The Little Ways I Found Joy On A Jet-Lagged Travel Day

Living the playful way on a family trip

Last month I shared the weird, whimsical things I do in a regular day and, anticipating our summer holiday coming up, imagined I’d do another Play Chronicle from vacation. But rather than share an idyllic day from our trip, I decided that I’d diary the less glamorous travel day — cramped legs in coach, jet lag with a 6-year-old, sleepy entry into family dynamics in a foreign country.

That’s because these are exactly the moments when playfulness becomes my most valuable tool for moving through the sloggy parts of life (and travel) with more grace and connection. When patience is running thin, when family conversations feel stilted, when you're all just trying to figure out how to be together, that's when a little creative engagement can transform everything.

This is how play helped us navigate our jet lagged entry, and turned a day of getting through into an adventure…

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Play Chronicles — Saturday, July 5th

11:00 am — The lights flicker on at the end of our overnight flight to Germany. My 6-year-old daughter Viva has been sleeping on my lap for 7 hours, and while I'm exceedingly grateful she slept, my legs have been partially numb since hour two. I feel a touch frayed at the edges, but we made it!

11:45 am — We disembark and make our way through immigration to the luggage carousel. As we wait for our bags, I do some leg stretches to revive my poor gams. I challenge Viva to copy me so I’m not the only one balancing on one leg in tree pose in the middle of the airport.

12:15 pm — We board the train from Frankfurt to Cologne. The German countryside rushes past our window.

12:30 pm — I stare sleepily out the window with Viva, playing the most low-energy round of "I Spy" in history. "I spy something... green." "The trees?" "Yep." She falls asleep on my lap again (I clearly excel in my role as human pillow) and I try to catch some shut-eye too.

1:30 pm — We exit the train station and take a cab to my mother-in-law Rita's house. She's sitting outside her apartment on the street waiting for us and waves wildly when we pull up.

2:00 pm — For Viva's entertainment during travel, I packed an activity book, some thin books, and let her fill a small pouch with tiny toys. She immediately commandeers the living room floor, lining up unicorns with purpose.

2:15 pm — We have lunch on my mother in law’s balcony: seedy bread, cheese, cucumbers, tomatoes, soft boiled eggs. Hits the spot.

3:00 pm — I attempt a nap, but Viva isn't tired and keeps waking me up every two minutes with urgent questions like "Mama, do capybaras like swimming?" Between questions and getting poked, sleep is impossible. I'm starting to feel grumpy.

3:45 pm — Philippe wakes up from his 45-minute nap (the audacity!) in the other bedroom and I announce, "I'm taking a 45-minute nap" and lock the bedroom door to preserve my peace. They head out to the playground.

6:00 pm — I wake to my family banging on the door yelling "Mama P! You have been asleep for THREE HOURS!!" I emerge from the bedroom in a complete haze and am met with howls of laughter when they see my stupefied face and cockatoo-like bedhead. Apparently, my 45-minute nap had other plans.

6:30 pm — Before heading to dinner, I try to prep Viva mentally for a "boring adult dinner." I pack colored pencils and books as backup entertainment and cross my fingers.

7:00 pm —We meet my in-laws (divorced but best friends) at their favorite Italian restaurant. The waiter keeps calling my father-in-law, Fino, "schatzi" (sweetie), which I find extremely endearing.

7:10 pm — The olive oil at the Italian restaurant features a smiley face made in balsamic vinegar. Viva and I take great care to dip our bread gingerly so we don't smear the happy face.

7:15 pm — While Viva colors, I ask everyone about their favorite family trips we've taken together over the years. The stories start flowing.

8:00 pm — Viva gets antsy sitting at the table, so I take her across the street to a park. The birds are chirping, and I suggest, "What if we lay in the grass and listen to the sounds?" She finds the perfect patch of soft grass in the sunshine and lays on top of me. I tell her, "The highlight of my day is happening right now!"

8:15 pm — She wants me to do airplane, so I balance all 55 pounds of her on my legs while holding her hands and letting her "fly." This is adorable until she gets the zoomies and starts jumping on me with WWF-style moves. Fearing she might snap one of my ribs, I suggest we head back because our food has probably arrived. She doesn't want to leave, so I start running: "Try to catch me!" She follows, giggling.

8:30 pm — Back at the dinner table, Viva and I pull out a "Would You Rather" book and pose questions to each other while the others converse in German over bowls of pasta. "Would you rather have to give a big important speech or dance in front of a thousand people?" "Would you rather only be able to wash your hair once a month or only brush your teeth once a month?"

9 pm — My father-in-law works in hospitality and mentions he's tired from his many social obligations at work. I suggest we hire actors to extract him from events… maybe a detective who needs to interview him, or an angry woman who storms in screaming "You bastard!" and throws a shoe at him. He laughs and gives me an appreciative squeeze. Problem-solving through absurdity is my specialty.

9:15 pm — We all take a moment to appreciate the Italian pop covers playing in the background and play name that tune when a familiar song comes on.

9:30pm — Viva’s playing with her figurines and I ask the group which figurine best represents their spirit. Everyone gives choosing a surprising amount of thought: the adults all select a goofy-looking purple bunny as their avatar and Viva decides she’s the lime green cat that lives in a cupcake. I choose to be the prancing unicorn, just to be different.

10:00 pm — We head home and walk along the Rhine River. Viva and I use the railing at the river's edge as a ballet barre and do some pliés.

11:00 pm — Back at the apartment, Viva is playing with figurines and claims not to be tired. We are exhausted. I bring a pillow, blanket, and toothbrush to her and announce, "If you want to stay up, you can sleep on the couch. I'm going to bed!" Suddenly, she decides she's tired after all. Reverse psychology for the win.

11:30 pm — Viva is still buzzing with energy, so I do a visualization for her: She's on a houseboat in the rain, hearing raindrops on the roof and feeling gentle waves. There's a fire crackling inside the boat, and she snuggles up in front of it. A kitten curls up next to her, and she pets it, feeling the vibrations as it purrs. She finally drifts off, and I'm fast behind her.

3:00 am — I wake up unable to fall back asleep (hello, jet lag!), so I get up and write longhand in my journal while watching the sun come up. It's Pride weekend, and I can hear the distant sounds of celebration. I had “watch a sunrise” on my summer want-to-do-list so I note that, as tired as I am, I’m checking the box here.

4:30 am — I finally head back to bed.

ZZZZZ — Dreams of airplane legs and prancing unicorns.