There were many things we knew we had to prepare for prior to taking six planes, four trains and two buses to attend my friend's wedding. You don't take on a trip like that with a toddler and a grumpy pregnant lady with closed eyes. And you don't take such a crazy trip unless it's for a very good friend. (Un)fortunately, this was for a very good friend — a friend who stood by my side as we battled poisonous spiders, venomous snakes and toxic breakups. We shared three homebrewing kits, two broken fans, one prostitute roommate who used our flat in the Australian rain forest as a brothel, and half a language. This is the sticky stuff, the thick and murky life ingredients that solidify into the concrete foundation of lasting friendship. This is the stuff that makes you pack passports, a toddler leash, compression stockings and a suitcase large enough to comfortably fit three bodies and a Shetland pony and voyage across a continent and an ocean.

The cheapest airfare to her wedding destination of the tiny German island off the coast of Denmark where she was raised came via Iceland. Three days were to be spent both at the top and bottom of our wedding expedition in the cold and tiny country my son referred to as Anna and Elsa's home. Accommodating a two-week trip for three people adventuring into both freezing glaciers and warm summer beaches and into a grubby subway and a fancy wedding should have had even my behemoth suitcase brimming with bathing suits, mittens and cummerbunds. But it wasn't. No, my suitcase was in danger of bursting zippers and exceeding weight limitations because of a surplus of coloring books and action figures.

I'm not a big fan of stuff. I'm the person who sees a pile of junk and simply gets rid of it, only to realize too late I just donated my Social Security card and birth certificate to child brides in Malawi. (Come to think of it, that may have worked out for the best.) But when you're about to take on 30 hours of flying round trip with a toddler, stuff is the only way to go. We are not an iPad family, so we headed to the next best option. The dollar store.

I take my dollar stores very seriously. One is not like the other, and a good one is worth its weight in gold. OK, OK, it's worth its weight in copper pennies. You get the point. My son and I explored every aisle, buying toys that if lost would not result in a global warming-level ocean increase from toddler tantrum tears. Fingers crossed. Cars, crayons, dinosaurs, googly glasses, pillows, activity books, fake teeth, sippy cups, books, snacks, even swimmies. I left that store confident I had not missed a single thing to make my son's trip — and therefore our trip — as painless and enjoyable as possible.

I was wrong. So very wrong. There was one thing I saw at the dollar store and ignored that would have made all the difference in our trip: a pink ruffled, padded eye mask for sleeping.

I had considered the eye mask for the plane ride. My scope was so shortsighted. We didn't need it for the plane. We had toys galore to take care of travel. We needed it for after we landed.

Iceland is home to the midnight sun. We knew this. Alas, our hotel was not home to curtains or shades. We did not know this.

A perfectly behaved and content toddler does not stay that way for very long once he arrives to a bed in which he is completely unable to sleep. Because our suitcase was filled to the brim with toys, we hadn't packed towels, which could have helped block out the sun shining brightly into our room nearly 24 hours a day. My son would go, go, go until he passed out around 6 p.m. — only to wake around 10:30 p.m. and want to play through the night until 5 a.m. We took walks around the empty streets of the city just as the hottest Reykjavik clubs were closing.

How, I wondered, how do people around here have children and survive? And then I realized the residents have blinds. And curtains. And possibly frilly pink padded eye masks. We may have gone into this trip with our eyes open, but it sure would've been nice to be able to close them.

Like Katiedid Langrock on Facebook, at http://www.facebook.com/katiedidhumor. Check out her column at http://didionsbible.com. To find out more about Katiedid Langrock and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.