mostly rome and a small monthly roundup

Stephen and I took the trip of a lifetime this month.

To Rome. With no children. For a week. Will you stop reading if I also tell you that Stephen’s work paid for parts of it because he was there for a conference? And what about the part where we were upgraded to a suite, a corner suite with four windows, two on each wall—the kind of windows you throw open like you’re in a Disney movie?

But before I bombard the internet with the best pictures telling the best parts of this amazing trip, let me also tell you this. The lead-up to this trip was enormous for me, and not in the fun way where the anticipation and planning of a vacation is half the fun. It was more in the are-you-sure-we-should-do-this-I-might-back-out-and-just-let-you-go kind of way.

Let’s be clear that Stephen planned this entire trip—every reservation, every tour, every Covid requirement. There was one night I foolishly asked if I should be helping, and he put me in charge of public transportation. Public transportation?! This is the worst responsibility known to human kind, particularly in a foreign country. Stephen does this thing where he tries to boost my ego by telling me I’m so good at maps and schedules and buses, but I’m no fool. Public transportation is the shortest of all the straws, and I was stuck with it. But did we make it from the airport to our hotel on the correct train? We did.

My other responsibility was packing myself and four children to be away for ten days. One could easily argue this is worse than public transportation. Ten days is a long time. You can be sure this post will not include any pictures of me packing because who really wants to remember all those post-it notes, all those laundry baskets, and all those death stares I gave any child who dare touch my piles.

“I need to order more underwear for the kids. They don’t even have enough underwear to be gone this long! And I need Elderberry syrup. They should be taking lots of Elderberry right now. I don’t want them to get sick at your parents.”

Stephen reminded me that his mom was capable of doing laundry or, the more likely scenario, the kids could go a couple days without underwear. He didn’t comment on the Elderberry syrup. I added some to the Amazon cart.

As I should have expected, each day leading up to the trip brought a new ailment. Children were coughing and spiking middle-of-the-night fevers. I was in the ER getting x-rays of my ankle because I fell walking down the street. That’s all. Just walking down the street. None of these moments were captured on camera either.

There was also an emotional tension that hung around our house as we packed suitcases, and I could tell everyone was nervous in their own way. I pulled up a map of Europe to remember how close Italy is to Ukraine, and I laid in bed imagining worst-case scenarios. My anxiety peaked when a dear friends chimed in with, “I hate to ask this, but I feel like it’s my job. You guys have a will, right?” It was a necessary question but an awful one, too. I don’t have pictures of any of that.

On all accounts this was a perfect trip: the food, the wine, the sites, the weather, and especially the company. We have no horror stories of lost luggage, stolen purses, or debilitating illnesses. Instead, we have a stories about late night scooter rides past the Colosseum and closing down the Vatican Museums with a secruity guard. We witnessed a marriage proposal in the Sistine Chapel, and we laughed our way through an Italian tour of the Colosseum because all the English tours were sold out. We took a crazy amount of food pictures and every time we squeezed our heads together for another selfie, there was a bright blue sky behind us.

But when those marriage experts tell you to get away with your spouse, they don’t mention that the weeks leading up to that getaway will knock you out. Lesson learned: plow through it. Carbonara awaits.

And now, let the bombarding of the best pictures begin.

Our hotel overlooking the ruins of Julius Caesar’s childhood home. Can you find Stephen in the corner window?

And just so there’s evidence that Stephen did indeed have to work while we were there…

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The monthly round up will be minimal this month because, well, Rome.

Reading

This has been on the to-read list for years, so I snagged a paperback copy from the library to read on the plane. It's hard to not adore Eleanor. Her quirkiness is endearing, but as I got to know her pain and the depth of her character, I just loved her. I certainly enjoyed this book, but I will admit, I was expecting to love it even more after all the hype this one got. 4/5 stars

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This book started out very slow for me. I had neutral feelings toward all the characters and so many unanswered questions in regards to their motives and decisions. The second half picked up, and I enjoyed that much more; however, the ending was tied up with such a perfect little bow that it felt artificial and kind of ruined it for me. 2/5 stars

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I really enjoy Jenny's writing and recipes! Her first book, Dinner: A Love Story, is by far the most used cookbook in our home, so I've had this book on my to-read list for a long time. I am totally on board for all things involving food rituals for special occasions and the day-to-day. I enjoyed reading about Jenny's traditions and the way it sparked my own thinking about the many simple food rituals we have in our family. I haven't actually tried any of these recipes yet, but I have three on the menu for next month. (I will report back.) My only complaint with this book (and Dinner: A Love Story) is that there is no recipe index which leaves me flipping and flipping to find what I want or even just browse. 5/5 stars

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Reading with the Darlings

We just discovered the Narwhal and Jelly series. The witty banter reminds me of the Piggy and Elephant books, and I found them to be just delightful.

Bravery has been a long-standing favorite magazine in our home. We are heartbroken that this Misty Copeland issue will be their last. Months ago, Charlotte submitted art work for this issue. We never heard back and assumed she wasn’t chosen. Our whole family was screaming with glee when the magazine arrived at our house, and we saw Charlotte’s art had indeed been chosen!

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Eating

It was difficult to transition from Italian food—although also necessary. It’s almost as if our bodies are not made to be eating pastries, pasta, cheese, and wine for every meal. Bummer.

But I always like getting back to cooking after a vacation, and I went right for some classics. Pork Ragu (wait, more pasta?!) and Chicken Orzo Soup (we used egg noodles) are both from Dinner: A Love Story (mentioned above). We have made dozens of different versions of these veggie subs using whatever veggies we have around, and the secret is to buy day-old Jimmy John’s bread for $0.50 a loaf! And the dressing and slaw on these Hawaiian Chicken Tacos is top-notch.

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Til next time.

Our Life Saving Road Trip Game

Earlier this week I shared with you the nightmare of our worst road trip ever. And although I cannot guarantee foolproof results, I have learned a few ways to save our sanity and even created some good-old-family-fun on those endless highway stretches. 

Living hundreds of miles away from family has forced us to pull out all the creative stops in order to survive hours in the car with our darlings. Motherhood is filled with bright ideas that often flop, more often than I care to admit. But this one - this one is gold. Your holiday travel plans will thank me. 

The Envelope Game:

Saving The Sanity of Road Tripping Parents One Hour at a Time

Before a long road trip, I come up with simple - let me strongly emphasis simple - games and activities. I write each one down and put that slip of paper in an envelope. 

Once we’re in the car, I grab a pencil and write down a time to open each envelope based on the time we’ve left and when we hope to arrive at our destination. I usually plan to open one every thirty minutes(ish), but I will often make the times random like 9:33 or 11:17, just because that seems more fun, right?

It is important to use pencil for two reasons. (1) You can adjust the time as needed. Maybe lunch takes longer than expected or there’s an extra potty stop. Maybe the kids fall asleep (!!!) or one game takes up more time. (2) I reuse the same envelopes each road trip. No sense in making extra trash, yes?

And that’s it. The anticipation of opening each envelope helps quiet the constant stream of questions and neediness that often come from the backseat. Here are some ideas that go in our envelopes, and yes, I often use the same ideas trip after trip after trip. I mean, come one, does Would You Rather ever get old? 

• Would You Rather?

• If You Could? (See picture below.)

• Madlibs

• Everyone pick a favorite song and let’s have a dance party

• Twenty Questions

• Create a holiday or summer bucket list

• Drawing Challenges: Draw a water park, a tree house, a pretend animal, a treasure hunt map, a robot, a silly monster, etc.

• Scavenger Hunts

• ABC Hunt - Work through the alphabet and find each letter out the window (For older kids, find something that starts with each letter.)

• Number Hunt - Same as above, but we look for each number out the window, usually 1-10.

• Audio Books - Give me all the audio books!

• Podcasts - I wrote a blog post about podcasts for kids here.

• Book Time

• Tell Jokes - I check out joke books from the library.

• Where’s Waldo or I Spy books - Again, I check these out from the library but don’t show them until the car ride.

• Child’s Choice - Example: “Andrew gets to pick what we do for the next ten minutes!” Or parent choice!

• Map of the USA - I print out maps of the USA, and we play lots of games with this. We map out our route, color the states we’ve been to (see picture below), find states where our family and friends live, or just color for fun. Older kids might like a license plate game, but our kids aren’t old enough for that yet. 

• My Mommy Sent Me To The Store/Zoo - A classic. “My mommy sent me to the store to buy something that starts with the letter….” For younger kids you can say the color or give any description to help in this simple guessing game. 

• Snacks - This card is the best! The kids quickly learn that SNACK TIME is written in one of the envelopes, so they can’t bug us for snacks every 5 minutes. I will usually write something like “Have a snack and then 30 minutes of quiet time/book baskets.” We use these containers and make hefty snack platters that will keep them happy (quiet) for awhile.

• Road trip bin - This is a plastic bin we bring in the car filled with activities. This bin only comes out on road trips, so none of these games/toys get played with at home. I’m always adding things, and it is a good place to throw cheap, random toys that will excite them for a short time (Happy Meal toys, prize box junk). Here are some favorites activities that have held up and entertained through the years:

Water Wow

Etch A Sketch

Magna Doodle

Melissa and Doug Memory Game

Wikki Stix Playset and Alphabet Cards

Tic-Tac-Toe

Cheap cookie sheets for magnetic letters/numbers or coloring

Highlight Magazine

Notepads and Stickers

Coloring Books/Word Searches

Change times as needed! You can see I used marker my first go-around. Live and learn.

We did NOT play the license plate game as suggested on this map. We just colored states we’ve each been to.

These cheap cookie sheets are great for magnets but also for coloring.

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Well, there you go. The Envelope Game. My greatest offering to the parents of the world. May your holiday travel be a bit more peaceful and dare I say, fun.

chick-fil-a and speedy rewards save the day

The early morning air was already sticky as Stephen loaded the last few bags into the back of the Jeep. I sat inside with Charlotte and Andrew as they finished their breakfast of dried cereal and bananas, mourning the end of another Fourth of July weekend in Atlanta and dreading the eight hour trip home looming in front of us. 

We said the final goodbyes to our dear hosts, Lindsay and Kendall, and waved out the car windows as we pulled away from their townhome. The first leg of our trip was worse than expected. Post holiday traffic was brutal, locking us between cars and campers like a game of Tetris. One-and-a-half year old Andrew was not having it, and every desperate attempt to keep him entertained was met with screams. Four painful hours later, we exited Highway 75 with a Chick-fil-A in sight. Waffle fries were our only hope. 

Stephen and I unfolded ourselves from the car. Stiff legs and restless booties were nothing compared to the emotional exhaustion of being trapped in the car with toddlers. We opened the back doors of the Jeep, unleashing the remains of the past 200 miles. Granola bar wrappers, emptied applesauce pouches, and smashed Goldfish spilled into the parking lot. Stephen began the search for tiny shoes as I unearthed the diaper bag from a pile of books, fire trucks, and blankets. I reached up to the front seat, grabbed our phones, and tucked them into the side pocket of the diaper bag. I again reached up to the front seat for our wallets.

The next few seconds moved in slow motion and double speed all at once. A reel of images raced through my mind, beginning with the unmistakable picture of our wallets - sitting on the small table next to the front door of our friends’ home. I rewatched the entire scene play out in my mind: Me, placing the wallets on the table next to the front door and making a mental note to grab them on the way out. And then me, walking out the front door empty handed. This realization emptied me of breath and froze my stomach in terror. Our wallets were four hours away on a small table in Atlanta. And we were here - in some no name town, too hungry and exhausted to even attempt reasonable problem solving strategies. 

“Our wallets are in Atlanta,” I said to Stephen. 

And as the words came out of my mouth, terror turned to panic. Money. We had no money. No cash. No credit cards. How would we eat? I raced through hideouts where I might have stashed some cash  - pockets, cupholders, glove compartment, diaper bag. All came up empty. Maybe we could make it without food. We still had snacks and four more hours in the car. It would be rough, verging on deadly, but survivable. 

And then the second wave hit harder than the first. Gas. We didn’t have enough gas to get home. 

In crisis situations, particularly ones brought on by my own stupidity, it takes my body and mind a solid twenty minutes to move past the paralyzing anxiety and self-loathing to finally enter a state of problem-solving. So on this particular occasion, my mind was utterly useless as I began rattling off what I deemed our only options.

“I’m going to have to ask someone.”

“You’re gonna do what?” Stephen asked.

“Ask someone. Beg. I’ll find a nice looking family, explain the situation and ask for some money. That should get us enough to share a meal and have some left for gas. Or we need to call Lindsay and Kendall. They’ll get our wallets and meet us somewhere. We probably have enough gas to go back an hour or two.”

“You can’t ask them to do that.” Stephen’s ability to stay calm in crisis situations is annoyingly frustrating. 

“It’s a desperate situation. And we’ll just pay them. We‘ll give them like $100 to bring our wallets. Or…” I began, shooting off other ideas before the previous one even had a chance to settle. “We can just start driving. We’ll run out of gas eventually and call AAA. They can probably just bill us for the gas. Or I’ll call Kendall and get our credit card number. Hopefully the cashier can just type that in to pay for lunch.” 

“That one is worth a try,” Stephen said, still searching for a missing shoe. 

I marched up to the Chick-fil-A counter not exactly sure what words were about to pour from my mouth. It wasn’t until the cashier told me to take a deep breath and calm down that I realized my hands were trembling and my voice was shaking as I explained the situation.

“We’ll get this worked out,” she said. “Let me go talk to my manager.”

I stood at the counter waiting, my eyes darting back and forth from my itching palms to the kitchen where the cashier had disappeared. I felt the eyes of every customer behind me staring as if the back of my skirt were tucked into my underwear. Had they heard my pathetic plea? Were they waiting and wondering how this would end or were they just irritated because I was holding up the line? I wished one of them would just slip me a twenty and end this anxiety. 

The cashier emerged from behind the ice cream machine, and my mind began searching for a plan B. What was my plan B if she said they couldn’t manually enter a credit card number? 

“Lunch is on us today.”

And that’s when I became the weeping woman at the Chick-fil-A counter. And I mean weeping. Like ugly cry, could barely speak, weeping. I whispered the words “thank you,” over and over again, until she finally had to cut me off and ask for my order. 

Five minutes later the kids were settled into their Chick-fil-A routine: dunk a nugget into Chick-fil-A sauce, lick off the sauce, repeat. (It’s disgusting, but you can’t blame them.) At this point, Stephen was already knee deep into a solution for our quarter tank of gas. I was impressed with his creative problem solving, but his plan had a lot of moving parts, and it seemed unlikely they would all fall into place. 

Exactly ten years ago, Stephen and I spent a summer day at Six Flags. We stopped at a Speedway on our way home for gas and slushies. As the Speedway cashier rang up our slushies, he asked if I had a Speedy Rewards card. I did not, and I wasn’t interested until he told me that for every five slushies I bought, I got one free. Sold. One form later, and I was out of there with my Speedy Reward card and 40% of the way to a free slushie. Stephen and I have continued to use that card whenever we pump gas at a Speedway and collect “reward points.” Years ago we looked online to see what our reward points could buy and laughed as we learned that even after years of using the card, we only had enough points for a free two-liter. “Maybe by retirement, we’ll have earned enough that I can take you on a date for Speedway hot dogs and two liters,” Stephen joked.

And here we were, nowhere near retirement, eating a free lunch at a Chick-fil-A somewhere in Tennessee and Stephen was downloading the Speedway app, hoping we had enough points for more than just hot dogs and two liters. He was hoping we’d earned enough for some free gas.

“Babe, there is no way,” I told him, stepping seamlessly into my role of dream crusher. 

“Probably not. But I don’t have any other ideas.” He spent the next five minutes attempting various usernames and passwords because apparently back in 2006, we had set up an account. The kids were in the playland, and I sat staring at Stephen’s face as his finger scrolled the screen, watching for any sign in his eyes that this might work. 

“Say something. What are you finding?”

“Wait….wait.….” He looked up at me. “We have enough points for a $25 gas card.”

I nearly jumped out of my seat before the next moving part of this plan sunk in. “There’s no way we can just walk into a Speedway and claim that. We probably have to send away for it.” 

Stephen’s attention was back to his phone, and I knew he was only half listening to me. “There’s a Speedway two exits from here.”

“But did you hear what I said?” 

“Yeah, but you’ll just have to explain the situation. Be charming and desperate and convince them to let us use it now. Start weeping again. It worked here,” he said with a smile. I opened my mouth to defend my weeping, but he cut me off before I could start. “I’m serious. You got us free lunch. You can get us this gas card. Customer service people love you.”

This is true. I have a long, successful track record with customer service, and have mastered the art of getting what I need with a balance of irritating persistence and genuine kindness. (Remind me to tell you about the time I returned a six-year-old blender and walked out of the store with a brand new one, never having even opened my wallet.) Stephen, on the other hand, loses his patience too quickly with customer service and always ending up asking to talk to a manager. I knew we were doomed if he walked into that Speedway. 

“Pray for me. And don’t stop praying until I come back,” I told Stephen as I closed the car door and walked toward the Speedway entrance, armed with reward points, a desperate plea, and a good ugly cry should the need arise. 

“Hi there,” I said to the lady behind the counter. “Well, I’m in a bit of a problematic situation, and I’m really hoping you’ll be able to help me.” My sob story came pouring out. No one else was in the store, so unlike at Chick-fil-A, I felt no rush to condense any details. I unleashed it all: Fourth of July in Atlanta, the miserable car ride, free lunch at Chick-fil-A, Six Flags, slushies, the Speedy Reward points. And then, my plea. “Is there any way I can claim this gas card right now and use it today so we can get home?”

“Yep,” she said. “Can I have your phone?”

Before I could process what was happening, she grabbed a gas card from the turnstyle on the counter, scanned it, and then scanned Stephen’s phone. I watched the neon green numbers appear on the cash register screen, and a $25.00 total canceled out to $0.00. She handed me the card, and I wondered if it would be appropriate to walk behind the counter to hug her. 

Walking out of that gas station with the gift card in hand was one of the prouder moments of my life. Just between you and me, I doubt my long-winded tale of woe had anything to do with the successful ending, but I’d like to think my performance sealed the deal. We still felt it wise to drive home in the far right lane, cruise control set to just 5 miles per hour faster than the speed limit. 

I didn’t know how well my tearful story would go over with a highway patrolman. 

P.S. The free lunch and free gas didn’t seem so free when we had to pay $80 to overnight our wallets from Atlanta the next day. 

solo writing weekend

Before having children, I don’t think I would have ever chosen a weekend away by myself. Girlfriend getaway? Sure. Roadtrip with Stephen? Absolutely. Mother-daughter shopping weekend? Oh yes.

But alone? Who would I talk to? What would I do? Are you even allowed to eat in a restaurant by yourself?

Add it to the long list of how seven years and three kids can make all the difference.

I had my first solo weekend in September of 2014. I was 36 weeks pregnant with my second baby, and Stephen had just graduated with his doctorate after a six-year program. Our families sat around our living room as Stephen opened a few small gifts to celebrate his great accomplishment.  Stephen then turned the attention to me, and with a baller husband-of-the-year move, he began acknowledging the sacrifices I had made in order for him to complete this degree. He thanked me and passed me a large envelope. Inside were the reservation papers for a solo weekend away in Indianapolis.

Oh, that guy.

I spent two night in the Omni Hotel and filled my weekend with reading, writing, shopping, and a prenatal massage. There was a fair amount of sleeping in, an even greater amount of ice cream, and as it turns out, you can in fact eat in a restaurant all by yourself. It was an indulgent weekend away, and I returned home rested, well fed, and with a few new nursing tops

Earlier this month I again went on a solo weekend, but with a different purpose. Years ago I started a writing project that just keeps lingering, and I wanted a weekend away to write, work, and finally start down the homestretch of this project. I made three writing goals for 2019:

1. Launch my new blog. Done!

2. Take a writing course. Done!

3. Go on a weekend writing retreat. Done!

Three out of three and it isn’t even June, yet. Wow. Does this mean I need to make more goals?

There were a few moments leading up to my weekend away that caused brief panic. The time seemed like such a gift, and I didn’t want to mess it up. Looking back, here are my two nuggets of wisdom that really helped make the weekend a success.

Finding the perfect place

I opted for an AirBnB over a hotel because I wanted something cozy and the ability to “cook” my own food. When I say cook, I mean heat up a Trader Joe’s frozen pizza. The idea of a Bed and Breakfast sounded dreamy, but all my google searches led me to lace curtains and night stands with doilies. Not the creative inspiration I was hoping for.

I finally stumbled upon this tiny house in Kentucky, and it was perfect.

I’m fascinated by tiny homes, and have been known to get sucked into the abyss of YouTube when I start watching tiny home tour videos. A spacious work area was a must, and this place had a great counter right in front of the window where I spread out notebooks, PaperMate flair pens, and books. As an added tiny house bonus, the bed folded out of the wall and a giant projector dropped from the ceiling. It was pretty legit.

My tiny house was almost two hours away. Because I was going to be gone two nights, I didn’t mind the commute. Driving in a car by myself has become a luxury, and I filled my time with equal parts silence and podcasts. I do some of my best thinking in the car, and I often need to talk through ideas out loud to myself in the form of pretend conversations; I never get very far with this when I try it in my living room.

Making plans and specific goals

I knew I needed to spend time planning both my big goals and tiny details before the weekend arrived. If I didn’t, the sound of silence would likely provoke shock and rather than writing, I would spend the weekend in bed, binging on Netflix and popcorn. On the other hand, I could also see myself with a list of twenty-five things to accomplish, scattered, overworked, and leaving more exhausted than I came.

In order to avoid either extreme, I made plans, goals, and I wrote them all down.

I posted this sign on the window in front of me to keep me focused. It is easy to think of a dozen other tasks I could be working on, but these four were the weekend goals. They provided me a variety of work from formatting a cookbook to revising old essays to dumping out first drafts from intriguing prompts I’d tucked away. Having this variety kept me from getting burnt out on one task.

But let’s be real. I cannot have a weekend away without plans for doing nothing, so I also packed nail polish, face masks, books, candles, and good food. I went as far as to map out each meal because I wanted to eat well but didn’t want to spend my precious time reading online reviews as I scrambled to find somewhere for dinner. Knowing that I would introvert pretty hard the majority of the weekend, I brought breakfast, dinner, and snacks, but I did venture out for a couple hours on Saturday afternoon to a cafe and bookstore where I dined as the mysterious lone lady scribbling voraciously in a notebook.

I had given myself permission to take an afternoon nap, but as it turned out, I didn’t need it. After 8 hours of sleep and sitting in a chair all morning, my body wasn’t even tired come 2:00. Such a strange phenomenon.

I made solid progress on each of my writing goals, and I came home both energized and rested. At the risk of sounding too hermit-like, I loved spending time with myself. When I’m alone, I remember who I am apart from motherhood, and that my brain still has capacity for creativity beyond unicorn crafts. I can focus on a single task for longer than five minutes, and I still have problem solving skills beyond who gets to sit in the middle stool.

On the two hour drive home, my mind was racing with ideas and next steps. It’s been a few weeks since my retreat, and truth be told, I’ve made little progress toward some of those next steps. I could easily get down on myself for that, but that won’t do me any good.

Instead, I’m still living off the high of all I accomplished and the stillness that allowed me time to think.

Oh, and I’m also planning for another retreat in the fall.

Bonus: My request for a later checkout was granted, and I used every quiet minute of it!

doing our mom thing: tapas and sangria style

It's been over a year since Stephen started talking about the collaborative work he was doing with a university in Mallorca, a small island floating off the coast of Spain in the Mediterranean Sea. 

"Maybe they'll invite me to come, and we can all go to Spain," he casually mentioned.

I probably nodded, only half listening, with no expectations of such an outlandish thought coming to fruition. Stephen tends to casually mention vacations on a semi-regular basis, most of which are to destinations requiring four layovers and a six time zone adjustment. I've learned to smile, nod, and wait for the plan to collapse on its own.

I guess I figured if this university did invite him, I wouldn't have the guts to drag two toddlers along and would end up staying home. I never thought I'd actually go to Spain. Truthfully, I don't even remember agreeing to go. I think Stephen swept in during a frantic mama moment when I was just saying "Yeah, sure," to anything.

Even after the tickets were purchased, my enthusiasm remained minimal.

I didn't look at one travel book. I read nothing online. I didn't even get a pedicure. Instead, my thoughts were consumed with the hours I would be held captive in an airplane, forced to restrain a one-year-old boy whom the airline deemed a "lap child."

I suppose "thrashing, wailing, running down the aisle child" wouldn't fit on the ticket.

I'll spare you the details of the meltdowns and tears, mostly from me, and just say I wouldn't wish eleven hours on three flights with a one-year-old on my worst enemy. But indeed, we're here. We made it, and whenever I remember I have to do it again in less than a week, I drink another glass of sangria and consider the likelihood of a local school needing an English-speaking literacy coach. Might be worth investigating.

*****

Whenever I am fortunate enough to find myself on the other side of the world, I am smacked in the face by my own smallness. Our first week in Mallorca was spent just blocks from the beach, our toes washed over by the Mediterranean Sea seven days in a row. The power of salt water far as my eyes can see reminds me that my life is such a speck on this great earth.

I need to feel like a grain of sand every so often.

Somehow the day in and day out of routine life leaves me drowning in myself - my town, my neighborhood, my home, my head, my comfort. I start thinking I'm it.  But watching a small, unfamiliar part of the world carry on its life brings me down to size.

On this trip, my eyes have been drawn to moms. There is something so grounding about seeing moms on the other side of the world doing their mom thing, especially because it looks so much like my mom thing.

We spent the morning walking around a small town filled with narrow streets, cute stores, and cafés galore. I spotted a mom walking the perimeter of a café, bouncing her fussy baby and pointing out each passing car. 

How many mothers have missed meals because we were entertaining a child who had no interest in sitting down for a leisurely lunch?

The other night we piled our two darlings into car seats that followed us nearly 5,000 miles across the Atlantic and into the backseat of a Mercedes Benz. This is what happens when the hubby is in charge of booking the rental car. We ventured into Palma, the capital city with just the right mix of urban flare, European charm, and historical beauty, including a massive 13th century Gothic cathedral overlooking the harbor. 

With the help of Google Maps, we wound our way through busy city streets and narrow cobblestone alleys to find a tapas restaurant. There was an outdoor seating area right in the midst of a busy square - two requirements when traveling with children. The meal was fantastic. Round one - quiche, meatballs, and a meaty, cheesy hot baguette. Round two - another meaty, cheesy hot baguette, bacon wrapped dates, mushrooms, and chorizo.

Our children's restaurant etiquette maxed out about the same time they devoured the last two bacon wrapped dates. Stephen hung back to pay the check, and I swept the darlings out before Andrew crawled under the table next to us, again. There was another family with three young children running circles in the plaza. Charlotte and Andrew quickly  joined, and I exchanged smiles with their mom as she sat on a bench, undoubtedly just as relieved as me for a few moments of easy entertainment - children squealing with delight, chasing one another with no hope of actually catching someone. 

It was precious. Too precious to last more than a moment. One of the girls fell, crying out in pain loud enough to catch the attention of nearby diners. She ran to her mom who responded with compassion and pulled a Band-Aid from her purse. But I could read her mom sigh. "Calm yourself. It's only a small scratch, and you're interrupting dinner for all of these people." 

How many mothers have pulled Band-Aids from our purses, comforting a screaming child while really thinking, "Oh good grief. Toughen up and quiet down."

We ended our night at a park right in the middle of the city. It was nearing 9:00, but you'd never know by the masses of children still running wild. I stood next to our stroller watching Charlotte climb and Andrew spin a steering wheel. On the bench next to me was a young mom, cradling her newborn who was swaddled tightly and still wrinkly.  The mom was pretty, wearing a black dress with small white polka dots and cinched around the waist. Her shoulder length hair was strawberry blond, and her bright red lipstick told me she surely needed a night out of the house. I couldn't help but wonder if earlier today she was losing her mind.  Did she pass the child off to dad, announce that tonight they were getting out of the house, and go take her first shower in days, perhaps weeks? I bet she actually dried her hair before pulling out that favorite lipstick with no care for where they actually went tonight.

And here she was, on a park bench, struggling to get her little one to nurse. She spoke softly in a language I didn't understand, perhaps German. I decided it couldn't be her first child; new moms aren't confident enough to nurse a newborn in a park (well, maybe in Europe they are). Sure enough, moments later, a toddler came running to her leg, followed by dad, who slipped his arm around mom, peeking down at the baby.

How many mothers have thrown on a cute dress and sassy lipstick just to sit on a park bench simply because we had to get out of that house?

I love moms. 

We're all just doing our mom thing, even here, on this tiny island I'd never heard of until a year ago. In the midst of unfamiliar, surrounded by street signs I can't read, outlets I can't use, and people eating ham and cheese sandwiches at ten in the morning, I can still see the familiarity of motherhood.

I don't understand a word you're saying to your child, but I know your purse is filled with snacks and Band-Aides.

I can't begin to guess what you make your child for lunch each day, but I know you'd love to sit in a restaurant and enjoy your entire meal without a child to entertain.

I don't know what television shows play on repeat in your house, but I know you find yourself humming cartoon theme songs while washing dishes.

I don't know the books you read each night, but I know you sneak in to watch your child sleep even when you're exhausted. 

I don't know when your child will start preschool in this country, but I know you want your child to grow to be gracious, thankful, and kind, but you're also worried what an unkind world might throw their way.

I know there are days you love doing your mom thing and days you feel like a monkey could be doing a better job than you. 

I know because I feel it - in my town, my neighborhood, my house on the other side of the world. I'm just doing my mom thing, too. But maybe I need more tapas and sangria to get me through the day.