|Contemplating traveling with children.|
My friends are taking their children to Europe and want my husband and me to come with them—with our children.
I laughed and laughed and laughed.
And then I *shuddered.*
I don't enjoy traveling with children. Yes, I'm the mother of two children. But traveling with siblings is like traveling with two of your worst Facebook friends. Imagine the two friends who love to argue and post nothing but long streams of apocalyptic political claptrap from both sides. Now imagine yourself stuck on a plane with them for eight hours. Now imagine you're sharing a hotel room with them. You're eating every meal with them. You're dragging them through foreign streets while they shake their fists at each other and shout statistics and quote Matt Walsh.
My kids can argue over anything. They argue over who the cat likes more. They argue over what their favorite color is. They argue over who sat next to me last. They are six years apart and it doesn't matter. They could be one year apart or two or three. The sibling dynamic is strong regardless of the difference in age.
What I'm trying to say is, I don't want them to ruin Europe for me.
At least not while my youngest child is still fluent in Whinese.
The only time they stop bickering is when they are near large bodies of water—chlorinated, salted or unsalted. If there's a beach, they are suddenly best friends. If there's a pool, they play contented for hours.
But city streets and historic sites? Aw hell no.
My youngest mentioned wanting to go to Greece. It's funny, because I want to go to Greece too. I've always wanted to go and then I recently read a biography about Leonard Cohen. He spent a year or so living on an island with other poets and writers. It romanticized it all the more. I even wrote a short story about it.
Greece has beaches.
I might consider Greece. With a nanny.
But they're not going to London and Paris.
No one but no one ruins Paris for me. Personne!