Murphy's Law - your toddler will throw up his breakfast, comprised mostly of bananas, 1 hour out of town, so that the car smells of putrid sweet fruit for the next 2 days / 16 hours of driving.
After a long day of driving, co-sleeping with a toddler in a cheap motel room is what I imagine it's like to have a drunk dude pass out on you, including the part where he grabs your boobs as he nods off to a snoring slumber.
Even if they've weened, your toddler will want/need/insist on nursing while traveling. Which means your boobs will swell out of the bras you packed. Which means you'll end up in Victoria's Secret with your mom on Christmas Eve fighting over one of the last 34 DDD bras in the store.
Our toddler needs a dog. He spent the better part of our trip running after the three dogs at his grandma's house, laughing when they licked his face, and sharing his toys with the little pooches. It really was the cutest thing ever.
No matter how many times I've seen A Christmas Story, I still laugh my ass off when Ralphie "shoots his eye out" with the Red Rider bee bee gun. However, a bee bee gun is not an age-appropriate gift for a toddler. Not even in Texas.
A good sleeper at home does not make a good sleeper on the road, no matter how prepared you think you are as parents. On a related note - toddler-induced sleep deprivation is a bitch.
Monkey (our 13-month-old) loves the song "What's Going On" by 4 Non Blondes. Every time it came on during our long drive, he stopped what he was doing and "sang". Seriously the cutest damn thing ever.
For the first time in months, everyone in the Dr. O household is healthy. I'm dreading Monkey's return to daycare next week, as I'm sure it will be accompanied by the newest viral plague making its rounds upon everyone returning from their holiday travels.
There is no place like home. Even when you live in a tiny-ass condo and have boxes starting to pile up around you in preparation for a cross-country move. Even when you and your partner are currently sharing a "full"-sized bed. Even when your home town is cold as hell upon your return. Coming home is sublime. Even for little Monkeys.