It was the best of times, and the worst of times

We've been meaning to go up to San Francisco as a family since we moved back in 2014. Goodness knows why it took us so long: we were so looking forward to seeing friends in the Bay Area, and taking P to see the city. P was bursting with excitement, asking every day for about a week before we left 'are we going to San Francisco today?', and waking up at 6am on the day we left shouting 'Let's go to San Francisco RIGHT NOW!'.

The best bits were pretty great. Quality time with friends, and some fun stuff in the city: a killer lunch in the Ferry Building, a ride on a street car, and looking up at tall buildings with awe (P more so than us, I hasten to add). On driving into the city, P said 'Is this San Francisco? Where are all the rides?', at which point we realized she thought it was some kind of theme park. A drive down Lombard Street, and across the Golden Gate bridge, and that street car ride were positioned as 'rides', which seemed to do the trick.

 I suspect her highlight was the playground, but that's OK. We all had a good time.

But the worst bits, well, they were a bit of a downer. The house we were staying was burgled, so we spent an afternoon helping the police instead of hanging out with friends. Then our flight back was delayed by five hours, due to bad weather, meaning we got back really late and just feeling rather grumpy.

It was a curate's egg of a weekend - and we'd waited for so long for it. So I demanded a do-over. We are going to head back up for Thanksgiving. Fingers crossed crime and fog will give us a wide berth and we can have the wholly fun time we've promised ourselves. I just hope now P knows it's not Disneyland, she is as excited for the return trip.