Yesterday morning, while Leila sat on her blanket smiling and playing and I stuffed and folded cloth diapers we listened to the “Children’s Indie Radio” station on Pandora. As a French song wafted through our living room visions of a family trip to Paris filled my head. We sat on the lush green lawn of la tour Eiffel amidst a picnic lunch of a toasty baguette, rich cheeses and decadent wine. Leila laughing and playing and me tossing my shiny hair back in delight. Later we walk across a dusty park spotted to a small cafe. I held a future baby on the hips of my navy and white polka dot dress and gave the baby’s plump cheeks a kiss, leaving a smudge of bright red lipstick.*
Right before bed last night I shared my idea with Ben. On a family walk the day before we’d discussed finally starting a dedicated travel savings fund, and a family trip to Paris seemed like the perfect addition to our still short list of a 25th wedding anniversary celebration to Gibbs Farm.
“Doesn’t that sound nice?” I asked.
Ben paused. Then he diplomatically assured me that a trip with our child(ren) to Paris sounded great. When they could walk. And remember the trip. As for now,
“We’d spend the whole time in the hotel room trying to get them to nap.”
Then he paused again.
“It sounds like you had a nice moment with Leila.
Maybe you should keep enjoying the family trips to Paris in your head.”
Perhaps sometimes less actual travel is more fun, blurry photos and all.
*For some reason I seem to channel visions of Gwen Stefani’s ensemble from the music video for “Don’t Speak” when I picture a fashionable romp in Paris.