May this column be a warning to all adults who think vacationing
with their kids could bear even the tiniest resemblance to a
vacation without kids.
May this column be a warning to all adults who think vacationing with their kids could bear even the tiniest resemblance to a vacation without kids.
My husband Chris and I were once among the set of hopeful, but self-delusional, parents who think months of careful planning and teaching your darling children toddler manners could add up to a pleasurable, relaxing trip.
Chris and I were pinning our own foolish hopes to a week-long jaunt to New York City with our 17-month-old, Emma. We fondly recalled our last two trips to the Big Apple and asked ourselves foolishly, how different could this vacation be? Now I want to laugh out loud at the thought.
Months earlier we set our vacation plans in motion. We thought we had been clever and had covered all of our bases: business class seating on the airplane,a posse of baby-sitters to accompany us (two pairs of grandparents and an auntie to boot), adjoining rooms and our trusty baby monitor, and of course our angelic daughter who rarely gives us the slightest bit of trouble.
But what we never counted on was that a week with a toddler in a different time zone in a strange city with a strange climate could throw even the best laid plans out the window.
The striking differences between this trip and our last trip to NYC hit me an hour into our flight. For one, my seatmate on the plane wasn’t my husband, but our daughter who had morphed into a shrieking, wriggling tot who refused to be contained. Months earlier in a moment of weakness I had consented to my husband’s wishes of flying to New York ahead of us so he could attend the U.S. Open golf tournament.
Thank goodness Grandma and Grandpa were sitting right behind us, where they were waiting with their bag of tricks to entertain Emma.
Over the course of the following week, the realities of traveling with a toddler set in and Chris and I realized that this trip would be vastly different than any one we had experienced in our adulthood.
Here are a few in no particular order:
Before Emma: We wake up to the sun streaming through our windows and the sounds of New York City taxis below.
After Emma: We wake up to the plaintive wails of Miss Emma who seems to be saying, “Wait, where am I again? This doesn’t look like my room.”
Before Emma: Our Friday afternoon consists of a Broadway matinee and a two-hour dinner at a quaint, Italian restaurant.
After Emma: Our Friday afternoon consists of multiple rides on the carousel at the three-story Toys ‘R’ Us.
Before Emma: We indulge in massages at a four-star hotel spa.
After Emma: We try to lay still as Emma walks over our backs and tickles our bellies.
Before Emma: We scour the city for souvenirs and presents for our family.
After Emma: We scour the city for whole milk when Emma’s sippy cup runs dry.
Before Emma: We enjoy a luxurious four-course dinner at the Four Seasons Hotel.
After Emma: I balance Emma on my lap while I wrestle with a knife and fork, while trying to convince her to eat some of her noodles.
I must admit that all hope is not lost. Thanks to some generous family members who are crazy about Emma, Chris and I stole a few childfree moments. We caught a performance of “The Producers,” ate at Nobu (a great Japanese restaurant) and one day even managed to take a nap.
The moral of this column: A well-behaved toddler and well-planned trip do not a relaxing vacation make. I for one will spare Chris and I another cross-country holiday for at least the next 10 years or so. At the very least, any memory of this trip will be wiped clean from our consciousness.
Kelly Barbazette lives in Gilroy with her husband, Chris, daughter, Emma, and miniature dachshund. She is the owner of Write Now, a copywriting and public relations company in Gilroy. She can be reached at kb*********@***oo.com.
