We made it.  In retrospect, we may not have decided to go to France and Italy with our 3 and 5 year old children on a two week adventure had we known just how difficult it would be.  I knew going in that a trip that would take us to four Italian destinations and Paris twice may have been a bit ambitious.  In the weeks leading up to the trip I actively tried not to think about it very much, as any of the typical excitement one might have about such a big trip was quickly met with an impending sense of dread about the myriad nightmare travel situations we might find ourselves in.

Looking back on it now in the days since we landed back stateside, the memories dance in the dischordant meter of dreams.  Moments of joy, meaning, fear, discovery, exhaustion, and relief jumble in my minds eye. As with dreams, the most recent part of the experience is clearest, so I suppose I’ll just tell that part for now.

We were about six hours of the way through the 12 hour flight home on Sunday when Sebastian finally had had enough.  He had only made it that far without a freakout because we had let him watch three consecutive movies on the inflight entertainment system.   On the way to Europe, we had a long flight gameplan that included coloring books, playing cards and other games to make sure that the kids stayed engaged and didn’t melt down and disturb other passengers. Anyone who has taken a long flight with toddlers knows the drill and the accompanying preparations you make to do your best to ensure a smooth ride.  By the time we were finally coming home however, all such notions of thoughtful preparation had long since passed, and none of our prior air travel concerns seemed to matter.  We had survived our European tour, with both of our children and all of our possessions intact and onboard, and that was going to have to be good enough.  So when Sebastian’s impatience boiled over at the half way point someplace between Greenland and Newfoundland in the arching route home, there was no reserve of parent patience with which to weather the storm.  He screamed, kicked and wailed in a way that was worse than I had ever allowed myself to imagine could actually happen. This scenario is the stuff of parents’ nightmares, and yet, I was beyond the ability to care about what other people might think about me, my children or my parenting skills.  I knew in that moment that I had officially been broken.

I had been broken after 15 of the fullest days of my life.  It had been a decade since I’d been to Europe and I had never been to Italy at all.  That experience alone would been both exhilarating and exhausting enough for Tania and I.  Add in a 3 year old who decided on the second day that he was done walking anywhere and a 5 year old who would prefer only to eat octopus, escargot (she had been very excited by the prospect of eating snails for some reason), and gelato for breakfast (thanks Italy), and you get a pair of parents who had found the end of their rope, with no ability left to hide it from the general public.

It truly was magical and unforgettable and all that, and I might even do it again some day.  I’m just glad its over now.