I wonder if I will put my children through the kind of vacations I experienced as a child.

See, we were a DRIVING family. We DROVE everywhere. Like to FLORIDA. From NEW YORK.

These were the rules of the road.

1. Pack up the car with the entire contents of the house at 4 a.m. Any left over space can be for bodies.

2. Keep all the windows rolled up so the whole family can enjoy Dad's second hand smoke.

3. Every hundred miles or so, start a huge fight in the back. Try to make it about who is taking up more of the seat. Do this until Dad has one hand on the wheel and the other one flailing toward our heads.

4. Become so annoying that Dad must pull over the car on the highway, get out and yell, "That's IT! I'm WALKING home!" (Really this was just a ploy to smoke another butt and make my mom pay for not letting us take an airplane.)

5. Beg for McDonalds' cheeseburgers.

Once we reached our destination, the rules changed dramatically. My mom, ever organized, would pretty much plan out our every move, including when we could inhale and exhale.

These were the rules of the "fun" part of the trip.

1. Always sleep with your wallet in your bra. Just in case someone breaks into your hotel room at night while you're asleep.

2. Rise for the day's events by 6 a.m. There will be no breakfast.

3. Stay on schedule for sightseeing and shows, and follow the maps of any and all theme parks in a counterclockwise rotation.

4. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT ask to rest, get a drink or deviate from the assigned itinerary. Punishment will be swift and harsh.

5. Take 5,897 pictures per hour.

Now that you are familiar with Our Family's Vacation Rulebook, you may better understand the frenzied pace at which we traveled the East Coast of the United States.

More on that another time.

For the record, my childhood vacations were some of the best times in my entire life. Thank God for the Rulebook.