flight home

i was set up!  (by me.)  i wanted out!  (couldn't.)  had to put on a brave face!  (did.)

flying.  with child(ren).  it just changes the entire vacation/traveling experience.

i remember the days of traveling pre-parent.  gossip mags in tow, snacks galore, music, eye mask, extra cushy-cozy socks.  good to go.  zone out.  sleep a few hours.  eat salty pretzels and feel a little bloated.  but that wasn't even the problem.  it was that screaming baby a few rows back.  c'mon, people, do something! i would scream back in my head.  oh, how i judged!

i'm now that lone lady trudging down the aisle with 3 too many carry-ons and an armful of soon-to-be screaming white pudge.

i should have bought a ticket for her.  that likely would have solved 90% of dylan's our issues.  she's very close to that two year cut off, but i couldn't stomach spending more than our tickets to maui on a quick jaunt to minnesota.  i digress.

here's the deal, people.

we don't want our kids to scream, either.  we would like them to be all smiles, cute and camera-ready-like.  we would like our kids to eat a little snack, take a few pulls off their sippy and crash out for the remainder of the flight.  really.  but, it's likely not gonna happen.  and it sucks for you, as much, if not worse, than it does for us.  i promise.

i messed up.  guess i didn't pay much attention to the returning flight during my crazed initial booking.  returning to anchorage was not going to be as nice as our flight down.  nope, we were flying to chicago (50 minute flight), and then chicago to anchorage, a 7-hour nonstop bastard of a flight.  gah.

without getting into all the details, let me just say that the couple sitting next to us was not very understanding.  glares before take-off, one word responses to my extra-friendly and extra-smiley questions.  i was trying to make nice.  we would be neighbors for the better part of a work day.  but, it was no use.

after seeing both bodies jump from their seats in reaction to dylan's cries during take-off, i knew this was going to be trouble.  at one point, the lady informed me that both her children were wonderful travelers.  i laughed nervously and tried really, super hard not to take that offensively.  (didn't work.)  she asked where my husband was.  (?)  they switched seats during 2 of 4 trips to the lav for a diaper change.  (thank goodness for an aisle seat.)

each diaper change, i would gaze at my daughter, smiling and saying hi, giving me hugs and pointing (and saying) to my eyes.  she wasn't trying to be a pest.  she wasn't trying to be annoying.  she was bored.  she was tired.  she wanted to run and let her hair get all einstein-like (it happens).

i thought back to the couple, all nose to the air snooty, gabbing about eat at simon and seafort's later in the evening.  it's a very nice restaurant in downtown anchorage.  i quickly remembered a gift card in my wallet from, like, 3 Christmases ago.  ben and i have time to eat fancy dinners?  when?  who are you talking about?!

this couple may have wanted me to feel badly about ruining their flight to ak, but i didn't want to feel worse than i already did.  i wanted to kill 'em with kindness, like my mom always said.  i wanted them to use my gift card, gorge on their king crab on my dime and maybe feel an eensy-weensy bad about the looks they gave me, the ignoring of initial conversation, the silly, useless comments while butter dripped down their wrists.

can i tell you that it was rather embarrassing to see two grown adults back pedal so quickly?  the barrage of questions over dylan; where did i live; what did my husband do; any more children?

oh, it was a little much.

but.

instead of getting off the plane, feeling built up anger... i merely felt happy.  and not just happy to be off that damn jet, yes, but happy that i turned the situation into something entirely different.  i didn't even feel the need to vent to ben, which normally, he'd have gotten an earful.

how could you get irritated by this face?

and this, before we left minneapolis.  

stretching legs with papa.

heart.melting