Editor’s note: In June, Front Porch featured a Park Hill family leaving for an eight-month journey. This month, we checked in with Brittany Ballard about how she, her husband Saxon Kincy, and their two children are adapting to life far away from home. 

We’ve been traveling through Vietnam for two months (feels like two years) on our Listening Tour. Here are some things we’ve been surprised by and what we miss:

Surprises

It is intensely difficult to work when our children are who they are, and we parent them the way we parent them.

My body is hot, tired, and changing. Their bodies are, too—even more rapidly than mine.

They need more from us here. We have no support system or childcare.

They’re living in the raw elements in this primordial soup of humidity, vibrant colors, chaotic traffic, and unknown sounds and smells.

I tell them we’re discovering how to be in a place well—how to listen to each other and others on this Listening Tour. They say, “No Mommy. This should be called the Planning and Moving Tour.”

They’re right. We’ve disrupted their entire pattern. They have questions: “How much longer do we have to walk? Why isn’t there a door on this shower? When are we going back home?”

But they are also deeply joyful and free. They’re acclimating to the climate and culture. They love their passion fruit juice, pho ga, and breakfast banh mi’s.

They ride their bikes along the river to feed the local dogs without us, past women in their storefronts (tailors, restaurants, spas). Elders sit, kids play, everyone lives and belongs together.

My kids are safe here.

They record songs, write poems, splash in ocean waves, sneak sips of salted coffee, learn how to draw dragons, and read books on Libby.

They happily ride on the backs of our motorbikes through lush rice fields, past water buffalo, over bridges, between rivers and seas, from Da Nang to Hoi An.

For us parents, “going with the flow” is wrought with stress, changes, decision fatigue, screentime, and expensive mistakes. We couldn’t know about the loud construction or roaches until we arrived. So many unknowns. Sleep can be hard. Tears flow.

But when we discover a hidden garden cafe magically nestled along the river, I’m happily reminded our best days are always unplanned. And work can wait.

What We Miss

My mother-in-law, friends, and family (missing my godmother’s funeral broke my heart, and I cry happy tears when my dad calls from Oakland).

Hearing more music, especially bass lines pumping from cars.

Everyone from St. Elizabeth’s school.

Working out with my girlfriends.

Vibrant Queer and Latinx communities.

Eating popcorn on our cozy couch.

Grocery shopping, cooking, and cleaning (and our dishwasher and garbage disposal).

Our bees, sunflowers, and lavender.

Seeing the Rocky Mountains in the distance.

Our favorite tree at City Park.

My barber, therapist, and acupuncturist.

Alone time.

Driving down Monaco Street through the changing seasons.

Small talk with strangers. Vietnamese is a wildly complex language to learn. Yet so much communication is nonverbal. Women here adore my kids, lovingly squeezing their cheeks. They aren’t often seen this way back home— a welcome change.

When I Ask My Family What They Miss

Kids: “Our friends, teachers, Bandit (our cat), trampoline, libraries, playgrounds, toy store, stuffies, 3D printer and sidewalks.”

Saxon: “Knowing how much things cost versus haggling, central air, stop signs, crosswalks, city bike lanes, and thickness in bodies.”

Next month our kids will begin online schooling and tutoring to complement our world education. I don’t know where in the world we’ll be, but I know I’ll write to you again soon.

Follow the family’s Listening Tour journey on Patreon: patreon.com/cw/3thingslisteningtour.