They slept! There’s a normal amount of toddler tantrums! The adults, on the other hand, are CRANKY and just want to sit and sleep. Instead they argue in those hushed and strained tones that parents use around children when they want to strangle each other. But we whisper argue while we walk to the beach and the water/sand/children calm the anxiety and stress. It’s hard to continue to feel murderous when you’re digging sand holes.

The beach fills up quickly and there’s a family with similarly aged children who are very interested in what we’re doing. We giggle at each other’s kids, trade plastic trucks, but generally go about our business. So, I found it strange when they moved all their supplies right next to us and began to utilize our sand toys. I suppose it made sense, as they only had the one truck for two kids. As this is going on another young girl who spoke English began to chat us up and offer babysitting services (she was about six) while her Dad talked to us about her birthday week. I try so hard to set a good example for the kids and every time they’d get possessive about the toys, I reminded them that we had plenty. Everytime I was told by a child that I could go swimming and leave my kids with her I told her how generous she was. I was smiling and affable throughout. But hot damn. I was in hell. I barely had the energy to play with my kids and regulate the possessiveness between the two, let alone adding two other families to the mix. I don’t want to raise antisocial kids, and that’s really hard when you self-identify as a bitch.

Beachtime is finally over and although I loved the time with my family, I was ready to GTFO of that situation. We opt not to bother with an actual lunch and grab bread, cheese, fruit, and veggies from a local store and go to eat in the room. This set up is much easier on the kids. But I realized that I bought salt-free (ie. utterly taste-free) bread and the worst cheese I’ve ever eaten. And I am back to pouting. But I salvage lunch with a bag of peanuts and crackers? I’m having food trouble here. As predicted, there’s not a big vegetarian crowd. But I underestimated the complete lack of options other than pizza, which even I can’t do for every meal. So much is pre-made that there’s not an option to customize. I’m kinda food obsessed; eating is my favorite part of the day, but I can’t even get a fucking salad. Everything labeled vegetarian has chicken and all the cheese comes covered in ham. Don’t’ get me wrong, I’m in caloric overload, but it’s because I feel justified in eating nothing but carbs that are bread and carbs that are ice cream.

All the new cheese is catching up with Mouse who’s happily yelling, “poop” every couple of hours and then running away when I go to change him. Before nap today, after cleaning up that stinky little butt, he runs off as I am putting away supplies. Then I hear him yelling, “poop” at me again. There’s not a diaper on that butt and there’s definitely poop on the floor. He thinks it’s hysterical and I can’t help but laugh. The chances of him trying to poop on the floor again are pretty damn good.

I’m still feeling pouty about my food situation, so I hijack the afternoon and take us to a park and playground that’s close to the only vegetarian pintxo restaurant in the entire city. The park is incredibly beautiful with a great playground, lots of wooded trails to explore, and a duck/swan/peacock pond. Mouse is ecstatic about all of it. But he’s also almost two, so he’s giving the entire park some ambiance and screaming, “No! Mama!” at everything and anything. I’m not even sure what he’s upset about or if this has just become his mantra. But there’s a weird sense of calm, knowing that everyone in the park is actually staring at you and it’s not just your social anxiety. Even the ducks can only keep him happy for about 10 minutes before he needs to test the shit out of his limits and he’s yanked out of there.

We get to the restaurant and there’s hummus. And guacamole. And samosa. And vegetarian chorizo, burgers, falafel in all iterations, seitan, quiche…but they still had to ruin my brie with eggplant. But I’m so dumbed out with bliss that I even eat the stupid eggplant. The kids eat an entire meal. And poor Derek has the same expression I must have had at every other restaurant we’ve been to. But he’s a team player and actually enjoys the food. I’m feeling so overstuffed I would like one of the kids to push me back to the hotel in the stroller, but they refuse, and I waddle home. We end the night at a pastry shop that sells a million tiny pastries and cookies, all about the size of my thumb, and the kids get to pick their own treat. It’s amazing how such a small thing can bring everyone so much happiness. Thank you, sugar.

Balls. Everyone slept like champs so I guess that means they have enough energy to have, no exaggeration, 20 plus tantrums in less than two hours. Sorry other guests who want to sleep. Breakfast is no help and in fact, gives us some our best meltdowns. You know, because 45 minutes and seventy reminders to eat the GD yogurt isn’t enough and when we have to leave with an unfinished yogurt I’m pretty sure his little world ended.We’re up late enough that we can go to this cliffside amusement park for littles. I’ve been really excited to do this with them, and for the coastal walk Derek and I get to take there. It’s wonderful and sweaty, and rather beautiful, but also sweaty. We arrive at the funicular and the kids are stoked to take a train straight up a mountain. However, like most things, it is not designed for parents who are lugging kids, snacks, backpacks, and strollers. There are also steep, narrow, stone steps to everything which is lovely, but means I cannot trust my kiddos not to do a header and we have to carry them along with half of what we own.

At the top there is an incredible view and tantrums to match.

You’d think they’d be more used to sunscreen by now. It’s not like this is new, or conducts electrical currents, or is made of acid. But, whatever…like everything it takes us 30min longer to get to the park than expected but we’re here. It’s like someone took a bit of magic, dumped it on a seaside cliff, and threw in some fried food and charged out the ass for it all. But really, it’s by far the coolest amusement park I’ve been to. Very traditional, a small wooden rollercoaster is the most high-tech it got. Lots of toddler friendly rides, a carousel that looks like it was plucked out of a Jules Vern novel, and little boats to ride. I’m digging it. Well, except for the fact that I can’t find half the rides and there are more of those lovely, bitchy, stone steps that you need to take everywhere but I’m only mentioning it because one of my main pleasures in life is finding fault in things. There were also bumper cars which Bug was DETERMINED to ride. He had a blast with Derek and poor Mouse was left behind. He was devastated so it was his turn next, and it was as bad an idea as you’d imagine. He was having so much fun but then I look over and he’s bawling his little pants off and they’re exiting the arena. One bump was one bump too many for the little guy.

But it’s now time to eat and I’m so proud of myself because I knew there’d be nothing for the kids to really eat and I brought tons of peanut butter and jelly and crackers. We get Derek some food and a croissant for my pb&j sandwiches. Bug LOVES pb&j and he LOVES croissants. Put them together and you have a complete toddler shit show. Mouse is happily munching away and after Bug calms down, he’s just staring daggers at me, like how fucking dare you? Without prompt he tells me that he’s tried a bite and HATES it. I look and there’s no bite taken and I’m fucking done. We’re probably at a combined 30 tantrums thus far today and apparently that’s my limit. I, not so kindly, explain that that’s all he’s getting and if he doesn’t eat it he’ll go hungry the rest of the day. I’m prepared to carry that damn sandwich with us everywhere until he eats it. Derek’s able to step in and be more rational and coaxes him into an actual bite, which he fucking loves. ARRRGGGG! I’m fine, no need to worry about me. I’ll just bang my head on this wall, right here. After the requisite 45min that we seem to spend in any attraction café, Bug informs us of his need to poop. Ok. I can sit with the squirming little one year old and watch our things. No big deal. Except it takes him, no joke, 30-40minutes. Mouse and I have played pinch the shit out of mommy, get down and rub ourselves all over garbage cans, find half eaten cheese on the floor and eat it, slap mommy, scream ourselves silly, grab/fingerprint mommy’s glasses, tear up all the napkins, followed by a good round of kick anything we can. I’m so ready to get the fuck out of here. But by the time we exit the café it’s siesta and all the rides are closed for a couple of hours and the promise of another ride or two vanishes along with the moods of my lovely littles. Luckily, we have another funicular ride down and they seem to think that’s a ride in and of itself so we’re ok.

We aim to nap Mouse in his stroller on the walk back, so it’s no surprise when Bug falls asleep (which is going to make bed a nightmare) and Mouse is babbling to himself for the entire 45min walk. Sure. Ok. But mommy needs a break because I’m back to sweating buckets and TIRED. Go, watch tv and live your best lives kiddos, I need to take a buzzfeed quiz so I’ll know when I’ll die based on my dream ice cream sunday.

We spend, literally, an hour packing up for the beach and afterwards. Again, we look like we’re going out into the wild for the next six months based on the copious amount of gear we’re carting around.The beach is beyond crowded; this is the first time we’ve gone in the afternoon and I’m not loving all the bodies within arm’s reach. But I’m so bloody hot that I may be more excited than the kids to get there. After a quick swim I send Derek off on his and I realize exactly what was going on with him and the sandcastles yesterday as I begin to lazily dig a hole and am entirely consumed by and intense need to make it deep, big, and full of water. I then decide that it needs to be a network of holes, connected via sand straights so I can teach the children about gradients. Every time they want to play with one it takes all my adult energy to let them and not scream, “THAT’S MY WORK! GO DIG YOUR OWN HOLE!” Ok, maybe I do suggest once or twice that they could dig and fill their own holes. But I’m much calmer about it than I want to be. Of course, they ignore me and have a blast playing in the gigantic ocean puddle that is a result of my labor.

We ninja change again and this time I can do it all by myself and I’m extraordinarily proud of this accomplishment. I’ll be bragging about it for a long time. We set out to grab a meal we can actually enjoy. We have no babysitter, but we saw a couple last night sitting outside, enjoying a peaceful meal with toddlers. They happened to have their toddlers strapped into their strollers each with a phone playing tv. BRILLIANT. We feed them burritos I made at the hotel and granola bars all while they’re happily watching octonauts and we’re able to pintxo hop and Derek can eat all the fishy apps he desires. I feel almost no guilt, but they’re so wired in that we literally hear not a peep from them for the next hour. This cannot be good for their little brains, but vacations have no rules!!!! Of course, it’s followed by more ice cream and everyone has had a great evening.

Even though its been only 17 hours I’m pretty sure it’s actually been three different days…I’m zonked. Bug was up after only two hours of sleep and didn’t settle for another 90min (if you can call sleep wiggles and jabs settling) and Mouse woke everyone at 630, the equivalent of 330 (based on bedtime). Derek and I began the morning fighting about, well, I don’t even know, but I’m pretty sure it involved someone’s tone and someone else’s face. The kids were in a comparable headspace, and by that I mean punch-drunk with lack of sleep, literally couldn’t stop hitting…each other, us, the walls, toys. Screaming was also a big part of the morning.Our plans for the day were sidetracked because we figured we couldn’t kill the necessary 2.5 hours we’d need to until the amusement park opened so we opted to do another beach morning because we had to do something, right? Derek offered to take the kids, but I said no because this is a family vacation, god damn it! But he certainly scored some marriage points with that one. I did not reciprocate.The beach was actually wonderful. We went to a “surf” beach with much rougher waves and planned to just play in the sand to avoid Bug freezing again. Once I got past my delirium and engaged the kiddos it was a blast. Mouse kept wanting me to build so he could play God of Destruction and Bug was happy pouring pails of water all over the beach. Kid’s a sweet little weirdo.But Derek was the most fun to watch. He took building his sandcastle and moat incredibly seriously and was devastated when Mouse reigned down terror upon it while his back was turned. As I was laughing and making fun of him he says, “Isn’t this why we had kids? To act like children at the beach without people being concerned for our wellbeing?” Touché Larson, Touché. What was the most amusing about it was that as I watched other dads, they were all involved in the same devastatingly serious sand building when no one else in their families visibly gave a shit.We buried people, played in the surf, no one froze, there was no saltwater in the eyes…pretty damn idyllic.Went to grab lunch at another restaurant that prided itself on the ambiance created from waiting 45 minutes between seeing your server each time. I get it. Truly. But our littles are actively destroying your place of business. You’d think they’d be motivated to get us the fuck out. But nope. It’s just dawning on me that maybe they’re laughing at us from behind the bar, punishing us for bringing said littles into the establishment in the first place. Hmm. Well played.Naps/quiet (tv) time finished we load up again to go on a gigantic ferris wheel where we can see the entire bay. Well, mostly the millions of bodies laying on the beach, but still, pretty cool.Next up we go for a carousel ride and are treated to the eldest throwing a massive fit over not getting to the airplane and having to ride a dolphin instead. After a good pout we pay for another ride and mommy stalks the airplane to ensure he gets the ride of his dreams. It’s kinda worth it. The kids looks like someone just shot him full of happy juice.We follow it up with popsicles that amazingly come five to a pack and are tiny so when they’re inevitably dropped I have spares. Someone was really using their brains with that one.We hop on a boat to cruise the bay and both kids are pretty excited. However the highlight of the trip for Mouse is spitting on the banister and playing in it. I have no energy left at this point so I agree that it is a good and appropriate game. We’re on the boat for exactly seven minutes too long and it’s getting difficult to wrangle the overtired beasts on our laps. Finally we’re on dry land and the kids are strapped into their wheeled containment chambers.Dinner is another exercise in, “where the fuck is our food?” but it’s full of carbs and no protein so the kids are happy. Well, me too. We’re way past bedtime so, of course, they’re determined to walk back to the hotel and a 15 minute jaunt is now a 40 minute meandering stroll. But they’re so excited to be out and about with everyone that we just roll with it. Bug is amazed that there’s a second sunrise (ha! the kid is never up late enough to see the sunset) and even though bedtime will be a herculean task due to the adventure it’s well worth it to see the happy faces.

Bug gets up at 245am and I’m just at a loss. He’d only been asleep for a little over four hours. I give him half a dose of melatonin and feel all the guilt but after an hour he’s still awake and NEEDS sleep. Ug. Just typing this makes me feel like I’ve destroyed any chance he’ll ever have of sleeping normally again. He does this most nights at home too, but with more sleep to go on. I hate that both of my kids have inherited my insane insomnia. Why aren’t we doing 5k runs and colored ribbons for people who cannot sleep? Probably because it can’t kill you. I think…

Even after the small amount of sleep I’ve gotten over the last three days I’m up at 8am. But, dude. That was almost ten fucking hours. I’m still on a high. Everyone else manages to sleep until 10am and we quickly get clothes on while Derek rubs sleep out of his eyes. I leave with my monkeys and let him shower himself awake. The restaurant breakfast is only open for another hour and my kids need some eggs in the morning so I can feel them shit the rest of the day and not feel too bad about it. What’s the age when meal time isn’t a complete shit show? Don’t get me wrong, they did a pretty decent job but I’m haggling with one (trading bites of eggs for the fruit he really wants) hand feeding yogurt to a one year old who’s desperate to do it by himself (I only have so many clothes kiddo, sorry), grabbing knives that have magically appeared back at their place settings, and generally not eating anything that wasn’t previously in one of their mouths. But hell, everyone’s fed and we didn’t destroy anyone else’s breakfast experience (I hope) so there’s that.

We pack up approximately one bajillion things and head to the beach. We lug everything through the sand and set up camp and begin putting sunscreen on two writhing alligators. In the process I discover a new spa treatment while I accidentally exfoliate every surface of their bodies while gooping them up. (pro-tip: sunscreen before they cover themselves in sand.) We have really great time playing in the sand and the waves even though Mouse discovers on more than one occasion that seawater in the eyes is a specific kind of torture that mommy can do nothing about.

But my zero percent body fat three year old is shivering so badly after 90min that we have to call it quits. The beach is a good 15min from the hotel, so I’ll be damned if we’re going back there before lunch. We pretty easily get the kiddos back into real clothes because no one minds baby penis on the beach. But we’re stuck with no bathrooms or changing stations and I am not about to chafe the shit out of myself, walking with wet thighs. I am very graceful and have Derek hold up a towel while I change in front of a beach full of people. Hahaha. Nope. I flail and stumble around as I try and wiggle into my bra and not fall over. However, he manages to do it all by himself, just holding a towel with one hand. I feel a particular kind of inadequacy watching this.

We’re off to find a vegetarian friendly pintxo place (tapas) that I read about. It turns out that by “vegetarian friendly” they mean mushrooms with mushrooms and not much else. Ain’t no way me or my kids are eating that. So we wander a bit and find a place that has some options for us. I am not a fan of eating standing up, smooshed in with other people, no matter how good the food is. But that seems to be a part of the charm and the local culture so we buck up and do it. It lasts all of two minutes until we give up and realize Mouse has to be contained to keep him from licking every surface and Bug is overwhelmed by the crowded atmosphere and not hungry anyway. So we shovel food in quick and leave. Magically, five minutes later, Bug’s appetite returns when we pass ice cream. Now he’s hungry and all I’m thinking about is my poor skinny, shivering at the beach kid, and do the most responsible thing I can and give him ice cream.

We meander through the streets, soaking up the street music and an abundance of architecture and languages. Then it’s off to the hotel for some quiet time and a quick nap for Mouse.

When we’re ready to go again we take a nice walk to another kick-ass playground. Bug only wants to chuck his airplane glider and Mouse is all about chasing the shit out of poor pigeons, so the playground is a spectacular success?
We follow it up with a dinner of cheese and bread. Really. It’s all they would eat. But on the plus side they ate all the cheese. I mean stinky, strong, rindy cheese that I can’t get most adults to eat. We’ll try again tomorrow and see if I can add french fries to the mix. Off to wrestle them into bed…

I’m up at 530 and sneak (run without looking back) by the waking children to make it out of the hotel by six. I feel awful leaving Derek with the wolverines but wolverines in a hotel has to be better than wolverines in a passport agency. Right? I make it there 95 minutes before they open the doors and I’m the first one there. I get harassed by two different Homeland Security officer who are incredibly aggressive in telling me I can’t go in yet, which I know. I am very aware of what their job is and what they have to protect/guard against but the sheer hostility is incredibly disturbing. After entering, I’m told on no less than four occasions to, “smile,” and am consistently interrupted and condescended to. We’re off to an auspicious start.

But once I’m actually attended to by the passport officials it’s incredibly bureaucratic but friendly and very helpful. I get to sit on plastic chairs and read, so I kinda feel like I’m already on vacation. I’m through by 830 and told that it can be hours to get the passport printed and I can come back to check around 10. It may or may not be done by the time I need to leave for the airport at 1. I head back to the hotel to help Derek with my progeny but I’m informed that seeing me and then saying goodbye again would be worse than the help I can give, so I get to eat breakfast alone and go back to reading. I’m wondering if I should screw things up more often. Other than the massively pressing weight of anxiety, this is pretty pleasant.

I’m back at the passport agency and I get told to, “smile, it can’t be that bad,” one more time. I’m in no mood but because I’m well trained, I giggle and move on. Fuck. About an hour later my number is called and I’m informed that the passport is done, but it’s been misplaced… “probably put in the wrong que or something,” and they’ll go look. What in the holy hell is this? I’m envisioning it being in the mail already and being told that federal law won’t allow them to intercept it, or it’s been mistakenly shredded, or every other horrible scenario I can possibly stress-dream. Ten minutes later I have it in hand with no explanation as to what bureaucratic multiverse it was in for that time, but I don’t actually give a flying fuck, I HAVE A PASSPORT AND WE’LL MAKE OUR FLIGHT!

We load up like Sherpas and actually check in to the flight, make it through security, and get food with only the normal level of hitting, screaming, and shenanigans caused by my tiny people. They’re actually pretty glued to the windows watching the planes and we begin to breathe again for the first time in two days.

Turns out Iberia Air has no priority boarding for children unless you shove your way into the first class line, which of course I do. It’s in everyone’s best interest if we have additional time to settle the monsters and unpack the myriad of equipment and supplies that two little people require for an 8.5hr flight…It’s like bloody Christmas when we travel. I’m so desperate to keep them happy that it’s a constant parade of new things that we’re presenting to them. Inevitably, evey toy is repeatedly dropped under the seats and in the aisles for the duration of the flight. But really, they only want to watch the shit airplane tv anyway, so very much like the way Christmas unfolds in our house.

We eat, get them dressed for bed, and dose them with Dramamine to stave off the pukes and are ready for airplane bed. I opt to sit with the kids to help them sleep. Thus far, Derek’s had them as this plane only has three by three seating so it’s definitely my turn. The Bug is out relatively quickly but Mouse…whew. He’s fighting HARD. He got zero nap today so we’ve entered into the over-tired zone and he’s a mess. After two hours, I finally resort to nursing him to sleep (which we haven’t done in a year) and he’s finally out. It lasts for less than 90 minutes and then I have to be bent over him with a boob in his mouth to keep him even semi-sleeping. Is my back worth it? Yes! Can’t even imagine what 90 minutes of sleep in 24 hours will look like. But even with my lumbar gymnastics and a boob he only manages three hours. I feel awful for everyone. He’s pretty happy though so we feed him blueberries and yogurt and we’ll keep all digits crossed that he’s not a complete disaster for the rest of the day.

We have an 8hr layover in Madrid before our next flight and have booked a “nap room” at a hotel airport to try and get us some sleep, so that’s going to have to do. Our plane arrives at 730 and, much to my amazement, immigration takes less than five minutes! But now we have to find this damn hotel. We wander and get trapped in the basement level (you know, because once you enter an area of the airport you have now signed up to live there) but find a tram to somewhere? It ends up that it actually is where we’re supposed to be. I’m feeling like our luck is beginning to turn. We debate food vs. play for the kids while we wait for 10am to check in to the nap room. We opt for play because, well, I don’t want to bother with McDonalds which may be the only option other than the goldfish/granola bars we brought and I don’t have the energy to figure food out. The kids are happily directing us while we play with them in the airport’s kiddie area. I quicky get bored and want to check my phone. I’ve gotten a text from the airline letting me know what gate our plane’s leaving from. Great? We’ve got seven more hours, but I guess this is helpful? Anyway, I go back to playing with the kids when it dawns on me that maybe the airline knows something I don’t. I check and yep. When we were rebooked we were put on a MUCH earlier flight to San Sebastian without being informed of the switch. We have exactly 10 minutes to get to the fucking gate. We frantically swoop up the kids who are PISSED and wrestle them into strollers as we begin the Home Alone style airport run. We make it just in time. I’m beside myself. I have traveled before, promise. Why it is no longer occurring to me to double check things like passport expiration dates and flight times must be the result of all the other important things I’m worried about, like which Octonaught drives which gup, and what the letter of the day is.

We get to the hotel and immediately get everyone in bed. It’s been 30hrs since Derek or I have slept and the kids are desperate. However, why the fuck being tired when you’re little translates to, “I must wiggle and babble, and do everything in my power to stay awake,” is fucking beyond me. We end up yelling at them for 20minutes to shut the fuck up and close their fucking eyes. (not really the language we used, but a close approximation of where we were at by the end of said 20minutes).

I give us a 2.5 hour nap and rouse everyone at 3pm local time. We’re off to explore the city a bit to get our bearings but the Bug is freaking out because he only wants to stay at the hotel and play with his new toys and/or watch tv. His favorite thing about travel is we have no tv rules. He asks us frequently if we can go to Japan again (his default for any travel) so he can watch more tv. We’re really making an impression on him with the new places he sees….

The afternoon is pretty lovely. We find a wonderful playground between the surfing beach and the hotel with a small grocery on the way that also has an ice cream shop in the vicinity. The kids are finally, truly, happy. After we load them up with sugar for lunch we head to explore the beaches.

We didn’t bring any sand/swim gear as this is just reconnaissance. But the kiddos are not really into just watching the water and other people play in the sand. We quickly realize this is a huge mistake and take them far from the beach.

We find a lovely Italian restaurant that has green noodles and is happy to have the kids. We GORGE. No one has had a real meal in almost two days. I can tell the waitstaff is making mental notes about the appetites of Americans as they wide-eyed bring out dish after dish. Bruce Springstein videos are playing, the kids are happily eating, I’m in pizza/pasta heaven. All is right with the world.

You know that wonderful feeling when your kids sleep, and you get a real night’s rest? Nope? Hahaha, me either! The Bug was up at 330, raring to go. I brought him into our bed, hoping to keep Mouse asleep but he was chatting and throwing himself around so by 430 I gave up and allowed him access to books and toys. That occupied him for exactly five minutes and then he’s on top of me, writhing around again while I try and read. I look down and the little shit is now fast asleep, stretched out on me, ensuring my legs will be numb any minute.

I stay as still as possible for as long as possible, but eventually I need circulation back and I gently move him just to have him snap awake. C’est la vie.

We check the forecast, get ready for breakfast, my passport photo, and the Shedd. We’re headed to the hotel buffet breakfast. On a side note, there is isn’t much I get as excited about than a buffet breakfast. I tackle them with a seriousness that is rarely seen in other avenues of my life. You know, like passports. So I’m pumped. Until we get to the breakfast and the restaurant is closed for a private event. I’m too devastated to think clearly and we head to a regular old breakfast…without any of the copious rain gear I brought. Regular breakfast is disappointing but I’m full of eggs and ready to get my picture taken. I’m quaffed, there’s makeup on and everything. I head outside and it’s pouring. I go to get my raincoat and, of course, it’s not there. I’m super excited about my picture. “Whatever,” is my new motto.

Picture is taken, we have plastic ponchos, the awesome British strollers have their own rain covers, we’re set? Off to the Shedd in the rain. We’re early so we wait outside in the driving rain while our monkeys desperately try and escape their containment chambers.

We get inside and it’s obvious that the Bug has to pee so I’m left with Mouse in the long line. I realize pretty quickly that he’d been messing with the rain cover and managed to let in three gallons of water and is utterly soaked. Last pair of back up clothes are put to use as I try and move two strollers through the line while undressing a one year old, changing a diaper, and trying to wrangle him back into clothing. He’s having none of it and is yelling, “peeni,” desperate to show everyone his penis. Am I embarrassed or amused? I can no longer tell the difference.

But we do end up having a great time. Uncle Sam meets us and we’re early enough that the place is manageable and we get some great fish viewing. Although Mouse is really only interested in the lone duck that’s hanging out with some catfish. “More duck!” Is all he says the rest of the day.

We head back to the hotel where the kids get lunch and Derek sends me to get a massage? Yes! Fuck buffet breakfasts, this is what I really wanted. (I’m still having big feelings about missing that buffet.) Afterwards we have a great visit with Auntie Dana and are out to enjoy a playground after I pick up my drown-rat passport photo. We play “octonauts” which really just entails a three year old yelling at me, telling me we need to go explore and expecting me to understand his game/rule changes intuitively. Eh, he’s having fun so I capitulate to his demands and bust ass around the playground carrying the one year old who is determined not to be left behind. Meanwhile Derek is trying to find a restaurant that accommodates all of our wildly different dietary needs. He finds a place with macaroni and cheese that also serves fish. It means my dinner is leftover toddler macaroni and cheese with a baked potato and chips but I’m secretly pretty pleased. All the carbs. Ok. Maybe that’s my new motto.

We’re back at the hotel where I’m trying to use their business center to print out all the documents I need to get my passport but both of their printers aren’t working. I’m about to freak out. But a very kind staff person gives me their laptop to work on and they retrieve my prints from the underbelly of the hotel. I think I’m set for my trip through bureaucratic hell tomorrow.

I repay my hubby and offer to do bed so he can enjoy the hotel pool/sauna. That was a mistake. Both children DEMAND to have mommy hold their hands while trying to fall asleep and the sucker I am keeps running from one to the other trying to appease them and get them to shut up and go to sleep. Luckily Bug was up at 330 and is so exhausted there’s barely any fight in him. Mouse is determined to have me hold his hand while he plays all sorts of, “I refuse to fall asleep,” games. Bug’s so passed out that Mouse screaming, “mommy,” for 10 minutes after I refuse to indulge his BS doesn’t even stir him. Finally they’re both asleep and I’m going to shower and hope for some sleep before tomorrow. G’night!

We’re doing this again? Traveling to a totally different time zone with two littles? Sure, why the hell not? Life had been too easy lately.

We’re packed: we have passports, toys, food, bathing suits, everything we need. We’re off to Chicago to catch our flight.

Thirty minutes into the drive and Mouse (who’s been a whiny mess all day) just keeps bellowing, “mama, mama!” We make the mistake of thinking he’s being a whiny mess when he’s actually trying to tell us, “listen people, my stomach isn’t right.” Less than a minute later he’s blowing chunks all over himself and the car. We’re off to a stellar start. Fuck. So much puke and the smell isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. First set of backup clothes, gone. I ask Derek if we should turn around and give up. He gives me a death stare and tells me to cool it. He’s right. Oy. We can do this!

I spend the rest of the ride in the backseat, shoved between the carseats, ready with a puke-bag. But the kids seem to be content with pinching me, demanding itsy bitsy spider so they can scream at me to stop singing, hitting me, and general poor to inexcusable behavior. But we’re traveling, so we’re basically in the thunderdome and there are no rules. Derek owes me.

We get to the airport without another incident. So, on the plus side, it looks like it’s motion sickness and we’re not all going to succumb to some horrible illness as we’re traveling across the ocean. The Larsons are back in travel mode, ready to tackle the day. We are impressively efficient and get to the check in counter. I’m all prepared with our passports so I place them on the counter and let the ticket agent do her thing as I search for our travel laundry detergent (we now travel with this and a portable drying line. Lessons have been learned). I hear her politely say, “this passport, blah blah blah.” I stop what I’m doing so I can also gush over the baby passport pictures of the kids. But she’s holding mine up and what I hear instead is, “This passport is expired.” “Excuse me?” I say. “Yeah, this expired in March.” Um. Fuckity fuckfuckfuck. How could I be this dumb, you ask? No idea! I’m constantly telling people I have three remaining brain cells to rub together, but I’m often mistaken as trying to be funny. Nope. I’m simply stupid now and can only address one thought at a time. Passports expiring didn’t even enter my headspace.

Ok. So, now we have to find a hotel in Chicago and hope I can get a passport expedited for our new flight Monday afternoon. I’m going to pretend this was all part of the plan. A weekend in Chicago and a protracted experience with government bureaucracy pre-Spain. If anyone’s keeping count, this is the second time I’ve massively messed up our lives due to passport snafus. Adulting is hard.

Ug. We’ve got a hotel. The kids have been fed cookies and ice cream because, guilt. They’re actually being pretty great about the massive change in plans. You know, because of cookies and ice cream. We also may have let them watch all the tv. It’s 8pm and I’m giving up and going to bed.

Our day begins with the bumblebee song. Since we left Wisconsin Mouse has requested it whenever there’s a moment’s silence. It’s seriously the soundtrack of this vacation. He’s even trying to introduce it to our bedtime nursing routine. I only mention it because I’m hoping it’s like one of those horror movie tropes and by sharing it the curse will transfer to another unlucky soul. Fingers crossed.

Breakfast has copious amounts of sugar and indoor trees with Christmas lights so the children are only minimally destructive. We’re going to attempt the San Francisco MOMA this morning so in retrospect the sugar may have been ill advised. We cross our fingers and are only planning a 60min visit.

FOOLS! God, we’re dumb. We start out in the hopes that the little hyenas can run and that’ll keep those sticky hands occupied. Nope. We get one room in before disaster. They just keep running to the art with the intention of licking/ picking at it. To be fair, I also feel the draw to feel the thick oil paint but my brain’s just developed enough to stop me. Two big toddler tantrum and three little toddler tantrums later and they’re imprisoned in the strollers.

Fifteen minutes after their unfortunate incarceration Mouse is screaming (good naturedly, but still) and will not stop so our adult museum time has come to its end.

We leave downtown on another illegal Lyft ride to the piers so we can enjoy a bay walk while Mouse naps. It’s very sunny/very windy so I’m sweating and freezing all at once and I’m imagining that this is what it feels like when hell freezes over. It’s my kind of weather. Sunscreen and sweaters. The walk is so beautiful. I wish we could do this every day. Bug doesn’t nap anymore but even in the stroller he gets his “quiet time,” and I get such a kick out of listening to him verbalize his internal dialogue. “I am not a nice shark, Bruce. Stay away.” Who the fuck is Bruce? Questions for another day.

We spend the rest of the day at Crissy Field’s East Beach and I think it’s the kid’s favorite place. Bug has all the sand his little heart desires and there are plenty of dogs to entertain Mouse. Bug plays happily, burying himself and throwing sand into the water. Mouse and I play a game called, “give the doggy his space,” the entire time we’re there. It’s his new favorite.

Reluctantly, we head back to the hotel to pack and get dinner. We end up at a pretty great Italian place who knows to serve the children IMMEDIATELY. But after the kids are done we realize that Derek’s fish takes 40 minutes to cook. While we wait I stare daggers at him and sigh audibly. The waiter is on it and asks if he can bring the little twitching monsters ice cream. In the interest of getting to eat our meal in peace I let them cover themselves in the glorious melting mess.

It’s our last night and I’m feeling reflective. Although we’ve spent every waking minute together, I didn’t have a conversation with Derek that wasn’t logistical or about the kids the entire trip. I LOVED the family time, but that was a bummer to realize. I reiterate: we need a vacation nanny. It should come automatically when you order a crib for your hotel room. And that nanny can be in charge of singing Mouse the bumblebee song. 😎

Familiarity breeds comfort when you’re a toddler so this rainy day will be a mix of redos and try agains.

We redo the adult/kid friendly breakfast at the French bistro. And by the way, I don’t think I ever want to eat out without the kids again. Hear me out here. I have to order three different meals to ensure that these squirrelly bastards eat anything. So I end up getting a little bit of eggs, a little bit of yogurt and granola, a little bit of pancakes, and a butt load of fruit every morning. Same with dinner. I never want to be subject to one entree at mealtime again. But maybe without the kids. Hmm. Thoughts for a later date.

We’re off to redo the Exploratorium. It’s raining so we don’t have a ton of options and I really loved this place. The hope is that because he’s subject to new experience paralysis the bug will enjoy himself more fully this time. And we’re right! He’s totally loving it. And without the lure of cool uncle Alan the mouse is willing to explore a bit more instead of just insisting that Alan cart him around and sing itsy bitsy spider to him. All good things must come to an end but we get a good three hours of happiness out of this place.

Off to the Ferry Building Marketplace again. Hopefully my new experience paralysis is over and I can stuff my gullet sufficiently. Cheesy fries and salad and ice cream and chocolate and bread and more cheese. I’m good now.

Today the kids are fighting over everything. They have one water bottle to split. The competitive nature of their relationship ensured that they were wrestling to take their turn. It’s the first day they’re sufficiently hydrated. Whatever works, my young friends.

The weather cleared up so we take a tourist-trap boat into the bay to see the bridge and Alcatraz. It’s cold and windy and the kids are squirming, but it’s really quite nice. Mouse is trying out new strategies to wiggle himself out of my arms. They include biting, hitting, ripping off my glasses, pinching, and spitting. Eventually he gives up and “enjoys” the ride. Bug is actually pretty enthralled with the barges, boats, and bridge. (Battlestar Galactica) As we’re up close with Alcatraz, Bug asks us, “Is this is our hotel?” Oh, kiddo… let’s leave this as our trip advisor review.

Bug’s been hammering us every day to get our asses on a trolly and today’s the day. He’s so excited! Then, predictably, very bored. Public transit is really only cool for the first five minutes. But it saves us a 30min walk to dinner and they’re hungry little hippos so well worth it. We’ve had a formal request to try the Mexican place we had to leave yesterday so we’re back. We’ve waited long enough for the complete menu and everyone’s happy. Until it’s time for the toddler’s 45min poop in the grossest public bathroom of the trip. It’s a genderless bathroom and I think gendered bathrooms are stupid. But…I hate sharing a bathroom with gross boys! There’s pee all over the floor and walls? How? Why? Ew. Boys. Get your penises in line. Or sit the fuck down to pee. You’ll still be a man, I promise. Ug. Rant over. Other than the bathroom we have a really great meal.

On that note…g’night!

We’re up at 6! Everyone had plenty of sleep, so of course we’re all cranky as hell. More meltdowns from adults and children alike.

We’ve got a 70min walk ahead of us to Golden Gate Park so we decide to break it up and get breakfast halfway there. MISTAKE. Feed your children right away. They’re like feral cats – food makes them your friend, otherwise they’re liable to scratch your face off.

The bug’s tantrums are so bad that we have to take turns with him outside the restaurant. While Derek’s out with him the food comes and I’m desperately trying to use all my semaphore knowledge to let him know to come inside, but alas, Derek’s not even looking at me. So, like any reasonable parent, I leave Mouse in the care of a young couple and dash out to get them. (He was chin deep in some pancakes and I was not going to disrupt the only happy child.) The kid didn’t even notice I was gone he was so blissed out on carbs.

We’re back to our walk and things are starting to feel a little sketchy. Later I realize that we’d been skirting the tenderloin. Right before I suggest we turn around I begin to see single women walking and I can assume we’re good. (Hate what this says.) This is a good reminder that we’re in a big city and I need to treat it as such. The whole walk made me really reflective and sad.

We make it to the Koret playground and it’s just as impressive as promised. It’s huge, with tons of unique features and play structures. My kids hang out in three square feet of the sandbox until mouse has consumed his sand quota and we’ve gotta bounce.

Off to the Academy of Sciences! I’m really excited about this place. So it comes as no surprise when the kids take this opportunity to really devolve. They’re both constantly on the verge and only want me to carry them. They’re also pissed that I’d have the gall to hold the other child at the same time. So I’m trying to hold both of my wolverines and keep them from brawling while in my arms. You can imagine the results.

They’re immensely bored with the rainforest exhibit and no butterflies try to land on me so I’m about to chalk this place up as a complete loss until we head downstairs and discover that it’s an aquarium to rival the Shedd. Everything we were missing from the actual aquarium is here and the kids have a complete attitude adjustment. For exactly 20 minutes. Then it’s feeding time.

Dude. These museum cafeterias are insane. They have the shittiest good looking food, and tricksey lines. You stand in one, thinking you can get your food, only to discover after you’ve waited ten minutes in one line that each child’s individual meal components require waiting in additional lines. Every child under the age of ten is screaming their ass off because they’re hungry and their parents are having to navigate a labyrinth of mediocre food options with no end in sight or way to carry it all. Finally we split up and I head to the register with our heat-lamp crusted mac n cheese. I have to set it down to figure out how to add silverware to the tower of shit I’m balancing on the stroller. When I look up, someone’s bussed it. I am defeat. Three employees later I find someone who takes pity on me and replaces the stuff that claims to be macaroni and cheese.

After being in there for thirty plus minutes I look to meet up with Derek outside. But to no avail. The line for the peanut butter and jelly is epic and it takes him even longer to escape the thunderdome. Finally, we sit down and both kids refuse their food in ernest. I can’t blame them, I think, as I pound down the barley edible noodles with gusto. We finally convince them to eat the pbj open faced with banana and begin to settle. It’s no surprise that the building’s fire alarm goes off at this exact moment. As people are flooding out of the building a combination of frustration and fear drive me to load everything/body up and get us all the hell out of there.

We decide to see what a Lyft driver does when confronted with us as passengers and are pleasantly surprised when they seem to care nothing for the law. We make it back to the hotel in time to get Mouse a nap and the bug gets more octonauts. After the respite we’re off to Trader Joe’s and dinner.

Don’t shop hungry. Especially when you have to carry the groceries to a restaurant and then back the mile to your hotel. These practicalities did not occur to me as I’m shoving brie and lemon bars into my basket.

We get to the restaurant. Unload both kids. Both strollers. The backpack. The groceries. Get everyone settled. Start shoving chips in our faces. And they bring us a menu the size of my palm that consists of ceviche and nachos. We’re informed that we’ve come during their, “we’re open, but won’t give you food,” hour. And so now we’re back to frantically trying to find a restaurant the kids will eat at with no luck. So, back to the hotel where it now seems genius that I shopped hungry because we have plenty of brie/bread/tomatoes for hotel picnic dinner.

It’s time for bed. *oy*