london with littles

“Hey look kids, there’s Big Ben. And there’s Parliament.” (If you don’t get the reference, Google it.) That kind of family trip, where kids are dragged from landmark to landmark by their well-meaning but clueless parents, was comedy gold in 1985. On my itinerary? Not so much. Yes, much of this trip was planned with L & M in mind. I want them to fall in love with travel, or at least start to have an awareness of how big, colorful and welcoming the world is. That said, we have no intention of spending two months doing only “kid” activities. The question is: how to balance their needs with ours? How many “tourist” attractions should be skipped in search of something uniquely off the beaten path, and how much is worth doing because it will still be a cool experience or fun memory? (Tourist haunts didn’t get that way by accident!) We’re still figuring it out, but in London it was pretty easy to balance it all. We did some ultra-touristy kid-pleasers:

• The London Eye, which I sat out, was pricey. It also was under-appreciated by my children, who spent most of the 30-minute ride leaning against the door (which had huge ‘do not lean’ signage on it, per my frustrated husband), looking for me down on the ground instead of at the epic landmarks in the distance (including, yes, Big Ben and Parliament).

• The Golden Carousel, near the Eye, was a hit. It went faster than any we’ve ridden in the U.S., the centrifugal force is so strong that that they won’t let kids sit solo on the outermost horses … and no waist belts! Luckily, we all lived. It will be as close to a thrill ride as we’ll get on this trip.

• Trafalgar Square. Big fountains, street performances, those famous lion statues. Touristy, yes, but the kids had a ball running around.

• The Science Museum. We have these closer to home, of course, but trusted advisers urged us to check out London’s. It was amazing. My only regret was that we didn’t have time for the hands-on Wonderlab, where older children can do experiments at the Chemistry Bar and see live shows involving rockets, lighting and other cool things we will NOT be doing at home.

• Chinatown. It was like a cleaner, more well-organized version of NYC’s. The kids ate custard-filled waffle pastries shaped like fish, hot off the griddle, while I salivated over fresh dumplings being filled and pinched shut in the windows of restaurant after restaurant. In nearby Leicester Square there’s a giant M&Ms store and a gargantuan Lego store. We tried to distract the kids as we walked past. The cream puffs helped.

Pretending to survey the skyline?

Watching those crazy tourists climb the lion statues, Trafalgar Square.

Nutella ice cream, chocolate cone. So much yes.

Before they made me hold onto him (which I did, for dear life) when the ride started.

Taking a break from her family for a minute.

If we go off the grid, search for us on some cobbled mews street like this one. If you look closely you can see children playing kickball, safe from traffic and out of their parents’ hair. #dreamhouse

We also did stuff just because Matthew and I enjoy it. We wandered around getting lost in different neighborhoods, looking longingly at mews streets (those iconic cul-de-sacs that were built in the 18th century as stables behind grand mansions) and going to whichever restaurant, pub or food cart seemed to have the biggest (local) crowd. The only “grownup” museum we visited was the Tate Modern, and M & L loved it. So much to see, including nudes of all sorts that scandalized them into quiet submission. It’s huge, wonderful and, like most of London’s museums, it’s FREE. Borough Market, which dates back to 1014 and is just down the road from Shakespeare’s famous Globe Theatre, was a revelation. So. Much. Food. Fresh pasta, porcetta sandwiches, curries, burgers, fresh fruit, cheeses and meats and an epic selection of handmade breads, pastries and chocolates — that was just for starters. We met a family from Israel at a communal table; they shared their moules frites and pizza with us, we shared our fries (er, chips) cooked in beef fat and rosemary with them. And after all that, Max still had room for ice cream in a rainbow cone.

Borough Market’s hall of delights.

Getting into the spirit at the Tate Modern.

At the end of the day, their favorite moments weren’t created by us or a museum or tour guide. A man working for tips made bubbles for kids along the Thames and my little guy spent almost an hour chasing them, determined to … pop them? Catch them? Outrun them? No matter. Don’t stop him now!

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the first 24: life is but a dream

Our first morning, we staggered off our redeye flight at Heathrow. The kids slept better than their parents (being under 4 feet tall has advantages in coach, including the ability to lie horizontally, even if contorted). But we all felt and looked like our own special versions of the walking dead. We almost went to the baggage claim out of habit — have I mentioned that we left NYC with just four carry-ons for the first time ever? I still can barely believe it — but instead caught an Uber to our Airbnb. The one-bedroom flat, a garden-level apartment in a smart row of townhouses in South Kensington, was fine, and the host let us drop our bags off a few hours before check-in. Then we wandered the streets, exploring (aka trying not to fall asleep standing up). Ten minutes in, there was a commotion on the street where we were walking. An officer stopped traffic in either direction and blocked off the small side street we were trying to cross. Locals gathered. Some looked irritated, others curious. One, clearly ready for her close-up with Meghan, Harry and Archie, told me that a royal was about to pass by. Then two carriages rolled through.

A royal mystery: Who WAS in the carriages?

It’s true, Kate & Wills live literally across the street at Kensington Palace. But I have no idea why any titled English person would be riding a carriage with a police (bobby?) escort on this particular morning. Some royals experts in my life assured me it was probably just a test run, and that no one was behind those shuttered doors. Either way, it caught Lulu and Max’s attention. And for an exhausted, hallucinatory moment we all imagined Her Majesty sitting feet away, greeting us with a royal wave from inside and welcoming us to London in her own special way. Peppa and her family meet the Queen when they go to London in an episode of Peppa Pig. So why shouldn’t we? The rest of the day was a blur — we got European SIM cards (the much cheaper alternative to paying for international phone plans), found a small playground in Holland Park where the kids exhausted their last shreds of energy, shopped for groceries (so. many. great. yogurts. that’s all I can say), walked until our feet hurt and ended up in a pub my husband used to frequent when he was an American drama student at the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art. A few blocks away we stopped to see Freddie Mercury’s old house. It sits behind a high wall on a quiet street called Logan Place. I didn’t take a picture, mainly because of the hordes of Italian tourists posing for selfies in front of his door. For months, my 4-year-old son’s favorite song has been “Don’t Stop Me Now.” I wasn’t a big Queen fan but the movie Bohemian Rhapsody (sigh) plus this song — which my kids “discovered” in a Silk soy milk commercial — grew on me with alarming ferocity. It’s become a welcome earworm. I sing it in the shower, hum it on the street, belt it out with Max after picking him up from preschool. Hearing him sing “That’s why they call me Mr. Fahrenheit, traveling at the speed of light…” is one of the more adorable things I’ve experienced. It’s become my secret theme song since the day I left my job, and now it’s the theme song for our trip. It’s not always going to be easy, but there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

Tonight, I'm gonna have myself a real good time
I feel alive
And the world I'll turn it inside out, yeah
I’m floating around in ecstasy
So don't stop me now
Don't stop me
'Cause I'm having a good time, having a good time

Embracing the pub life: tired (some of us more than others), happy and full.

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eat, play, love

After leaving my job as editor-in-chief of a major celebrity weekly magazine, I expected serious withdrawal symptoms. I’d worked high-stress, all-consuming journalism jobs, always on tight deadlines, since the day I graduated from college more than 20 years ago. They suited me. I’m a creature of habit and a lover of security. Anxiety, confusion, cold-turkey night sweats as I detoxed from the sweetly numbing safety of a steady job with its never-ending news cycle, medical benefits, 401k, biweekly paychecks … I tried to prepare. But something funny happened: With no magazine to put out, no staff to manage, no morning rush getting ready for work while packing the kids’ lunches and making sure teeth were brushed, I wasn’t anxious or confused.

Instead of night sweats, I was sleeping soundly. I had time on my hands for the first time I could remember. And instead of worrying about how to spend it, I started doing things I’d never had time for before. I went on school field trips (five in four weeks — a personal best and maybe even a world record?). I watched Tidying Up and KonMari’d the holy hell out of my closets. I cooked, which led to the major revelation that even when I do have enough time, I really DON’T love making dinner for my family. Speaking of Marie Kondo, I’m still not sure about her main exhortation. (Can an exercise bra really spark joy, or is it good enough if it does its job, smells OK, has no holes and isn’t hideous?) But she did get me thinking more generally about joy, which had been in increasingly short supply as my career took me higher and higher on magazine mastheads. I could name a thousand things that sparked frustration, anger, worry and hopelessness, but the ‘joy’ list was much shorter. At the top: my husband and our two children, Lulu and Max. And travel.

I first experienced Europe at age 12 on a road trip through Italy and France with my dad and younger sister. Later I would study in Spain, backpack through Western Europe, fall in love with Mexico, work in Shanghai for a year and explore Southeast Asia several times. But since climbing the corporate ladder and having babies, my vacation days were limited to a few weeks a year. In my new life of funemployment, I had time to think about how I’d never spent more than 7-10 days in any one place with my kids outside our home base of NYC. (Like the trip to Las Terrenas, in the Dominican Republic, pictured above.) I decided to plan a trip. A big one. And I gave myself a deadline, because I need those. I read so much about packing cubes, carry-on luggage and plug adapters that my brain went soft. I went down one Internet rabbit hole after another: Airbnb listings, hotel reviews, regular travel blogs, family travel blogs.

Packing cubes: I now believe the hype.

These four carry-ons, plus a small backpack apiece for me and M, comprise all of our luggage.

A few months later we were on our way to JFK with four carry-on bags and the promise of a summer together that would be full of food, play, exploration and the exhilarating (and frankly terrifying) prospect of months of uninterrupted time together — no school, no camp, no sitters or sports or playdates or work commitments to spin our lives into a whirling windstorm that made all of us, even my 4-year-old, ships passing in the night (and on weekends). It would be tough, it would show my children the world outside our corner of NYC. It would be our summer of rove.

And we’re off!