Due to a thrilling bout of stomach flu the day we were to fly to Denmark for the Joyous Return, Espen and Tobias were flying solo and I was recovering. Four days later, I joined them, Ready For Fun, and almost, almost better.
The days that followed were a flurry of Friend Reunions, Runs to the Playground and sashaying across Denmark to any number of family functions, meet ups and forays into Scandinavian Easter festivities.
In the midst of the glorious social festivities, we were changing accommodations about as rapidly. Which, when you're a teenager or a couple with no kids, is exciting. Sure it's a bit stressful packing up all your crap every couple of days, but when you're just taking care of you, it's totally doable.
However, with a kid who is getting more sugar than he ever has in his life AND has been getting an average of 5 less hours of sleep every day, it's a recipe for something--and I promise you, it's not chocolate chip cookies.
Travelling has a way of bringing out all your foibles, needs, tendencies and monsters. I've thought about why this is on numerous occasions and the best answer I can come up with is this. When you travel, (as opposed to vacationing), you are bombarded on just about every level with new stimuli. You're hearing new languages, seeing new sights, tasting new foods, getting around via different types of transportation and encountering an entirely new perspective on the world that exists as an unconscious mass cultural agreement that you don't have the blueprint to. All in all, there are very few things you have control over when you travel which is what makes it both exhilarating and energetically demanding.
Over the years, I have realized that for me to travel well, I control what I can and try to stay open to the rest.
So accommodations are generally one thing I like to get figured out in advance if I can, especially when travelling with a kid. Kids, as you may know, thrive on routine and if I can get in a place and use it as a base for as long as possible, it helps establish or reinforce an important sense of stability, making my life and Espen's life a lot easier.
That said, we moved into our last temporary home 5 nights before our trip was over. It was lovely with a few caveats. 1. It was on the top floor of a 5 story building with no elevator. 2. It had windows everywhere and no blinds or curtains. 3. Daylight Savings had just kicked into effect the day before, making it light from about 5.30AM-8.30-9PM.
Guess what Espen uses as his sleep regulator when no artificial means of blocking light are available? Yep.
So, around 8PM our first night, we're just getting into the tub for his first bath in weeks. They don't much care for bathtubs in Daneland, so I was stoked that we had access to a reclining water container.
Its design was efficiently Scandinavian, featuring a 4ft tall swinging glass door that cordoned off a space to use the hand held shower head without drenching the rest of the bathroom.
Espen was also pleased to be splashing around in the water with a few spoons from the kitchen and a funnel or two. That is, until I tried to wash his hair with the hand held shower head.Wesp has never been a big fan of having his hair washed, or any water being near his head or face, so I was prepared.
"Just come over here behind this glass wall and we'll do it real quick." I encouraged him.
He looked at the movable glass wall and noticed the handle. OOOO.
I could see the Fun Light go on over his head.
He sloshed over to it and took hold.
"OK, Boo." I cautioned "Let's just step behind it, not try to close it too far."
In that moment, it's hard to say exactly what the sequence of events was.
All I know is that the door moved ever so slightly and then completely shattered.
A thousand tiny pieces of glass rained against the tiled wall, bouncing into Espen's back.
Another thousand tiny pieces sprayed over his head, cascading down his body, into the tub, and across the bathroom.
For a moment, we both stood there, frozen, trying to take in what had just happened.
And then, faithful eyes that they are, started to take in information for my rapidly calculating brain.
Water in tub. Tub filled with glass. Pretty aquamarine color from the refracting light off 2,000 pieces of glass. Kid in tub holding handle. Mom, barefoot. Kid. Nude.
WTF.
You know the autopilot parenting response. You just start moving and hope for the best.
What it appears I did next, was to pick up Espen, pick up a towel and move him to the next room. Put the towel down on the floor. Kid on top of the towel. Command kid to "Stay". Stare some more.
Tobias was getting dinner at that time so I started noticing things.
Like blood.
Espen was a mass of tiny lacerations and shards of glass. In his toes, his hair, his arms, back, legs, fingers. You name it, no part of him was untouched.
Luckily, the glass was collision glass and had gone into tiny bits instead of huge jagged chunks so his injuries were minor, but oh so numerous.
As I knelt beside Espen, trying to remove glass and staunch the bleeding, Espen finally begin to cry. Loudly.
And then Tobias came in.
"I need your help right now, not your panic." I said.
Nice and soothing like.
For the next hour we picked glass out of Espen and filled bucket after bucket full of little bits of glass that had occupied every conceivable corner of the bathroom.
Espen kept insisting that we, "Call a doctor! Call the doctor now!" We tried to explain that no doctors were available at 9.30PM unless we went to the Emergency room and they would just do what we were currently doing. Espen seemed unconvinced.
When we finally had every visible shard removed, he seemed content.
Then we ate and went to bed.
Oh, and paid for it. Cause that's what you do when you break stuff in an Air B n B property.
I know.
