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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?

 

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?

‘Getting Wet’ on Family Trips

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Splish-splash.

Splish-splash.

We were playing in the playground at a local park when a new addition to the expat scene started the interrogation.

He grilled me about local schools. He asked for my favorite local restaurants. He went so far as to inquire about my favorite Tube stop, my favorite bus line and my preferred neighborhood bodega. Then he dropped the ultimate bomb.

“What do you do with the kids when it rains?” the guy asked in a panicked tone that conveyed total bewilderment.

“Well,” I replied quickly, “We get wet.”

This answer was significant for two reasons. First, of course, it indicated that we have lived in London long enough to do as Londoners do—that is, though the rain initially deterred us from going out and about, it no longer fazes us at all. Second, it revealed to me something bigger, bolder and more bad-ass about the way our family approaches travel in general: We don’t let anything slow us down.

No, I’m not admitting to a Griswoldian strategy of running my kids into the ground (though, before I became a father, my friends used to accuse me of “Clarking” them on guys’ trips). I’m simply stating that we usually don’t let harmless but unforeseen elements get in the way of experiencing a new place.

No matter how much our girls might want to stay inside.

We’ve forced the kids outside (and outside of their comfort zones) a number of times this past week. One day we got stuck in a squall on our walk back from the Tube (in case you, like the inquisitor, are wondering, our favorite stop is Warwick Avenue).  Another day, at a park up in St. John’s Wood, we waited out a downpour while trying to catch raindrops in an empty coffee cup.

Then, of course, was the afternoon I dressed up the girls in their “Welly boots” and led them around the corner for the sole purpose of splashing in a giant puddle.

At first the girls almost didn’t get it; both of them looked at me with expressions that said, “You mean this is what we’re doing out here?” Slowly, however, they suspended disbelief. They started jumping. Then they started giggling. At one point, L accidentally kicked off a boot and landed in the puddle with her bare sock. I wasn’t sure how she’d handle the development; to my surprise, she loved every second of it.

By the end of our little puddle-jumping session, both L and R were soaked and happy; neither of them wanted to return to the flat. Over dinner, the girls kept bugging me about when we could go puddle-jumping again. Again and again, my answer was the same: Probably tomorrow. (And it was.)

The bottom line: Whether you’re traveling with or without your kids, you’re not really traveling unless you’re “getting wet.” Get out. Don’t let unforeseen circumstances throw you off your game. And remember that even with the greatest guidebook, the only way to experience a new destination is to explore.

How do you improvise when unforeseen circumstances force you to change plans on a family trip?

To School or Not To School

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How dare we separate these two BFFs?

How dare we separate these two BFFs?

The big question in our flat this week pertains to enrolling L in school during our time here in London. Do we or don’t we? Powerwoman and I continue to go back and forth.

Some parts of the equation are simple. Yes, we took our 4-year-old out of her second year of preschool to be here for the fall. And, yes, we plan to send her back to the same preschool when we return (the folks who run her preschool have been kind enough to save her spot).

We also believe that L (like most kids) thrives in the school environment, and needs the age-appropriate social stimulation that environment provides.

Beyond these truths, however, we are truly flummoxed.

First is the issue of logistics. Last year, at home, L attended school twice a week for three hours a day. This year, when we return, she’ll attend school three times a week for three hours a day. Here, however, they do school differently. Most kids are in full-time school of some sort by age 2. It actually has been very difficult (and incredibly frustrating) to find a preschool equivalent that isn’t fewer than three full days (read: 8 hours a day) every week.

Then is the issue of philosophy. We relish the fact that we have the opportunity to live abroad with the girls while they’re so young. Because we are travelers by nature, we want to show them the city, take them around England, and explore Europe as frequently as possible.

I, in particular, am struggling with the decision, as I’ve taken it upon myself to create a “classroom” out of the everyday, supplementing journeys to different parts of the city with “lessons” before and after.

(Example: we’re attending a cricket match this weekend and I’ve started with stories about the rules.)

Still, the situation raises pretty serious questions. To what extent would L suffer from being out of school for four months? To what extent would enrolling her change the everyday, on-the-ground experience for her (and the rest of us)? How difficult—if at all—would it be for her to adjust to a new school in a new city in a new home? Finally: How might her enrollment impact our ability to travel while here?

Ultimately, I think Powerwoman and I probably will seek a compromise. My hunch is that this compromise likely will involve enrolling L in a full-week, half-day program, and insisting that the school allows us to keep her out one day a week (preferably a Monday or a Friday) to keep up our “curriculum” of exploring through travel.

Is this ideal? Not really. But at least the approach would incorporate both the traditional (school) and something new (travel).

At the end of the day, the school issue isn’t about what’s best for us at all; it’s about what’s best for L. That reality doesn’t change with a mailing address. And it’s a notion we try to embrace regarding both daughters wherever and whenever we can.

How have you handled schooling your kids during extended family trips?

Moments Mean Everything on Family Trips

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A great moment from a recent day at Regent's Park.

A great moment from a recent day at Regent’s Park.

Just because an article is witty and well-written doesn’t mean it’s good. Case in point: a recent piece on Huff Post Parents that paints family travel in a playfully pejorative light.

The writer, Steve Wiens, asserted in the piece that traveling with kids is more of a “trip” than a “vacation.” He alleged that family travel is never truly enjoyable because kids behave like, well…kids. Looking back on his experiences during a recent family excursion, he worte: “By far the best moment every day was when the kids were finally in bed, and the adults all gathered upstairs to laugh, moan about our sore, aging bodies, and relive every precious part of that day.”

And unless I’m missing some sort of tongue-in-cheek vibe, it seems the dude’s thesis is that most of us endure family travel because it’s what good parents do (and because, at some point in the future of our children’s lives, it will suck less).

Put simply, I could not disagree more.

To say that the “best moment of every day was when the kids were finally in bed” is to reject fundamentally the most basic premise of FAMILY TRAVEL. If Wiens actually means this—if he’s not just saying it for effect—why the hell does he bother traveling with children in the first place? Why doesn’t he just ditch the kids with their grandparents and take his spouse to Vegas?

In this family, we embrace those moments when the girls (unintentionally) remind us just how special they really are. Maybe one of them chases after a pigeon. Maybe one draws a flower. Maybe the two of them just hold hands as they walk down the sidewalk.

These are the best moments of our days together. Not the moments when they are unconscious in bed.

I won’t lie—from time to time Powerwoman and I have to work hard to find a good moment upon which to build. Heck, here in London we have had to skip a few days entirely. But when we are lucky enough to experience these wonderful snapshots of our zany and wacky and unpredictable children interacting with the world, nothing else really matters. And that’s what our family vacations are all about.

What are the “best moments” of your family’s getaways?

Inspirational Words from a Wise Colleague (and Family Traveler)

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Carol Cain, at her joyful best. (Photo by @TravelingLatina)

Carol Cain, at her joyful best. (Photo by @TravelingLatina)

Many of my travel writer friends are wiser and more eloquent than I, and Carol Cain, of Girl Gone Travel (and a fellow Expedia Viewfinder blogger), is one of them.

Earlier today, Carol took time from her busy travel schedule to dash off a beautiful post for an inside baseball-type Facebook group for fellow travel bloggers. The piece moved me so much, I had to share it (verbatim) here:

    “On the flight over here I tried to take a nap but a crying baby made it impossible. I could’ve thrown a tantrum. I could’ve judged the parents and criticized the system that allows crying babies on flights…near me. There’s no denying I was exhausted as I’ve been traveling tons and had a rough morning of my own. So I turned around to look at the young parents who immediately noticed my looking and started to apologize in union. Yes, they were apologizing to me for their crying baby. I smiled and asked about their little girl. “What’s her name?” “How old is she?” “She’s precious,” I told them, “A beautiful child,” I said. The mom relaxed a bit. The dad sighed. The mom turned her still crying baby to face me. I started talking to her and gently caressed her little hand. She immediately stopped crying and smiled. “She’s mesmerized by you,” the mom said. It took a moment, just a small gesture of kindness. The parents still had their hands full but the baby didn’t cry again after that. Just be kind.”

I thought this travel tip was particularly fitting in the wake of the news that yet another airline has decided to offer child-free seating (this time the offender is Singapore’s Scoot Airlines; if you’re curious about my outrage on this subject, read my posts for Parenting here and here). The lesson: It’s not about the kids, people. It’s about the grownups. And all of us can be a bit nicer from time to time.

What’s your take on the trend of airlines offering child-free seating?

When New Is Scary on a Family Trip

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This one likes the Tube; the other, not so much.

This one likes the Tube; the other, not so much.

Especially when kids are young, family travel forces them to see, smell, hear, taste and touch things they never have seen, smelled, tasted or touched before.

Most of the time, these new experiences go swimmingly and everybody oohs and aahs over how cute it all was. Sometimes, however, new stuff can trigger a DEFCON-1, global-thermonuclear-war type of meltdown. The kind that leads to silent crying. The kind that makes passersby think your child needs to be institutionalized. For life.

We’ve encountered both realities during our first 10 days here in London. Thankfully, the wins outnumber the losses. Among the victories: The stoop in front of our walk-up, river busses, old cathedrals. Among the losses: Bangers, crowds near Buckingham Palace.

For R, who freaks when she hears loud noises, the biggest debacle so far has been the Tube.

The mere mention of the subway sends the kid into hysterics. As we approach the station, she frantically clutches for dear life. When the trains enter the station, she covers her ears and screams. On the trains, she acts like a baby marsupial, burrowing her head into the nearest armpit until the horror ends.

Powerwoman and I have responded to these theatrics cautiously. On one hand, we don’t want the kid to freak. On the other hand, we don’t want to coddler her too much, especially since the child is going to have to get over it once my wife starts teaching (that’s why we’re here through Xmas; the fall semester starts Sept. 9) and I’ll be riding the trains with the girls solo.

I hope that the more we expose R to the Tube, the more comfortable with it she becomes. Of course this plan totally could backfire, and she could end up hating it even more because we won’t give up.

The conundrum raises an interesting point about the difference between comforting and dishing out tough love on a trip. How much do you bend before you break? How much are you willing to give your kids what they want before you start making them based upon what they need?

Obviously answers to these questions will be different for everyone.

The act of asking them, however, can be a good exercise—especially if you run through it before you’re in the moment trying to manage a maniacal kid.

My advice: Unless a new experience could physically harm your child, keep at it as long as it seems sensible (and kind) to do so. Put differently: Don’t let a little crying or standing on ceremony deter you from introducing your kids to new stuff away from home. Change can be scary. Disrupted routines can suck. But the more you expose your kids to these realities at an early age, the better equipped they will be to handle them as travelers later in life.

How do you handle it when your kids are spooked by new experiences on family trips?

Why Traveling with Kids Makes Me Fat

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Please! Anything but fries!

Please! Anything but fries!

We’ve only been in London for a week at this point, but if I eat another French Fry (or “chip,” or whatever you want to call those crispy demons), you might have to roll me down the stairs to catch the Tube.

Yes, traveling with kids is wonderful for a host of reasons. How this dad eats while vacationing with those little people definitely isn’t one of them.

My first problem is the food.  Whether they’re munching on the aforementioned French Fries, chicken tenders, mozzarella sticks or tortilla chips, our little humans love consuming fried stuff. It’s the only thing they’ll devour every time. And when they’re “all done” (as R likes to say) with their dinners, the leftovers are just sitting there, staring at me, tormenting me, daring me to resist.

(I know there are some moms and dads out there who won’t let their children go near fried stuff. Powerwoman and I are not those people. The reality: We encourage healthy options whenever viable, but turn to fried stuff in a pinch because we have found that during meals in unfamiliar restaurants, the goals are to order something a) we know they like, b) we know they’ll eat, and c) we assume will arrive relatively fast.)

The second problem is my own guilt.

If you’re like me, wasted food equals wasted money. This mindset comes in handy when we’re cooking at home—I reuse everything, including turkey carcasses on holidays. On the road, however, I can’t help but assign a value to every uneaten chicken strip and half-finished side of peas. Once this happens, the only way to feel like I’m getting my money’s worth is to eat the scraps—even if I’m no longer hungry.

Case in point: One dinner this week comprised a bowl of red curry, two pieces of fish from L’s fish ‘n’ chips, and two-thirds of R’s mashed potatoes. I’m not bragging here, folks; I felt gross when all was said and done. One thing I didn’t feel was wasteful.

(In other news, I know other moms and dads may not admit it, but lots of traveling parents suffer from this affliction. Maybe as a follow-up to my reality television show in which Dads compete to see who can schlep the most stuff through an airport, I can produce a show that pits pops in a contest to see who can eat the most kids’ meal leftovers. Joey Chestnut and Juan More Bite, you have been served.)

Thankfully, at least for me, both of these poor habits usually are offset by a good run (which I try to squeeze in every day). Still, I acknowledge that they’re not the best habits to have, for me or my waistline.

How do you manage to eat healthy food (in modest portions) when you travel with your kids?

The Gift of Family Travel

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Bon voyage cupcakes, from my 12-year-old niece.

Bon voyage cupcakes, from my 12-year-old niece.

Two cocktails into our final domestic Date Night of 2013, Powerwoman popped the question about our impending (we leave in two days) semester-long move to London.

“Are you nervous?” she asked.

At first, I didn’t know how to respond. I mean, I’ve spent the better part of the last eight months thinking about the epic family adventure we’re about to begin, but never—literally, not one time—have I stopped to consider the degree to which I am nervous about the idea of establishing a new life in a new place with two kids under the age of five.

Naturally, the query prompted me to chase my Manhattan with some shots of serious self-examination.

Yes, I am nervous about the logistics behind towncarring from Heathrow to our first stop on the adventure, the Four Seasons London at Canary Wharf (I’ve got an assignment there). And, yes, I’m nervous about getting from Canary Wharf to our new flat on the day we move in (which is Aug. 24, for those of you scoring at home).

Honestly, though, that’s it.

The remainder of my emotions would fall into categories such as EXCITED, THANKFUL, and HONORED. For me, our next adventure is nothing short of the best gift ever.

How is it a gift? For starters, we get to bond as a unit—a rarity in today’s era of school schedules and working parents and daycare. Second, we get to experience faraway countries and foreign cultures through the eyes of our daughters, for whom everything is new. Finally, we get to do it all on a temporary basis, knowing that, come Christmas time, we can return to our lives here in Wine Country and start planning the next trip.

I know there are people who think it’s senseless to travel with young kids because they likely won’t remember much of what they see and do. In my book, however, Powerwoman and I aren’t doing this so the kids remember it. We’re doing it because it simply is what we do.

(Though, of course, if they remember any of it, that’s a bonus which we gladly will accept.)

We Villanos aren’t sitters. Whatever we’re doing, we don’t stay still for long. One of the reasons Powerwoman and I work well together is because we share a sense of adventure and an indomitable need to explore. As parents we have tried to lead by example and pass along these credos to our girls.

I’ll be “nervous” if anyone in this family ever approaches life differently. Until then, I say, bring it on.

To what extent do you think kids remember family travel? To what extent does it matter?

12 Days to London

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These flower-pickers are ready for the Big Time.

These flower-pickers are ready for the Big Time.

Twelve days. That’s all that stands between our family and an overnight plane ride from San Francisco to London, which will be our home from Aug. 21 through Christmas.

For months, the Big Move has seemed like a mirage, something that sounded great but wasn’t actually happening, a family-focused fantasy akin to my daydream of winning the Main Event at the World Series of Poker.

But it’s real, people. And it’s happening SOON.

Powerwoman and I have spent ample energy this month scratching stuff off our respective pre-trip to-do lists.

She has gotten most of the fun stuff, like buying the girls new winter clothes and researching playgrounds in our new neighborhood (it’s Maida Vale, for those of you scoring at home). I have been left with the inglorious tasks: Freezing the gym membership, temporarily suspending our cellular service, and requesting a Capital One credit card (with no foreign transaction fees) in Powerwoman’s name.

Of course we’ve also spun wheels trying to tie up loose ends here at home—thankfully, my parents will be seizing the opportunity to house-sit and lay claim to a “vacation” home in Wine Country for the fall.

Still, if I had to guess, I’d say my wife and I have spent the greatest amount of time focusing on easing the transition for L and R.

On the most basic level, this has translated into reading them books about our new home (the favorite has been “The Tiger Who Came to Tea”; “This is London” ranks as No. 2) and studying maps of the city to give them a sense of what landmarks are where. On a more nuanced level, it has meant making sure we’re bringing enough from home to make the new flat feel familiar.

With this in mind—and after much deliberation—it appears that we’re taking the (ridiculous) kittens calendar from the fridge in the kitchen. It also likely means we’re carrying-on an entire suitcase of stuffed animals. And R’s (new) purple inflatable alien.

We’ve taken other steps toward smoothing the transition. Like teaching my parents how to Skype so the girls can have video check-ins with the cat (and, I guess, their grandparents). And procuring postcards for L to fill out and send to her friends at preschool back here at home. Heck, we’ve even packed Halloween decorations so the girls can feel like they’re not missing out (sadly, the Brits don’t really do the whole costume-and-trick-or-treating thing).

For a two- or three-week trip, I’d say this type of preparation would be a bit much. But for four months on another continent, I think it’s spot-on.

Our rationale behind this obsessive planning is simple: We want the move to be an adventure, not an exercise in missing stuff from home. One could argue that we’re rejecting spontaneity (to a point); instead, we like to think we’re trying to incorporate enough touchstones so the girls are comfortable and willing to explore on a whim.

For better or for worse, these comfort levels are critical to the next few months in our world. They play an important role during every long-term family trip; how you choose to support/indulge/address them is up to you.

To what extent have you bent over backward to make your kids comfortable in a new place? How much is too much?