A Weekend Away...With Kids

A big part of being a happy parent is learning to adjust your expectations. If you expect life after you give birth to be the same, just with an extra little person and lot more laundry, you’ll be sorely disappointed.

I say this, and yet here I am almost 5 years in and I still get bummed out when the weekend comes and there’s no happy hour, sleeping in till noon, or late-night dinners and dancing. Huh?! You mean I still have to change diapers and cut up grapes on Saturday AND Sunday? No more HGTV or E! marathons, flopped on the couch all day? No more leisurely brunches at restaurants without high chairs? Whose idea WAS this having-kids thing?! (See “Weekends: Then & Now” for more on this theme.)

Because I’m home all week with my boys, I sure as heck don’t want to spend my weekends the same way as my weekdays (mainly, breaking up fights over who had Doc Hudson first and cleaning up spilled milk and crushed Goldfish). Especially if Dad’s not around. So when C. had a weekend conference an hour away, we decided to join him at his hotel for the night. It would be fun! Or at least different. Let’s keep our expectations in check here.

So the boys and I piled into the car with the Pack ‘n’ Play, blankies, CDs, and enough snacks to fuel an Olympic rowing team. C. had showed me how to use the GPS on my smartphone. Good thing, because driving in DC/Northern Virginia is as confusing as trying to understand why Kanye West is invited to the royal wedding. (Seriously, WHY?)

We get most of the way there just fine, but disembodied GPS lady kept calling roads by their route numbers instead of the names I knew them by. So before I knew it, I had exited the Rock Creek Parkway and we were lost in downtown DC. (“Look kids, cherry blossoms!”) GPS lady kept spewing out nonsensical directions. (I said aloud, “What is she SAYING?!” and Miles chimed in, “Yeah! We don’t understand robot!”)

I kept my cool, though, even as we drove around in what seemed like circles. (“Look kids, a monument! Named after some president I can’t think of right now.”) Finally, I got my bearings. (“Look kids, Arlington National Cemetery!” Miles: “What’s a cemetery?” Me: “Uh, look! More cherry blossoms!”)

At last, we find the hotel, a pretty swanky place in Old Town Alexandria. As we pull up to the valet, C. is waiting for us. The kids tumble out of the family truckster in a shower of Goldfish crumbs, sippy cups, and coloring books shouting, “Daddy! Daddy!” Not 2 ft. away is a sleek black limousine, awaiting a bride in her flowing white gown and purple-silk-clad bridesmaids. Romper Room meets Modern Bride. Boy, I sure hope the photographer can crop us out of those shots.

When we get to our room, Miles – who loves to travel – immediately spreads out his blanket and plops on the bed, making himself at home. Riley, on the other hand, bursts into tears and starts wailing, “Ready a go! I ready a go!” Translation: get me the hell outta here, I wanna go home. We decided to hightail it out to dinner.

Even though the area was loaded with cute shops, there was no time for that. We had kids to feed, bathe, and put to bed. Dinner was spent gulping down our food while trying to keep Riley from knocking over drinks and peeking over the booth at the diners next to us. By 8:30 pm, all the boys were sound asleep back at the hotel – including my husband. Nope, weekends sure aren’t what they used to be. When will I finally learn not to expect anything different?

RECC O’ THE WEEK: I'm a big fan of Kimpton hotels, a chain of pet- and child-friendly boutique hotels in about 20 cities throughout the U.S. The décor is really cool and funky, and the staff at ours was super nice. They even had a wagon for the boys to ride in. The bride can have her limo!

I'm Mad at Mitch Albom

I liked Tuesdays with Morrie as much as the next person, but I can’t abide his essay in the Feb. 13 Parade magazine, “Making the Skies a Bit Friendlier.” He begins by saying as someone who flies a lot, he has a few suggestions: be careful with your carry-ons, watch out for fellow passengers’ kneecaps when reclining your seat, don’t take off your shoes or eat stinky food. OK.

But then he starts complaining about kids: don’t let them kick the seat, don’t let your baby cry. But the part that REALLY pisses me off is this:

Once your kids stop crying, the plane should not hear from them again until they are old enough to be—and actually are—the pilots. I recently had a little boy behind me who all flight long kept singing, at the top of his lungs, “Go-Go-Go…the cat in the hat!” I don’t know this song, or if it even is a song, but I do know his mom did nothing except occasionally whisper, “Jacob, keep it down,” which had the same effect as pressing the Volume-Up button.

I thought Albom had kids, but according to Wikipedia he does not. This explains a lot. Like why he has no grasp of the concept of parental control. I love when people say you shouldn’t “let” kids do this or that. You may be able to stop them from playing with matches, but crying? Short of shoving a breast in their mouth, I don’t know any surefire way to “make” a baby stop crying. Do you, moms? And speaking of breastfeeding, how about attempting to do it discreetly just inches away from your fellow airline passengers? A tiny bit more unsettling than a stranger’s shoeless feet, I dare say.

As for the singing little boy? Come ON. I agree that kids can be annoying -- is that a shocker to anyone who’s ever MET a child? -- but in the grand scheme of things, is a repetitive little ditty about the Cat in the Hat really so odious? And what else was that mom SUPPOSED to do -- smack him? Threaten him? Take away his DVD player? I can assure you if she had, the kid would start wailing. And then he’s gone and annoyed Albom again.

Besides, complaining about kids on airplanes is a cheap joke. It’s like saying, “People who talk loudly on cell phones in public are obnoxious. Who’s with me?” Oh, wait. Albom DOES say that, in the very next paragraph.

I am happy to report that in my fairly extensive experience of flying with my children -- even BY MYSELF, and yes, I would like a medal for that -- I have rarely encountered curmudgeons like Albom. Or at least they have the courtesy to keep it to themselves. I’ve had strangers on planes distract my fussy baby by playing peek-a-boo with him, let my antsy toddler play with their cell phone, and even hold my infant when I got airsick. Now THAT’S making the skies a little friendlier.

(Side note: Miles once shouted, “Look, Mom, BOOTIES!” as we were landing over a marina dotted with boats and buoys. The whole plane cracked up.)

If you really want to complain about air travel, here’s a list for you:

How about the people in the security line who huff impatiently or cut in front of you while you attempt to fold up your stroller, place 3 pairs of shoes on the conveyor belt and keep 2 kids from running off into the crowd while holding your boarding passes in your teeth?

How about the airlines that have done away with pre-boarding for families? It’s in NO ONE’S best interest to make me squeeze past everyone with a ginormous diaper bag and wiggly baby after all the “rewards customers” have already boarded, I can assure you.

How about male passengers who commandeer the armrest and sit with their legs as far apart as possible? We get it, you’re a big manly guy. Now squeeze yourself back into your postage-stamp sized seat like the rest of us. Even those of us with babies on our laps are taking up less space than you.

If I were Albom, I would just sit back, put on my earphones, and enjoy my peanuts. And be grateful for the fact that he doesn’t have to try to change a poopy diaper in an airplane bathroom at 30,000 feet.

LINK O’ THE WEEK: For a much more balanced and helpful POV, read Corinne McDermott’s “5 Things Flying with Kids Has Taught Me.”

Authors Agree: Marriage Is Hard

At various times, certain themes crop up in my life, when it seems like everything I read, hear, or see converges on a particular subject. The current theme is: marriage is hard.

Now, everyone calm down. I’m coming up on my 7th wedding anniversary and I have no plans to pull an “Eat Pray Love” maneuver and ditch my husband to flit around the world for a year. (Though I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind a time or 20.)

I mean, really, is it a newsflash to ANYONE that “happily ever after” is harder than it’s made out to be? Especially when you add 2 kids to the mix? Personally, I find it refreshing when people admit that. Which is probably why I enjoyed the following 2 books so much.

The novel Everyone Is Beautiful by Katherine Center follows a young mother of 3, Lanie, who reluctantly uproots her family and moves cross-country for her husband’s job. The descriptions of the pure chaos involved in raising small kids, the dicey playground politics, the challenges of being friends with other moms whose circumstances are vastly different from your own, and the constant grappling between spouses for free time rang SO true to life.

I can’t tell you how many times my husband and I have debated whether work happy hours “count” as leisure time. Just like I can’t tell you how many times people who say parenting may be challenging but not physically grueling change their tune after a couple hours with my kids. Anyway, you should read the book. And also, fellow blogger/writer Angie Mizzell's interview with the author.

On a very different but related note is Laura Munson’s memoir, This Is Not The Story You Think It Is: A Season of Unlikely Happiness. Before I read the book, I read about this author’s long road to publication and found it hugely inspiring. Then I sought out her NYT “Modern Love” essay that the book is based on. (Especially interesting to me, since one of my students recently had an essay she developed in my online writing class published in Modern Love.) Then I bought the book.

Here’s the gist: what happens when your beloved husband of 15 years comes home one day and says, “I don’t love you anymore. I’m not sure I ever did”? I’m willing to bet 99% of us wouldn’t respond the way Munson did: “I don’t buy it.”

Even while reeling from shock and pain, she was able to recognize that this was more about him having a job-related midlife crisis than it was about her. The book covers the following year of Munson’s life as she turns to therapy, writing, mothering, cooking, friends, and nature to help her through this difficult time.

Like Center’s novel, it shows that even “good” marriages don’t guarantee happiness and personal fulfillment. Both books also explore what happens when women pursue their own passions. Honest, eye-opening, gut-wrenching, and yet also beautiful and even funny at times, Munson’s book was hard to put down.

Yep, marriage is hard, all right. Good thing there are writers out there willing to address the subject in such honest and uplifting stories.

LAUGH O’ THE WEEK: Two things you don’t want to hear on a long family roadtrip: 1) "Do you smell throw-up?" 2) "Or is that poop?" Answer: Both.

I tackled one kid while my husband handled the other. If that’s not true love, I don’t know what is.

Alone Again, Unnaturally

We’re currently visiting my parents on the New England coast. It’s a beautiful place to be in the summertime -- beaches, rocky shoreline, sparkling water dotted with sailboats, open expanses of wind-blown grass, wild roses climbing over old stone walls.

Not that I’ve had much chance to enjoy it, mind you. I’ve been busy with my usual activities, like changing diapers, applying sunscreen, packing snacks, and visiting every playground in the area. I’m not complaining, exactly. It IS nice to have a change of scenery once in awhile. And the grandparents do take some of the pressure off me. Not least by serving delicious nightly meals with wine and candles (!!)

Yesterday I managed to go for a bike ride by myself. The baby was napping and his brother was coloring semi-quietly in his room. “Don’t come back until you’ve gone 5 miles,” ordered my mom. I’m not sure if she’s concerned about my fitness or my mental health. Either way, I appreciated the sentiment.

The first part of the ride, I half-noticed the scenery and the sea air while continuing my usual incessant brain-chatter: “I have to get back by 3:30 or the baby will sleep too long and won’t go to bed tonight, plus that’ll give me time to take a shower before we meet our friends at the playground, which I’m not sure I know how to find exactly and I wonder if they have bathrooms there and I have to remember to pack the green sippy cup that doesn’t leak and the sunblock that doesn’t run into the baby’s eyes and -- dammit! I forgot to get more Overnite diapers..."

Unconsciously, I pedaled to the edge of a park overlooking the ocean. I stopped for a water break and leaned my bike against a high stone wall. Far off, a boat silently trailed a streak of white, like sidewalk chalk on a driveway. I heard the drone of bees and noticed a woodchuck trundling along in the underbrush a few yards away. A butterfly circled lazily overhead. Aside from a guy mowing a lawn in the distance, I was alone. Alone!

You know in that Dr. Seuss book “Oh, the Places You’ll Go” there’s that line, “Alone is something you’ll be quite a lot”? I’m guessing he didn’t mean when you have 2 small kids. Because I am alone about as often as I make a nice, home-cooked family meal with wine and candles. Which is to say, almost never.

Not in the car, not in the house. Not in my bed, not in the kitchen. And especially, not in the bathroom. Going to the grocery store by myself doesn’t count. It just doesn’t. Technically, I guess you could say I’m alone on the treadmill when I go to the gym, but come on!

And I am a person who needs my alone time. Cherishes it. CRAVES it. I get to eat an entire cookie in peace. Listen to my own music. Think my own thoughts. (That part is key.) Ironic, since for a good part of my life I had too much alone time. If only it was something you could stock up on, like toilet paper at Costco. But that works about as well as stocking up on sleep before the baby comes, doesn’t it?

I know, I know. There will come a time, far too soon, when I am alone again. When my kids don’t need me as much. When I can take solo bike rides whenever the mood strikes. I wonder... will I appreciate them half as much when the time comes?

Nah. Just like I never fully appreciated "sleeping in" till 7 a.m. on a Saturday before I had kids.

READ O’ THE WEEK: After reading this article and the NYT essay that sparked the book (writers, take note!), I picked up Laura Munson’s This Is Not The Story You Think It Is: A Season of Unlikely Happiness I am really, really enjoying it.

The Pros & Cons of Vacationing with Kids

Obviously, I use the word “vacation” loosely. Many a mom has realized that a trip with kids is more like a work-release program than a relaxing getaway. But still, it’s nice to get outta Dodge now and then, isn’t it?

Especially if “Dodge” is a euphemism for Baltimore in August, otherwise known as the 7th Circle of Hell. Because I am nothing without my lists, I’ve compiled one of the pros and cons of the so-called “family vacation.”

Pro: Traveling solo with small kids sometimes gets you perks, like being ushered to the front of the baggage-check line, and extra pretzels.

Con: If you’re flying Southwest, or another airline that’s done away with pre-boarding, you may find yourself squeezing down the aisle with 2 kids and an enormous carry-on bag, bumping into half the passengers as you make your way toward an empty row in the back of the plane.

Pro: If your baby is under 2, you don’t have to pay for their seat.

Con: If it’s a full flight, you’re stuck with a heavy, wiggly, and possibly damp child in your lap.

Pro: Your 4 y.o. is at an age where he can be entertained for an entire flight with a coloring book and some markers.

Con: Your 17 m.o. is entering the Terrible Twos early, and screetches bloody murder throughout the entire flight at not being allowed access to the markers.

Pro: Your kids are surprisingly compliant at bedtime, even though they’re sleeping away from home.

Con: Your kids are so well-rested and eager to explore their new surroundings that they wake up at 5:45 a.m. each day, raring to go.

Pro: Your children’s grandparents shower them with gifts every time you visit.

Con: Gram and Gramps seem to favor obnoxiously loud toys, like fire trucks with deafening sirens and talking Elmo books.

Pro: Having relatives around means built-in childcare so you can go out to lunch with a friend, go to the gym, or go see a movie with your spouse.

Con: Because they’re family doing you a favor, not paid childcare providers, you feel guilty and rush home ASAP.

Pros: Trips to the beach, ice cream cones, playing outside for hours

Cons: Daily sunscreen applications, post-sugar meltdowns, nightly baths

Pro: You get away from your daily routine for a week.

Con: You’re away from your daily routine for a week. No Handy Manny at 7:30 every morning? No Go-Gurt and Cheerios for snack? No favorite chair for bedtime stories? For a whole WEEK?!

It’s a wonder we all survive. But we do, and we do it again the next year. I guess the pros must outweigh the cons, huh? Or more likely, like so many parts of motherhood, we just block it out the minute it's over.

LAUGH O’ THE WEEK: Miles was introducing his Grandpa to Batman and his cast of characters, including the villain Dr. Doom. Grandpa remarked: “How come the bad guys always have PhD’s?”

Almost Like a Real Vacation

You’ll all be relieved to hear that we eventually rustled up an “African Dreams” CD, so we were not subjected to Christmas lullabies throughout our entire vacation. Just most of it.

And yes, I used the word “vacation” to describe our week away with 2 small kids. Not “trip” or “familial obligation” or “culturally sanctioned prison camp.” In fact, it might actually have been the closest thing to a real vacation since we had kids. Were it not for my 16-m.o., that is.

See, Riley’s a bit, shall we say, “high-maintenance.” Also high-energy, high-spirited, and high-volume. Good thing he’s a decent sleeper, or none of us would have survived this long. At least you can tell yourself that if you can just make it till 1 p.m., and then to 7:30 p.m., you might get a break.

But in between, watch out. I think my dad put it best when he said Riley’s like the Gerber baby on steroids. He may look like a sweet little cherub in a diaper, but turn your back for a second and he’s launching himself off the coffee table or rappelling up a barstool. Or tipping over chairs and hurling golf balls at the dog. Or emptying out the contents of the kitchen cabinets and balancing on top of an overturned spaghetti pot.

If we only had Miles, it would have been a semi-relaxing vacation. 4 is a good age. On the long car ride he amused himself with his handheld video game, art projects, and DVDs. He spent most of his time at my in-laws swimming in the pool and playing board games with his cousins. He can tell you when he’s thirsty or hot or tired (although he admits that rarely). He even went to the fireworks this year – and then fell asleep before the grand finale.

And then there’s Riley. He did OK in the car. We mostly kept him amused with endless snacks and kids’ CDs. He also kept busy by pulling his brother’s hair and playing tug-of-war with his blanket. But he was up EVERY SINGLE MORNING at 5:30 a.m. He manhandled my MIL’s knick-knacks, took every framed picture he could reach off her shelves, pulled up a loose floorboard that nobody knew was loose, squeezed through the deck railing, and even managed to fall through a narrow gap between the deck and a fence, where he remained stuck and screaming for 5 long seconds. (He’s fine.)

The definition of a vacation changes drastically when you have kids, there’s no question. Anxiety increases; expectations are lowered. When we were single, C. and I traveled to the Caribbean. At one place we stayed, they ran out of water temporarily, so we couldn’t take our post-beach, pre-dinner showers. Boo frickin’ hoo, right? What a crisis.

This vacation was a little different. I spent July 4 sitting home watching “When Love Is Not Enough: The Lois Wilson Story” while Riley slept and everyone else went to the fireworks. Our “date night,” as it were, was grabbing lunch near the hospital when C. and I went to visit his dad, who’s recovering from complications from chemo. When we got to my parents’ for a couple days’ stay, an epic heat wave struck the Northeast and the beach was loaded with jellyfish. And did I mention they don’t have AC?

And yet, it was a good week. We got to see our families and did most of the stuff we usually do on vacation – swam, went to the beach, played mini golf, got ice cream, ate lobster, and argued over whose turn in was to get up with the baby.

The baby, who could usually be found bench-pressing an antique lamp or crushing someone’s sunglasses with his bare hands.

QUOTE O’ THE WEEK: “Grandpa? Did you ever go to Target?”
–Miles, who believes there’s only one Target in the world and that everyone should know about this prime destination

Christmas in July

Ah, family vacations. What’s not to love? You spend 3 days doing laundry, packing everybody up, and making lists upon lists. (Swim diapers? Check! Inhaler? Check! Extra wipes and plastic placemats? Check, check!) Then you pile in the car, set off, and immediately discover you forgot several crucial items.

Like, say, the car charger for the portable DVD player and the lullaby CDs -– items which are your only CHANCE for surviving a 7+ hour drive with 2 small children.

We set off last night after dinner, naively hoping that the kids would fall asleep in the car. Around 10 p.m., the baby finally nodded off – almost 3 HOURS past his normal bedtime! And that was only because we finally rustled up a “Baby’s First Noel” CD from the depths of the glove box. “Away in a manger…”

The 4 y.o. fought off sleep thanks to his new handheld video game that he’s already obsessed with after only 3 days. Goodbye, active childhood; hello ADD and childhood obesity! Anyway, it kept him busy.

Good thing, because we got lost somewhere in New Jersey trying to find our hotel and ended up going 10 miles out of our way on a road that did not allow any U-turns or left turns, and probably would have ended up in Canada if it weren’t for a kind police officer who led us to a “jug handle,” which is apparently New Jersey for “the only friggin’ way to turn around on our endless one-way roads.” “Silent night, holy night…”

We finally found the hotel, which was a fairly swanky boutique hotel that C. found on Priceline. We carry in our groggy, pajama-clad offspring, who promptly become fully alert and begin to sprint around the room. We finally wrestle them into bed, deciding that 1 kid and 1 parent per bed is the best arrangement. “It came upon a midnight clear…”

C. had the pleasure of sharing a bed with Riley, whose nocturnal acrobatics led to a less-than-restful night’s sleep. While I, in the other bed, was kicked repeatedly in the ribs by Kung-Fu Miles. At 6 a.m., bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, the baby woke us all with his clarion voice. Then we discovered we’d carried both kids in barefoot from the car. So our shoeless hooligans ran screeching through the halls on our way out. Hmm, wonder why the concierge didn’t say they look forward to our next stay?

We were back on the road by 8:30 a.m., sure that the kids would pass out from exhaustion and donuts. By 11 a.m., we had resorted to “These 3 Kings.”

When we FINALLY arrived at my in-laws’, the baby was rested enough to get right to work proving just how un-babyproof their house is. He dismantled a baby gate, got hold of a loose screw, found a pin buried in the carpet, knocked over some china figurines, and chewed on a plug in under 5 minutes.

Now it’s naptime -– I mean, what SHOULD be naptime. But instead, Riley has been screaming in the Pack ‘n’ Play upstairs in a too-bright bedroom for 40 min. Time to bring out the big guns. That’s right: “Have yourselves a Merry little Christmas now…”

The 5 Stages of a Family Roadtrip

You know how you feel the morning after a wild night of partying? (Think waaaay back, now.) You can’t believe how stupid you were to drink that much and stay out that late and boy, are you paying for it with a hangover from hell. You swear you will never again do something so foolish.

Well, I feel the same way after each trip to visit my extended family.


C. and I live 6 states away from our parents. The 7-hour drive has never been a picnic, but add 2 kids and an extra half-dozen stops along the way and it becomes a NIGHTMARE. Literally. The night before we leave I toss and turn dreaming of all the horrible accidents and traffic jams and germy rest stops and screaming meltdowns the trip might bring.

In fact, we’ve only attempted it one other time since Riley was born. But my FIL is turning 70 and, well, that seemed like a good enough reason to try it again. During the long, long, LONG drive, I had time to reflect on the 5 stages of a family roadtrip:

1) Anticipation. It will be good to see everyone. They won’t believe how much the kids have grown. And Riley HAS become a much better baby the older he’s gotten. He doesn’t scream or throw up nearly as often. Plus, Miles is SO looking forward to seeing his grandparents and cousins. Maybe the trip won’t be so bad.

2) Excitement. Off we go! The car is packed with snacks, drinks, toys, music, and plenty of DVDs for the portable player. The kids are in good moods, everyone’s healthy and moderately well-rested, and the sun is shining. This is actually kind of fun.

3) Irritation. The sun glare is unbearable. The brakes are making a weird crunching noise. And if I have to listen to another one of my husband’s skull-jarring rock bands or insipid kids’ CDs I will SCREAM. Wait? What? A 5-mile backup due to construction?! Are you freaking KIDDING me?!

4) Giddiness. Who WERE those people who said, “The kids will probably sleep the whole way”? Not in my world. My 3 y.o. is kicking my seat and shouting nonsensical phrases over and over -- “Take a glance at Mr. Pants!” And my poor, overtired 1 y.o. is giggling hysterically. His laugh IS really cute, though...

5) Recovery. 8 hours after we began our journey, we stumble into the house in a wave of snack wrappers, empty coffee cups, coloring books, and dirty laundry. We immediately split off in different directions, some of us collapsing on the couch, some of us sprinting deliriously around the house. We made it. We survived. We will never -- I repeat, NEVER – attempt that hellish trip again, so help me GPS.

At least, not until the next important family occasion.

QUOTE O’ THE WEEK: Miles: “We should take a plane.” Dad (driving): “Why?” Miles: “Because the plane knows how to get there.”

READ O’ THE WEEK: Pug in a Truck is a really cute book about, you guessed it. Introduces kids to trucker lingo like “dragon wagon” (tow truck) and “ground clouds” (fog).

Flying Solo...with 2!

It’s the heat, I tell you. And the humidity. They’re making me crazy. Crazy enough to attempt ... traveling with both kids BY MYSELF!!

I know, I know. It’s that bad. I can’t take one more week of late-August rainforest conditions with nothing to do but wander from air-conditioned place to air-conditioned place. There are only so many times you can go to Chick-fil-A, the mall, and the library, people. C. is putting in extra-long hours at work, Miles has watched every movie in the Disney collection, and school doesn’t start for over a week. So, I’m left with no choice but to fly up north to my parents’ for some relief.

I’ve been scrambling around for days trying to find birth certificates, gather up medications and supplies, and doing enough laundry to clothe a small African nation. I’m stressing out in advance over to Pull-Up or not to Pull-Up on the plane, getting through security with the same children and stroller I started out with, and installing car seats on my own. I can’t even THINK about flight delays, diaper blowouts, or lost blankies. Let’s not even go there.

After our last vacation, I swore I would never go anywhere ever again with two small children. I must have a short memory, because here I am, attempting it again. I keep meeting (older) people who say, “Oh, I used to travel all the time with THREE kids! You’ll be fine!” But then when I grill them about how they managed public bathrooms or some other potential challenge, they draw a blank. Thanks. Real helpful.

When Miles was a baby, I was most nervous about having to breastfeed in public when we traveled. I was sure someone would refuse to sit next to us or kick us off the plane. (You’ve heard the stories. It happens!) But the worst thing that happened was when Miles whipped off the blanket I had draped over his head, causing a minor Janet Jackson incident. I was mortified, but in reality I doubt anyone even noticed. And now, of course, I’d be THRILLED if everyone left the extra seat next to us empty. More room to spread out!

Actually, I just remembered: that wasn’t the worst thing that happened while traveling with Miles as a baby. This was. Let’s just hope and pray that this flight's smoother, shall we?

Anyway, I’m sure it will be fine. If not fine, then manageable. If not manageable, then at least we’ll SURVIVE. Right? Right??

TIP O’ THE WEEK: I didn’t know Southwest offered child fares for kids over 2. It’s only like $6 off the Anytime fare, but it’s something. Also, they do pre-boarding now between the A and B groups. Personally, I think they’d do better to load up us families first and minimize the chaos, but hey, it’s your call, Southwest!

SHOUT-OUT: Congrats to my friend T, a third-time new mom! Welcome to the world, baby Vivianna!

Vacation Trepidation

We’re gearing up for our first vacation as a family of 4. Though, as a wise but jaded friend of mine once put it, “Once you have kids it’s not a vacation. It’s just travel.” It’s true, vacation generally brings to mind sleep, relaxation, and fruity umbrella drinks. If we’re lucky, we might get the drinks. But even those will be limited for me since I’m breastfeeding. Tequila shots and nursing bras just don’t go together, you know?

We’re renting a big house on a lake with my extended family. There will be 16 of us – including a 3-year-old, a 2-year-old, and a 5-month-old. My poor relatives don’t know what they’re in for. Especially the single ones. I fear for my cousin and his girlfriend, especially. If they’re even considering marriage and parenthood, I don’t want to be the one to scare them off for good. But I can’t promise anything.

My mother has assured me that there will be plenty of volunteers to help with the kids. But what these well-meaning folks probably don’t realize is that their help may be needed pre-dawn, before COFFEE, even. They may be called upon for potty assistance, they may have to break up squabbles over Play-Doh, they may encounter poop where they never imagined poop could be found (on the baby’s SHOULDER?!). It’s not all butterfly kisses and bedtime stories, people. You’ve gotta be prepared to get your hands dirty.

Nobody better THINK they’re going to ease into the day with a cup of hot coffee and NPR. (I’m talking to you, Dad.) No, sir. Expect to hit the ground running with Dora or Blue’s Clues blaring in the background. Your coffee will go stone cold as you scramble to accommodate the needs of 3 exceptionally vocal short people. This one wants a waffle, that one wants toast, and that one wants to chew on the newspaper. But no, you cut her toast wrong! And he wanted CREAM CHEESE, not butter!! And watch out, the baby’s about to knock over your juice! Relaxed yet?

Then it’s time for a full day of recreational activities: Whitewater rafting! Jet-skis! Biking! Hiking! Right? Wrong! Too dangerous, too strenuous, too hot, too cold, or simply incompatible with the kids’ nap schedules. Sorry! Splashing in the backyard wading pool is about as adventurous as it gets with little ones.

In the evening, everyone might be looking forward to a leisurely happy hour, a late dinner, and some good conversation around the campfire. Wrong again! The kids have to be fed, bathed, and put to bed in a timely fashion unless we want a group meltdown. And since we’re in a strange place, none of them will go down easily. And when they’re FINALLY quiet, everyone else better damn well be, too. Pity the boisterous drunkard who raises their voice and wakes the baby! EVERYONE will suffer for their carelessness!

Oh, yeah, this’ll be a fun vacation. How can it NOT be? Just seeing the look on my mom’s face when I hand her the baby at 5:30 a.m. will be enjoyment enough for me. Maybe I’ll even make my cousin change a dirty diaper by himself.

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