Coming home from Barcelona was a bit like jumping off a sun-warmed lilo into a freezing paddling pool. One minute I was eating pan con tomate under a vine-draped terrace, speaking broken Spanish and watching the sun set at 9:30 p.m. The next, I was back in Ashbrook, scrubbing dried Weetabix off the kitchen table and yelling, “Where are your shoes?!” before 8 a.m.
But here’s the thing. Spain did something to me. Not just the food (though I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same after discovering real jamón ibérico), and not just the architecture (even the post offices there look romantic). It changed how I think about parenting.
Here are a few things I brought back—besides olive oil and a vague desire to own a crumbling stone villa.
1. Slowing the Heck Down
In Barcelona, everything happens later and slower. Dinner doesn’t start until 9. Kids are out with their families strolling the plaza at 10. Nobody seems in a rush. The first week, I was twitchy. By week two, I was staying out until midnight with classmates and not even checking my watch.
Now back home, I’m trying to bring some of that calm into our routines. Less screeching through the morning like a deranged goat. More deep breaths. More letting Max take his sweet time zipping his coat (even if it’s upside down). It’s… a work in progress.
2. Family First, Phones Later
I noticed it almost immediately: in restaurants, Spanish families actually talked to each other. Parents weren’t glued to their phones. Kids weren’t pacified with iPads. It wasn’t some idyllic fairy tale—kids still threw breadsticks and sulked—but the connection was different. More present. More human.
So I’ve started a new thing: phones down at dinner. Even if dinner is fish fingers and ketchup. We chat. We laugh. We argue about who gets the last Yorkshire pudding. But we’re doing it together.
3. Less Pressure, More Play
There was a sense in Spain that children are meant to be children. No constant ferrying to enrichment activities. No pressure to read by age four. At the park, kids ran wild, got dirty, climbed things way too high. And no one clutched their pearls. It was liberating.
Now, when Jack wants to dig a hole in the garden instead of do phonics homework? I let him. When Lily spends an hour dressing the dog in princess gowns? I let her. (Okay, maybe not the dog.)
4. Food Isn’t a Battle
Eating in Spain felt like an event. Not a negotiation. I watched a toddler calmly gnawing on grilled octopus and nearly cried. Back home, mealtimes have always felt like a siege.
Inspired, I’ve started involving the kids more in preparing food. We chop things (badly). We taste new stuff (sometimes). And if all else fails, we do tapas-style dinners: a bit of this, a bit of that, less pressure. Max still throws olives. Some traditions, I guess, cross borders.
5. It’s Okay to Want More
Most unexpectedly, Spain reminded me that I’m not just a mom. I’m still Emma. A woman who wants adventure, connection, laughter, language, and the occasional sangria at lunch.
I came back clearer. Not about where life is going (ha, not even close), but about the fact that I’m allowed to want more. To grow. To feel inspired. To maybe one day pack up the chaos and try something totally new.
For now? I’m happy trying to raise my kids with a little more grace, a little more garlic, and a lot more dancing after dinner.
Viva la vida, as they say.