My beautiful cousin gave us a wedding card with a quote from Lewis Carol written on it. “The best gift you could have given her was a lifetime of adventures,” it said. A lovely little line from Alice & Wonderland. And as we close this part of the trip it comes to mind, because when I married Brad it is what I knew I would be getting. It’s what I know I’ll continue to get for the rest of my life.

One of the very best things about my husband is he always does what he says he will do. When he said he wanted to race to 2700 miles across the country on his bicycle with no assistance (something that sixty percent of the people who attempt drop out of), I knew he would finish. When he said he wanted to start a compliance company from Montana (something that made everyone in the industry he pitched the idea to balk) there was no doubt in my mind he would be successful. When he said he would figure out how to run that business from Europe so we could whisk our kids around from country to country showing them this big ol’ world I knew that we’d do it. The man worked so hard the entire time we’ve been here. He’s been on calls most nights until 3 or 4 in the morning. He’s only taken two days off. He’s kept his commitment to his company and to me and to our babies because he always does. And honey, I just want to take a moment to say thank you for everything. This has been so so truly incredible, and possible because of you.

We’ve been in Italy for 3 weeks now, and I think we did a good job of saving the best for last. It’s been by far the easiest and most welcoming country we’ve visited with children. In France I often felt as if I was being judged for bringing the boys into a restaurant. I could feel people roll their eyes at me when there was any display of crazy in public. In Italy I felt like I was traveling with two of the most precious jewels to have ever graced humanity (which is the truth of course). Women would coo as we walked by. Old men stopped what they were doing and came over to admire them. Everyone we passed touched their hair and threw out Italian phrases of admiration “Che belle Bambino” “Bellissimo!” Broken glassware at restaurants was met with chuckles and head rubs. On the metro, when I was trying to keep them from climbing the poles and causing a ruckus, people just smiled. “Children are the same everywhere,” a kind stranger said to me with a grin.

We spent the first week in a sleepy little town called Lesa that sat on the corner of a giant lake. It was off season and therefore mostly deserted, but we played at the shore and enjoyed the quiet and had a few beautiful meals at the only restaurants open in town. Then we caught a train to Rome and spent a little over two weeks eating and drinking and dancing our way through the the ancient ruins.

I don’t quite know another way to put it except that I freakin loved Rome. I loved walking through the crumbling history that fills the city. That everything feels old and a little gritty. I loved watching the people - the way Italians speak with their hands, the inflection with their voice when they yell lovingly at each other across the table while passing the bread. I loved eating under the outdoor awnings at all the of the twinkly restaurants with their red and white checkered table cloths. I loved their holy-like reverence for cheese and tomato sauce and pasta. I loved that every slice of pizza I ate felt like heaven my mouth. But most of all I think I loved that they loved my babies. I just felt comfortable and welcome everywhere. Like I was part of a family. And when you’re so far away from all that is familiar, and spending a huge amount of your time navigating foreign cities by yourself with two wild children, that is a pretty great feeling.

Our original plan was to head south for Christmas and stay in Sicily until our visa ran out but instead we’ve decided to throw in the towel a few weeks early and head home. I haven’t felt great since I got sick in England - have had some weird tingly feelings in my hands and legs and recently started waking up with my arms completely asleep every morning. And while I hope I’ve just got some weird long covid or carpal tunnel shit going on that will eventually go away, I will feel a lot better being in a place I can get it all checked out. Plus it just seems like pretty good timing for us overall. We’re all a little tired. I can tell Brad’s ragged from burning the midnight oil. Ketch for the very first time asked if we could go home. I could sure as hell use a babysitter. And while I’m sad to leave Italy, I also know it will always be there. We’ll go back someday. Maybe with some teenage boys and bikes in tow. But for now I think it will be pretty darn nice to go home and get some R&R with our families for a quick minute. To drink coffee from a familiar mug and take a breath. We’ve still got some time until our house is finished and our plan was to head to Guatemala in February, but it all feels a bit up in the air at the moment. We’ll just see what happens.

As I sit here writing this blog on our plane back to JFK, it’s hard to even put down in words all the feelings. I’m sad our time in Europe is over. I’m relieved to be going home. I’m filled to the brim with gratitude for this little slice of time with our family, for the opportunity to do something that felt so significant together. Eight countries, three strollers, hundreds of trains and trams and busses. The things we’ve seen, the moments we’ve shared, the food we’ve eaten, the stories we now have to tell. It was so fun and so hard and so beautiful and so so good. Backpacking through Europe with a five and two year old was certainly some kind of crazy, but it was also some kind of wonderful, and I’m going home with a pocket full incredible memories that I know I will always hold dear. So cheers, Brad Burgtorf - we freakin’ did it. Another adventure in the books.