Tim and I frequently marvel at the difference in travel between our own childhoods and our children's. Tim was ten years old before he ever flew on an airplane. I was only three, but that's still significantly older than both of our children. Clare was three months, and Danny a mere three weeks when they began earning frequent flier miles - emphasis on frequent. While we flew perhaps once a year, our kids now fly at least four times a year, and usually more. With grandparents on opposite sides of the country, air travel is naturally a part of our lifestyles, and we feel blessed that we are able to make the trips that we do. It helps that our families make the receiving end so worthwhile!
Case in point is the Park Country Club in Buffalo, where both Clare and Danny have been privileged to attend since their infancies. Danny made his debut at his Aunt Karen and Uncle Brian's wedding when he was three weeks old, but yesterday's visit was obviously the more memorable (for him). We had planned to go to the Park Club for dinner as the grand finale to a fun, full, family weekend celebrating Grandma's/Donna's 65th birthday. The outing didn't start out auspiciously, however, as Danny awoke from a long, deep nap in a horrific mood. Anything and everything had him in inconsolable hysterics. Until Daddy said the magic words: "golf club." The speed with which Danny raced to be the first to the car was impressive, and from there on out he was a delightful little chap. (It helped that both Grandpa and Daddy took him on walks around the terrace overlooking the 18th green.) Meanwhile, Clare decided that the Park Club is her favorite restaurant in Buffalo, because she got to have the salad bar and then the sundae bar for dinner. In fact, she declared herself to be "a Park Club girl," at which point Tim simply whispered to himself his ongoing mantra: Just work harder, Tim.
