Okay, okay, I know I'm a few days late. If you didn't notice, it was Christmas this past weekend. Chaos ensued.
So, my sister lives in Texas these days. We decided we would all gather at her house to celebrate over the weekend. It was me, my husband, my parents, my children, my sister, her husband, their daughter and his mother. That's a full house, people.
We should've known it was going to be crazy just based on Thursday morning's little trip to the airport. We flew this year because both girls are under 2 and free as a lap child. I love the word free, so of course we took advantage of this. At any rate, we woke up at 4:30 a.m. to head off to the airport. As we drove my husband did such things as contemplate stopping for a "sody." Yep, not a soda, a "so-dee." Where did I find this guy? Anyway, he also repeatedly asked why we had to be at the airport an hour before our flight. I have now had this conversation with him at least 6 times. Once for every time we have flown together. These comments will send me into a full-blown panic attack at 5 a.m.
When we arrived to the airport he discovered why we need to get there early. Apparently everyone in St. Louis was flying out of Lambert International at 6 a.m., too. They were actually all in front of us in line for security. As I panicked and my children squirmed, my husband did something that nearly made my head explode: he cut in line.
If you know me, or my sister for that matter, you know we are habitual rule followers (heavy on the bitch). So cutting in line for security is unheard of and certainly never done. Now, I must add that he asked if we could cut because our flight was boarding and the gate agents were making last calls. The couple he asked were kind and polite and let us right in and then we barreled forward, through security, and ran (barefoot) to our terminal. We made it, whew! The flight wasn't full so Claire got to sit in a seat. She was thrilled.
So here's my weekly tangent: Kids on planes. When I didn't have kids I loathed those tiny frequent fliers. I thought the fact that they got to have special boarding was ridiculous. I glared at their parents (if I was a character in a Stephanie Meyers book I would have glowered). If so much as a peep escaped their lips I whipped my head around to give the offender that look that says, "really? Didn't your mother teach you any manners?"
Now that I have two darlings of my own, I feared this plane ride of judgment. When we piled onto the plane with babies, blankets, shoes, and coats in hand, drivers licenses clinched in our teeth, I saw the looks. They said, "oh no..." I didn't blame those passengers for their stares. We must have looked like a hot mess. We quickly found a row and got situated. Claire sat between us and I whipped out a brand-new Thomas & Friends magnadoodle with attached book thingie that I had gotten just for the trip.
Claire was more well-behaved than most of the adults on that plane. Certainly better than the hens clucking behind me about how much they'd spent on Christmas. Gross. Miss Baby, she was a different story. She wasn't a fan of the ride. I wandered the aisle with her once and got a few eye rolls. Had I identified these eye-rollers earlier I would've hit them with my carry-on as I lumbered past. However, after about 5 minutes we hit turbulence that could only be described as dirt road mixed with rolling hills and she was out like a light.
My fears assuaged, I tried to relax and enjoy the rest of the flight. So here's the Full House moment of this blog (you know where they bring up that music and then DJ learns some life lesson). Don't hate on parents flying with their kids. They're freaking out about their kid annoying you more than you could ever freak out about their kid annoying you. They're desperately trying to entertain their child(ren), drink their ginger ale, and keep everyone's toys off that disgusting floor. If there were an airline that just flew families around, trust me, people would take advantage of it. No one wants to be glared at just for boarding a plane. No one wants the child they adore more than anything on earth to be the subject of hateful glares. What we(I'm speaking for all parents) do want is our child to sit in their seat, be quiet, drink their juice, and appreciate that they don't have to be the car for 10 hours just to see their auntie. I rode in that car many times. It's not fun. It doesn't have air conditioning. It does have a granny with coffee habit, a tiny bladder and a fondness for Double Mint gum. Come on, you didn't like those rides either as a child. No one develops a liking for a road trip until they develop a drinking habit first and a need to make a pilgrimage to some spring break locale. So give us a break. We're trying to keep the wailing and crying to a minimum...and the kids happy, too. Ba-da-ba ching.
Claire watched way too much TV this past week. It was super-rough. Between packing, traveling and being with family there was a TV on everywhere we turned. I did discover, thanks to the TV, that my child is a fancy dancer when it comes to Dance Central. She can bust a serious move, certainly better than her father (who was beaten by a 5 year old...like badly. Maybe 78k to 7k. Sad showing, Rob.) I didn't marry him for his dance skills, clearly.