How you know it's time to get out of the city

Not for good, of course, since I have a fear of the suburbs. One I will have to get over eventually but not any time soon.

So we decided to go away for a few days last week. Mostly because we had never done it before, just husband, A and myself. Unless you count visiting relatives, which is not the same as staying in a hotel together.

First sign it was time to get out of the city? A says "is this car service?" I say, "no, honey...your daddy's driving." This is very funny news to her. She says "my daddy's a driver."

After a slightly minor melt-down in the car, she fell asleep. All seemed well when we arrived at the hotel. She thought it was very cool place to be, complete with a "special bed." And even more special, real phones.

"Mama, what's this?"

"It's a phone."

She eyed the large black box suspiciously but picked up the receiver. "I need to call someone."

And so we let her. Seemed like a great way to occupy her until the phone actually rang.

"This is the front desk. Someone called 911?"

"Ugh...really?"

"Yes."

"It was probably our daughter. Sorry about that."

"Well, the police might come. We'll call them but if they are on their way..."

We unplug the phone.

Then we go to the aquarium. A fun time is had by all. She touches rays, crabs, birds, etc. We swim. We eat a lot of fried things and ice cream. A swims in a pool. We go to a beach where we are basically the only ones there. We go on a few boat rides up and down the Mystic River. We decide Mystic Seaport (the attraction itself) is like Epcot...good idea in theory, not so much in execution. Cute town. Seaport, eh.

And we go to Target because we love it there and could possibly live in one forever, given the chance.

On the way home, A. says "I like our car."

"We're giving it back."

And she looks at it sadly but only for a minute.

"Can I ride the train tomorrow?"