Positively Parenting

By Tara Lindis

Mt. Rinjani is on the island of Lombak just off the coast of Bali. Before our time in Bali comes to an end, my husband wanted to hike up Mt. Rinjani. There were several reasons why I thought this was a bad idea: the four hour ferry with questionable toilet facilities with our toilet training toddler, not to mention the 90 minute motorbike ride to and from the ferry, hiking seven hours a day with our thirty-pound 22 month old toddler in a carrier, getting up at 3am the day we were supposed to hike up to the summit, as well as sleeping in a tent in sleeping bags with our toilet training toddler (who hasn’t wet the bed in weeks, but if he did happen to go in our sleeping bags, it’d be misery) and the fact  that our meals would be catered by Lombak porters (often the food is so spicy, Fyo, our son ends up eating only white rice for meals). My list went on. But, my husband really wanted to go. If he didn’t go, he said, he’d regret it. So, I adjusted my attitude, applied my sunscreen to my son and me, and laced up my hiking shoes.

And, everything was fine. I realized for not the first time, that while my concerns may have been legitimate, my son didn’t share them. He didn’t care that the toilets on the ferry were standard Indonesian squat toilets. He didn’t release a sigh of relief when he learned they were cleaned hourly. He was too busy running laps around the boat. He didn’t mind being in the carrier while we hiked until the last of the seven hours on that first day. I tried to carry him in his carrier, but soon realized he was way too heavy. We paid a porter fifteen US dollars a day to carry our child up the mountain. The porter, named Za, spoke only enough English to teach my son how to count to twenty then he sang to him in Bahasa. Fyo fell in love with him. Za also played soccer with Fyo (because yes, we took the ball, Fyo’s favorite possession he owns). Fyo, during our four-day expedition, had an absolute blast.

I felt like an idiot. I have been living and traveling abroad with my son for forty-eight weeks. Before my husband and I left the states with him, we were told we were crazy, that traveling with children was difficult and exhausting. My husband’s uncle told him he had rocks in his head for taking his wife and child to South-East Asia. We knew his uncle loved us, so we took it as our blessing and off we went.

None of it has been as hard as people told us it would be. He hasn’t gotten any of the diseases concerned individuals predicted (he’s been sick once), he hasn’t developed behavioral problems due to us constantly moving or switching routines. He sleeps through the night. He’s essentially toilet trained. He’s in the 95th percentile for height and weight.

Yet, while the last almost-year has been easier than we were led to believe it would be, I still get nervous about my son’s experience of the journey, even as he’s proved over and over again that he’s game; he likes what we call “our grand adventures.”

Next week, we go back to the states, and I feel myself tensing up about our 24 hour flight with two layovers. I’ve started brainstorming for what toys and snacks for the plane. But my son? He’s pulled out the suitcase and put himself and his clothes inside of it.

Tara Lindis has taught English Literature and Composition classes at community colleges in Denver, Colorado, and has spent the last year living in Singapore and Bali, writing, and raising her soon-to-be toddler son. She blogs at www.taralindis.com.

Read more of Tara's blogs:

What Warm Nights Lead To...

Sharing Some Thoughts on Sharing

Wanting the Bath

Sharing: The Hard Part