I posted a few pictures from our trip to Houston, but not many. I think I was too traumatized to be cameraman, most of the time.
The predominant feature of our little vacation was how hellish it is to travel with Corinna. Rachel and I have not bred pliant, easy-going children, but she is really something else. She must have complained eight thousand times that she wanted to go home -- not just in the car, but during activities at the Space Center and the Childrens' Museum. She was a little ball of vinegar the entire weekend. If it wouldn't destroy our relationship, we'd leave her with Grandma and Grandpa for our next trip.
On the bright side, Tommy was a much better traveler than expected. He was pretty content in his seat the entire ride, possibly distracted by the novelty of being in a front-facing seat for the first time.
Unfortunately, on the way back we plied him a little too hard with cookies and chips, and less than ten minutes from home he started puking. And puking. And he just kept puking, not projectile vomiting but just feeding it slowly out of his mouth like a kid slurping up oatmeal in reverse. Every time he wiggled it smeared a little more over him and his seat.
We pulled over to wipe everything down to limit the damage, but when I was done I still had little puke molecules clinging to my arm hair. Once home, Tommy and I took a shower together.
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