Getting my husband and children to the beachside getaway with my parents was traumatic enough, but then it got worse
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My husband would describe our parenting style as safety-conscious. I would call it risk-averse. So how did we end up driving our small children down the freeway through pea soup fog, getting blown out of our lane by gusts of galeforce wind, hellbent on a holiday despite an emergency warning to avoid non-essential travel? I suspect it comes back to my deep-seated loathing of grocery shopping.
Or perhaps the trip was doomed from the start. My parents were house-sitting for some friends on the coast and invited my family and my brother’s family to join them as a belated celebration of my dad’s 75th birthday. A week before we were all due to arrive, my brother looked at the forecast, saw that his chances of a game of golf were slim to none, and promptly cancelled. We decided to forge ahead. How bad could it be?
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