Despite the name, Fargo’s not as far a go as we thought it’d be. Just about three and a half hours each way, add a little for the stops. We left Saturday morning, to take in Cousin Mason’s sixth birthday, and drove back to the Twins City late Sunday afternoon.
On the whole, the boys were charming little travelers—except for about an hour on the way home, when Carson was crying over and over, “Mommy, yuckies! Mommy, yuckies!” not because he actually had a yucky diaper, but because he thought this would trick us into stopping the van and letting him out of his seat. Well, we soon wisened up to that little scheme…
Anyway, Sunday afternoon Cousin Mason’s sixth birthday party was at the Fargo-Moorhead Red Hawks baseball game, a team in the same league as the St. Paul Saints, but with a whole lot better stadium (and win-loss record). Believe it or not, after nearly 26 months on the planet, it was Carson’s and Cole’s first baseball game (not counting daddy’s softball games this Spring). They hung in there okay, but we did have to slide out a tad early, in the eighth inning, to keep our sanity.
Thanks, Cousin Mason, and Auntie Katy (Megan’s sister) and Uncle Brian, for a great two days in Fargo—fittingly the farthest west on I-94 daddy’s ever been, and daddy’s and the boys’ first ever trip to North Dakota. (Now we can confirm that North Dakota does exist!)