‘You’re a sh**ty, sh**ty mother with sh**ty, sh**ty kids.’ That’s what a drunken passenger yelled at me on our recent flight to Tenerife . We were just 20 minutes from landing and the seatbelt sign was already on, but that didn’t stop him from leering over me and my two young children , aged two and five.
In all my years of travelling, both with my children and without, I’ve never experienced anything quite like it. And I hope I never will again. My husband and I have always loved to travel.
We’ve backpacked around Thailand , enjoyed many mini breaks to Europe , and spent my husband’s 30th birthday travelling around Canada . After our eldest son was born, we vowed not to let that change. In fact, since becoming parents we’ve travelled more than ever before.
Being able to whisk the kids off to Mexico , Ibiza , Italy , and Spain so that they can see different cultures, people, try new foods and visit beautiful places is something we value greatly. We save throughout the year to afford our trips and some of our happiest memories have happened while we’ve been abroad: my sons staring wide-eyed at the live seafood in a food market in Palma, Mallorca, or learning more about their Italian heritage and trying their first authentic cannolis in Sicily. Of course, that means we’ve become dab hands at air travel with toddlers in tow.
We pack each child their own bag full of their favourite toys, books, snacks, and a tablet if the flight is long so they can watch a f.
