You will also need photocopies of identification for each parent. This can be a driver’s license or valid passport. The instructions say to copy both sides of the ID but we just submitted copies of the photo page of our passports. Note: You will also need to bring this identification with you when you apply.

Finally, the most important (and sometimes most challenging) item you will need is a passport photo. For a toddler, you might just head down to the local Walgreens or CVS and have one taken. Not a big deal other than the potential for tears when you won’t buy them that ring pop from the candy aisle. But for an infant who may resemble a bobble head doll, it can get a little more interesting, and you may want to take the picture yourself. The Department of State has some tips on taking a picture of an infant including laying them on their back on a white sheet or putting them in their car seat with a white background.

We opted to take the picture ourselves when Wynne was about 3 weeks old so we could be sure we’d get the passport back by the time we were going to Japan 9 weeks later. We laid her on her back on the changing table, set up a couple desk lamps and just held down the shutter on the digital camera in continuous shooting mode. Before you start snapping away, read through the specific requirements the picture must meet including no parent’s hands, no shadows, no smiling and eyes open and looking at the camera. Turns out it’s not so easy to get but with enough shots, you’re bound to find one.

The Department of State also provides a great little Photo Tool that allows you to upload a picture and crop it using the composition template. Using the tool, we went from the above, to this:

The funny thing is, this passport – with this picture of a tiny thug - will be valid until she’s 5 years old. While the Department of State web site specifically requires a new picture for significant changes in appearance if you’ve had “facial surgery or trauma, added or removed numerous/large facial piercings or tattoos, undergone a significant amount of weight loss or gain, or made a gender transition,” it does not require one for changes due to the normal aging process of anyone under age 16.

With all your materials collected, your application must be submitted *in person* at a passport application acceptance facility (find one close by). Note that this will likely not be the passport office but rather a post office or other government building and may require an appointment. Check the specifics including payment methods accepted through the link above. You can typically only apply at the passport office if you can prove that you are traveling within 2 weeks and will be required to pay an expedite fee ($60). The Department of State web site lists current processing times for applications which is usually about 4-6 for regular service and only a little less for expedited service by mail. I would recommend just motivating to do it early and you shouldn’t have any problem.

 

Departure

By now, you’re either ready to hit Kayak.com and start booking flights or rolling your eyes at our naivety about what the next few years hold for us in the way of toddler tantrums and managing more than one child, but we can’t help but think that the best way to get good at something is just to do it. That holds for parents and children. We take inspiration from James, Angela and three-year-old Parker and from NoLimit Expeditions who we met while four wheeling through the jungle in Belize and who built a hotel on the beach in East Africa and now run an outdoor adventure company in Central America; the “Bodeswells” who have been on the road in Mexico, Central and South America with seven-year-old Bode for almost three years in a 1971 VW bus; or Pat and Ali “Bumfuzzle,” the couple whose adventures sailing around the world, racing across country in a vintage Porsche, driving the Americas and Europe in a ‘58 VW bus and most recently living with two kids on a sailboat in Mexico, were our first inspiration to hit the road without a concrete plan.

Now (don’t take this the wrong way, guys), but these are not particularly exceptional people. They are not necessarily the offspring of gypsies or diplomats, were not born into unlimited cash and are not running from the law (with the exception of “mordida” traffic stops). They’re pretty normal people who just made a bold decision on how they wanted to live their lives and raise their children. Some may stay on the road forever while others may return to life under a fixed roof, but I doubt they or their children will ever regret not letting fear keep them from exploring. I recently came across this post by yet another family embarking on a round-the-world adventure that looks at the similarities between being stay-at-home parents vs world traveler as well as the advantages of the later. I think it sums it up pretty well: “Are We Crazy?”

For more thoughts and links on the topic, I recommend this post by a family with two kids who rode bicycles from Alaska to Argentina, “Why Travel Isn’t Wasted on Kids.”

Of course, lots more on this to come as we feel our way through it all…