(Photo Credit: Kimona Paramour Photography)
As parents, we like to eye roll and commiserate about our failings as parents.
We made an elaborate lunch to trick our toddler into eating vegetables. Not only won’t he eat it, he later finds and raids your Super Secret Stash of Snickers, leaving a trail chocolate smears and wrappers through the house.
You forget to check to see what your kid is wearing before they leave for something and find out too late they are wearing something wildly inappropriate for the occasion or the weather.
The kids learn something about life from your behavior that you didn’t intend to teach them and then share it in public at the worst time.
But nobody is dying. No one’s life is in danger.
We wear those kind of fails as badges of honor, a series of moments where we glorify in the funny, embarrassing times when our kids shine a light on our humanity.
It’s harder to talk about the times when we actually mess up.
There is a formula to life here for us. At the beginning of the trip there is enthusiasm. We might kvetch about the heat and the bug bites and rain on days we wanted to go to the beach, but we love it.
We have ideas about what we want to do, but there’s no rush. We have energy to go to the beach or take a drive every day.
My dad is a lean, mean, packing machine, and I like to think I got those genes from him. I get a kick out of planning and packing efficiently, and love arriving at a location when everything I need and nothing more.
I also struggle with self doubt and the tendency to want be over-prepared.
Cylon and I have been doing our big trip to Tobago since about a year and a half after we got married. This summer we’ll have been married for 12 years. We have agreed that we can’t remember how many times we have made the trip, but are pretty sure this is #9.
I mentioned in my post about packing for travel with kids that I have lists detailing what each person in the family needs for the trip. I edit and hone them every time we come down.
The lists only work when I use them.
For a long time, I thought I was a flexible person. I loved going new places, trying new foods, and meeting new people.
As time has passed, I have realized I am not that flexible.
About 13 years ago on New Year’s Eve, after a difficult 16 months at a job I hated, I quit. That night, an unseasonably warm one in the 60’s, I went with a friend to Times Square for New Year’s.
We got there in the early evening. The crowds prevented us from getting close to the ball. It was barely visible from where we stood, crushed in the pack of people, breathing in the cool air, completely exhilarated. I felt such a freedom from the heavy weight of the job I had given up. The energy in the city was incredible.
