A few weeks before our trip to Montana this summer, my mom called to suggest that I order a Groupon-type deal from the Billings Gazette. It was a coupon for cheap mini golf and rides at a local amusement park/drive-in movie theater. She didn’t know anything about the park but the deal looked good so my siblings and I all jumped on it. For nine dollars per family, we would each get an afternoon of fun. We thought.

Magoo loves his baby sister. He loves her so much that he likes to give her rides around the living room even though she weighs nearly as much as him. He loves her so much that he’s not capable of realizing that babies are breakable, that there is such a thing as too much fun, that just because she’s laughing at what he’s doing, doesn’t mean it won’t kill her.

However, he might understand that last one just a bit more after our recent hair-raising road trip experience.

For years I’ve been trying to convince Dan that camping is The Best Thing Ever. Time and time again, I strike out. There was the rainy camping trip, the camping trip with the screaming baby and the ear infection, and the post-apocalyptic camp ground. After this past weekend, we can add – the camping trip with the coughing, screaming baby and the petechia. Is it possible to have a great camping trip with a baby? I’m thinking the answer is – No.

Laylee and I held my phone in front of us, the compass on the display pointing south. Twenty meters. Ten. Then suddenly it told us we’d reached our destination. Tourists were everywhere but we saw no sign of the treasure. We looked up and down the street, trying to blend in and look like casual sightseers, but we were on a mission, looking for a small geocache in downtown Seattle.