stuck at the airport

I'm fresh out of witty titles for yet another family "vacation" post. We went to the Outer Banks in North Carolina last week. No one got chewed on by a shark so I'm going to say it was a success.

This gets me every time.

The trip out there was pretty painless. I'm at peak mom performance when flying with my kids in the bulkhead behind a bunch of baby-hating first class bastards. Cultivating exemplary behavior in your children is fucking exhausting. I've never actually defused a bomb but I sort of imagine that being in enclosed public spaces with small children is basically the same thing, every three-to-five minutes, on endless repeat. Except instead of "Shit! Is it the red wire or the blue wire?!" it's "Please, for the love of God and everything holy, choose a snack/game/toy/book/movie/beverage that I have readily available in my handy-dandy backpack."

The kids were amazing but by the end of the day I was about to lose my shit. After twelve hours I was just SO OVER being on high alert, and the noise and being touched and grabbed and sat-on and the sticky hands on my face and having to carry a shit-ton of baggage, human and otherwise.

We finally got to our hotel in lovely Norfolk, Virginia, at about 1 a.m., and DM, sensing my fragile emotional state, went down and paid $40 for a bottle of cheap wine from the hotel bar. That's love.

The next day we started our drive to Duck, North Carolina. The Google told us the drive would only take an hour and a half which was much better than we expected. We stopped for lunch and groceries, and headed on our way. Unfortunately, approximately 2.1 billion other people had the same idea, and the drive that should have taken 1.5 hours took 4.

This should be interesting...

We stopped at a gas station for a bathroom break and snacks. DM is not averse to feeding the children things like Cheetos and Doritos on occasion, but I usually balk at that crap. (Not that I'm against junk food in general or edible items that are a shade of orange that does not occur in nature. It's just that those particular neon orange snacks gross me out.) However, one exception to my Dorito-ban is when Google Maps informs you it is going to take an hour and a half to drive 12 miles. Jack picked Nacho Cheese flavor and Colby chose Cool Ranch, which she aptly refers to as "The Smelly Ones."

Made it.

The actual "vacation" itself was pretty glorious, except for the part where I got food poisoning one day in. At least I had an ocean view while I sat on the toilet with a barf bucket between my knees. I was laid out the next day, which is the day I had ordered a cake for DM's 40th. Poor guy, I made him pick up, and pay for, his own birthday cake. Normally I like to shield him from the pesky little details such as the obscene amount of dollars I spend on themed party goods. Anyway, I let the bakery owner know that I was sending DM for the goodies in my stead because I had food poisoning. She asked, if I didn't mind, where I had eaten. When I told her, she replied, "Oh God. No wonder!" Great.

In addition to the important life lesson of "Listen to Yelp," I had a few other profound revelations:

Nutella + coffee is like a hot steaming cup of heaven.

And, ever notice how other people's drunk husbands are hilarious, but your own is annoying as hell? And how the converse is true of children? Like, nobody thinks your kids are as cute and charming as you do. And vice versa.

Lastly, it's super easy to make DIY exfoliating soap: Step 1: Take kids to sandy beach. Step 2: Put kids in bath. Step 3: Give them a bar of soap. Voila!

Unfortunately, the trip home ran a little less smoothly.

First, we had to make the drive and the cross country flight all in one day, which was ambitious. Then, after (mostly) being on their best behavior for seven days, the littles proceeded to lose their shit (literally and figuratively) approximately nine minutes into our fifteen hour travel day. We stopped at four different public bathrooms so Colby could attempt to poop. Whee. At least there wasn't traffic though! We got to the airport four hours early, which wouldn't have been terrible (gave us time to eat, run the kids, etc.), except...

All of the flights at Norfolk (and everywhere within a 200 mile radius) were grounded because the FAA server was down and thus air traffic control was rendered useless. Our flight was delayed indefinitely, which would cause us to miss our connection in Chicago, which happened to be the last flight out to San Diego that day. The next available flight out of Norfolk wasn't until Monday. (This was Saturday.)

Luckily, we did end up making it to Chicago that night. Of course, our baggage didn't. The kids weren't too stoked on not having their PJs, or their Star Wars toothbrushes. We got some cheapo vanity kits from the hotel, and Jack said, "That's nice they gave us these, but what would have been better is if we had packed our own things in our carry-ons. We should try to remember that next time." Yes, thank you, son. We should try to remember that.

I actually used to be really good about that. At least carrying-on toiletries and a spare pair of underwear. But I guess I got out of the habit now that our carry-ons are stuffed to the brim with blankies and lovies and iPads and crayons and coloring books and games and toys and a smorgasbord of non-Dorito snacks. (I'm actually really proud of myself, I made these adorable little travel boxes for the kids out of retro metal lunch boxes and those magnetic spice tins and all sorts of goodies. I am so Pinteresting right now!) So, yeah, not much room for emergency overnight supplies. Maybe next time.

I was texting with my two besties and one of them was having contraction-y type pains (at 22 weeks pregnant, so, no bueno), and the other one was about to undergo super scary back surgery, but obviously the most pressing problem was the fact that I had to wear the same underwear and stinky t-shirt the next day, and worse, I had to spend a day in public with NO MASCARA. (Um, by the way, as to the latter, did you know that there is now a MAC store in the Chicago O'Hare airport? Score!) As to the former, I tried to wash my shirt and underwear in the sink (< apparently, according to my brother and sister, this is very strange). Anyway, the shirt didn't dry overnight, so I spent twenty-minutes blow-drying it in the hotel bathroom, which I'm pretty sure only succeeded in me heat-sealing the BO into the fabric.

But. We were halfway there. When we got to the airport the next morning, we accidentally went to the fancy VIP security line and the agent let us in because I was giving off "good vibes." Maybe she assumed I was generating good vibes because I smelled like a dirty hippie? ;)

Because the flight was switched last minute, we had four separate seats strewn about the plane, and until about 20 minutes before we boarded, it was looking like we were going to have to rely on the mercy of strangers to get seats together, which I loathe doing, or, in the alternative, just leave our 3 and 5 year olds sitting solo with randos, which actually didn't seem like a completely terrible idea. But ultimately that got worked out too. Phew.

By the way, I think people who claim you shouldn't fly with kids are dicks, but I sympathize a little bit because I kind of feel the same way about people who fly when they've got SARS and shit.

My face when my neighbor on the plane apparently has Ebola.

As if 36 hours of travel wasn't enough, we had to drive straight from the airport to a final walk-through for our NEW HOUSE that we closed on the next day. This week has been so hectic we haven't even had a chance to celebrate! Should've saved some of that bourbon :)

But the kids have been great. Barely any vacation-hangover at all, despite the fact that Colby started a new class in preschool and Jack was in camp for a week which is way outside his comfort zone. (Come to think of it, this might be because, due to conflicting schedules, we had a babysitter picking them up every day and navigating "suicide hour" (as one of our friends calls it). Ha. Whoops. Thanks and apologies, J!)

PLUS, one of the TSA agents who patted me down at the airport told me I should "eat a cookie once in a while," so I'm going to mark the whole debacle down as a win!

Oh, I forgot to mention the part where we hired a dog-sitter and then she decided that she didn't really like taking care of our dog so she dropped Feta off at boarding and stayed at our house for a week anyway?! WTF?!

fly the unfriendly skies

my entire adult life, when i flew, i studiously avoided interaction with my fellow passengers. hoodie. sunglasses. book. headphones. ipad. resting bitch face. sometimes all of the above. the ideal was to prevent someone from sitting next to me at all, but at the very least, to escape 4 hours of painful small talk. and yet i never failed to land the chatty cathy, or verdrunken vince, or suuuuuper friendly young military guy who obviously didn't realize i'm almost twice his age. this whole time, i was missing the one accessory guaranteed to ward off other travelers like the plague: children.

and i get that. but we just traveled cross country with our kids and they were solid. the way out was pretty painless, oh yeah, except for the part where it was 5 hours of white-knuckle rodeo, sweet mary mother of god. there was a pilot sitting next to us and he said it was the worst, most consistent turbulence he had ever experienced, including 17 years in the air force! i was putting on an-Oscar-worthy performance by not sobbing and screaming bloody murder, and the kids thought it was all fun and games, at least until little Colby jean started turning green :(

anyway. at the end of the flight, the guy behind me said to Colby: "wow! you are such a good traveler! i thought the seat in front of me was empty you were so quiet!" translation: i thought your mother was a total nutcase, animatedly reading stories, playing legos and paper dolls, and singing "let it go" to herself.

on the flight back we were delayed 2 hours - in the plane on the tarmac - for maintenance of vague origin. then a FIVE AND A HALF hour flight. SO FAR. the kids handled it though. it helped that there was a baby and a six-year-old in the row ahead of us that were pretty out of control. that kid was a piece of work. the mom's hollerin' at him to STOP EATING YOUR BOOGERS. i almost died. then he launched into a charming little ditty made up of the words fart, poop, butt, pee, and booger-snot. he was droppin' some BOMBS, too, boy. smells like that should not emanate from a six year old. yeeew. i shouldn't judge though. children who have ingested near their body weight in Persian Kotlet also make for pungent passengers.

[OMG. DM just informed me that this kid kept reaching back between the seats and grabbing stuff out of their seat-back pockets, and DM was like, okay, whatever, but then he reached back and locked his boogery little hands on to Colby's legs! WTF? if i had been sitting there, you would have seen some "community parenting" in action. i mean, really???]

i do love a good crying baby though, when it's not mine. i'm not talking nuclear meltdown. just a slow, steady, category II cry. really takes the pressure off. i tell you what, though, if my kid falls asleep, all bets are off. if that crying wakes up this sleeping, you, sir, are going to have one or two additional angry minis on your lap.

speaking of sleeping babies. we hit some turbulence and the captain illuminated the fasten-your-seatbelt sign and came over the PA and instructed us to double check to make sure our seat-belts were fastened. i checked. mine wasn't. but there was a sweet angel boy asleep on my lap, and here is the honest truth: in that moment, i would rather die in a plane than wake up my sleeping child. (don't worry. his belt was securely fastened and his seat back and tray table were in the full, upright and locked position.)

BTW, here are some observations about flying:

if it requires mixed martial arts to cram your luggage into the overhead bin, just CHECK the fucking thing.

spilled apple juice smells like pee. or maybe all apple juice does, i don't know.

question: what the f*ck us up with US Airways? does their job application read: "Are you a miserable person? Well then, we have got the career for you! As a flight attendant on US Airways, not only will you be able to wallow in your own misery, you will be able to spread that misery to hundreds of strangers every, single, day!" okay. i'm not being fair. there are probably plenty of perfectly nice flight attendants on that airline. i just have yet to encounter one. well, that's actually not true. there was a really nice guy on our flight Tuesday. aggressively friendly, i would say. he kept throwing things at Jack's head. jack would look up with his initial "what the fuck?" face, then see it was this guy pulling his leg, and smile. that in and of itself is a testament to how far this boy of mine has come. two years ago, that would have ruined 7+ hours of 157 people's lives. anyway, i guess i can't really blame the grumpy ones. held captive 30,000 above the earth with a bunch of impatient, adult-sized toddlers can't be fun.

then, finally, that feeling. after seven goddamn hours stranded on this hunk of metal hurtling through the air, when the plane starts its descent? i swear i can hear a Baptist gospel choir starting up behind me. can i get an AMEN?!

we didn't get home until midnight California time (which was 3am by our recalibrated east coast clocks). i was mentally patting us all on the back and thinking, wow, we made it, that wasn't so bad... but then mommy had a meltdown. it had dawned on me about halfway through our flight that i couldn't just crawl in bed when i got home. i had to bake birthday muffins (remember, no cupcakes allowed!), and go to walgreen's to pick up photos of The Colbs at every year of her life for the preschool birthday song and dance that was happening at 9am the next day (wtf was I thinking? i do not know.) walgreens closes at 10pm, by the way. you should have heard me in the car when i pulled up to the darkened store. ARE YOU F*CKING KIDDING ME?! EXAMINE YOUR BUSINESS MODEL, ASSHOLES!!! "Walgreens. On the corner of Happy and Healthy." MY ASS. How about on the corner of ... STUPID... AND... CLOSED, goddammit." ha. classy. thank GOD and everything holy, DM, my lord and savior, said he would put the kids to bed, bake birthday muffins, AND make the kids' lunches. talk about mom porn.

ANYWAY. thanks to my amazing husband, i felt like things were maybe going to be okay. then i walked into the garage-slash-laundry-room, and realized that an enormous ball of sheets and towels had been sitting in the dryer for a week (and were not even remotely dry), and due to some feat of physics, had tied themselves into a moldy Gordian knot of epic proportions. honestly, it would be impossible for a human to configure linens in such an inextricable cluster of fuck. i briefly contemplated getting my phone to take a picture because there is no way anything but photographic evidence would do it justice, but instead, i just sat down on the ground with an enormous, thirty-pound, mildewy pile of wet laundry on my lap, and started crying like a baby.

ah, "vacation" ;)

oh yeah, and, just to let you know, we've now been back 7 days and everyone in the family is still, apparently, recovering from jet lag and grandparent hangover. but it's totally worth it! ;)

** If you liked this post, you'll love my essay in I Still Just Want to Pee Alone, Available Now! **

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delaWHERE?

We went to Delaware last week. It was far.

Traveling with kids. This topic is one of my mainstays. Travel, feminist mom/gender issues/pink glitter lint, and, of course, cheese.

I feel like traveling with children is just an endless loop of running interference and going to great lengths to avoid meltdowns. I am on high alert at all times. It's freaking exhausting. And then DM is like, "No naps? Going to bed at midnight? Feeding them nothing but warm grapes and granola bars for 24 hours? Eating out at restaurants with white tablecloths at 8 o'clock at night? They'll be FINE! Stop being such a stress-ball." Ha! All of motherhood for me is this constant struggle between wanting to placate them so they'll STFU, and wanting to hold the line so that they'll learn that their actions have consequences, and so maybe they won't grow up to be total douche bonnets, even though I know doing so is gonna ruin the next 30-90 minutes of my life.

*Sigh.*

Anyway. There's a post in the pipes about the actual traveling experience (also one about not raising miniature douche canoes). But for now, a few funnies that were said:

Grandpa (Baba), cutting cantaloupe for Colby, near Colby.
Colby: Uh, Baba? Did you know kids are not supposed to have knives?
My kids are nothing if not rule-abiding. Just like their mama. (I just re-read this (yes I read my own blog posts. Probably more than anyone else's, by a long shot) and was like, Wait. My kids are ANYTHING but rule abiding. Unless said rule allows them to boss other people (e.g. Colby LOVES telling other babies/children "It's not a crying thing,") and/or is the most effective way to inconvenience their mother. Then they are all about STRICT adherence to the letter of the law.)

Then, Baba tries to feed Colby the canteloupe.
C: I'd rather feed myself. Fanks doh.

Grandma ("Ima," who grew up in Iran and still has a bit of an accent): I have to get the scissor.
Jack: Who's Caesar?

Oh yeah, also, my baby turned 3. Waaaa. I was showing her baby pictures and there's this one where she's sitting on an old suitcase that belonged to my great grandmother.

Colby: Is your gweat gwandma dead?
Me: Yes.
Colby: Did she get killed by bad guys?
Me: Um, no.

Also, it was COLD.

I mean. Not zero degrees. But not 82. Jack wanted to open the car window while we were driving.
DM: No way! Do you want to turn into a Popsicle?!
Colby: I'm gonna turn into a popsi-GIRL!

This guy was obviously an escaped mental patient, out and about dressed like this.
I was wearing three coats.

Reading Dinosaurs Love Underpants at bedtime. Spoiler alert: The dinosaurs die.
Jack: What happened to the dinosaurs, mama?
Me: Um, I think they're sleeping.
Jack: Daddy said they were dead.
Me: Oh.
Jack: Mama? Tomorrow, can you show me a picture of a dinosaur and dinosaur bones? And a wooly mammoff and woolly mammoff bones? And a saver-toof-tiger and saver-toof-tiger bones? Cuz I willy want to learn about dat stuff.
Me: Yes, absolutely bud.
Colby: Mama, tomorrow, will you learn me pictures about pwincess bones and baby bones?
Me: Ummmm....

TV room with lazy boy recliner couch = "Da Woom Wif Da Magic Chairs"

Jack: Daddy! Stop eating stuff off my plate, I don't want you to be fat!
DM: Well you're not eating it.
K: So. That doesn't mean you have to eat it. Just leave it dare!
DM: ...
Colby: I don't want daddy's belly to be wittow! It's comfy!

Colby: Hey how did you lock that door? [Auto-lock car door.]
DM: I did it with my brain.
Colby: No you didn't cuz you don't has one of doze.
Ohhh snap! ;)

DM: I feel like if you squint your ears a lot of the songs today sound like they're from the 80s.

Oh, and, for the past two years, I have been holding a grudge because I believed that DM tricked me into eating an actual meat cheesesteak from Capriotti's sandwich shop. (I'm a vegetarian, or rather, a cheese-a-tarian, so this did not sit well with me.) I believed this because they opened a couple shops in San Diego, and we went, and they do not have a veggie cheese steak. I simply did not believe that the Wilmington, Delaware contingent would have a tofurkey cheesesteak when California's didn't. But. The man was vindicated. I'm just happy I didn't inadvertently eat cow.

Who knew?

Finally, here's a little gem from today:

Text from DM this morning: What do I do with her hair when you Elsa braid it at night? Undo the braid? ["Elsa braid," otherwise known as a braid-braid. I have a limited repertoire.]
Me: Yes, take out the braid, get it wet, and then do whatever. (Or else it's an Elsa-braid-tail with a big snarly halo on top. Business in the back, party in the front.)
Ten minutes later I get this:

"So... not this?"

Lol. Not bad actually. I like his problem-solving skills. Good daddy ;)

** If you liked this post, you'll love my essay in I Still Just Want to Pee Alone, Available Now! **

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leavin on a jet pwane

what are the chances of making a connection with two small children and a 15 minute layover?

the answer is zero. zero percent.

we went to michigan last week. on the flight out the kids were angels. i know this has very little to do with me. (as one of my cousins quotes, when it comes to kids, don't take too much credit for the good or the bad.) but still. when people say to you after a painless 4.5 hour flight, "wow, your kids are SO GOOD," it's hard not to feel a tiny bit proud. of course i say thank you and laugh it off and chalk it up to luck and divine intervention. but in my head i'm thinking, yeah, man. dragging these nuggets on airplanes ten times a year since they were born, spending a small fortune on exciting new travel toys every single time, hours spent perfectly packing nutritious snacks and "busy bags" that will fit under the seats in front of us... yeah. i am getting pretty darn good at this.

as they say. pride go-eth before the fall.

on the day of our return, we get to the airport and find out our flight is delayed. if we miss our connection in minneapolis/st. paul, we'll have a five hour layover, and not get back to san diego until after midnight (which is 3am michigan time). we're watching the flight delay tick up by the minute, and our layover time sliced down sliver by sliver - 40 minutes, 30 minutes, 20 minutes, 18 minutes... the alternative is to take a later flight out of kalamazoo, connect in detroit, and get home around 9:45. when we realized we would have less than 20 minutes to make our connection, we bit the bullet and made the switch. i'm really glad we did because we would 100% have missed the flight and been stuck at MSP for 5 hours with two angry babies which sounds like the ninth rung of hell. 

so we wait. (2 hours, not 5, thank you lord). the kids are already pretty tetchy at this point - it's been almost a week in strange hotel rooms, sleeping on weird schedules, and spending all day every day with lots and lots and lots of loved ones. they're just kinda loved-out. they were mostly super great, by the way, especially my mister "don't touch me." and i think they were just exhausted and maybe felt like they could finally let down their "best behavior" guard. it was just bad timing, as we were in a teeny tiny airport with great acoustics and every single person there was privy to the kids' theatrics. and of course, we still had over 6 hours of travel time ahead of us.

because we switched flights last minute, the seating arrangements were dicey. they were able to get us 2 and 2 for the quick hop over to detroit, which went fine. of course the girl fell asleep on my lap 3 minutes before we landed, but what can you do?

then from detroit to san diego, we had a row of 3, and then a middle seat seven rows up. middle seats make me homicidal so i chose to sit with the kids. it was supposed to be a full flight, but as they closed the doors of the airplane, the aisle seat across from us was open! "FATE," i thought. just as i reached up to press my call button to get DM into that seat, the guy who was in the middle scootched over and buckled himself into the aisle seat. i made my best sad-sack mom face and gave him the elevator version of our story, saying i was really hoping my husband could sit there and help out! otherwise this was going to be a long flight! pretty please??? [insert batting eyelashes here.] no dice. he said, "sorry, but i sat in the middle the entire way here and if i have a choice, i am not doing it again." i stopped batting my eyelashes and said, "well then, my husband will be taking that middle seat with a grumpy toddler on his lap." of course, i had two grumpy toddlers on my lap and no way to signal the seat subterfuge to DM so it was an empty threat.

before we even took off, a baby behind us started to cry. colby puts her hands over her ears and says, "DAT'S TOO LOUD." i said yes but sometimes babies cry and she should probably try to be a little more understanding as she was just pulling some ear-piercing mariah carey-pitched BS in the airport. the baby continued to shriek and colby pipes up, "dat baby is CWABBY.... diss is not a cwying ting!!...we don't hass to whine 'bout it."

and someone in front of us definitely has SARS.

then as we take off, jack's like, "DISS PWANE IS GOING TO AFWICA!!! Wait! No! we are going to CHINA! Wait! No! We are going to PWUTO!!! Pwuto is dah farzest away as awfica!!" the ascent was a little bumpy and he continues to narrate, loud enough for deaf people to hear, "OH NO! we are getting shotted by Ironing Man's REPOSTER BWASTS! oh no! we are going to CWASH into dah OCEAN! Pew Pew Pew!!! Aaaaahhhhh!"

the first couple of hours were less than enjoyable but definitely not the worst thing in the world. they were just grumpy and tired and hungry (but didn't want to eat anything i had to offer) and uncomfortable and bored of my bag o' tricks and super squirrelly. then they both wanted to go to the bathroom at the same time but there was no way i was going to try to pull that off so i walked them up to DM and said, "help." then i tapped out, trading seats with DM for the last 2 hours of the flight. i imagine it supremely sucked for him because they were already on a one-way train to crazy town, but i couldn't hear the kids from 7 aisles away, so it could have been worse, right?

DM warned me that i really wasn't going to like the other seat, but i didn't think it could be as bad as the seat i just came from. and i'm sure it wasn't. but it was not ideal. it was between an older couple who had seats on the window and aisle, and they were not slim, and they kept wanting to have conversations and pass reading materials and hot coffee and snacks across my lap, and i had a nearly uncontrollable urge to punch a couple of elderly folks in the "eye-bowls" (as Colby likes to say).

it was so hot and sweaty and uncomfortable and i was crawling out of my skin and i was just thinking to myself, there is NO WAY ON EARTH i could possibly fly to someplace like fiji or anywhere in afwica. and definitely not pwuto. which somehow made me feel even MORE claustrophobic because that basically means i am stranded on this continent for the rest of my life. (i did fly to europe by myself when i was 9 which completely boggles my mind. but that was before my complete set of neuroses was fully developed.)

i had no choice but to eavesdrop on the kids behind me, which at least took my mind off the all-encompassing sense of anxiety:

girl to boy: my birthday is march 28 and your birthday is august 28. six months apart!
nope.
girl: well a year and six months apart.
nope.
girl: once you turn 17 your are closer to 20 than 15.
nope.
girl: well, once you are 17 and a day.
nope. this is not giving me a great deal of hope with respect to san diego's public school system.

i tried to distract myself by watching a movie but then discovered it was going to cost $6 to watch cameron diaz in "the other woman," and while i'll spend more than that on red bull in a single day, i couldn't bring myself to do it. (okay actually it was just because i didn't have a credit card on me.) someone in front of me was watching that animated movie "9," with Japanese subtitles and frankly it was scaring the CRAP out of me. maybe it's less ominous when you can watch it with sound but that shit gave me nightmares. finally i discovered i could watch older/crappier movies for free so i settled for eminem in 8 mile. i fast-forwarded all the way until the final "battle," which is still one of my favorite movie scenes of all time.

and i have to say, i sort of identified with eminem in that movie - except instead of using rap skills to overcome socioeconomic adversity, i'm using humor and glitter glue to overcome parenting adversity, and while these paths are accompanied by nausea and black eyes, in the end we both win ;)

the shit show, part twah [?]

monday. our last day. our flight is at 2:45. at this point, we are bummed we aren't staying longer because the kids are back to their normal only slightly psycho selves and we are finally having a good time. such is life. we spend the morning at the pool and get lunch at the palapa pool bar. the plan is to leave at 12, which should give us plenty of time. but, as they say, the best laid plans...

due to an unfortunate series of events, we arrive at the airport counter at 1:48. i am not saying this to make a better story. it is literally 1:48. just a word to the wise, when spirit airlines says the cut-off for check-in on international flights is 60 minutes, they are not fucking around. the flight was oversold, and they had already bumped us. i know that this is our fault. i'm not asking for sympathy. okay. maybe i am. a little. anyway. the lady is not having it. it looks like we are going to get our wish of another day in mexico. i wish i could say i just rolled with the punches and took advantage of an extended stay in paradise (lost), but i can't miss work, we have no place to stay, and the whole situation is less than ideal. luckily, DM the charmer works his magic and convinces the woman to let me and the kids on the plane, but he has to stay behind and take the next flight. which is the next day. when she says this, i feel a little part of my soul die. flying alone with kids. and baggage. and customs. and the parking shuttle. and bed time. and breakfast. and drop off. and pick up again. and dinner. i know people do this every day of their lives and i bow down to their superhuman strength. but just the thought of it makes me want to cry. which i proceed to do. after some finagling, DM convinces them to give him a gate pass so he can at least help us up to the gate and see us off. on our way through security, with the clock ticking, one of the carseats gets lodged in the x-ray machine. i shit you not.

that would be a mexican-TSA agent reaching into the x-ray machine
in attempts to dislodge the car seat that the other agent forcefully jammed in there,
despite DM's protests that it was not going to fit

at the gate, the kids are already squirrelly and the outlook does not look good. as we line up to board, i whisper to DM, "whoever took your seat is going to be very sorry." we get on the plane. we have a middle seat and a window seat. colby is on my lap, which she perceives as a grave injustice to her budding independence. i'm trying to get everyone situated. jack has globs of snot running down his face and needs help IMMEDIATELY. he does not abide plain old tissues though. oh no. the prince demands that only the finest organic hemp fiber woven wet wipes grace his strong persian nose. i pull tissues and crayons and a "dusty crop-hopper" and a mini etch-a-sketch out of my backpack before i find the wipes. i then notice that my hands, and everything else i just touched, are covered in brown goo. being a mother of small children, i immediately assume the worst. it is not completely outside the realm of possibility that there is a hidden pile of shit in my backpack. i quickly realize that it is only melted chocolate, thank you baby jesus. i had stashed some of our lifetime supply of pillow mints in my backpack for bribery on the trip there, and forgotten about them. left in a hot black car with quote-unquote-air-conditioning, they had melted into chocolate mush, which was now everywhere. i proceed to clean the chocolate off of me, the airplane, my backpack, the toys, and the children, and i am holding a small mountain of melted-chocolate-stained wet-wipes in my hands when our seatmate finally sits down, gaping at me in abject horror. honestly, i'm secretly a bit pleased, because, eff her. seat stealer. she is simultaneously mauling a greasy smelly bacon-cheeseburger-mess from mexican jack in the box and i do not feel very sorry for her at all.

the flight goes shockingly well until the very end. with about an hour left i break out the ipads, and my seatmate makes some snide remark about "kids these days." i inform her that she is more than welcome to entertain them for the rest of the flight "the old fashioned way."

then, for whatever reason, the customs forms are written entirely in spanish. news travels fast that i am the only gringo who can (sort of) read the forms, and am thus elected the spanish language translator for rows 15 through 20. which is fine. it's not like i have my hands full or anything.

then the flight attendants start talking about how it's somebody's birthday. they have the whole airplane do the wave. twice. ("this time with feeling, folks!") then one of them sings happy birthday. colby gets really excited and starts clapping and singing along "hap, hap, hap berfday! hap berfday!" then she has an "Aha!" moment. she looks at me and says. "berrrfdaaay? i wannn IFE CWEAM!" me: "lovey, it's not your birthday. it's someone else's birthday. there's no ice cream." her face starts to melt. "i. wann. IIIIFE CWEEEEEEEEEAM!!!! wwwaaaaAAAAAAA!!!!" so, that was fun.

then, as we start our descent, the flight attendant comes and tells us we have to raise our window shades for landing. the reason we had them down is because the sun was at such an angle that it caused searing white light to stream in, which rather upset my sensitive son. but who am i to argue with arcane rules and regulations? so we open the shades. at which time jack begins to scream, AAAAAHHH, MY EYEEESSSS! I AM GETTING BLINDED BY THE LIGHT!!!! AAAAAAH!!!" luckily, i had a stash of fruit snacks to get us through the last gasp. we deplaned in an extremely ungraceful fashion. people really are so nice when you are clearly a walking melted-chocolate-covered biohazard. while we were in the air, DM had called his sister, who happened to be at the airport in portland. she is generally awesome and specifically super amazing at getting shit done, and arranged for a spirit airlines representative to meet me at the gate, free of charge, to help get me and all of my baggage (including the mini humans) at least through customs. unfortunately, wrestling three bags and two children, i do not see this message until i am past the gate beyond a "No Re-entry" sign. i'm not sure if the person just didn't show up in time, or if they didn't know which one i was, and i didn't know to ask? in my defense, i was pretty clearly identifiable as the "hot sweaty mess who needs a great deal of help." i check my phone while we take a pit stop and see the arrangements my super-sis-in-law had made, but i can't walk back to the gate, and i figure, oh well, we're almost there, i'll just deal. but then the kids start spazzing out and i'm thinking, maybe i do need the help. so i crouch down to get my phone to see if i can call or at least get the confirmation number or whatever. suddenly, a CBP agent is standing directly over me and he yells out to the entire room: "ATTENTION, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! THE USE OF CELL PHONES IN THE CUSTOMS AREA IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY FEDERAL LAW!" so there goes that plan.

the kids had been running laps along the bay of windows but once i got further up in line i tried to convince them to fall in. colby wasn't having any of it. in my best threatening mom whisper, i was like, colby jean, come here right now please! she yelled back, "NO! I POOPING!" oooooooooof course you are. i switched tacks and tried bribery. no dice. i even sent big brother over as a friendly ambassador of tic tacs and fruit snacks. it was actually pretty hilarious to hear his attempts at diplomacy. i had promised there was something in it for him if he could get his sister in line without making her cry. but she held steadfastly to her line rope pole, red-faced and grunting for all to see. finally i had to just undo the lane divider and walk over and throw her stinky butt over my shoulder. it was quite the show. (apologies to my dear daughter's sweet cheeks marinating in poop but i am NOT waiting in that line again.) eventually we get up to the customs guy and he's talking to me and then he says, "so you have two little ones?" me: "yep." him: "'the youngest one in curls?'" me: "uh, yep?" him: "ugh, really??? you don't know what i'm talking about, do you?" me: "ummm... well... that does sound kind of familiar....???" him: "aaaah, c'mon!" me: "sorry!" him: "google it."

good lord. i didn't realize there was a pop culture quiz as part of the customs inspection!

then the escalator almost ate my eldest child. don't even ask me wtf i was thinking trying to get on the escalator with three backpacks, two tiny children, and two sweaty hands. thereafter, jack and i formulated an addendum to the Cheese Family CC&Rs: no escalators unless the parent-child ratio is 1:1.

then i forgot the car seat on the baggage carousel and wouldn't have noticed until i got to my car if it weren't for a helpful customs agent who brought it over. (they knew it was mine because we were THE ONLY PEOPLE LEFT.) plus one point for CBP.

then i get back to the parking lot in a shuttle that is packed to the brim with impatient people and i have no idea where my car is. i mean, not a fuckin clue. i think i see it so i ask to get off but it turns out that it is not, in fact, my car. i angrily text DM: "remember how you said the parking lot is not that big and we would easily find the car? WRONG. the parking lot is actually quite fucking large, and my car is LOST INSIDE OF IT." thank god i had forgotten the car seat (again) on the shuttle and the nice driver was driving around looking for me and finds me wandering forlornly around the parking lot dragging two grumpy babies behind me. he insists we get back on the shuttle, then drives back to pick up the luggage i had abandoned two aisles away, and then he drives us up and down the rows until we find my car (on the second-to-last row, naturally). and he won't even accept an extra tip. then, DM is able to get a flight on another airline and gets home in time to tuck the crazy baby nuggets into bed. there is goodness in the world :)

so, yeah. that happened. and if you would like to see us, feel free to come visit, because we are never leaving the house ever again. haha, just kidding. we are various permutations of out-of-town for the next 6 weeks. FML. wish us luck! (and patience. and humility. and kindness. and a commercial supply of fruit snacks ;))

at least it looks like we had fun in pictures ;)
i am actually already suffering from momnesia.
give me another month or two and i will probably be looking back at this trip fondly
and scheduling a family vacation to maui ;)

just joining us?

read "the shit show," part I and part deux, here.

the shit show, part deux

continued from "the shit show, part I."

friday morning. headed to the airport. as we're on the shuttle from parking lot, i say to DM, "crap! i didn't get a ticket with our parking space on it, did you?" he replies, "no. but it's fine. i'll remember where we parked. it's not that big a lot, anyway." (for those of you who were english majors, you may recognize this as a literary device called foreshadowing.)

the flight to mexico is dicey. i mean, i guess it could have been worse. but i would rather undergo a two-hour bikini wax or minor oral surgery. we had decided to save a few hundred bucks by having colby fly as a lap baby, but i would have paid in gold for an extra seat at the time. then there is the joy that is the mexican car-rental experience. let's just say that "air conditioner" is a term loosely defined, and i am shocked that the vehicle did not spontaneously combust for the duration of our trip.

we finally arrive at the condo, and are happily surprised by the place. however, it seems to be an expat retirement community. it is very serene and quiet. or, it was. resulting from a dangerous combination of hunger, exhaustion, travel, and sickness, both of our children lose their muther-luvin minds that evening. as DM said, "good thing we're in a catholic country. we should be able to find a decent exorcist." seriously. they were possessed. it was OUT of control. i am shocked that mexico's version of CPS did not come knocking on our door. i cannot convey in words how painful it was. i am prone to hyperbole, and say at least once a week that i am having the worst day of my life, so the phrase has lost some of its impact coming from me. but happy-go-lucky DM is generally mr. positivity, and by the time we belly-crawled our bruised and battered selves back to our room after the epic bedtime battle, he said, "barring death and life-threatening illness and injury, i think that may have been the worst day of my entire life. top five, easy. at the very least, that was the absolute worst valentine's day in history. but, i'm glad i got to spend it with you." *swoon.* don't be jealous of our love ;)

the next day was sort of alright, except we had to get groceries and set up shop, so we did not get to take full advantage of our locale. naptime and bedtime again were harrowing experiences that drove us to the brink, and to the drink. i can happily report, however, that after 33 years and 23 months, i have turned the corner with respect to the consumption of beer. after bonding over MGD's with step-grams and my bro a couple of weeks ago, i've seen this pee-drink in a new light. i think DM fell in love with me all over again. he said, "if i had a blog, i would write a post about how, just when i thought i really knew you, you walk out onto the porch, sit down, and crack open a tecate at 2pm." (doesn't sound like the most interesting blog post, but hey, at least he'd have brevity on his side ;))

trying to find my happy place

sunday was pretty perfect. it was exactly as we had envisioned our "vacation" to be. i think we still had a hard time fully enjoying ourselves though. we were both suffering from a mild-to-moderate case of PTSD from friday, and were just waiting for the other shoe to drop. we had also caught "the crud" from the kiddos, and found little joy in tequila, which is quite out of character. still. the whole trip might have been worth it. if it weren't for...

(to be continued . . . )

you can't see it in this picture, but there were approximately 700,320 birds on this beach.
i don't know if it's always like that or they were just hovering there because it was turtle-hatching season
and they wanted a piece of the turtle baby buffet. in any event. birds f*cking terrify me.
not only were there hordes of seagulls, there were actual vultures circling in the sky.
it was downright hitchcockian.
the worst part was that there was not a square foot of beach without bird shit on it.
i'm surprised we didn't contract avian poop flu.
now see? what if i just posted this to facebook with a caption like, "live your bliss?"
that would be "choosing joy," i guess ;)

the shit show, part I

ah, vacation. sun. sand. sea. sipping a big, icy cold margarita in a frosted glass while the children frolic happily on the beach, gentle ocean waves lapping at their adorable little sausage toes.

hahahahahahahahaha. good one, eh?

i've talked before about the trials and tribulations of family "vacations," flying with children, and DM's and my misguided aspirations to expose our children to culture and travel while maintaining the adventurous spirit upon which our relationship was founded. and i have to admit, i was starting to get a little cocky. ever since jack was 11 months old, traveling with the kids seems to have become progressively easier. not without its challenges, mind you. but, not the absolute worst thing in the world (which is probably the strongest endorsement i could give) and, arguably, worth the benefits it brings.

well, ladies and gentlemen, i can assure you, my ego is now in check. may i please have an extra large scoop of ice cream with my humble pie?

you may have heard/read, but, just to set the tone, a week prior, my grandpa died. we figured we were going to need to cancel our mexican vacation to attend the service. but, as "luck" would have it, the memorial was postponed a couple of weeks and our vacation plans remained intact.

then, the kids got sick. the entire week was an exercise in sleep deprivation, with long days juggling snotty babes and laptops and distracted conference calls and long nights where one or both sicky littles woke up needing tylenol and TLC. we were scheduled to leave for mexico friday morning. at 11:30 pm on thusday night, DM and i are sitting on the couch, trying to catch up with work. it is eerily quiet. he looks over at me and says, "i'm not even going to say anything...." let me translate our marital ESP: "i can't believe no one has woken up yet. that's a good sign. but i'm not going to say it out loud, because i am a notorious jinx-er, and if i say it out loud, someone will wake up." me: "DON'T EVEN THINK IT. GET THAT THOUGHT OUT OF YOUR HEAD. RIGHT. NOW."

as if on cue, the baby monitor emits an animal-like wail. but, we realize, it's jack's monitor. we were not expecting that, because he is the one who got sick first, and seemed mostly fine at this point. he's also three and a half, rarely wakes up in the night anymore, and when he does, it's usually pretty easy to get him back down. [*KNOCK ON WOOD*] DM goes back and tries to settle him, to no avail. it escalates. i go back there and attempt to exude my most nurturing, motherly presence. he screams at me: DON'T TOUCH ME! GET OFF MY BED! GET OUT OF MY ROOM RIGHT NOW!!! then he screams when i leave. at this point, he is utterly inconsolable. DM and I are both in there, trying to do and say anything we can to get him to calm down. NOTHING works. he can't tell us what is wrong or why he is crying or how we can make it better. it's a lose-lose situation. the only consistent thing is that he is periodically grabbing his left ear and saying "OWIIIIIE." we are finally able to get him to take some motrin, but it doesn't help a bit. this goes on for three hours. i have never, ever seen him this upset for this long, at least not since the "dark days" of colic over three years ago. DM and i are staring at each other, wide-eyed with panic, like, what in the fuck is going on??? and i am on the verge of tears, too. not only because i feel bad that he is so miserable, but because, honestly, and i know this sounds sort of silly, i know he's sick and just a kid, but he hurt my feelings. (incidentally, i read this post recently and it really resonated with me: "Forgive and forget? I wish I could" on Motherhood, WTF?)

i finally called the kaiser "help" line. all i really wanted was the physical address of an urgent care clinic, but i had to sit through their spectacularly unhelpful triage process, e.g., "Is your son afraid of clowns? Does he prefer broccoli or asparagus? Is he awake and responsive right now? Okay. Have him pick a number, any number, between 1 and 99...." once i had hacked my way through the ridiculous bureaucratic BS, i was informed that they don't have urgent care, only the ER, and "god only knows how long that'll take." the nurse recommended that i just bring him in to his pediatrician first thing in the morning. i informed her that that wasn't going to work because we had a flight at 10am. i asked if i should just take him to the ER instead. she was a total arschloch and was like, "Ma'am, you don't need MY permission to do whatever you want to do for your son. I cannot give you medical advice. I'm just giving you my suggestion as a trained medical professional. But you just go on ahead and do whatever your little heart desires with regards to your son's health and well being." i hung up, savored a few choice words for the "trained medical professional," and got dressed to take my son to the ER. then we conveniently remembered that my father-in-law is a doctor, so we called him and asked him to just call in a prescription for antibiotics. i went to CVS at 3:30 in the morning and got the prescription and an entire bag of crappy clearance stuff for valentine's. by the time i got home, though, jack was sound asleep on the couch. when he woke up in the morning, he was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. we were like, wtf? but hey, i'll take that over sick psycho baby any day.

[okay. so. i was recently reading some "blog tips" and the lady was saying, "it doesn't really matter how long your blog post is. if it takes you 1,000 words to passionately discuss how you feel, so be it. but keep in mind, most people don't have the time or the inclination to read 1,000 words." (so, in other words, it totally does matter how long your blog post is.) hmmm. so, then, how do we feel about 3,042 words? too much? ;) alright. in light of this recent discovery, i'm splitting this post into three installments that are still well beyond the attention span of the average american, which is slightly longer than that of a fruit fly. that's the best i can do :)]

to be continued . . .


kaiser "i can't give you advice" nurse, i will cut you.
source: http://www.sasstown.com/blog/tag/airlines

weekender

"It is better to travel well than to arrive." - Buddha

Well, shit. I'm basically screwed then because these days I consider it a successful trip if we all manage to arrive at our destination in one piece without attracting the attention of TSA, FAA, CPS, SDPD, or any other acronym that could land my ass in jail.

Anyway.

Before DM and I started a family, we loved to travel, and we swore that (among many other things) we wouldn't let having kids slow us down. Not only did we want to continue to explore, we hoped to foster the same wanderlust and sense of adventure in our children. We wanted them to see and appreciate life beyond the bounds of their own backyard.

And that's all well and good. But. Holy Mary Mother of God. Have you tried traveling with children? There's no two ways about it. Traveling with kids slows you down. Like, a lot. I mean, take the amount of time and baggage you think you'll need, and multiply it times three. Or maybe five. I'm not saying we've changed our aspirations, or that we can't still achieve them, but like most things having to do with children, it's definitely going to look a little different than I originally intended.

We started our travel immersion progam early-on, and we take baby steps. This past weekend we went to visit our old besties (not that they aren't our besties anymore, but they moved 400 miles away, so they're on probation ;)) Because Jack had T-ball and DM is the coach, the plan was for Colby and me to fly out late Friday night, and Jack and DM to join us after T-ball on Saturday. Jack was aware of this plan, and was fine with it, until three minutes before Colby and I were about to leave, when he threw THE EVER LOVIN' MOTHER of all fits. He literally acted like I told him he was never going to see us ever again. He tends to the dramatic, but this was a whole new level of distress. It was such that I actually called the airline to see if it would be possible to switch his flight from Saturday to that night (like, 2 hours hence). Jack, sobbing, asked, "Arwe you weally calling da pilot to get me a ticket, Mom???" The ever-helpful Alaska Airlines representative was more than happy to switch J's ticket, for a change in fare AND a hefty fee. I was like, eff that.

So, we loaded Colby and our bags into the car. Jack continued to scream bloody murder, which got both Colby and the dog going, while DM and I were hollering at each other to be heard over the ruckus. I got in the car and started to back out of the driveway but for some reason the vision of DM physically restraining a sobbing, kicking, screaming, heartbroken Jack was just too much for me, so I stopped the car. I got out and told DM to put Jack in the car and drive us to the airport, so that I could fly, by myself with two kids, at 9:30pm on a Friday night (and DM could coach T-ball the next day even though his own kid wasn't present, ha!) I am ridiculous and insane. On the way to the airport, Colby starts losing her mind (I WANT MY SHOES ON AND OFF! I WANT TO HOLD YOUR HAND BUT ALSO I DO NOT!), and I busted out an emergency pacifier that we'd nixed two months ago. Oh well!

We got to the airport, got our boarding passes, got through security, and got to the gate with very little fuss. (Almost) everyone is so kind and helpful when you are a hot sweaty mess with two baby giants in tow. One guy about my dad's age who was traveling with his wife asked what he could do to help, and they were kind of my real-life guardian angels the entire trip. After hand-checking our stroller for explosives, the sweet TSA agent brought it over and said: "I tried to empty the sand out of it, but there was a lot." Ha. Story of my life. (Do you remember learning about asymptotes in geometry? And how they will never actually be zero no matter how close it looks? That is like sand in my life. And pee. And snot.) Then she gave the kids sticker-badges which was a big hit. God/Allah/Yahweh/Buddha bless their kind souls.

Things went so smoothly (relatively speaking) that we got to the gate with over an hour to spare, which, if you have kids you know is not ideal (though still preferable to being the last a-holes on the plane!) Luckily it was late enough that the place was pretty deserted, and they were tired enough that they'd lost some of their fight, but not so tired that they were in "the danger zone." For a while they were pretty content to stand at the window and watch the goings-on out on the runway.

This might be a good time to mention Colby's recent habit of calling out each and every vehicle she sees. She particularly loves trucks. Only, she pronounces it "phuck." Now, this hasn't yet been much of a problem, and I'll even go so far as to say we find it pretty darn hilarious in the comfort and privacy of our family sedan. But. I can now attest to the fact that it's more than a little embarrassing when it happens in a well-populated but nearly silent public place. "PHUCK! BIG PHUCK! BLACK PHUCK! WHITE PHUCK! WHERE DAT PHUCK GO?! C'MON, PHUCK!" O. M. G. What can you do?!? I was just like, "Ohhh, yes, truck. Yes, I see that truck!" I guess I should be thankful she didn't simultaneously want to "shit" [sit] and drink her "douche" [juice]. *Sigh.*

Meanwhile, Mr. J took his little die cast Southwest Airlines airplane out of his backpack and started to play with it. Then he began narrating, as he is wont to do. "Dis is not a Souf-west Aiowlines aiowplane. Dis is a Alaska Aiowlines aiowplane. It's bwoken because it doesn't has a tail wing. Dis bwoken Alaska Aiowlines aiowplane is gonna cwash and burin and all the peopow arwe gonna get dead." WTF?!?! "Ummm, that sounds really scary and awful, let's not talk like that, okay?" J: "I'm just pwe-tending, Mom." Me: "Okay." J: "I'm just pwetending dat dis Alaska Aiowlines aiowplane is gonna cwash and catch on fi-ow and die." Me: "Hey guys! Wanna read a book?" OMG. I have NO CLUE where he gets this shit?! And if I were to provide closed-captioning for the thought bubbles of the people around me, I imagine it'd go something like "May I please sit in a row that does not contain a mini sociopath? Super, thanks!"

When we got on the plane, the guy in front of us, who had apparently just changed his seat, looked back at me and my baby/luggage juggling act and said loudly to his travel partner: "Ugh. Maybe I should switch back to my other seat." Hey, twat-waffle! News flash! You were a kid once, too! And you were probably a dick even then! Why can't you be like the rest of civilized non-breeder society and just quietly give me the stink-eye?!

There was one other kid on the flight, probably about one-and-a-half, the same age as Colby Jean. I generally like it when there are other children on the flight because it decreases the odds that mine will be the a-holes, but this time it wasn't really working out for me. They were letting their kid run up and down the aisle, and in between, the dad alternated between tossing the kid up in the air and "flying" him around in a vigorous game of "airplane." Really it was a veritable circus act on a Bombardier Q400. I was like, Dude! Do you not realize that the only reason my children are sitting still is because I have told them that if they get up the pilot will come back here and arrest them put them on a time-out? You are completely destroying all suspension of disbelief here. Normally I subscribe to a live-and-let-live, "whatever you need to do to keep your child from screaming his face off and ruining everyone's day" mentality, but when your antics f*ck up my ability to blatantly lie to my children in order to get them to behave, we have a problem ;)

Anyway, we arrived in one piece (no fiery death or dismemberment, I am pleased to report), and I didn't even have to break out the electronics, so that ought to give you some indication as to how smoothly things went! I pray our cross-country flight to the east coast for Thanksgiving is as painless!!!

Even more importantly, we had as perfect a weekend as you can have with five rugrats under foot, cementing our conviction that traveling with children is worth it, even though the journey is infinitely more painful than the destination.

More travel quotes, if you're into that kind of thing:

"Not all who wander or lost." (My fave) - JRR Tolkien.

"He travels the fastest who travels alone." - Rudyard Kipling. You're tellin' me. God have mercy. Honestly. Somebody could cure cancer in the time it takes to get through security with toddlers in tow.

"Reminds me of my safari in Africa. Somebody forgot the corkscrew and we had to live on nothing but food and water." - W.C. Fields. That sounds almost as bad as parenting without alcohol.

"The World is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page." - Saint Augustine. Granted, if you're traveling with small children, the other pages might be laced with tears, ear-piercing screams, boogers, and mean mugs from your fellow travelers. But then you get to the really good parts ;)

"A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike. And all plans, safeguards, policing, and coercion are fruitless. We find that after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us." - John Steinbeck. Ain't that the truth! And a trip with kids takes you by the throat and nearly strangles you to death, but when you get through to the other side, you really appreciate being alive!

More Steinbeck: "A journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it." Wait. I can't control my marriage??? ;)

"The traveler sees what he sees, the tourist sees what he has come to see." - G.K. Chesterton. I'm learning that travelers with children see public bathrooms. Lots of bathrooms. Incidentally, G.K. Chesterton is my most favorite quotee ever, because it is he who said "Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese."

And this -

Photo by Seattle Dredge of SeattlesTravels.com
This and several of the quotes found on Voyage Vixens

J: WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!!!
C: PHUUUUUCK!
 

who knew? hell is at 30,000 feet.

saw this post on dooce.com about traveling with children. really liked it. made the mistake of reading some of the comments. became enraged. felt the need to write a comment myself in which i wrote a (slightly) shorter version of the following paragraph:

once, on our first cross country flight with a baby, our 11-month-old was so out of control that the flight attendant kindly suggested we buy a round of drinks for the entire airplane. it was quite possibly the worst 5 hours of my life. (i say that a lot. that's probably not totally accurate. but top ten FOR SURE.) we seriously considered renting a car and driving ACROSS THE COUNTRY on the way back, if not to save ourselves, then to protect our fellow citizens from further pain. i GUARANTEE you nobody felt worse about the situation than i did. i spent every minute i was legally allowed to do so (which was like, THREE HUNDRED OF THEM) walking up and down the aisle, trying to be three inches less wide than i was (while holding a large, angry, and unruly baby), bouncing said baby up and down in attempts to soothe him without elbowing people in the head, passing out apologetic smiles to everyones' stink eyes, and being on the verge of tears myself from the combination of humiliation, exhaustion, and the physical and psychic torture that is being that mom to that baby in front of a captive audience. i guess that's my karmic retribution for the fact that i used to be the jerk whose response to baby-proximity on a plane was a mental "UGH." i totally get that it sucks for you lucky* "child free" people too and i get that you wouldn't know this until it happens to you, but TRUST ME, we are TRYING. at this age, it's not an issue of the kid having manners or being well bred or having terrible parents. it's not like i'm setting the little devils loose while i knock back airplane bottles of sutter's home chardonnay (as enticing as that sounds). trying to convince a hysterical baby/toddler to be quiet/behave is like negotiating with alien terrorists that do not understand a single word that is coming out of your mouth, or, if they do, they are of such supreme (or inferior) intelligence, it is beneath (or above) them to respond.

[yes. that is a really long comment. but c'mon. you know that's how i roll. :)]

most people hated us on this (and subsequent) flights, but there were a few, including the person stuck in the same row as us, who reinvigorated my belief that humans are generally good souls. the best possible thing you can hear when you are simultaneously ruining 168 people's days, is "hey, listen, we've all been there." (actually, the best possible thing you can hear is, "here, hand her over! let me give that little sugarlump some love while you take a nap." :)) but clearly, not everyone has been there, or else people wouldn't be such jute bags about it. still. it's nice to hear. now, i feel about traveling with children as i do about food service - every person in the world should have to wait tables and travel with kids at least once as a sort of boot camp in compassion for human suffering. now, when i fly and other babies are crying, i feel bad for the parents, but if i'm being honest (and selfish), i'm actually secretly thankful, because they're probably drowning out my kids' noise and therefore i'm not the biggest A-hole on the plane. (as the author says in her piece, her response to seeing babies on the plane has gone from "OH GOD, NO." to "YAY! IT ISN'T MINE!")

oh and the people who claim that it is our CHOICE to fly across the country whilst wrestling one or more angry octopi, and/or that families shouldn't be allowed to fly at all... well, i hope on your next flight you're seated in front of a couple of toddlers who just chugged Big Gulps of Coca Cola, scarfed down some Pop Rocks, and forgot their iPads at security. unfortunately for you (and us), you live in THE WORLD, and the reality is, there are loud, energetic, sticky little children in it. they're EVERYWHERE. even on airplanes. and let me let you in on a little secret. YOU WERE ONE OF THEM ONCE. maybe your mom made you ride in the trunk and that's why you're so effing bitter about life. listen. i'm not saying it doesn't suck. i'm just saying, put on your big kid pants and handle it. unlike most grown-ups, kids usually aren't being giant crooked d*cks on purpose. (< maybe.) and i promise you that mom (or dad) is doing his/her best. the last think she needs is for you to sh*t on her already craptastic day.

* p.s., someone responded to my comment on this article. s/he replied "How is it that child-free people are 'lucky?' Having a child in America is a choice, not a game of chance." wait, what? i don't get it. well. his/her "name" is "pickyvegan" and s/he apparently likes to correct strangers' grammar online so i can already tell s/he is probably super awesome and fun to be around. i didn't respond but if i had it probably would've gone something like this:

"lucky" was an (apparently unfunny and grammatically incorrect) tongue-in-cheek reference to the "childfree by choice" movement as discussed in the recent Time Magazine article, etc., who feel that they are fortunate (hmmm... fortunate also infers chance... dangit. blessed? no, that implies some sort of divine intervention. damn. foiled again. favored? smart? winning???) not to have ruined their lives via procreation, but seem to hold the general consensus that those with child-full lives were put on this earth solely to harsh their buzz. (and I can't say I entirely blame them. children do tend to have that effect, particularly on airplanes, at least if your buzz is derived from alcohol and peace and quiet.) thanks for pointing out my mistake though! good to know the grammar police aren't sleepin' on the job!

** p.p.s. don't even get me started about education and access to birth control, etc., and whether or not everyone in America actually has a real, informed choice to have, or not to have, a child.

*** p.p.p.s. i'm so not doing a good job of "choosing joy" today.

[also this article from jaunted.com about malaysia airlines banning children from the top deck of their fancy new planes. cue outkast's 'Rosa Parks' - "aah haa, hush that fuss, little kids move to the bottom of the airbus." can really smelly people and armrest hoggers and people who insist on talking to you the whole entire flight even though you're reading AND WEARING HEADPHONES and people who deal nuclear farts be sent to the basement, too?]

looks glorious.
do you guys offer like a part-time membership?




[source: http://www.jaunted.com/story/2012/6/4/142158/2069/travel/
Misbehaving+Child+on+a+Flight%3F+Alaska+Airlines+Ain't+Having+That -
which, FYI, refers to children as "crotch flowers." charming.]