Two under Two and Traveling!! Sort of…

So we set off for Mexico City!

Because apparently traveling internationally with two children under two wasn’t enough of a challenge, I decided to roll the dice and book American Airlines once again. It was the quickest and only Oneworld route.

Huge mistake.

Our adventure actually started off suspiciously well. We had a great dinner and brief 19-hour visit with the Ecks, where I was immediately forced to eat my own words. I had confidently declared that there was absolutely no way all of our luggage, car seats, stroller, children, and adults were fitting into one vehicle. Two cars would obviously be required. After some advanced-level automotive Tetris in their driveway, everything and everyone fit.

Fine. I was wrong.

Joni had an absolute blast playing during our short visit, and then at 3:45 a.m. we loaded up for the airport for our 6:00 a.m. flight. Thus officially began our first major trip with two under two.

The girls were champs. The adults were tired but optimistic. The roads were completely empty. And then, insultingly, we absolutely flew through check-in and security. Emily’s eyes were screaming, I told you so.

She had made me leave WAY later than I was comfortable with. Apparently she thinks arriving three hours early for a domestic flight is “excessive.” I think it’s called being prudent. I prefer spending several peaceful hours inside an airport over experiencing even six consecutive seconds of uncertainty.

But fine. She was right, again...

Things were going suspiciously well. We even got upgraded to first class for the flight to Phoenix! And that is precisely when the Rosenfeld Travel Curse remembered we existed.

Boarding started late. Then we sat on the plane. And sat. And sat. For almost two hours. With two infants…

Eventually, they announced a maintenance issue. Two hours sitting inside a stationary airplane with children under two sounds like something the CIA might have experimented with before deciding it violated international law. Somehow, though, the girls did great.

And, frankly, so did their parents.

Unfortunately, our leisurely two-hour tour of the tarmac meant there was absolutely no chance of making our one-hour connection in Phoenix.

So off the plane we went and into the long, arduous process of rebooking four people while simultaneously trying to locate our gate-checked stroller and car seat, which had apparently entered the American Airlines Witness Protection Program. Another two hours passed. Eventually, they found them. Thank God!

Our glamorous first-class lifestyle was also over. We were now flying to Texas in economy, where Emily was assigned a middle seat for the four-hour flight. On one side was a very skinny gentleman by the window. On the other was a woman requiring two seatbelt extenders with a strict sidearms-up policy.

Emily, an infant, and approximately four inches of personal space were sandwiched in between. By this point, the girls had already been traveling for about eight hours. And yet… it actually wasn’t as bad as you’d expect. Joni required approximately 14,000 individual forms of entertainment but remained an absolute champ. Evie screamed for only about 7% of the flight, which, when traveling with a four-month-old, I believe qualifies you for some sort of parenting award. Emily was Wonder Mom.

I mostly provided moral support and snacks. Then, somewhere over America, we remembered one small detail: We still had another connection. Our layover in Texas was only about an hour. Naturally, the incoming flight was late.

Then unloading luggage took forever.

Then taxiing took forever.

So we landed in Texas already knowing the truth:

We had missed our connecting flight.

Again.😡🤯

The girls had now been traveling for more than 13 hours. It was around 8 p.m. We were stranded in Texas. Everyone on the airplane, including us, seemed genuinely delighted to finally get some physical separation from our adorable little monsters.

Bleary-eyed and running on something considerably less potent than fumes, Emily and I stumbled to the airline counter and attempted to negotiate a hotel and a flight for the next morning.

This is when we discovered a few additional details. We did not have our luggage. We had two infants. It was 98 degrees outside. Nobody had eaten dinner. And Joni had just used her last diaper….

There are moments in a marriage when no words are necessary. You simply look into the eyes of the person you love—the person with whom you have built a life, traveled the world, created two beautiful children….and you communicate on a deeper spiritual plane.

Emily and I looked at each other.

“Fuck it.” We were camping.

Not real camping, obviously. Hotel camping. Which is arguably more difficult because when actual camping you generally remember to bring supplies. We improvised.

Dinner for Joni involved a microwaved burrito surgically divided using wooden coffee stir sticks because apparently the hotel possessed neither forks nor knives.

One child went into the bathtub.

The other got her own queen-sized bed for the first time because there were no cribs available.

We ordered diapers by Uber.

Then we ordered the trashiest food we could find for our own dinner because, at this point, vegetables felt disrespectful to everything we had endured.

And through all of it, Joni won the gold medal for the day.

Thirteen-plus hours of travel. Multiple airports. Multiple airplanes. Delays. Missed connections. Lost-and-found stroller adventures. No luggage. No routine. No crib. Parents visibly descending into madness.

And she just rolled with it.

When I finally put her into the enormous hotel bed and lay down beside her, she looked around at her strange new surroundings for a few minutes and then simply accepted that this was apparently her life now.

Ten minutes later, she was asleep.

Evie continued fighting sleep with the determination of a tiny, angry union organizer, but eventually exhaustion began winning that battle too.

Finally, Emily and I sat there outside (because we didn’t want to risk waking up the kids) our luggage-free Texas hotel room, surrounded by Uber-delivered diapers, burrito remnants, coffee stir sticks, and two miraculously surviving children.

We stared at each other. Slightly manic. Completely exhausted. And somehow still married.

Then we crashed.

Mexico City remained somewhere in the distance.

But Day One of traveling with two under two was officially complete.

Current score:

Joni: 10/10

Evie: 8/10

Emily: 12/10

Dad: Still believes arriving three hours early would have prevented all of this

American Airlines: We’ll discuss this later. Also, sorry no pictures… but nothing to photo. 

Girl Dad, Part III: We Have Sleep!

I feel like my last update from the world of two-under-two was written from somewhere deep inside the newborn trenches. I was exhausted, frustrated, and beginning to wonder if Evie had been sent specifically to test my commitment to this whole parenting thing. Well, I am thrilled to report that we have experienced a dramatic change in management.

EVE IS SLEEPING THROUGH THE NIGHT!!

I don’t want to brag too loudly because I’m convinced babies can sense parental confidence and immediately retaliate, but this has been life-changing. Apparently getting several consecutive hours of sleep transforms you from a hollow shell of a human being back into someone who actually enjoys his children. Who knew? 

And it’s not just the sleep. Our little snorter has finally started interacting with the world. She’s giving us tiny smiles, watching us with those big eyes, and actually responding when I talk to her. I’m mastering the art of baby talk. Best of all, I can now occasionally set her down for longer than two minutes without her reacting as though I’ve abandoned her at a highway rest stop. She’s settling into semi-predictable routines, which after the last few months feels roughly equivalent to having successfully broken a wild horse.

Now, I should acknowledge that this miraculous turnaround has suspiciously coincided with Vidah taking over care of both girls during the day. Correlation? Causation? I have no interest in investigating further. I’m sleeping and happy. Let’s not ruin a good thing with speculation.

Meanwhile, Joni has somehow reached peak cuteness, although I’ve said that before and she keeps proving me wrong. Every day brings new words, new expressions, and new discoveries. She’s endlessly curious and has enough energy to power a small municipality. She wanders around investigating everything, talking constantly, and charming virtually every human being she encounters.  Hanging out with her has become one of my favorite things to do. We’re past the stage where I’m simply keeping a baby alive and into this wonderful period where I get to experience the world alongside a tiny, hilarious person who thinks nearly everything is amazing. And she still remains the undefeated sleeping champion of the household. 

We’ve also started developing our own little routines. Joni and I go swimming every week, which has quickly become something I look forward to. Watching her confidence in the water grow has been incredibly fun, even if “swimming” currently consists mostly of splashing, climbing on me, and attempting things with absolutely no appreciation for personal safety.

And now I’ve started reading to Evie before bed. She’s obviously not offering much literary criticism yet, but I love having that little ritual with her. It’s something simple that’s just ours, and I’m looking forward to watching it evolve as she gets older, from staring blankly at the pages, to grabbing the book, to eventually demanding that I read the same story seventeen consecutive times.

The strangest thing about having two kids this close together is how simultaneously familiar and completely different it feels. With Joni, everything was new. Every stage felt monumental because we’d never experienced it before. With Evie, I know what’s coming, which unfortunately made the difficult newborn stage feel less magical and considerably more exhausting. But now I’m remembering the other side of that equation: I also know how much fun is coming.

The smiles become laughs. The staring becomes recognition. The little potato starts developing opinions and personality. Eventually she’ll be toddling around behind her big sister, and I have a feeling the two of them are going to be absolute trouble together.

For now, though, I’m enjoying this little parenting ceasefire. One daughter is at peak cuteness, the other has finally decided sleep isn’t the enemy, and for the first time in a while I feel like I’ve come up for air. 

Girl Dad, Part III is going considerably better.

Girl Dad, Part II

It’s hard to believe it’s already been two months since Evie was born. Overall, I still love being a dad. It’s the most rewarding role I’ve ever had, but I won’t pretend it isn’t exhausting.

Joni continues to be an absolute rockstar. She sleeps like a champion, adapts to whatever schedule we throw at her, and has entered what I think is her cutest phase yet. She’s walking everywhere now and talking up a storm. She still has an uncanny ability to charm complete strangers, and it seems like every day she picks up another word or phrase. Right now her favorites are “no”, which somehow comes out sounding exactly like Kevin Hart, and “cheese” and “please,” which she pronounces with the same emphatic little staccato rhythm. She toddles through life with complete confidence and reckless abandon, blissfully unaware that gravity is still undefeated. My favorite part of this stage, though, is that we’re finally beginning to communicate. She’s becoming less of a baby and more of a tiny person with her own thoughts, opinions, and an emerging sense of humor. Watching her personality unfold has been one of the greatest joys of my life.

Evie, on the other hand, is currently in what I would call my least favorite stage of infancy. The first time around, sleepless nights felt novel. Every new challenge was just another milestone of becoming a parent. The second time through, the novelty has worn off. Sleep deprivation isn’t exciting anymore; it’s simply exhausting. Evie also seems to need much more physical contact than Joni ever did. If one of us isn’t holding her, she’s usually working her way through increasingly urgent levels of protest until someone picks her up. She’s still incredibly cute, full of those wonderful little newborn stretches, squeaks, and expressions that somehow make you forget the previous night’s lack of sleep. But both Emily and I are eagerly awaiting a little more routine, especially if that routine involves sleeping through the night.

Having two children has also changed the logistics of…well…everything. The amount of equipment required to leave the house is staggering. Diaper bags, bottles, extra clothes, strollers, baby carriers, toys, blankets, it feels like we’re moving every time we leave the driveway. On our recent trip we even had to upgrade our rental car to a full-size SUV just to fit three adults, two kids, and the mountain of gear that apparently accompanies them. Traveling is unquestionably harder than it was with one child, although both girls have actually handled it remarkably well. I suspect the real challenges are still ahead of us, but for now I’m holding onto the hope that a little carefully rationed screen time on airplanes will prove to be a worthwhile investment.

I’ve also noticed something about myself this summer that I haven’t entirely figured out. I’m more frustrated than I remember being the first time around. It’s easy to assume that frustration comes from having two kids instead of one, but I don’t actually think that’s true. Joni has been wonderful, and while Evie certainly requires more attention, I don’t think she’s the whole story either.

Life outside of parenting has been unusually heavy. We’re dealing with the looming uncertainty of our home’s flooding issues, the boat has developed its own list of problems, work has been demanding, and it feels like there’s always another problem waiting around the corner. Individually, none of those things seem overwhelming. Together, they create a kind of background weight that I’m carrying every day. I find myself so focused on solving today’s problems that it’s difficult to think about tomorrow.

Emily, understandably, wants to dream about the future. She wants to plan trips, projects, and what’s next for our family. I want those things too. Lately, though, I’ve found myself struggling just to keep up with the present, and that’s created some tension between us. I don’t think either of us is wrong, we’re simply standing in different places emotionally right now.

Writing this down has reminded me that seasons don’t last forever. Parenting changes. Babies sleep. Problems get solved. Floods recede. Boats get repaired. Children grow. I know this difficult stretch is temporary, even if it doesn’t always feel that way in the middle of another sleepless night.

My hope is that by the end of the summer I’ll read this entry, smile a little, and realize that this was simply another season of life that we made it through together.

Homeward Bound

Our final full day of the trip began with another rough night courtesy of Evie. She had been sleeping better lately, so the regression was a bit of a surprise. Unfortunately, the accumulated lack of sleep had finally caught up with me. I woke with one of those blinding headaches that only seems to come from too many interrupted nights, a combination of exhaustion and irritability that makes even simple tasks feel monumental.

Thankfully, Southeast Alaska had other plans. The weather was gorgeous, and there was no way we were going to waste one of those rare sunny days indoors.

That morning the entire family headed down to Settler’s Cove for a leisurely walk along the beach. Low tide had transformed the shoreline into a giant natural playground.  Joni eagerly wandered from tide pool to tide pool, carefully stepping across seaweed-covered rocks while the Hogan cousins overturned stones to reveal tiny crabs, sea stars, anemones, and all sorts of little creatures hiding beneath. Every discovery was met with wide eyes and another chorus of giggling. Watching the wonder on her face reminded me just how magical these places are through the eyes of a one-and-a-half-year-old. It’s easy to forget how incredible a simple tide pool can be until you’re seeing one for the very first time again. 

Back at the house we gathered around the television for yet another unforgettable World Cup match. Argentina found themselves trailing Egypt by two goals before staging one of the most remarkable comebacks of the tournament. Three late goals completely flipped the game on its head, and by the final whistle the room had erupted into cheers and disbelief.

After an afternoon siesta we made one final excursion to Ward Lake. Few places are more nostalgic for me than that trail. I grew up swimming, hiking, and spending countless summer days around the lake, and every visit seems to unlock another forgotten memory.  It was fun walking those familiar paths while now carrying my own daughters, imagining them making memories in the very same place.

On the drive home we made our annual stop at Totem Bight Park. It’s become something of a family tradition to take photos inside the clan house and among the towering totem poles.  Joni wandered through the site with her usual curiosity, craning her neck toward the massive carvings with a mixture of fascination and bewilderment. To her they must have seemed impossibly tall, colorful giants standing watch over the forest. 

That evening we celebrated my mom’s birthday together. Before dessert, Miche continued one of my favorite family traditions by asking everyone to share something they appreciated about Mom. One by one, each of us reflected on the ways she has shaped our lives and our family. By the end there were plenty of tears, including Mom’s, and more than a few misty eyes around the table.  I always appreciate that Miche insists we slow down long enough to say those things out loud. We often assume the people we love know how we feel, but hearing those words spoken is something entirely different. It’s meaningful, and it’s a tradition I hope our own girls grow up with someday.

The following morning arrived much too quickly. The house slowly transformed from a bustling family gathering back into organized chaos as suitcases were zipped, leftover food was divided, and everyone tried to squeeze in a few last conversations before leaving. Eventually the time came for hugs, tearful goodbyes, and promises to do it all again soon.

Joni handled the flight home like a seasoned traveler. Somewhere along the way, flying with two little girls has become less intimidating and more routine, a sentence I never imagined I’d write. By the time we landed, unpacked, and finally made it through our own front door, exhaustion caught up with all of us. We collapsed into bed grateful for the quiet, but already reminiscing about the previous two weeks.