Traveling with kids is insanity

Here are some tips

Traveling with kids is uh, well… interesting.

My husband and I used to travel; in fact, when our relationship started, it mostly revolved around travel. We began long-distance dating, traveling back and forth from the East Coast to the West Coast to see one another. Then I landed back on the West Coast, this time in Canada, and he in the U.S., so we continued to travel to see each other up and down the coast. After settling in Seattle, we took trips here and there—some far, some tropical, some European—but mostly explorations around the Pacific Northwest. Nothing was quite as dreamy as those first fog-filled trips.

Somewhere in the Pacific Northwest, before children.

And then we had our first child, and she screamed and screamed and screamed until our eardrums nearly popped out. I wondered if the 45-minute drive from Seattle to Rattlesnake Lake was even remotely worth it. Still, we hiked her to the top of the ledge and prayed the entire way down that we’d all survive the drive home. Physically, we survived. Mentally, I’m still destressing from that trip nearly seven years later.

It was disheartening. So much of our relationship in those early days was built on exploration and creativity, but now, here we were—two sleep-deprived new parents, who had just bought their first home and were now nursing both a newborn who hated her car seat and a mortgage that never let up.

Then there was the first flight we took our daughter on, and we were inducted into the Parents Hall of Fame when she had a blowout in the security line and there wasn’t a restroom even remotely close by. I changed her on the floor in the middle of the airport, carefully laying her down as though she were a star at Hollywood Studios about to be immortalized in cement. I seem to recall blowouts on every trip that required a plane after that—sometimes in the taxi at 4 a.m. as we rushed to catch an early morning flight, other times in the cramped plane bathroom.

Horseback riding - Caribbean Sea, before children.

Gradually, our travels lessened. The flights (all under five hours) at least kept the activities changing—car seat to stroller to our arms to airplane seat—but those grew more expensive as she passed the age of two. The car rides, though, didn’t offer as much change and quickly became unbearable, with piercing cries as our child begged to be unstrapped from their car seat. My sister once told me that’s why they’d leave for trips so early in the morning (we’re talking 3 or 4 a.m.), so their little one would continue sleeping. Well, we tried that with our two kids once, and let me tell you—no. one. slept. that. entire. seven. hour. car. ride.

I’ve read a lot of blog posts and analyzed to no end Instagram posts of parents happily traveling with their children. I’ve taken notes. I’ve built spreadsheets. I’ve bought the kids fancy travel backpacks and finally caved and bought them a LeapFrog tablet (“but only for the car!” I continue to remind them). We’ve learned that if you want to eat at a nice restaurant, you have to show up the minute it opens so that, by the time it gets busy, you’ll be on your way out, and no one will witness your child licking the salt shaker. I’ve also learned that long gone are the days of crashing with friends. I love my friends. I adore my friends. My friends are the ones who keep me sane. But being able to stay in a hotel or Airbnb so you and the kids can both cry in the shower from exhaustion at the end of the night is entirely worth it. Also, the blackout curtains, because only blackout curtains guarantee our children will not be awake before 6 a.m. If we’re lucky, we’ll make it to 6:30.

Jamaica, before children.

Still, still, I don’t know how parents do it. I’ve started to believe it’s more about the parents than the children. Aside from the fact that they are my kids and I’m biased, my kids are really great—but I just cannot do it, especially now that I have two of them (and the reason I absolutely will not have any more, so help me god birth control). Kids are kids. Even the best ones scream and flail. You find yourself walking downtown Vancouver with a two-year-old (wait, three! Happy birthday, bear!) convulsing in anger. The only reason it’s not more embarrassing than the walk of shame is that you remembered to put on clothes (though with your kids’ sticky jam fingerprints smeared all over you, no less).

So what are parents doing that I’m not doing?

They’re chill.

That’s it.

They’re more chill than I am.

Maybe the yell at their kids when they get back to their hotel rooms, I don’t know. But somehow, they are more chill, because when I get home from traveling with kids I feel as if I’m on the verge of a mental breakdown. I just cannot do it.

And finally, finally, I’ve accepted that about myself.

My husband and I in Paris, before children (mind you, I was eight weeks pregnant and vomiting every step of the way).

I’m not the go-go-go parent who can survive on five hours of sleep, three Red Bulls, four cups of coffee, and McDonald's every night. I die. Die! Okay, I cry. And it’s not very fun. I burn out completely. I usually get sick. I simply can’t keep up.

But something magical happened the other week.

We went on a trip, and instead of enduring the six-hour drive of misery, we decided to break it up. We planned the trip so we could stop and see friends along the way. We drove three hours to visit my friends, stayed for three nights, and then drove the final three hours to our destination. On the way home, we did the full six-hour stretch, but by then, the kids were so exhausted from all the non-stop activities that they actually slept most of the way. We still made a pit stop halfway to let them run around on a playground for an hour, but we did it.

Our children running around in an empty field between destinations.

The next smartest thing I did was book the two consecutive days after our trip off work. I sent my kids back to daycare and spring-break camp and spent the next two days almost entirely in silence. I did laundry, I napped, I cleaned, I wrote my school paper, I read some books, I watched trashy TV, I listened to a podcast, and it was absolutely lovely.

And perhaps that’s the key to traveling: recovery time.

Because the memories and chaos were absolutely worth it.

And so was shutting myself away from the rest of the world for two days.

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Okay, okay, okay. You made it this far. Thank you for reading. But I have more for the parents!

Tips for Traveling with Kids

Show up early. I read this tip from Jordan Ferney, who travels a lot with her kids, and it’s the one I mentioned above: show up at restaurants as early as you can. At dinner time, this means 4 or 5 p.m., as most people don’t start showing up until 6:30. There’s no wait at the door, the food comes out quickly, and the restaurant is mostly empty.

Get your own space. This has become key for me. It does make traveling more expensive than staying with friends, but having your own space to completely unwind is necessary so you can fully recharge before a busy next day. Especially for us introverts.

Schedule downtime. After a day of sightseeing, do something more chill the following day. My kids still need to run around and burn energy, but this can be done at a nearby park.

Break up your travel. This isn’t always possible, especially if you’re flying, but for us, we used to cram seven-hour drive days into, well, seven-hour drive days, just to get quickly to our destination. That doesn’t work for the kids. Sightsee on your way to your destination. Find parks where the kids can run around. Stay a night or two halfway to your location before moving on.

Snacks. Bring so many snacks. Line your pockets with candy to bribe your child to get off the ground and leave the park. But also grocery shop, because even kids get sick of McDonald's after several days in a row and finally come begging for apples and blueberries.

Extra clothes. I hate lugging around massive suitcases, but you will not regret packing those extra clothes when your newly potty-trained child pees their pants for the fifth time that day (and on you). So bring extra clothes for them and for you.

Have no expectations. None. Nada. Zilch. Because only then will you become kind of chill.

Thanks to Kristi Keller for inspiring this post.

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