No Baggage Allowed
I’d advocated for bringing carry-on luggage only from the beginning. I hate waiting at baggage carousels, dread losing a bag or missing a connection, but my real motive was far simpler: I wanted to manage as few items as possible. Looking after three young children on the road was going to be enough of a challenge. If I could keep everything we owned within arm’s reach at all times, I figured my mind could rest a little more easily. My husband listened kindly to my reasoning and kept right on booking flights that included extra baggage fees.
Standing in the middle of our living room floor, buried under toys, floor-length dresses, winter coats, and an embarrassing sea of footwear, my minimalist ambitions fell apart. Five people, five backpacks, five personal items, absolute freedom, that was the dream. But looking at the chaos in front of me, it clearly wasn’t working.
Negotiating with Children
Nowhere was this more obvious than in the kids’ toy piles, their treasures accumulated over years of birthday parties, indulgent relatives, and doting nannies. I gently explained the realities of capacity, weight distribution, and airline fees to Isobel, Henry, and Charles, pointing out that dozens of bulky items weren’t going to work. My strategy was strict: zero toys in the main bags, a select few sent to long-term storage, and the rest to be donated.
The kids were unimpressed. Eight-year-old Isobel flatly informed me that Uni, her well-loved stuffed unicorn, had been by her side forever, and that was where Uni would stay. Six-year-old Henry insisted his rock and shell collections were equally important, declaring them non-negotiable necessities. Meanwhile, four-year-old Charlie quietly packed an entire extra bag in the background, struggling to zip it over an excess of Magna-Tiles, pipe cleaners, and crumpled drawings of Halloween spiders.
The Footwear Dilemma
I made a mental note to manage their must haves later and turned to tackle my own point of undoing: footwear.
Standing before the shoe cupboard, I was confronted with the sheer volume of gear I had previously considered essential. What was I supposed to do without high heels, strappy sandals, and knee-high leather boots? What about the kids’ swim shoes, school shoes, hiking boots, and everyday sneakers? I didn’t even dare think about my husband’s business wear; the kids and I alone could have filled several large suitcases.
I had determined to be strict: two pairs of shoes per person—one on our feet, one in the bag. But looking at the pile, my brain raced through every logistical edge case. We would be trekking in Nepal and attending concerts in Paris; freezing through a Florence winter and exploring Morocco in the spring.
The Cull
It took weeks of deliberation, but step by step, we pared down our lives. Business suits, handbags, heels, valuables, furniture, books, and far more toys than I’d planned were consigned to storage. As for the shoes, we held the line at two pairs each: one durable pair for physical activity, and one versatile pair for everything else. I just had to hope those concertgoers in Paris wouldn’t mind my running shoes.
The kids stepped up in the end, too. Once I explained the purpose of donating, and once they confronted the massive heap of items stacked beside our small bags, they willingly surrendered their painting tables, wooden blocks, train sets, and toy tea sets, hoping another child would take good care of them.
Leaving Uni Behind
When I finally reviewed the bags we had ready to take on the plane, the total sum of our things felt right. Even Isobel had decided that Uni was ready for us to go on an adventure without her. It broke my heart a little, watching the silent shift of an eight-year-old deciding she was ready for whatever lay ahead without her bedtime comfort. Whether it was the fear of losing her favorite companion in a crowded airport or a quiet step towards growing up, Uni stayed behind to guard everything else.
The rest of us walked out the door lighter than we had ever been, carrying five carryons, five personal items, ten pairs of shoes, and, I hoped, everything we actually needed in the world.
What We Actually Took
The Suitcases: Two 22-inch rolling carry-ons—one with the summer wardrobe for all three kids; the other holding their winter layers.
The Backpacks: Two 38-liter travel packs—one packed with clothes and toiletries for myself and the kids; the other containing my husband’s clothes and shaving kit.
The Tech: Laptops and iPads, split strategically across the main packs to balance the weight (my MacBook and Charlie’s iPad in one; my husband’s MacBook alongside Isobel and Henry’s iPads in the other).
The Flex Bag: One compressible, waterproof dry-bag folding down to nothing when empty, holding our swimsuits, medical kit, and extra school materials—doubling as a weather-sealed vault for our electronics in tropical downpours.
The Personal Items: Four small backpacks (one for me, three for the kids) plus my husband’s camera bag. Each child carried kid-safe headphones, a spare change of clothes, a journal, a pencil case, a small toy, a rain jacket, a sunhat, and sunglasses. Mine held chargers, travel documents, my wallet, and daily essentials. My husband carried the tech apparatus: power banks, a portable solar panel, a microphone, and something called a gimbal.
The Footwear: Five pairs packed flat inside the suitcases, and five pairs on our feet.