Traveling with Children

My last entry documented the routine that my boys and I entered into to facilitate the passage of our summer days. Truth is that routine did not last the entire summer.
On July 31st, our family flew to my wife's homeland, Spain, for a three week stay. It was incredibly fun and, from a traveling with children standpoint, wonderfully successful. It was not the whimsy of fate that led to the pleasant travel. There are definite, identifiable keys to peaceful, efficient travel with one's brood.
First, I will address the actual journey. To reach Spain from our city, one needs to take three flights and one hour long taxi ride (we have tried other routes in the past, but as this was what we did this last time, we'll treat the latest route as the best). First, there is a ten-hour flight to London. This is followed by a two-and-a-half hour flight to Barcelona. From there, one must take an hour's flight to Bilbao. From that fair city (this is a joke that will only resonate with people from San Sebastian or other San Sebastianites world-wide), an hour's taxi ride delivers one to San Sebastian, the Jewel of Spain (my opinion).
A lengthy journey by anyone's standards. So, how does one achieve a stress-free day of traveling that, including lay-overs, lasts 20-and-a-half hours? My first piece of advice would be to fly British Airways (we take them to London). Not only do the jolly accents of the crew create a nice environment, but every seat has a screen embedded above the facing tray-table. This screen contains countless movies and TV shows, many of which are perfect for entertaining a child during countless airborne hours. (It goes without saying that many of the offered movies are not child-friendly, so one needs be aware). It also helps that the flight to Spain leaves at 6:45-what my wife calls a "night-night" flight. The power of suggestion seems to work on my boys as they sleep for much of the ten hours to London. (My sleep is never terribly sound because the allure of limitless movies is too great, making sleep seem uninteresting). Another factor aiding our family in our quest for pleasant journeys has to do with experience. Both of my boys have travelled to Spain many times, from the age of eight months (in my older boys' case) and from ten months (in my younger son's case). Their having completed the journey in the past makes present journeys easier. So, what makes for easy traveling with one's children? Picking the right airline, having a flight leave at night thus encouraging sleep, and having children that have flown frequently seem to be the keys. Of course, none of the factors that I have mentioned have anything to do with parenting, but one needs to take credit when one can.
Honestly speaking, enthusiasm helps as the most boring airplane magazine can seem interesting to a child if a parent gushes over it. Bringing lots of books is, obviously, a good idea. Materials for drawing also come in handy to pass the time. Another key component would be patience and calm under pressure (otherwise known as the ability to ignore hateful stares from fellow passengers who were apparently never children). We have had flights that have been difficult in the past. Luckily for our dyad, my wife is both patient and cool under pressure. So in past, more trying journeys, while I wilt in the seat trying to avoid glares, my wife has picked up whichever boy is having a problem and coolly carried him to the back of the plane to soothe him. Now, luckily for me, my boys don't have any significant problems on the plane so I can finish a journey feeling as refreshed as possible without feeling the guilt that goes along with knowing that one's wife has done all the real work on the flight.
So, we did have a relatively hassle-free journey to Spain. Whether we actually did anything to ensure the positive journey is a matter of debate. Possibly, any family with five and eight year old boys would fare well on a Transatlantic, behemoth of a journey. Regardless, we arrived safely in Spain and had a wonderful three weeks.

New Beginnings

It has been a long time since I last shared my experiences as a stay-at-home father with the cyber-world. I have a good reason for the absence. In the crazy world of the stay-at-home parent, much is flip-flopped. Weekends are more work than weekdays, vacations often more work than non-vacations and, most of all, summer more work than school months. Indeed, for the stay-at-home father, summer is when the heavy lifting is done. (I mean this both metaphorically and literally as the constant presence of my boys increases my work-load and their growing has made wrestling them quite a chore). Thus, my incommunicado status for the past months. I couldn't blog because I was busy. Very busy. Often near insanity sort busy. Having one's children present all day every day will do that to a guy. To avoid the obviously unpleasant alternative of losing one's sanity, plans need to be laid. My strategy for the summer months involves routine, or scheduling, if you prefer.

My boys take swim lessons and tennis lessons over the summer. The swim lessons last for 30 minutes and occur every day. The tennis lessons occur twice weekly (from 11-12 for my younger boy, 12-1:30 for my eldest). Both boys continued with music lessons. My older son's piano lessons happened in his teacher's house on Monday's at 12:45 or 1 or 1:30; the piano teacher is a great guy and a wonderful teacher, but a tad disorganized so the lessons seemed to start at slightly (occasionally radically) different times depending on the week. Luckily, the piano teacher has a back yard where my boys could play while awaiting the lesson (and where my younger son and I could continue to play whilst my older boy had his lesson). My younger son's violin lessons occurred on Wednesdays at 11 am. His teacher lives too far away to hold lessons at his house. Instead, the violin lessons were offered in another family's house. I would describe this house as "loosely" in our neighborhood. It required a long walk. But walking is a forte of ours, and every Wednesday a-violin-ing we did go. To keep our spirits up during long, hot summer treks to and from music lessons, I decided that my boys and I needed (nay, deserved) some reward. Thus, we ate lunch twice weekly at our favorite restaurant (before piano and after violin). This restaurant is a frequent destination for my boys and I. The staff never give us menus. Instead they greet us with, "hey guys. Two apple juices, a Diet coke, a Peanut-butter and honey, a Grilled cheese, and a Rosewood Deluxe, right?" And they never forget to bring us two chocolate-chip cookies (split three ways) for dessert.

After the boys and I returned home, they would read or do other school work for an hour (on impressive days) or a half-hour (on less impressive days). The work would be followed by a celebratory hour-long TV show which would be followed by sports (baseball or basketball or paddle-tennis or football or soccer) until my wife came home. Thus, Mondays consisted of swimming, walk to our favorite restaurant, lunch, walk to piano teacher's house wait/play/pray for the start of lesson, walk back home, school work, TV, play. Tuesdays and Thursdays were made up of swimming, tennis, walk home, lunch, school work, TV, play. Wednesdays consisted of play, long walk to violin, violin, walk to favorite restaurant, lunch, walk home, work, TV, play. Fridays were the simplest: swimming, walk home, lunch, work, TV, play.

To see my summer summed up so concisely does not entirely do it justice. 'Swimming, walk to lunch, walk to piano, walk home, work, TV, play..... This sounds so orderly, so neat, so easily achieved. The words do not do justice to the constant battle to keep the peace, to maintain tranquility. Every facet of our summer days was occasionally visited by conflict. Fights between brothers, complaints about fatigue, complaints about hating whatever activity was next on our agenda, arguments regarding school work, regarding TV shows, regarding play. In short, each phase of every day this summer has seen its battles. Enjoyable battle to be sure, but combat none-the-less.

If I were a rapper, they'd call me Smoky the Bear because I'm always putting out fires. However, to be totally accurate, I would be a far more contented Smoky the Bear than the one who dominated the anti-forest fire push of yesteryear. The fires of disquiet that my boys constantly set this summer were annoying at times, but, for the most part, they did not mar what was a very successful summer. We are all happy, healthy, and ready for school. As the fires of summer cool, I must prepare for new fires to come. I am now father to a third grader and a kindergartener.