With the first trimester over, and no complications noted by the doctor or Jessica, we loaded the kids in the Jeep and headed for Disneyland. I found the twelve-hundred-mile trip relaxing. I’d been on the exact same route no less than a dozen times as a child. At the end of each trip, I always returned to the coast. This time, I’d be returning to the Midwest.

If I had my way, I’d only be returning there once. I intended to talk Jessica into moving to California. Working from home afforded me an opportunity to work from anywhere. Kansas had changed drastically since my childhood. The Midwest now manufactured more methamphetamines than anywhere in the United States.

I looked at things no differently than my father did forty years prior. Distancing my children from the drugs and crime that plagued the Midwest was my main concern. Providing them with an education, doing my best to separate them from drugs, and minimizing their exposure to crime was my responsibility as a father.

As we entered California, the weather forecast changed. Los Angeles was being drenched by rain. We chose to stop in Palm Springs, a city in the desert southwest of the Joshua Tree National Park.

We enjoyed time at the swimming pool, sunbathing, and seeing the sights the surrounding desert had to offer. While driving through the city, I pointed out several homes I’d found online that were for sale.

Each got the same response. I don’t like it here. There’s no beach.

Her response, in many respects, was perfect. Certain that once we were in Los Angeles Jess would see things differently, I waited for the weather to change. In a week, it did. We packed up our belongings and headed to Los Angeles.

Jessica’s anxiety hit an all-time high when exposed to the LA traffic. The ninety mile-an-hour bumper-to-bumper traffic was more than she could handle. Before I had a chance to ask, she made clear her thoughts.

“I hate this place,” she complained. “This traffic is dumb.”

She was right. The traffic in LA was dumb. After our Disneyland vacation, I planned on going to San Diego. I wanted to show Jessica and the children where I played as a child. Mission Beach’s Belmont Park, Point Loma, Balboa Park, the San Diego Zoo, and Sea World were on the list of places to go. I hoped her opinion of California changed once we were out of LA’s traffic and away from their fast-paced lifestyle.

The children found Disneyland fascinating. It didn’t seem as enchanting to me as it did when I was a child. I found myself wondering if an adult’s eyes saw things differently than a child’s. I wondered if my father saw the park the same way when he took us through it when we children.

One of the many sacrifices, I decided, that a father makes for his children. I feigned excitement as we went from ride to ride and from park to park. After two days, I was exhausted. I longed to return to what I had always considered my home town, San Diego.

On our way to San Diego, we stopped in Huntington Beach to meet someone who saw our trip’s route on Facebook and wanted to meet us. Then, we drove to San Clemente and met with my niece, and her boyfriend.

The drive along California’s Pacific Coastal Highway was breathtaking. For a few hours’ time, Jess and the kids had a view of California’s coast that could only be obtained along the PCH.

When we arrived at the hotel I’d chosen online, it was late that night. It was so disgusting that I didn’t allow the children to take their shoes off. After a thorough inspection, I demanded that they sleep on top of the comforter.

Our introduction to San Diego wasn’t off to a good start.

The next day, we drove to a resort in Mission Beach. We stayed in a room that was mere feet from the beach. The children went wild with excitement. Later, when asked what their favorite part of the trip was, they would respond, the beach.

We went to Point Loma and peered out at the ocean. We hiked trails along La Jolla’s cliffs. The kids spent all day at Belmont Park, riding rides and eating oversized ice cream cones. They spent every evening playing in the sand on their own personal beach.

We stayed two weeks in San Diego, enjoying everything the city had to offer. At the end of it all, I asked the question.

“Do you think you’d want to live here?”

Her response was immediate.

“No.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I don’t like the traffic. It gives me anxiety.”

We returned home from the month-long trip with the children elated, Jessica exhausted, and me feeling slightly disappointed.

That disappointment, however, didn’t last long. Four weeks, to be exact.