We’re awfully blessed to go on work trips with Daddy.

And by blessed, I mean mostly grateful with an inch of why in the world do we make the decisions we make?

Last week, we tagged along to the big city of Dallas.

I started out making wise and discerning decisions like starting the day with Chick-fil-A and coffee.

We even found ourselves at an arcade.

But then I got a little cocky and attempted to navigate downtown Dallas on my own, with two little ones and a burgeoning belly.

You big city people. I tip my hat to you.

After parking a mile away because there are people everywhere, and securing a million-dollar parking pass because nothing is free these days, I hoofed it to the museum with my two offspring in tow. Eureka! I’m certain this is how the pilgrims felt when they motored up to Plymouth Rock in their ski boat.

After we hiked back to our rental car, I was quickly reminded of terrible people in this world.

I couldn’t fit my caboose between these on a good day, nonetheless nearly 30-weeks pregnant with a noncompliant toddler to buckle.

Was I stressed on the trip?

Maybe a little.

There was that time I accidentally found myself driving in some special, expensive, express lane on the highway, taking us an hour away from our intended destination at a high rate of speed.

Or that time my precious trolls slammed my fingers in the hotel door, then ran off in the parking lot as I wandered around lost, looking for our car.

Or the time my youngest launched a decorative river rock at a restaurant patron in wealthy Highland Park, Dallas.

Or the time Daddy needed silence to make a work call, so we stopped in a neighborhood where I dragged my children around on sidewalks in sweltering heat, while stuffing them with a 30-count Chick-fil-A nuggets.

It was a peaceful time, really.

I didn’t once have to apologize for my attitude. . . . . .

We even stopped at mama’s happy place.

“Now sir, do you serve portable IV drips of espresso?” Cool, cool.

At one point, we had walked and walked and walked and were sweaty and defeated and famished.

My kids needed sustenance, and the only food supply in sight was Hooters.

Can’t you just see it now: Christian blogger treats young sons to cheese fries at Hooters.

Surely I can find an old piece of gum in the car to keep them alive.

What do you know, I found peanut butter. I found bread. I did not find my knife.

So I most certainly used my finger.

No, I won’t teach your kids to be classy, but I will teach them how to survive in the wild.

More coffee, anyone?

Yes.

The last day of our trip, Daddy took off to play with us at the coolest park ever.

We stuffed the children with sno cones and chips, so they didn’t embarrass us in public like they had all week.

And you want to know the most unnerving part of this?

I’d do it all again tomorrow to make my kids smile.

That’s motherhood for you. 💗