Traveling With Children (Don’t Do It).

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We went to Tofino over spring break this year. It was rainy and stormy, as we knew it would be, but we expected that. We were after the feeling we would experience when our eyes alighted upon the wild waves and feasted on the forest. We wanted to experience all the different-ness Tofino had to offer, so it didn’t bother us. My six year old revelled in the house we rented. He loved everything about it, and ran through the house screaming, “I love it here! I’m never going to leave!”

My 3 year-old, on the other hand, was not as enthused. He was quieter than usual the day we trekked to the Island and he finally voiced what he was thinking as we inspected our new home for the next four days: “Why are we here?” he asked. “We’re on vacation!” I enthused, with way too much joy in my voice. He could tell I was trying too hard.

He spent the four days being sad about not having his bottle. He kept saying, “I want go home. Why we come here?”

It’s a fair question. Why did we travel for 7 hours each way and spend almost $1,000 to spend four days on a wet beach? It seemed so idyllic when I pictured it in my mind. But as we squeezed ourselves into ridiculously thick wetsuits that cost a bundle to rent, freezing in the rain and desperately trying to pull the thick material over embarrassing body parts, Travis whimpered and moped. It was clear that he was not enjoying himself. We only ended up playing for an hour before heading back to the rented cabana. And then we sat around watching cartoons and making meals, just like we would at home, except without all the stuff that makes our home ours. And we searched every store in the town for a bottle for my pre-schooler who should be way over bottles by now but isn’t and we did not succeed at finding one.

I remembered what it was like vacationing with my first son when he was a baby. Basically, it wasn’t fun. It was just getting up way too early and feeling overwhelmed in a new location. I guess I’ve been expecting that to change as the boys get older, so I just keep trying. And I continue to try. I write this from my laptop at my father’s house on a reserve in Saskatchewan. I flew here this morning on a two-hour direct flight from Vancouver. I was impressed by how quickly we went from being in Vancouver to being so far away. But Julian’s experience was not as rosy: “That was the longest, most boringest trip I’ve ever taken,” he said as the plane taxied to a stop on the runway. “Really?” I thought. “That journey would have taken your ancestors six months, you ungrateful little brat!” That’s a joke – I didn’t really think that. But it did strike me as interesting. Another case of Child Does Not Appreciate Travelling Like I Do, I guess you could call it, if you were making notes on my life and giving them strange titles.

We’re already planning a trip to Mexico this winter.

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