A lot of people say that “traveling with kids” is really just “parenting in other cities”, citing it as a reason for not going to the places they want to go. But isn’t everything “with kids” just “parenting” in whatever context you find yourself in?
We have recently returned from a 17 day trip to Europe with our young child. As I’ve recounted anecdotes from our trip to coworkers and acquaintances, many have asked with raised eyebrows, “And you took your five-year-old?!” Many people seem surprised that we would venture to Europe with a young child for vacation.
“That was probably not very relaxing,” someone said to me. No, it wasn’t lounging on the beach at an all inclusive but we *were* on vacation and to me vacation doesn’t necessarily equal relaxation. Vacation, to me, means shutting off parts of my brain (specifically the Work and Responsibility parts), taking a break from playing certain roles or wearing certain hats, and (most importantly!) spending my time on my schedule as opposed to someone else’s. Sometimes, my vacations are also a vacation from my Mom role, when I get to go somewhere childfree, or my Wife role, when I get to travel solo or with my gal pals.
But I dont mind traveling with my kid. We travel differently when he’s with us, sure, but he’s a pretty good little adventure buddy and helps me experience things in a slower, more intentional way.
As we find ourselves traveling with our kid and parenting in other countries, in places both familiar and foreign, in English-speaking places and those where we cant say even one word in their native language, we find many commonalities and truths that feel universal.
Kids are annoying.
Parents are tired.
Kids dont listen to their parents, no matter what language they speak. The parental heavy sigh can be understood in every language.
Standing on the Acropolis, overlooking the expanse of Athens beneath our feet, sweat rolling down my back from the sun, I overhear another English-speaking mother yell at her tween: “How many times do I have to tell you? Get down from there.”
How many times have I said similar words? I turn and look to see her son, 10 maybe 12, tall and gangly, snickering but still looking somewhat abashed as he ambled down from the same rocks my own son insisted on climbing. (“Dont worry, Mama, I won’t fall”, he says, minutes before falling.)
“See, it will never end,” I say as I elbow my husband. Even when Skyler ages, entering pre-teendom and beyond, he will drive us to our breaking points. I swear to all of the Greek gods that if I have to utter the phrase “Please just eat” one more time, I will lose my god damn mind.
In case you’ve never traveled with a small child, let me give you a taste of what it’s like:
Mama, what’s that? Look at this bird. Keep walking, please. Don’t pick up the trash. NO, put it down. Now. Please, let’s go. Look both ways — stop! Okay, now go. Wait, wait, slow down, don’t run! Mama, look! It’s the Parthenon! That’s not the Parthenon just another old — Mama, I’m thirsty. Okay, here’s some — No, Mama, wait, I can’t walk and drink. MAMA WHERE ARE YOU GOING I AM THIRSTY NOW. I’m just stepping over to the shade, please calm down. Why are you crying? There’s a rock in my shoe. I’m hungry. I have to go potty. We’re almost there! Look at that — no, no, put that down, what is that? Gross, throw it away. Here, do you want a croissant? One chocolate croissant, please. Thank you! Here, can you walk and eat at the same time? Yes! Leave me alone! I CAN DO IT! Okay, let’s cross over to the park — Mamaaaaa, I dropped my croissant! Don’t eat that! It’s covered in sand! Put it d — okay, fine. Let’s go over here. Please walk more carefully so you don’t trip again — I’m fine! I didnt get hurt that time.
(And that’s all just within a 5 minute period.)
This recent Eurotrip was very trying for us in the parenting realm. I hate who I become when my kid won’t listen, wont stop, won’t eat, wont wont wont. I hate the nagging repetition and the sharp scolding that erupts from my mouth. I hate the pinched cross look on my face and the nasty tone that coats my words. I hate that I have to take deep breaths in order to resist the urge to smack my kid up the side of the head and that I just want to shake him so hard until we both scream. Talk about parenting guilt.
So why do this? Why travel with kids at all?
Why drag my kid on a trip that he has absolutely zero interest in, to old European cities full of ancient history and boring cafes? Why take him anywhere when I will have to remind him ad nauseam to say “thank you” when the server brings his drink or look both ways before crossing a busy city street or yell at him to “stop” before he runs into yet another innocent person walking on the sidewalks?
Why go on trips where a full day involves nothing more than a couple meals, a run to the grocery store, and finding the local playground? (Ah, remember what it was like to travel before kids? 15+ miles of walking to take in as many sites — and sights! — as possible, stopping at any bar that looked appetizing, staying out late meeting strangers and fellow travelers?)
Why do I disrupt our daily structure and routines, ignoring bedtimes and allowing sugar when I know it will lead to melt downs and crankiness that I will have to soothe later? Why do I insist on putting myself through the emotional ringer like this, pushing myself to the rage and disgust and utter despondency as I ask my child for the 17,000th time to put on his god damn shoes so we can GO?
Because it makes us better. It makes me better.
Even if our role as parent and caregiver is familiar and unchanged, in unfamiliar environs we must behave differently. We must practice patience, we must build our fortitude, we must go with the flow and just let a lot of shit go.
Pick your battles, choose wisely. Fine, eat the sandy croissant — it’ll build your immunity. Fine, keep walking like that, you’ll learn not to when you fall. Fine, sleep on the subway car floor, I dont care how dirty it is. Fine, you can have that candy if it means you’ll shut up for a few minutes. Fine, yes, you can chase the pigeons and eat bread for dinner and stay up late and go down the slide five more times. Fine, fine, FINE.
Traveling with my kid and parenting away from home make me a better parent… though probably not in the moment. Future Me learns a lot from Past Me’s mistakes and missteps. Over time, I become more resilient and adaptable, able to handle change and discomfort, boredom and unexpected situations more adeptly than if I never stepped outside of my parenting comfort zone. And my kid, well, if it hasn’t made him a flexible, adaptable, curious, and resilient little traveler, I don’t know what has. He’s learning to pay attention to traffic, how to fight through boredom, how to navigate a digital map, how to interact with waitstaff and customer service. When he wants something, we encourage him to order it himself. Want another drink? Need another napkin? Want a snack? Need to ask where the bathrooms are? You can do it, kid. And if you chicken out at the last minute, Mom and Dad are here to help.
We saw a lot of maturity emerge in our kid on this trip as well as some moments so riddled with idiocy we aren’t sure how he is blood related. He’s your kid when he does that. We’ve also shared some proud moments and many where we smile at each other over the cuteness of our child. But we’ve also had a lot of frustrating moments, moments where one of us has to step in to command the ship because the other parent is no longer in the right mindset to do so. I’m not proud of the moments where I’ve lost my absolute shit and made the scene worse; I apologize and we move on. I try to view these as growth moments, and I hope in future therapy sessions, Skyler will view them the same way. I hope he will understand that, sometimes, parenting even just one child is A LOT. (TBH, I dont know how you parents with multiples do it. I bow down.)
So, I ask again: why go anywhere with my kid ever, when my role as parent will never, not for one moment, relent? Why travel with your kid at all?
Every traveling family will have different answers, and I’m sure my husband will even share different perspectives. But for me, a person who desperately, urgently wants to know the world, I find comfort in the normalcy of my parenting experience. I am not special, I am not different. I see so many other families going through the same annoying, relentless, utterly ordinary parenting struggles. Kids are kids. No matter how far from home we go, no matter the language spoken or the food served, no matter the socioeconomic demographics or politics of a region, no matter where you find children in the world, you will also find exhausted, frustrated parents.
No matter how different things are from home, they’re kind of the same everywhere you go. And I find comfort in the universality of these experiences. It helps the unfamiliar feel familiar. It helps me find home, no matter where we go.
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2 comments
I mean where did you learn to write like that?
Must be in my blood? <3 Thank you for reading!! <3