As Denver makes way for the 2nd snow storm in less than a week and the nice people at Denver International make preparations for the next group of live-ins with their cots and sponge baths and mugs of Starbucks, I wonder once again what fool would ever travel by plane in winter, let alone with children. Then I realize, that fool is me. And about 2 million other people each day.
Hope springs eternal at the beginning of most vacations. You pack the bags (and bags and bags), you make the arrangements for time away from work, you bid farewell to the same old routines and look forward to the something new every vacation offers. For most of us vacationing with kids, we realize this "something new" won't most likely involve Paris or the Caribbean, but we make peace with the fact that at least the loving grandparents might watch the kids so we can go out of an evening.
The biggest mistake one can make is to believe this vacation will be restful in any way. Kids, lovers of routine, often don't sleep well, eat well, or behave well when in a new and different environment. Add in sugar, showing off, more sugar, and sleep deprivation and it's a wonder any of us survive at all without serious vacation-induced drug and alcohol problems.
Add to that the cheery helpful articles in every vanilla magazine for parents, and you have a recipe for serious motherfucking rage. I don't need a checklist to know that if my flight gets bumped and it takes us 13 hours to travel a distance that should have only taken 6-8, my kids will be strung out and I'll be in a terrible mood for a week.
We'll survive this trip, like we've survived the others. But next time, we're leaving the kids at home.
