Having seen my wife’s blog post about her first time traveling alone with our frisky three year old daughter, I’ve decided I will share my side of the story. The husband, left soaked in tears, I mean rain :-), in the airport.

Ok, now, first of all, we usually travel together, as a family. Even with two sets of hands and four sets of eyes, Sio is incredibly slippery and I knew for a fact, based on past experiences that at some point in the journey, she would give up on walking. She’s now three, perfectly capable of handling herself but when she says no, that’s it.

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Her face scrunched as she expelled all the contents of her lungs. Her mouth wide, tears in her eyes, and the hanging, pink epiglottis danced violently at the back of her throat. Her stance said she was ready for war, but my mind said I was too as it raged and raced at the child before me. I understood her position, but I thought it no excuse. My temper flared. Hers sprouted wings and soared.

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