The mantra of my life with a daughter is “try”. In the early days, it was “try” to shower. “Try” the baby carrier. “Try” to go to the store. As she’s aged, the “try”s have gotten a bit more interesting. “Try” to go to Mexico. “Try” to have her walk holding your hand. The”try”s are not linear pursuit – having one work on one day does not mean it will work again on the next day, or any other day ever again. “Try” to go to the store fails regularly.
Travel has always been a “try”. My husband and I value it so much, that it is the one thing that we’ve not wanted to give up on. We’ve camped, we’ve gone to the beach, we’ve visited family, we’ve taken road trips. None of them are as relaxing as they use to be, but each one of them reminds us that we are able and that, with the correct modifications, the lowering of expectations, and enough snacks, “yes, we can try”. Europe provides us with a new canvas for our adventures and thus, we continue to “try”.
On the Monday that we’d returned from Paris, I was in a virtual meeting with my co-workers in Calgary. They asked about my weekend in Paaarisssssss. And I asked about theirs. The complexity of this interaction is similar to that of my Sunday calls to my mom while a student in Hawaii, “Hi, mom. Oh, nothing interesting. Just at the beach.” You know what you mean – it’s just the day to day – but you sound like a pompous ass to the other side.
Yes, I was in Paris, and yes, I am a parent. My trip to Paris was not to Paaarisssssss. It was to a rainy French-speaking city with a number of well-known sights.
Our daughter refused to sleep in her crib the entire time. She delighted in waking for at least an hour each night. She enjoyed the breakfast buffet, but enjoyed running the corridors more. She stood on a ledge over the Seine River and I swore the weight of her coat was going to tumble her in. She did not want to leave the ledge, so decided to kick, scream, and toss away the only glove she would wear. She watched entirely too much IPad and used her soother during the day. She ate cheese and bread and ham and chocolate (okay, so did I).
aka: The lunch where S only ate fries and sat only on dad’s lap. A different perspective for the photo (you can’t see my sleep-deprived face) and an antique filter makes the memory fabulous!
And even with all of that, the sweet nostalgia has taken over and I sew another “try” badge to my parenting sash.
We ended up at the Aquarium after walking by the Eiffel Tower. We walked into the courtyard of the Louvre and into the gift shop. We enjoyed an hour-long boat ride past the sights of Paris. We ate at Japanese places and got food from the grocery stores. We saw the Sacre-Coeur and loved the playground and carousel.
What travel has become is much less about what we are suppose to see, and more about how we are as a family. As a parent, the enjoyment of travel must be in each moment. The good ones allow you to breathe. The bad ones you know will pass. You can not pin your hopes on a destination because there will likely be a tantrum to ruin it. (In Bruges, the destination was the Michelangelo statue and the experience was S running the length of the church hall with evil laughter, skidding under the “do not go under” rope, and placing fingers on some 16th century painting.) Things are best when expectations are nil and people are not hungry.
It dawns on me, just not, that I probably shouldn’t have written this post.
I should have just left the aura of our travel as, “wow, they’re so fancy and fabulous with their impeccably behaved daughter.”
So rather,
Yes, it was Paaarisssssss!
Yes, we’ve got some other ideas we’re cooking up for Easter.
Oh, you’d like to come along?
You bet – we need babysitters.
Yes, that is what I’d like for you to take away from this.
Forget all the rest of what I’ve said.