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Like birds, my little family migrates with the seasons. In winter, we head south for two weeks of camping in the winter warmth of Baja, on the Sea of Cortez. Summer, we close up the house and head north for five weeks in the High Sierra, where my summer gig, co-directing a writing conference, means something more than visiting, something less than residence. We build a sort of temporary summer nest there, never quite unpacking, living out of our overnight cases and file boxes. While we spend the occasional weekend away during the rest of the year, these two trips mark the farthest points of our annual migration. The distance they cover, both geographic and psychic, compel us to exercise our skills as migratory parents. In our not-so-distant childless past, each trek meant a single long day on the road, a schedule, a destination. We were two disciplined vagabonds. But like nearly everything else, the addition of another, smaller passenger has impacted the journey. More time spent packing, longer periods on the road, lots and lots of unpacking. Inevitably, some time is spent pondering whether it might be best just to stay home now. Still, we are luckier than most. I hesitate to complain about the minor challenges of minor travel when, at least, we have the privilege of doing so. And I’m proud of how our little flock has coped with what adds up to at least 7,500 miles on the road in the three short years we’ve been a family of three instead of a tight, military-precision unit of two. Since our seasonal migrations are generally predictable in terms of what to expect on the road rest stops, food stops, gas stops, hills, desert, lakes, historic markers we find it helpful no, make that essential! to prepare not only ourselves, but our little guy for the trip. We introduce the topic well ahead of our departure date through intentional discussion, photo albums, maps and picture books. He needs to understand our own sense of anticipation and create his own excitement about it so that mommy and daddy’s trip is also, in a very real way, his trip too and not a sudden kidnapping. And he needs to know where he is going in a very real way, whatever that might be for a little guy who thinks “far, far away” is both Santa Monica and Lake Tahoe. “Are we there yet?” Other parents splurge, indulge, give up. They go for the portable DVD players, or laptops stocked with games, or the perennial favorite, handheld Gameboys. New cars seem to come with built-in televisions now. I see the square blue light as I travel behind them in their mobile home theaters. Good for them, I think. Not for us. These electronic offerings have limited appeal, if purposefully so. They are meant, clearly, to remove, dislocate, distract. And since we don’t have them home, I wonder if our kid, indulged, pacified by the auto-boob tube, wouldn’t eventually insist on moving from his bedroom to the back seat, permanently. We’ve enjoyed this time with an extensive collection of books on tape and music (both owned and borrowed from the public library) that has much wider audience appeal. Instead of each family member plugged into their own solitary activity, we aim for that bonding opportunity travel presents, as we share stories and songs together. Eventually, recorded voices give out and stories are over. Key to success is that little backpack or basket packed with a variety of options: Books. Arts and crafts. A magna doodle. A camera. Binoculars. Puppets. Ambitious friends locked into overseas flights confess that they stock their kids’ backpacks with wrapped gifts to be opened on the hour adding suspense and providing a timeline: As the presents disappear, the destination is closer. For our child, we will create a trip log. Keep track of times, mileage, sights, weather, stops, souvenirs, photos, you name it. Years later, the logs provide guides not only to where the family has been but to who the family was way back then. In our case, three people whose travels teach them not only about where they’re going but who they are to themselves and each other. Lisa Alvarez, an English professor at Irvine Valley College, lives in Modjeska Canyon with her husband and 3-year-old son. 5 travel tips 1)Curb your ambition. Be realistic about how much uninterrupted travel time is possible, whether by plane, train or automobile. 2)Anticipate anxiety about not only the journey itself, but the new place, the temporary home. In retrospect, the journey ends, but the place you’re staying is where real, perhaps even prolonged anxiety may surface. 3)Strategize. You know your children and you know what they’re like. Anticipate the times of day and night that will be most difficult and do your best to avoid it. Or, anticipate the best time of day or night to travel and exploit it. 4)Make the most out of the extra time it will take to get there. Every trip of ours now has an extra day of travel (at least) that it didn’t before parenthood. 5)Eat. A hungry child is an unhappy child. Be creative and splurge on goodies (good goodies) that will both please and sustain your travelers. If you have time, plan a roadside picnic that will allow for consumption but also time to play. We find the best spots are county and city parks, often marked on maps and signed on freeways. |
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