June 26th, 2009
We were all tired.
My four-year old was exhausted from a day of heavy play at Stinson Beach; my eleven-month old was pooped from missing his morning nap so that a friend could drive both our kids to the beach, and my husband and I were tired because we’d just run the Dipsea Race from Mill Valley to Stinson before playing three hours worth of Frisbee, sand castle building, and chase-the-crawling baby.
Both kids fell asleep the minute we got in the car to drive home, but I knew that my son needed more than the thirty-five minutes of sleep that the drive afforded. So I unloaded my husband and daughter at our house and kept driving sleeping Asa round and round the town of Larkspur.
Continue… »
By Eliza Harding Turner
