Rachel Langenhorst

We really said, “Let’s celebrate our birthdays,” and then proceeded to cover approximately 47 climates, 5 cities, 1 international border, and the full range of excitement and fear.

Palm Springs: gorgeous Coachella weekend. Again questions “Why Iowa?!”
LA: aggressive but make it scenic.
Pacific Coast Highway: I became a reflective documentary narrator for 3 straight hours.
Oceanside: immediately decided I should live there despite knowing almost zero things about it. And then we hit San Diego… where I briefly considered becoming a different person. Like someone who jogs on the beach at sunrise and eats acai bowls and has zero responsibilities. That version of me lasted 11 minutes but it was beautiful.

Also San Diego gave us: perfect weather, ocean views that make you rethink your zip code, and just enough peace to balance out everything else we had already done… which at that point felt like a full Olympic event.

And THEN… because clearly we lack supervision… we crossed into Tijuana for dinner at a Gordon Ramsay-approved restaurant like we’re seasoned international food critics. Sir. We are from the Midwest.

At one point I looked at Mason and thought, “Am I raising a world traveler or just enabling chaos?” Jury’s still out. When the officer himself says, “Maybe this was a bad idea,” my anxiety goes up to level 9. We survived and thrived (or at least lived to tell).

He took it all in, though. Every second. Met some of my favorite humans, handled my commentary and forced history lessons like a champ, and didn’t once ask to be returned home… which feels like a win.

But here’s the thing no one tells you:
One-on-one trips with your kids hit different.
You laugh harder. You talk about real things. You realize they’ve quietly become someone you genuinely enjoy being around… not just someone you kept alive.

Happy 24th, Mason Thomas.

You’ll always be my favorite brown-eyed baby boy… even if we now cross international borders for dinner and act like it’s just a normal Tuesday.