Yesterday, we did absolutely nothing but drive for fourteen hours. Well, drive and go to a terrible hotel (from our favorite chain, which made it extra disappointing - at least they stood by their 100% satisfaction guarantee and refunded the night). We meant to go to the Gateway Arch, but our 11 hour drive became 14 thanks to construction, so it just wasn't meant - Scott and I even quarreled mildly during a particularly nasty traffic jam right before the hotel, so we were not willing to go back through that traffic to see the arch this morning.
Today was Scott's birthday, so the plan was simple - go to the Dayton Celtic Fest, drink Guinness and cider, and watch Gaelic Storm. We had a fabulous time - Gaelic Storm may be one of the best live bands ever, and the tent was rocking, as always. Scott especially thought it was one of his best birthdays ever. The kids abandoned us for seats rather than the dancing crowd near the stage, but quickly discovered that they should have stayed - they declared the people near them "no fun" since no one played along with the bands many sing-alongs, and they couldn't find seats anyway. Even then, they were laughing about the band's jokes when we met up with them after the concert.
The only problem is that the lines above are only too true. We miss our home. We've had fun everywhere we've been. We've seen amazing things, and had wonderful adventures. But it's time to go home. Tomorrow, finally, that's what we will do.
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