On the four hour journey to Forks, I mastered the art of simultaneously driving with one hand and stuffing organic cheddar crackers into Nathan’s gaping mouth with the other.
When did traveling with children become so…difficult? But then, was it ever easy? I think traveling with Nathan was a breeze when he was in the womb. I wish they made a baby carrier that simulated the womb and did not simulate a back pack. Ever since he popped out, it’s been an experiment in figuring out how to get him to sleep or how to keep him busy or how to keep him from crashing head first into the pavement. And judging from his latest bruise, we haven’t succeeded on that last point.
But Forks. I loved it. Even though the waitress forgot to set out any silverware until we had asked (No forks in Forks? OH THE IRONY!) and there were seventeen signs in our hotel room requesting that we do not clean our fishing gear with the provided towels, it was one of the most relaxing weekends we’ve had in a long time.
In Forks, there is one dentist and two Chinese restaurants. It’s amazing that in a town where you can buy your camaflouge vests at the grocery store, you can also pick up a Northwest version of Kung Pao chicken.
Pushing Nathan in a baby swing that hung from this 100+ foot giant sequoia.
Letting Nathan experience fine restaurant decor.
Driving down to Rialto Beach so Nathan can play, “How many rocks can I shove into my mouth?” He won.
But my favorite?
Mike and I found our likeness represented in wood form. The similarities are stunning.