Losing It. (Sara)

Yesterday, I hit a low point. At least I hope I did. I stood on a street corner and screamed at my kids for not wanting to take a walk. It's certainly not the only time I've yelled at someone on this trip, but it is the first time I did it publicly, loudly and with a slight frothing at the corners of my mouth. It's official: I need a break from my break.

In everyone's defense, and especially my own, the day before we spent 11 hours in cars and boats moving through remote parts of Laos to our next destination. There was a 2 hour car ride, followed by a boat, followed by another boat (because you have to switch boats at a dam), followed by a 3 hour drive to Luang Prabang. All of this without Wifi, I should add, in case that wasn't obvious. We all handled this journey remarkably well at the time, but what I didn't know was that we were all building up a combustible concoction of angst that added pressure like a soda can every time we hit a pothole on the wildly unkempt roads. So on this day, the mere suggestion of using their legs was enough to trigger the whine-fest that ensued. And that whining was all I needed to release my own pressure bomb in full view of some Lao women who didn't understand what I was saying, but nodded their heads in solidarity.

The first of many hours on the boat

Anyone could have seen it coming. Nobody should spend this much time with other humans. Especially small, mentally underdeveloped humans with limited impulse control and unpredictable reactions who need to eat every 2 hours. The responsibility I feel to parent them is enormous and, on this trip in particular, non-fucking-stop. We eat every meal together, so that's at least 3 times a day, times 3 children, that I say things like "put your napkin in your lap", "chew with your mouth closed", "get your feet off the chair", and "sit down sit down sit down sit down". And that's just eating. Imagine all that needs to be said when walking through crowded markets, across busy streets where traffic rules do not apply, swimming in pools where other people are trying to relax, learning how to interact with each other without leaving bruises, respecting thy parents, and let's not even get started on school work. Somewhere in my mind, I thought that having all of this together time would allow me to give them a crash course in manners and good behavior and churn out 3 perfectly charming and well-behaved little geniuses. In reality, none of them has showered in a week and we literally had to pry a sharp knife out of Max's hands last night as he was trying to saw a table in half. Either I am failing miserably or my expectations are way off. It's likely a combination of the two.

The good news is that I really like my husband. Two months together of nearly constant interaction is a risky move for any marriage, but he's the least annoying person I know and doesn't question me when I say things like "I'm going for a walk. I'll be back Thursday". And so instead I come back a couple of hours later, somewhat mentally refreshed, often with a bag full of retail therapy, and with the will to spend another day with my kids searching for a few minutes of mental solitude while answering questions, issuing directions, and breathing deeply. With 3 weeks left of travel, we might need to throw a little more money at babysitters, massages and wine to rekindle our best selves and power through the inevitable hard parts. There is still magic to be found in each day. I just need to be a little buzzed right now to see it.