Why I Can't Write

I can’t write because I’m on an eight hour airplane ride with my toddler, who needs my help opening her snacks, setting up Fancy Nancy, and refuses to sleep the majority of those eight hours.

I can’t write because I’m too busy ingesting every detail of our country house in Normandy, complete with a moat and green trimmed windows and pink curtains.

I can’t write because I’m touring WWII museums and churches and memorials. I’m choosing to feel the wind on my face and the sand on my skin rather than the keyboard under my fingers.

I can’t write because I’m staying up way too late with my husband’s family playing Mexican Train dominoes, drinking champagne, and eating sliced baguettes with the most delicious salted butter I’ve ever tasted.

I can’t write because I’m sitting next to my three year old as she enjoys chocolate ice cream on a patio in Paris as twinkle lights dance all around.

I can’t write because I’m standing at the top of the Eiffel Tower looking down over the city as I sip champagne and corral my three year old at the same time.

I can’t write because I’m helping my daughter pick out the perfect macaron and watching her eat only the crunchy exterior, discarding the sticky center in my hands.

I can’t write because my child keeps telling me and everyone who will listen that “Notre Dame caught on fire by accident in 2019, but it’s okay because they fixed it” every ten minutes like clock work.

I can’t write because I’m touring Versailles with my daughter and her cousin, also three years old, and I’m attempting to explain to them why they can’t touch the art or dance in the middle of the crowds.

I can’t write because after going to the wrong restaurant and hightailing it to the right one, Luke and I are enjoying drinks and oysters at the coziest French restaurant and stumbling upon a view of the Eiffel Tower lit up on our way home.

I can’t write because we’re taking my daughter and her cousin on a surprise trip to Disney Land Paris to ride the rides and see all their favorite characters in real life.

I can’t write because between the long days and time change, the children keep waking up in the middle of the night thinking it’s time to play and we have to repeatedly tell them to go back to sleep.

I can’t write because I’m soaking in as many sights of the city I can and relishing the fact that I’m actually here, a place I’ve wanted to come my whole life.

I can’t write because despite how wonderful this trip has been, there have been some truly difficult times, as well. It’s safe to say none of us will forget our time here, the good and the bad included.