So that was quite the layoff from writing. I got sick a few weeks ago with a cold (or something like that) and then we went on vacation, and the cold lingered for awhile. But I’m back, for better or worse, and I have a few things to say about traveling with children. If you have kids, then I’m sure know all of this already. Indulge me, though, if you will, because it makes me feel better to put it on paper.
I accidentally ordered meatloaf sliders while we were on vacation. If you know me, then you probably know that I hate meatloaf. Like, really really hate it. We were at a brewery on the water. It should have been a perfectly pleasant afternoon, but as the sliders arrived (looking very much not like normal hamburger patties) and I tried to eat them, I couldn’t help but reflect on the pains of struggling through yet another vacation as a parent.
The sliders mostly looked fine, like they might even be good. That’s how these vacations seem when we are planning them, that they might even be good, maybe we’ll get good juju and things will break out way, that they’ll actually be refreshing and relaxing. The devil is in the details, though, and every time we actually get into the vacation, just like with biting down on the sliders, we seem to get a mushy consistency and nondescript meat flavor
What used to be relaxing, a week off from work, has now morphed into something else entirely. Maybe others have figured it out and traveling with kids is a delight. That’s not us. We love our daughter, but the vacations are a constant challenge. As someone put it to me the other day, vacations with children are not vacations, they are just traveling with kids. So true.
We used to be so good at getting away and taking vacations. We took trips together to Europe, Japan, Hawaii, and Belize, just to name a few spots. We would go and be adventurous. We’d bike around and go on food tours. We’d go stand-up paddle boarding and walk the length of entire cities in a day. We’d do all of this and still come back energized. That is no longer the case.
Now we hardly do anything and are exhausted. I feel as though I sleepwalk through these trips, half in a fog from whatever is ailing me in the moment, the aches and pains of middle age, the latest upper respiratory virus we caught from daycare, the ever mounting sleep debt from a life that just doesn’t slow down. So I was in a daze as I reviewed the menu, saw sliders, didn’t see anything indicating that they were actually meatloaf (poor labeling), failed to do second order deductive reasoning about how a beef and pork concoction would present, and put in my order only to immediately regret it.
Two weeks ago was Spring Break, so we were on vacation on the East Cost. We had packed everyone up and flown to South Carolina. We tend to go to Myrtle Beach because my wife is from North Carolina and her family has a condo there. Save for the long connecting flights, it’s fairly convenient as family vacations go.
When we get there, her whole family comes. They only see us once or twice a year, so this is an opportunity to get cousins together — something not to squander.
I was sick the whole week, though, some sort of bronchitis garbage that I picked up in Colorado and couldn’t shake. I felt bad enough that I didn’t write or even bother to pack my camera, which is rare on a trip to South Carolina (an incredibly photogenic location). After day three or four, I finally broke down and had my hacking cough checked out, which resulted in some steroids and a slightly improved vacation experience.
The issue remains, though, that we are on a three-plus year evolution of learning how to travel again, this time with a little companion. I see these people on the internet that take their little kids on epic adventures, and I think, how can they do that and keep any semblance of sanity. In my experience, just getting on the plane is a challenge, so the concept of being on the move once we reach our destination is fright-inducing.
This feeling that I get when we are on vacation, of being in a daze, is what I attribute to my lack in judgment — to ordering the meatloaf sliders. Now we are back home, the sliders etched in my memory as a particularly low point in this evolution of how we travel.
The evolution started when our daughter was about five months old and we drove to Santa Fe. That was the first time we realized it was truly different — it was painful. We’ve since traveled with her to Jackson, Yellowstone, Chapel Hill, San Diego, Miami, Kansas City, Asheville, Wichita, St. Louis, and Cabo (and all over Colorado). Granted, each trip gets a little easier. The flying is better now, so that’s something. And she is starting to register the vacations, including a constant request to go back to Mexico. It’s exhausting though, and for every great dinner or experience or memory, we seem to have an equal amount of meatball sliders.
We have most of our vacations planned for the rest of the year, nothing crazy, and are starting to think about our 2025 travel, when she’ll be four. We’re cautiously optimistic that we can take what we’ve learned so far, and perhaps pursue a more adventurous vacation and most importantly, one devoid of mushy meat patties. We shall see.
As always, thank you for reading. Please send me a note or leave a comment with any reactions.