As a graduate student, I received a fellowship to go to Charles University in Prague, Czech Republic. All I had to do was get to Prague, and my tuition would be covered in full.

Never mind, that as a graduate student, I was so poor that I was selling my plasma for food money and volunteering for medical experiments to make rent. I wasn't about to let financial destitution stop me from seeing the world. I doubled up on my plasma sales, pawned some electronics, and bought my plane ticket. The opportunity to go study with some of Europe and America's greatest living writers was motivation enough, but what really got me excited was the opportunity to travel extensively before and after my fellowship.

I love to travel. Over the years, I've been to nearly every state and to dozens of countries. I've seen some of the world's most amazing and beautiful sights and some of its most desperate and destitute. It never really matters where I am, as long as I am going someplace. For me, being on the road equals true happiness.

When I was pregnant with Mike, I never gave a thought to the idea that having a baby might curtail my travels. It wasn't until I blew into town for my eight-month checkup and my doctor announced that I should no longer travel that it occurred to me that having a baby could ground me � in more ways than one.

I stayed home until Mike was 3 months old, and then we boarded a flight together to head across the country. In true infant form, Mike spent the entire evening before our flight screaming until he was red in the face with no signs of stopping and for no apparent reason.

That wasn't a good sign, and by the time we arrived at the airport the next morning, I was a wreck. Not only did I have to contend with someone who was about as predictable as the weather in Montana, but there were also logistical matters, such as using a bathroom, carrying luggage, and running through large airports to make my connection.

What if I missed a flight and we ran out of diapers? What if our luggage got lost and Mike didn't have enough clothes? What if there was bad weather and our flight was canceled? Where would we sleep? In the airport? Or, heaven forbid, would I have to spring for a hotel room? It didn't take me long to realize that traveling alone with a child was not as easy as, say, traveling alone.

Somehow Mike and I muddled through, and I learned a lot on that first expedition. First, there are people out in the world who LOVE babies and will hold yours for you while you juggle a diaper bag, a carry-on, and that book that you won't have time or energy to read for the next 17 years. Second, like everything else in your life as a parent, your travel schedule is completely determined by somebody else whose schedule and interests don't necessarily match your own.

Forget Fodor's. Over the years, Brent and I have learned through trial and error that traveling with kids is a lot like living with kids: Your plans are dictated by them. We took Mike and Peter, at the time ages 4 and 1, to the Museum of Natural History in Chicago since they love that kind of stuff, but were floored by their disinterest in checking out every single exhibit. We've been on a three-hour boat cruise where we wanted to jump overboard at the end of hour one. And we've learned that when a toddler says he's done in the car after a day of driving, he really means it and that it takes two full-grown, able-bodied adults to force him back into his car seat.

So this year, we planned accordingly. Instead of flying across the country, we stayed close to home and headed into Montana's Beartooth Wilderness Area and down to Yellowstone Park. We broke up our drive, planned lots of downtime, and decided before we left that the object was not to see and do everything, but just to enjoy being away together.

The result? We all had an amazing time, with the bonus being that we still got to see and do lots. No, we didn't hike 27 miles into the backcountry as Brent and I might have done before we were parents. But we all hiked together, a few miles at a time, in lots of beautiful places with no whining and crying and need to be carried. Even with our two living, walking and talking bear bells named Mike and Peter warning anybody and anything that we were approaching, we saw an incredible amount of wildlife, with each spotting seeming like a little gift we got to enjoy together.

But maybe the biggest gift of all came when vacation was over as we were sitting back at home one morning and Mike announced dreamily, "The world's a pretty big place. And I can't wait to see every inch of it."

I couldn't agree more.

Sara Groves is a weekly columnist for the Independent Record. Check out her updated blog online in the "Community" menu at helenair.com.

Sara Groves is a weekly columnist for the Independent Record. Click here to check out her updated blog.