the only way for to manage as a dad has been to take his wife and two daughters with him. With this blog, Matt shares some of the insights he’s gleaned along the way, as well as tips, tricks, reviews and other fun stories.

The Importance of Being Unplugged

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Little R, exploring a castle in Trim, Ireland.

Little R, exploring a castle in Trim, Ireland.

Between this blog, my website, and my overactive Facebook, Twitter and Instagram profiles, it’s pretty obvious that technology is a big part of my life. Considering how often my family and I are on the road, that means technology is a pretty big part of their lives, too.

For most of the year, we embrace the constant presence of Smartphone cameras and WiFi signals. Every once in a while, however, we like to unplug for a while, and just be.

We embark on one of those trips Sunday morning, when we head to the West Coast of Ireland. We’ve rented a beach house in Connemara for the week. Aside from day trips to Cong (where they filmed “The Quiet Man,” one of my wife’s favorite old-time movies) and the Cliffs of Moher, we plan to do a whole lot of nothing. The old-fashioned, Luddite kind.

Sure, I’ll catch y’all up on our adventures when we’re back. I’ll also share some stories from our time here in Dublin (and the incredible Four Seasons Hotel Dublin, where I’ve been on assignment since Thursday).

Until then, for the next few days, know that the four of us are out there on the edge of the world, telling stories, dodging raindrops, eating French fries, beachcombing and singing Doc McStuffins tunes.

I can’t think of a better way to spend a week.

To what extent do you prioritize unplugging with your family when you travel?

Wandering Pod on Four Seasons Blog, Again

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Three pix from our trip to the Isle of Dogs.

Three pix from our trip to the Isle of Dogs.

Another month, another featured post for yours truly on Have Family Will Travel, the kick-ass family travel blog from Four Seasons Hotels & Resorts.

My latest piece spotlighted our pod’s three-day visit to the Four Seasons Hotel London at Canary Wharf. We stayed there for the first three days of our current London adventure; the story was published this past weekend.

Regular readers of this blog will recognize some of the pictures and anecdotes immediately; snippets from the story were published here first. Taken as a whole, however, the post represents the first comprehensive account of that portion of our visit. (The story also is the first formal article I’ve published about our stay in London, and the first time many of the photos have been published outside of my personal Facebook page.)

My next trip on behalf of Four Seasons begins later this week—we’re headed to the Four Seasons Hotel Dublin, then renting a cottage on the West Coast of Ireland for a week of quietude. We’ll be unplugged (seriously) for the latter part of the adventure, but stay tuned for updates from the Big City on the front and back ends.

In the meantime, please feel free to read some of my previous posts for the HFWT blog; you can find the local links to them here and here.

Family Travel Fun with Words

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These ducks are joining us on Friday's trip to Bath.

These ducks are joining us on Friday’s trip to Bath.

I’m writing this post on the eve of our first official “field trip” here in London: On Friday the girls and I are joining Powerwoman and her students on an day-long educational excursion to the ancient city of Bath.

Personally, I’m excited to get a glimpse at history; the Romans established the city as a spa nearly 2,000 years ago, and it is now one of the best places in the world to see Georgian architecture.

The girls, of course, are stoked for another reason: They think we’re driving 2.5 hours to take a tubby.

No matter how many times their archaeologist mother attempts to explain the actual historical and cultural significance of Bath, L and R are convinced the place is a bath of a different kind. Earlier this week, they “packed” a bag full of tub toys. This afternoon, during lunch, L actually asked me if all of the buildings in Bath float. (Seriously. You can’t make this stuff up.)

The prelude got me thinking about how literal kids can be—a reality that is especially entertaining when you travel internationally and encounter a host of different words and/or expressions.

In nearly two months on the ground in London, my daughters have had a fair share of laughs about some kid-oriented British words and how they differ from stuff we might say back home. Some examples:

  • “Nappy” is the British word for “diaper,” and R loves joking about how she needs a “new nappy for my nappy” every afternoon.
  • “Mummy” is what most kids here say instead of “Mommy,” and L finds this hilarious because her “Mummy” studies mummies for a living. (Side note: The first time Powerwoman took us to the British Museum to see the ancient Egyptian mummies, L laughed for nearly an hour nonstop.)
  • “Lift” is synonymous with “elevator” here, and whenever we ascend in one of these devices, L and R have a field day.

The girls also get a kick out of pretty much all three British words for “stroller”: buggy, pram and pushchair. “Buggy” receives the most play, mostly because some of their favorite toys since establishing roots here are, in fact, plastic bugs. (Without too much trouble, you can figure out the little-person humor here; jokes often revolve around the idea of taking a buggy in the buggy.)

The bottom line: You don’t need a Ph.D. to appreciate that linguistics is a HUGE part of the travel experience, and exploring it in amateur fashion is an easy way for you to expose your kids to the eccentricities of a new culture.

My advice? Don’t just point out differences to your little ones; engage them to think about why languages diverge, and challenge them to embrace new expressions and phrases as part of the travel experience. It might feel unnatural at first, but I guarantee you’ll be surprised/amused/entertained by the responses.

Remember, you don’t have to be a wordsmith (like me) to have fun with words.

How do you introduce your kids to linguistic differences when you travel abroad?

Family Travel Public Enemy No. 1: Crowds

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The craziness that is Portobello Road.

The craziness that is Portobello Road.

While I think traveling is the most important activity a parent can do with his/her kids, I’m also honest enough to admit that family travel is rarely unicorns and lollipops.

Every parent has his or her bugaboos. For some it might be coaxing a son or daughter to pee in a public toilet. For others it might be the challenge of discipline in public places. Still other parents may struggle with the negotiations around eating.

For me, the issue is crowds.

It’s not that my girls are “runners.” It’s not that they wig out. Instead, whenever we take the girls into a crowded area, they become so completely and totally overwhelmed by distractions that their ears literally cease functioning at all. They will not listen. To anything. Under any circumstances (even if bribes of M&Ms are involved).

I was reminded of this phenomenon this weekend at the Portobello Road Market near our flat here in London. We had read that this was one of the best markets in the entire city. So I dragged the girls (and a friend visiting from the U.S.) to check it out.

Between the fresh produce, beautiful baked goods and amazing antiques, the market was indeed stellar. That said, the place was more packed than the mosh pit at a Dirty Rotten Imbeciles show.

At one point, near a stall peddling (delicious) bread products, we got stuck in a human traffic jam; literally, we id not move for two minutes. At another point, some random passerby bit into a falafel sandwich and spilled tahini on L in the stroller below.

Finally, when we were huddled up and snacking on strawberries on the side of the road, a man walked into one of our buggies and nearly sent R careening down the hill.

(I didn’t blame the baby for wanting to be carried for a while after that.)

By the end of the day, I had sweat through my t-shirt trying to navigate the madding crowds. Yes, we experienced the Portobello Road Market. And it was memorable. For all the wrong reasons. And ICYW, we won’t be back.

The lesson: Know your limits. While it’s always fun to check out new stuff with the kids, sanity is fun (and nice), too. Do some research before you schlep the kiddos to see something major. If your source of information (guidebook, Facebook, Twitter, etc.) suggests the experience might put you and the kids in an uncomfortable position, be prepared. And if the experience is far too overwhelming for you to handle, improvise.

To be clear, I’m NOT suggesting that fellow family travelers shy away from exploring certain stuff. Instead, I simply am suggesting that we identify those situations that comprise our personal travel hells (with or without our kids), and that we stay flexible when we find ourselves there.

How do you stomach your own personal family travel hells?

Why Free Museums Benefit Family Travelers

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Making art at the Tate Modern.

Making art at the Tate Modern.

Most museums here in London are free, and this rules for at least two big reasons.

First: It makes sightseeing cheaper.

Second, during those inevitable moments when your kids act like kids and you need to pull anchor and abort the mission, you don’t have to worry about wasting money.

I’ve come to appreciate the first reason slowly over the 40 days we’ve been here.

As for the second lesson, let’s just say I had a crash-course in learning that one on Thursday, when I took the girls to the Tate Modern museum of contemporary art to celebrate L’s first “Exploration Day.” (For more on the back story that prompted these special weekly adventures, click here.)

The trip started fine. After an uneventful Tube ride to Southwark and a seemingly interminable walk to the museum, the kids climbed on a stair sculpture out front, then excitedly proceeded to the galleries. We hit the brand new Bloomberg Connects bar first, so the girls could ease into the experience with some interactive e-drawing (the units themselves mimicked drawing on a tablet computer, only the pictures posted to a giant wall).

Because the drawing went so well, I thought I might try to expose them to some of the actual art.

This, however, is where the day went south; as we walked through room after room of paintings and pieces in various media, the kids lost it. Big time. They started rebelling with yoga on the floor. Then they hopped around, belting a song from “Doc McStuffins.” In the middle of a crowded gallery.

Finally, when R quite literally ran over and climbed up on one of the art pieces, it was time to go. So we hit the café. Then we went home.

All told, we spent about 90 minutes at the Tate—40 minutes with the interactive e-drawing, 40 at lunch and about 10 minutes in the galleries. If I had paid full-price for that, I would have felt gipped. But because everything but our fish-and-chips lunch (natch) was free, it was no big deal.

I know the thinking behind free museums is to make them available for everyone, but I think the approach benefits (adventuresome) family travelers most. You know the saying about how to roll “if at first you don’t succeed,” right? Let’s just say I’m thankful that we have another three months to get back out there and try, try, try again.

How do you determine when it’s time to abort a travel mission with your kids?

The Pros and Cons of ‘Buggy Boards’

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Is it a blessing, or a curse?

Is it a blessing, or a curse?

Despite my love note to our umbroller at the start of this London trip, a few weeks ago we invested in a proper “buggy” that was a) sturdy enough to handle cobblestone streets, b) big enough for both of our girls and c) capable of using with a rainshade that would keep the seated child dry.

Because we also wanted the flexibility of being able to shuttle both girls around at once, we bought the used Quinny Zapp (for 70 pounds) with an aftermarket peripheral named a “Buggy Board” (for an additional 10 pounds).

The BB, as we call it, is a cross between a scooter and a go-kart. Essentially, it’s a platform with two arms designed to connect to the pushchair. The thing also has two wheels on the bottom to support the weight of whichever child is standing on it. (For a good visual, just check out the picture that accompanies this post.)

The benefits of using the BB are obvious: It makes it easier to shuttle both kids across town when they both are too tired to walk. It also facilitates adult-speed travel (as opposed to slower speeds, which are common among kids L’s age).

The downsides are a bit more obtuse.

For starters, balance can be tricky, especially if R is in the seat and L leans backward while she’s on the board.

Also, because the board sticks out 4-5 inches beyond the handles of the buggy itself, pushing the buggy with the Buggy Board attached requires a bit of a hunchback impression—a contortion that hurts after about five minutes.

Finally, since the BB’s wheels are independent of the wheels on the buggy itself, sometimes they just don’t turn in the direction you want them to turn.

The bottom line: We use the Buggy Board religiously, and I’m not sure whether I love it or hate it.

Don’t get me wrong; I’d rather incorporate the BB than push around a double-stroller. Still, more often than not, I find myself removing the thing before long treks because I just don’t want to bother with it. This back-and-forth raises important questions about the right kind of equipment for urban travel with young kids. Unfortunately, I don’t have any answers. Do you?

What are your favorite pieces of equipment to use when traveling in cities with young kids?

An Open Letter to the (Almost) 2-Year-Old

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Parenthood doesn't get any better than this.

Parenthood doesn’t get any better than this.

Dear Little R:

Someday, years from now, you and I will sit back and talk about this fall in London, and we’ll smile. We’ll grin at all the pictures of you pointing to weather vanes. We’ll laugh at the GoPro video from the London Eye (the one where you are chanting, “London Eye” to the tune of Springsteen’s “Empty Sky”). We’ll chuckle while we reminisce about your obsession with Big Ben.

These are the Big Moments that have characterized our trip so far, the ones we tell your grandparents about in letters and on Skype. And, indeed, they are important.

But they’re not my favorites. Not by a long shot.

No, my baby, I prefer our mornings, the three hours you and I get to spend together every day, just the two of us. We drop your Big Sister off at school. We swing by Molly’s (or another café) for a coffee and chocolate croissants. Then we just hang.

Some days we head up the hill to the playground in St. John’s Wood. Other days we take the bus to Hyde Park. Then, of course, there are the days when we do REALLY crazy stuff, like take the Tube to see the Gherkin, or hop a canal boat tour into Camden to check out those amazing locks (you know how much I can geek out over modern engineering).

I love these “dates” because they’re fun. I love them because they’re relaxing. Most of all, I love them because I get you all to myself.

Nothing against your sister, of course; I had similar solo time with her when she was your age and you weren’t alive. But because you came second, and because she’s here too, alone time with you is rare. That means I’m that much more protective of it when I actually get some.

And so, on the eve of your second birthday, my baby, I say: Thank you. Thank you for making every morning so special. Thank you for willingly joining me on these jaunts around the city. Thank you for being cool about the whole daddy-has-to-stop-and-get-a-coffee thing. Most important, thanks for being such a fun and easy-going partner in crime.

Years from now, many birthdays down the road, you may not remember much of our morning dates here in London, and that’s totally fine by me. I’ll fill you in. Because I will cherish them forever. And I’ll never forget.

Love always,
Daddy

Staving off Germs on Public Transport with Kids

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This is the filth on a good day.

This is the filth on a good day.

They might as well name a garbage/rubbish incinerator after us Villanos before we clear out of London at the end of this year. How else would the locals commemorate (or, um, publicly shame) the inordinate number of wipes we have been using every time we take the Tube?

No exaggeration: On most trips we break into double-digits. The reason: Bannisters.

You see, L has a tendency to tell stories wherever she goes. And when she’s telling stories, she’s not exactly paying attention to where she’s going. Over the course of her life, the child has fallen down more flights of stairs than just about any of us can imagine. So in an effort to keep her from tumbling down staircases in the Tube (many of which have about 200 stairs), we’ve implored her to use the bannister.

The good news is that she has listened (and has not fallen…yet). The bad news is that the bannisters here in London’s subway system are some of the filthiest surfaces 0n earth.

Every single time we take the subway, the kid’s hand turns sooty black in a matter of seconds. This past weekend, while simply heading down from street level to the ticket booths at our local stop, the situation got so bad it looked like she had wiped her hands in tar. Or coal dust. Or sludge.

When this sort of thing happens, my gut reaction is to ignore it until she realizes she is the one who controls how dirty things get. Then my neuroses kick in. What if she puts that filth in her mouth or wipes it on her face? What if it leads to some obscure strain of sores? What if the sores spread all over her body?

I’m not Donald Trump when it comes to germs, but I have been known to spaz a bit on the subject. And what we’re calling “Tube Hands” syndrome has triggered a few sweat-through-your-shirt moments (for me), which is why we’ve been overusing those wipes.

Lest you think I hate the environment, we’ve tried more eco-friendly methods such as hand sanitizer and Witch Hazel. Quite frankly, these don’t remove the black.

We also have tried the old-fashioned strategy of negotiating with L to wash her hands more frequently, but if you’ve ever dealt with a 4-year-old, you understand that we’re lucky if the kid actually washes her hands after she pees.

We even have proposed that L wears gloves when we ride the Tube, though L seems adamantly opposed to that approach. (In many ways, this is a blessing; when coupled with my staunch “no face photos” philosophy, the notion of forcing gloves on the kids really would make me feel like Michael Jackson.)

And so, until something better comes along, wipes are our way to go. I apologize in advance to the British government for contributing to the garbage problem. The VINCINERATOR has a nice ring.

How do you keep your kids’ hands clean on public transportation during family trips?

 

Lessons Learned After One Month in London

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Another lesson: London parks kick ass.

A major lesson: London parks kick ass.

Hard to believe it, but today is our one-month anniversary on the road here in London. This means tomorrow will mark the longest amount of time our kids have been away from home (last summer, we spent 30 consecutive days traveling in Hawaii). It also means that three months remain in this grand adventure.

Since I’m a big fan of self-reflection, I figured this milestone would be a natural time to look back and “synopsize” (Powerwoman’s word) some of the lessons (and Villano family tendencies on the road) we’ve learned so far.

Public transportation is the ultimate distraction tool
It doesn’t matter if we’re riding a bus, train, or (river or canal) boat—my kids *love* taking public transportation. The passion is so deep that that as soon as we climb aboard one of these vehicles, the girls forget that they’re tired/hungry/cranky/insert other problem here, chill out and, quite literally, simply enjoy the ride.

To put it differently, my Oyster Card is the key to vanquishing tantrums when we’re out and about.

For L, the obsession was born on her very first ride; for R, it was a more gradual process (if you recall, she hated the Tube at first).

Overall, both girls prefer the bus (the “double-bus, as R says”), and like sitting up top. That said, the Tube is OK by them as well, especially if we get to change trains so they can watch (and wave to) trains entering and leaving the station. The bottom line: Public Transportation is our friend.

You can never schlep too many snacks
Back in the 1990s, when my family had season tickets at Yankee Stadium, my Dad would stuff his backpack full of snacks and harass us all game long to eat. I nicknamed him “Bodega Man,” because he often offered a selection that was more varied than the stuff you’d find at the local bodega. He took the ribbing quietly, almost knowing that someday, the tables would turn.

That day is now. Here in London. Every time we go out and about, I’m the dad with the backpack of random snacks. And it always—ALWAYS—comes in handy.

What I’ve learned about being Bodega Man 2.0 is that incorporating a diverse array of snack options actually improves the success rate tenfold.  Put differently: The more stuff you schlep, the more likely you’ll have something the kids will eat.

(Dad, I get it now. Sorry I didn’t learn the lesson sooner.)

Routines rule
One of the most exciting things about traveling and living abroad is the notion that every new day brings new experiences, new people and new points of view. Especially when you’re traveling with young kids, however, there can be great comfort in a predictable schedule from day to day.

Basically, I’m saying that everyone breathes more easily with a bit of a routine.

It was a struggle for me to embrace this approach, but we’ve learned this routine doesn’t have to be elaborate. Aside from L’s school (which she attends weekdays from 9 a.m. to noon), our daily schedule is simple: Wake-up by 7:30 a.m., naptime for R (and downtime for L) around 1:30 p.m., park time around 4:30 p.m., tubs at 7 p.m.

The girls don’t come out and say they appreciate these predictable patterns, but on those rare days when we deviate from the plan—including the one day a week when we pull L out of school to explore London—the free-style schedule triggers a greater number of tired spells and associated meltdowns (as sophisticated as L is, she still is only 4).

Not all playgrounds are created equal
Back home, we can count on one hand the number of playgrounds our kids would rate as “awesome” or “super awesome.” Here, however, it seems there’s a kick-ass playground in every single park.

All of these playgrounds boast crazy wooden play structures, old-school metal slides, and spinny carousel type things (none of which you’d find in the U.S., where child play areas are made to be uber-safe and minimize lawsuits). Most of the playgrounds here also have bigger and boxier “baby” swings, which enable me to get R and L side-by-side and push them both at the same time (this comes in handy when I’m solo with the girls). Some even have huge sand pits. And a separate area for kids over the age of five.

The best thing about London playgrounds, of course, are the cafes; at play time, I’m never more than 200 feet from a hot Americano or a fresh-baked scone.

In short, this family can’t go wrong with a trip to one of London’s parks. (Also: we Americans have a LOT to learn from how they roll with playground development over here.)

I’ll end each month with a similar look-back (thanks, Kara Williams, for the idea). I’ll also use these pieces as an opportunity to mention what lies ahead. On the docket for the next four weeks: R’s birthday celebration at The London Eye, a trip to Bath, a visit from one set of grandparents and a 10-day (half-term) jaunt to Ireland. Stay tuned!

What are some of the most important lessons you’ve learned through family travel?

Running on Empty (But Loving It)

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column

I carried the stroller up 300 steps to see this.

I always get irritated when I read gossip magazines (yes, I do it often) and see stars such as Nick Cannon and Kelly Ripa claim the way they stay fit is by “chasing their kids.”

No kids move that much, I think to myself. (Beside, wouldn’t a celebrity just hire a nanny?)

After nearly a month in London, however, I can safely say: I get it. I have the bulk of childcare duties in our family over here, and I am almost always operating within one standard deviation of total exhaustion.

For me this is a new kind of exhaustion. The kind that has prompted me to fall asleep at my computer writing this post for three consecutive nights (including tonight).

Part of it is physical; I feel it in my over-used biceps and knees at the end of a long day, and submit to it (in a fit of narcolepsy) the minute the Big Girl sits down for a “Doc McStuffins” (Or, as the baby so adorably calls her, “Doctor Fuffins”).

But it also is a mental exhaustion—it’s like I’ve got a permanent case of the stupids. The biggest manifestation of this comes every day around the girls’ lunchtime, when I remember I haven’t eaten all day. (On a related note, despite my previous declarations of hatred for fried potatoes, I can’t keep weight on here to save my life.)

I’m sure part of this stems from the fact that we native urbanites had become country folk; that Powerwoman and I simply weren’t accustomed to the (very typical) physical demands of the city. For us, in London, some of these exigencies include schlepping strollers up and down scores of stairs, carrying babies for 20 blocks at a clip, and balancing two granola bars and two cups while standing on the crosstown bus.

(Saturday alone, on a day that included Tubing it from our flat to Trafalgar Square and back, I logged more than 800 steps while carrying R in her buggy. Now I cannot straighten my left arm.)

I’m not the only parent to acknowledge I sometimes feel like I’m in over my head; a great piece on TODAY this week spotlighted working moms (though, regrettably, no dads) who have copped to being overwhelmed.

I’m also not complaining in any way, shape, or form. To be clear: I wouldn’t change any aspect of our lives here.

Still, minding two kids in a foreign city is hard. Period.

And so, to the Kelly Ripas and Nick Cannons among us, I say this: I feel you. I am truly sorry for my skepticism and loathing.  I see now that it is entirely possible to lose weight from “chasing after kids” while traveling in a big city, and I (proudly?) consider myself part of a select crew. Who needs Zumba? Who needs running? Let’s just hope the girls don’t wise up and start seeking compensation for their work as my personal trainers. Stranger things have happened for sure.

How do you stave off exhaustion when traveling with kids?