Baja’ing through Life
I’m writing this on fumes - salt still in my cracks, kids still buzzing from the beach, and a cup of coffee doing its beset to hold me together. Traveling with kids is an experience. Its not something you’re going to list for payment on Airbnb but I guess its the entertainment we signed up for. Traveling with kids is sport all on its own. You’re constantly slinging snacks, changing diapers, plugging in headphones, chasing someone, apologizing for messes, fetching water. You become a travel concierge to tiny humans you insisted on bringing along like beloved, slightly unhinged teddy bears. Then there is the packing. What does everyone actually need? How can you foresee the accidents that will incite the need for more clothing? What if someone is sick? We swear every trip we are going to simplify, be minimal. Yet somehow we end up rolling out of the house looking like we are relocating permanently. We have tried to pare down the amount of accoutrements we take for kids on trips but somehow still wind up packing the kitchen sink.
I was anxious about the flights. It’s a long time to ask young children to sit still without the delayed gratification of knowing you’re arriving somewhere fun. Lou was absolutely taken with the idea that someone would serve her orange juice on the airplane and began demanding it as soon as we were seated. I lost count at the number of times I tried to explain the order of operations about drink service. They both loved watching movies, reading the safety card, and observing “tractors” (service vehicles) zoom around the airfield. The whole plane ride Lou chanted, “beach, beach, beach,” sounding like a disgruntled pelican. It’s a wild concept trying to explain space, time, and geography to a two-year-old whose entire worldview is shaped by what we tell her we are doing. There is no understanding of distance, no appreciation for time zones, no respect for the fact that we cannot simply manifest an ocean between snack time and nap. Just a tiny, determined human chanting “beach” like it’s both a destination and a legally binding demand. It is something that should be accessible at any time. Meanwhile, you’re out here trying to explain flights, bags, logistics, and the basic concept that Montana is not hiding a secret coastline… and she’s looking at you like you’re the problem. When we arrived and finally went to the ocean, Noah and Lou were decidedly entranced with the waves. They were running around in circles screaming and laughing as the water tickled their feet and chased them back ashore. I’ve never seen them lose their minds like they did. They were timid at first but grew braver as the week went on. Honestly we could have left after that first hour of interaction with the ocean. The pure exhilaration of that moment alone made the trip worth it. By the end of the week, Noah was “riding” waves onto shore—letting them crash over him, disappearing for a few seconds, then popping up with a huge grin and the sign for “more.”
Getting kids ready for the beach takes exactly the same amount of time as the time you’ll actually spend there—an impressive logistical achievement where 90 minutes of sunscreen negotiations, snack/wagon packing, and locating that one beach toy just to clock 90 minutes on the beach before someone’s hungry, someone’s too sandy, and someone else is emotionally devastated by the existence of wind. Putting sunscreen children is where you really start to toe the line of psychosis. Acting like it’s the most exciting thing, singing a song that makes it fun all the while painting a smile on your face although it’s slowing killing you on the inside. We also have tried to let them put it on themselves in an attempt to harness their desires to mimic us and express some autonomy. Watching a child put on their own sunscreen pains me. They plop their fat little mitts in the cream, scoop up the largest amount possible and place it on one area of their bodies. Then they demand their hands be washed, it’s urgent. They will die if their hands aren’t washed immediately. Sunburns and cancer are on my list of things to discuss with them.
After packing everything for everyone (except Josh), I forgot the baby shampoo. I attempted to wash Lou’s hair with Dr. Bronners and some got in her eyes. You would have thought I lit her hair on fire from the amount of wailing and gnashing of teeth. The look on betrayal on her face made me cower. That was the shower on day one. The next day I tried to get her to put her goggles on to wash her hair - 4/10 on the success scale. The rest of the trip she refused to wash her hair. There wasn’t a bathtub or shower door to contain her. At one point I genuinely considered writing to the Airbnb to suggest they install a dog wash station. Nothing fancy—just a little tie-off situation so I can leash her up and hose her down next time like the strong-willed, beach-dwelling creature she has become. Needless to say, she returned home with the starts of some dreadlocks. Jokes going to be on her when we have to G.I. Jane her head.
It was really cute having them share a queen bed together. Two little peas in a pod. The sun and water took it out of them, making the first couple bedtimes easy. Josh and I felt like freaking pro parents they went to bed so quickly. The next few nights, as they became accustomed to the level of activity, were more similar to night time at home. The procrastination techniques come out in spades. Lou asking for water acting like she hasn’t had anything to drink in days. Her silent whisper demands, “water, water, mama, water.” All the while making the sign for water as well, in case I couldn’t tell what she wanted. Then she has to go to the bathroom. Then she needs her soothing pair of underwear to hold. Then she needs Noah to touch her for sleep. Then she needs Noah not to touch her for sleep. IYKYK.
One day I went diving and Josh had all three munchkins. Superdad. I would love to have been a fly on the wall watching him cruise the beach with all three chaos goblins. Apparently, Lou bent down to pick up a rock and pooped her pants. Just came right out…happens to the best of us. Josh was stuck with Ollie strapped on him, Noah free and Lou with a poopy swimsuit. I didn’t quite get the whole story but I think it involved digging a hole and burying it. A dog came by later, smelled the poop and promptly peed on the diaper bag. That’s all I got from Josh about the incident. I am waiting for this story to show up when she begins to date. It will be gold.
The amount of sand stuck in the cracks of my children’s bodies will dazzle you. It definitely didn’t come from throwing full body meltdown tantrums in the sand, only joyous frolics. I’m sure we will be finding sand for months to come. Poor Oliver is pooping sand at this point. Also, if you don’t have one already, do yourself a favor and get an Otteroo for your baby. Pictured above. He LOVED floating around the pool like a little bobber. There were also some near drowning experiences when his siblings thought they could use him as a life preserver while jumping off the side. Life of the third child.
On our last flight home, I moved to an empty row with Ollie peacefully asleep in the front pack. A flight attendant walked by, “Ma’am, you’ll have to take your baby out of the pack for take off.” Excuse me, what? It’s 10:30PM and he’s asleep. This guy. I’m pro safety but I’m also pro bending the rules when it seems appropriate. This appeared to be an appropriate time to let some things slide. Sir, do you hate everyone on this plane, including yourself? Oliver yelled at me for an hour. I’m sure the man I moved from was beyond thankful of our exodous after he listened to the auditory insult from Oliver that endured an hour.
What I keep coming back to is how unintentionally funny and entertaining my kids are. They’re also fully their own people. You can’t just demand compliance—they’re curious, expanding, hungry for experience. The more experiences you give them, the wider their eyes are open to the possibilities. I love the excitability and innocent happiness that comes from something we find miniscule. Watching them discover something new—something you already love—is kind of incredible. Placing them in new experiences always allows a new piece of their personality to shine or expose itself. I love watching them figure out new situations and how much they crave to emulate us.
Some other highlights:
Lou sadly saying goodbye to her car seat at check-in, tears were shed (she is vehemently against getting buckled in normally)
Noah insisting on hugging Oliver every ten steps as we walked down the beach
Both kids learning to jump into the pool
The kids figuring out how to rinse sand off their own feet
Noah body-checking Lou in the sand mid-sibling dispute
Watching them “help” at baggage claim like tiny, bossy, chaotic concierges
Travel has always been formative for us. I worried that might end after kids—especially with the added layers that come with raising a child with Down syndrome. The diaper bag, the unpredictability, the lack of personal space, the noise, the movement, the lack of communication and understanding, the constant motion—some of it is harder.
But also? This is just kids? No one parties like Noah parties, no one has the unbridled joy that Noah has. Everything we experience with him is exponentially more fun because of his ecstatic reactions. Although its difficult, I am glad we get to have some radical experiences and travels with him. I also love watching them come alive as siblings. They delight in experiencing things together, constantly calling each other’s names. They’re always eager to show one another something cool, neat, or exciting, sharing each little discovery as if it were a treasure. Its as if they have a secret world, a secret language together. At the end of the day, after the tiredness, the mental gymnastics, the energy it takes the travel with them - it’s always worth it.
We aren’t going to do everything perfectly, but at least we are out there doing it. Mostly we are just shooting from the hip and as my friend Maddy says, “your hips must be sore.”
