Its 5.14am, in the comfort of my own organic latex bed, I'm lying here, thinking about fear.
Planes crash, terrorists bomb, sharks bite, whatever. Those dangers don't bother me. And no, it's not a fear of leaving home.
My main fear is everyone being cranky and exhausted, feeling trapped in a hotel room / train carriage / bus, the kids whining about being bored. It's on me, somehow, and I can't think of anything to do.
I fear I'm promising to make it fun for kids, when it's actually fun for us not them.
In that bad moment, I imagine feeling: why did we throw away our precious routines? Did we forget how difficult it is to find activities that we accept and kids will do? Did we really so naive as to think the world is OUR oyster?
I think of all the times our kids (politely) scorn or passively endure the locals' sweetness and generous attempts to engage.
I fear our kids are so lucky, so rich with wonderful toys and experience already, that they will refuse local amusements, offered up by proud locals, experiences and things any reasonable kids would like. I fear the acute embarrassment of the parent of a Spoiled Kid. The moment when there is no excuse. Will we face our parenting mistakes, right there in front of the world, desperately hissing at our entitled children who sadden a proud Greek grandmother who has never before met a kid who doesn't like sweets? Will I side with my kids, dismiss her pathetic offerings with a condescending smile, or will I pressure my kids, hissing at them eat eat?
I remember last trips joking with Helen (in that Australian way where jokes are truth telling): why did we fly all this way and spend all this money when the kids only want swimming and hamburgers? We could have gone to a Motel 6 in Peoria.
I fear ...
- eating overpriced, horrible pizza, looking out the window at cute, cheap local cafes, knowing I will never convince the kids to set foot in there.
- dragging grumpy kids through the streets of a quaint village, trying to avoid another night of animated kids movies in the hotel room,
- Then, finding something, a local show in a language they don't know...they hate it, but there's nothing else to do, so on we endure...
I fear I will spend the next year leading my two lovely, stubborn horses to water, new experiences, yes, different. I fear pleading, bargaining and threatening them, if only they will to try just one bite, five minutes in the shop, museums, markets. I fear watching them snort, ears back, head turned, and refuse to drink. You can't make them drink. They have the high ground. They didn't ask to come. We made this decision.
We will have these moments, I know. How often? I wonder how many families would dare tell the truth about this, in their blog. How many families would admit it, if a trip like this was mostly bad, with a few good moments?
I take solace in how I enjoyed travel when I was their age. I recall the doctor couple in Nicaragua, their happy kids going to the local school.
Obviously, I predict we will be fine, or I wouldn't be going. I am confident we will find lots of fun things kids like, etc etc. This fear is not a reason not to go, but I can't dismiss it easily.