Traveling With Kids

Madelyn picked out her travel attire early in the morning the day before we left.  Striped shorts, dirty socks with sandals, tutu, butterfly backpack with her name, velour hoody, undershirt with multicolored hearts (not shown) and a balloon.  Perfect! 

We used both of Fynnie's car seats.  The newer generation of Britax Boulevards have some features that make them easier to adjust than Madelyn's.  Mad doesn't care about that.  She's just glad that Fynnie didn't choose to sit in the coveted pink seat.

Speaking of which, Fynnie didn't get to sit in her black and gray seat on the way out.  Why?  Even though Tom had a couple conversations with people about our seats and the use of car seats on the airplane, no one bothered to mention that two car seats cannot be placed in the same row.  Since Fynn's under two, she could be a lap rider.  Yes, we could have forced them to find us another set of seats.  It was not worth the hassle.

This is not how Fynnie entered the plane.  There was a collective sigh of relief when her screaming and crying stopped after a couple of minutes.  It was replaced with periodic shouts of, "We fy-y big jet wocket ship Boshum!  Bash off!"

Virgin America has touch screens and remotes for every seat!  (The downside of leaving for the airport in the 4:00 A.M. hour - Mama doesn't care about bedhead... until she sees the photos later.)

Madelyn, who aspires to be Doc McStuffins, makes sure her friends practice safe travel, too!

Some highlights from our flights out and back:

• Tom has now changed several diapers at 36,000 feet.  He reports that it is easier to change a diaper mid-flight than it is in the baggage claim area restroom at Logan, where the changing station angled down, forcing him to brace Fynn while changing an especially messy diaper.
• I have not changed any.  Every time I enter an airplane lav there is turbulence.  It ain't right.
• Yes, I know how lucky I am.
• The free word game on Virgin's system is lame.  How is it that "etc." an acceptable word, but "tine" and a host of similarly simple words are not?
• Being forced to fly out of LAX because the city of Los Angeles owns the much more convenient but ridiculously overpriced Ontario Airport, made it clear to me why people think Californians are jerks and asshats.  Almost every person we dealt with at LAX was minimally helpful at best.  
• The flight attendant crew on our way out were the whiniest bunch of "professionals" I've ever encountered.  I'm sure the head whiner thought she made things better after complaining about one of the other families with toddlers in front of me by saying, "But not you.  You get it.  Your kids are under control."  That was the luck of the draw for us.  I'm guessing the woman does not have kids or she would know that.
• Just as expected, the flight out was better than the flight back.  Aside from every experience being new on the way out, Tom and I sat a few rows apart, so there was no teamwork for us, and the girls weren't able to entertain one another.  However, the people at Logan were so much more helpful, even giving us a luggage cart and pre-loading our car seats (not installing them, however, they saved that special hell for Tom while I wrangled the girls), that we were a lot more relaxed than we would have been otherwise.
• Whoever suggested gel window clings as a mid-flight distraction, I love you.  Ditto for the Dollar Tree, where I stocked up on garden scenes.
• People who recline their seats into the face of a toddler in her car seat and then twist around to give her dirty looks and loud sighs when she pushes on the seat should not be surprised when said toddler's mama leans forward to "pick something off the floor" while remarking that "yes, it was a jackass thing to throw a hissy fit because the big dumb man took up all of your room."  It turns out that Mama doesn't care if the big dumb man is well over six feet tall and 300 pounds.  Tolerating fits is not something I do well.
• Although she hardly nursed at all on the way out, Fynn nursed most of the six and a half hour flight back.  This probably made Big Dumb Man happy, and did not appear to disturb the lovely lady next to us.
• Overall, both flights were smooth.  Although it was cloudy when we arrived in Boston (which in my mind is now called Boshum), the flooding storm I'd been warned of did not rear its ugly head.

Trifecta (AKA The Perfect Storm)

Fear of flying

+

"Hey, did you hear there's a storm in Boston?  Something about flooding?"

+

My period

=

Clear and present danger.

Yes, Tom has been alerted.  It's only fair.

Me. On A Plane.

I hate flying.

I don't hate it enough to avoid doing it.  I hate looking like a big baby more than I hate flying, apparently.

I hate flying and I hate the stupid things people say to me about flying.

"Stop giving your fear energy.  Planes crash because people thought too much about it.  They brought it upon themselves."

Um, okay.  I watched The Secret.  File it right there with religion.  I just don't get most of it.

"Just pray about it.  Bring the angels around you."

Dude, do you even know me?  Wait, you do.  I do not try to push my lack of belief in god or angels on you.  Why do you do this?

"Drink.  Heavily."

Yeah, I'm not a big drinker.  I'll be partially responsible for two kids and their massive freaking car seats.  Oh, and I anticipate Fynnie will try hard to nurse her way through our six hour flights.  When she's not otherwise shrieking her head off, trying to antagonize her sister (with that adorable devilish look in her eyes) or doing exactly the opposite of whatever she's asked, instructed or commanded to do.

"If it's your time to go, it's your time to go."

Okay, fine.  If it's my time, I'll go.  But I don't want to.  I want to live.  I want to see who my girls are as they get older.  I want to see Corey take some major turns for the better.

And what about my girls, who'll be with us?  I don't want it to be their time.  And I don't want them to have such devastation as life without their parents.

What about Corey, who will not be joining us on this trip?  He's a wreck on his good days right now.  How would he cope with knowing we're no longer here if he decides he wants us or needs us?  And, honestly, what would happen if he had access to our life insurance?  Not like it's a lot, but it's more than he's ever going to see sitting around Grammy's house all day.  I totally foresee my mom's home being overrun with the latest in video game and tech gear.  And more junk food.

One of the things I try to have done before going on vacation is to make sure all of the photos are edited and sent off to my mother-in-law.  (Not even possible this time, ugh!)  As far as she's concerned (I hope), it's so that I have less to deal with when we get back.  But in the forefront of my brain is the idea that I want her to have everything possible before we go.  Same reason I'm hoping to get the bathrooms cleaned ASAP.  And, yeah, it's the same reason I wonder if I should toss certain things before leaving.  I mean, seriously, who wants to come across that while packing up someone's house?

It's at the head of every action and thought.  It's stupid and it sucks.  And I know it's wasted energy. I understand that the months of thinking "What if?" since booking the flights are moments upon hours I cannot get back.

But knowing it and making it stop are not the same.  The only cure is to go and to return.  To file another trip.  I've logged a lot of miles in fear.  Lame.

The upside?  Always looking for it.  There are a few highlights.  One, since we are flying with the girls, I will continue to avoid projecting my fear to them, thus not giving into all out panic.  Two, since we are flying directly across the country, we'll be up higher and hopefully have less turbulence than we have had on shorter flights.  Three, no one I've talked to has said that flying into Boston is bad.  Huge difference compared to flying into Vegas, for example.  On the other hand, no one I've talked to has actually flown into Boston.  Their stories are all anecdotes from others.

And then there's the fact that we'll be off on another family adventure.  A bizarre one where, two days before we leave, we still have no clue where we're staying or where the unnamed hotel is in relation to the airport.  We do have a room.  Somewhere.  And plenty of plans for the short time we'll be there.  Not that we know what the exact plans are aside from the wedding.

And should when we return, I will look back on this trip fondly.  As I usually do once the sense of free falling through the sky and slamming into the ground is no longer relevant.

It's Bumpy Out (AKA 'And... She Lived!')

We returned from Chicago last night.  The flights there were mostly okay, except for those last 30 minutes into Midway.  I did send out a little, "Please let us get on the ground safely," to the universe. 


The flight out of Chicago was heinous.  Corey had opted to seat himself a few rows up.  When he turned around to see how I was doing, I almost burst into tears from the concern in his eyes.  I will try to remember that moment when he is especially obnoxious.


Instead of "Please let us get on the ground safely," my request was more along the lines of "If we're going to die, please let it happen before we land."


During that flight we were in the next to last row.  We should have just taken the last seats and spared ourselves having to listen to the jackass behind us try to impress the girl he was with by regaling her with stories of his DUI's and how he only goes to movies if a girl drags him there and how every girl he knows... yeah, probably even his sister... has been with another girl (sadly, she seemed interested... who is the bigger loser?!).  When the turbulence got really bad, with side-to-side dips and drops, Jackass spent about 10 minutes pondering how far we were dropping each time.  I tried to go to my happy place.  The best I could do was to visualize what the phrase "fasten seat belt while seated" would look like fingerspelled.  Strange what works.


Even the landing involved side-to-side dips, so I was very glad the pilot was staying with that plane while we traipsed to the other end of the airport in Phoenix to grab our connection.  The last flight was passable.  There was some turbulence, but nothing compared to the last one.  One of the nearby passengers must have commented on it to a flight attendant.  I heard her reply, "I know.  It's been so bumpy out lately!"


***Trip details to follow after I get through editing the 300 or so photos we took.

Fear and Loathing

Friday morning we leave for Chicago.  On a plane.  I have flown a lot.  I am not a good flyer.  Visions of planes crashing fill my days and nights before a trip is complete.  I will make my best good flyer faces and exercise my deep breathing abilities so as not to scare Mad or alert the TSA (who am I kidding?  I am always selected for additional screening... once, while wearing very short sleeves, my arms were double wanded... "Uh, yeah, they are not any more flammable than my ass.  Can we move on, please?").  In trying to find the upside of flying, the most commonly recurring thought is (and I'm not kidding about this), at least if we crash, we'll all die together.  But how will we be sitting.  Will I be able to reach Corey and Madelyn and Tom in those final moments?  I do not want to die and I don't want my family to die.


So I try to put my neurosis aside (and maybe that stupid heartburn will ease up if I can), and think about the trip, which is to witness one of my quite nice brothers-in-law getting married to a lovely woman.


I have mixed feelings about this trip.  I'm excited to see Tom's family; they are a fabulous bunch.  It's extra cool that his parents have chosen to get a room at the same hotel where we're staying (as opposed to staying at their house 45 minutes away).  They are thinkers, those two.  All of the activities sound fun, exciting, joyful and pleasant.


Except that they are scheduled for Mad's naptime, Mad's dinnertime or Mad's bedtime.


Now some of those dinnertime events are, in fact, dinners.  But knowing the family, it's highly unlikely we'll be eating then.  In the past few days it has occurred to me that I will be seeing a lot of the inside of our hotel room.  This will probably be preferable to seeing what that fancy restaurant is like.  I've never been to a place that doesn't have highchairs somewhere.  With Mad on my lap I will likely only see what she's just gotten hold of, where the knives are located (to move them away, thereby probably signaling waiters that I'm done before we start), the bathroom and the exit. 


Continuing to look for the positives, I say to myself that it's better to see the inside of a hotel than the outside of an airplane.