My parents dragged me to the countryside and all I saw was a big pile of rocks (subtitle: uh, Julia, that was Stonehenge...)

The kids had last week off of school (yes, again), so we headed off to Wiltshire for a few days to see a bit more of the English countryside and enjoy some uncharacteristically sunny February weather.

It was one of those lovely last second trips that comes together as if you'd spent weeks on end planning every detail. (We'd been doing plenty of that planning stuff, in truth, but none of it had resulted in any concrete plans. Instead we'd waffled so endlessly about where we might want to spend this February Half Term that we had never actually booked anything, with the end result that this charming "winging it approach" was actually more default than design. But shhh... don't tell anyone. I like the idea of appearing to be a spontaneous and carefree traveler even if nothing could be further from my nature.) When the weather report showed an unprecedented number of sunny days ahead, we borrowed a guidebook, booked a room in one of the B&Bs the book recommended and set off a day later. (True, true, all true. This had been the only plan -- to do some last minute planning -- and it worked. But the angina it caused me... oy.)

For three beautiful days, we enjoyed the great outdoors as we tracked wild horses in the New Forest, collected sea shells on the Christchurch beaches and bounced on the giant trampoline in the yard of our B&B. We got a bit of culture visiting the cathedral and city of Salisbury and we ate terrifically at the local pubs. We even did the typically touristy thing and visited Stonehenge, which I have to say interested and even awed me far more than I'd anticipated. And throughout all of this fun spontaneity, we were treated to the newest word in my daughter's vocabulary, repeated endlessly at each stop along the way.

"BO-RING."
Apparently, 6 is the new 16 where family outings are concerned because seemingly overnight, our engaged and interested travel companion has morphed into a pre-pre-pre-teen. Everything is boring and lame and unworthy of her excitement. We are boring and lame and unworthy of her excitement for suggesting any of these activities, not to mention how boring and lame we are for daring to show our own (gasp) enthusiasm.

Thankfully, she hasn't quite perfected her technique yet. There are still flashes of delight that she can't quite hide and quite a few moments when she plumb forgets that she's not supposed to be enjoying herself. She's still conditioned enough to smile whenever I stick a camera in her face. The sneer is not fully formed yet, the disdain still overruled by her overwhelming desire for our affection and attention. Pieces of our cheerful world traveler still remain for now. But she's increasingly... bored (or so she claims). At six.

I suddenly have a feeling that our impending return to American life and the end to our regular traveling adventures which it will bring are going to arrive not a moment too soon.

The last of the happy family travel photos?