The question I hear most
People love to ask why I travel with my toddler daughter.
“She won’t remember any of it.”
And maybe they’re right. Maybe she won’t remember the waterfall we hiked behind last spring. I couldn’t tell you the name of it either. But I remember watching her figure out how to climb over the rocks, reaching out to feel how cold the water was. I remember how quiet she got listening to it roar.
Same with Lake Superior. Freezing, even in July. She charged straight in like it was bathwater, laughing and yelling and trying to pull me with her. She loved it. Didn’t want to leave. And I stood there thinking, she’s not going to remember the name of this place. But she’ll remember how it felt. Cold toes, big sky, both of us in our soaked clothing.
What I actually remember from childhood
Because when I look back at my own childhood, I remember a lot of trips. But I don’t always remember where we were.
I remember holding my dad’s hand in a hotel pool somewhere in Florida. Singing New Kids on the Block with my sister in the back of the van, headed up north—my mom begging us to stop, but still kind of bopping her head along (begrudgingly, probably). I remember my favorite rest stop. (RIP Snow Snake truck stop.) My first flight—it was to Chicago. Seeing Lake Michigan out the window. (Also, people were smoking on the plane??)
I remember climbing rocks at Jacob’s Falls, still sticky from the jam we’d just eaten at the Jam Pot. I remember picking blackberries at our place up north—and eating every single one before we even made it back to the cabin.
I don’t remember the names of the towns. Or how long the drives were. Or what we were supposed to be doing once we got there.
But I remember how it felt. I remember giggling with my sister. My mom’s embrace. My dad’s guidance. Simple. Quiet. Like we were part of something that didn’t need explaining.
Let’s have them learn, too
Somewhere along the way, we started treating childhood like a highlight reel. If they won’t remember it, was it even worth doing? But memory isn’t the only thing that matters. Experience matters. Presence matters. The rhythm of being together without the usual noise—that sticks, even if they can’t name it later.
There’s research behind that, too. One national study found that kids who travel do better in school. Not just with grades—they’re more confident, more curious, and better at connecting with other people (Forbes).
Another study—one I love—looked at how family travel and shared downtime shape us. It found that time like this helps families communicate better, feel closer, and actually enjoy each other more (Springer).
What they’ll take with them
So no, she probably won’t remember that waterfall. Or which Great Lake we were at. But she’ll remember how it felt to climb the rocks. To run into freezing water and not be told no. To hold my hand and laugh and not be rushed. She’ll remember the hot dog we made in the campfire. The sandwich we ate on a big rock that, for whatever reason, tasted amazing. “Driving” the boat” and the sunset we caught from the back of the truck. Not the big stuff—just that it felt good to be out there, together.
And maybe that’s the point. Maybe these memories are just as much for me. To remember my baby girl on that trip, that vacation, that landmark, that lake. Because she’s growing so fast and I’m so lucky to experience this with her.
And that’s enough. Actually, no….that’s everything.