On paper, it was a terrible idea: ten hours of winding roads with a four-year-old and a seven-year-old. In practice, it was one of our best days.
We stopped every hour, whether we needed to or not. We played the color game until nobody could look at another red car. And at one o'clock, in a village whose name we never learned, we found a single table under a fig tree and a woman cooking omelettes with herbs from her garden.
Long drives with children are not about the destination. They are about the stops, and about lowering your expectations enough to be delighted.
