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LAX to SEA, part two (or, I will never do that again)

July 15, 2010

We flew into Seattle on a Thursday. The following Tuesday, Jack’s mom flew into Seattle as Jack was headed to the airport to fly home. On Wednesday she and Ethan flew to Idaho for his three weeks (three WEEKS!) of Camp Grandma and Grandpa.

Then, on Friday, I packed up two suitcases, a backpack, a diaper bag, and two kids with their car seats in my mom’s little car and she drove us to the airport. I had called the airline weeks in advance to ask if there was any way they would let my mother accompany us all the way to the gate.

“If TSA isn’t on lockdown, we can issue your mom a special pass to get through security.” Thank goodness, and fingers crossed for a world-wide shoe-bomber-free day. (It goes without saying that of course I NEVER want a shoe-bomber day, but that day, especially, well… duh.)

As we approached the airport I started to sweat. My nerves started sparking. I think I might have snapped at Mom. She started asking lots of questions, and I started to become very pin-prick focused.

“Mom? I love you. Please don’t talk to me until we are through security. I have a plan. Please just do what I say.”

Not the nicest way to talk to one’s mother, but she understood how stressed out I was. There was so much about the trip I couldn’t control, but I had a vice-grip on the things I could.

No TSA lock-down! Mom got a special pass. I gave her her instructions. “Stay with them in the stroller as long as possible. After I get everything on the belt I will take them out and hand them to you so I can collapse the stroller. You okay with holding them both for a little bit?” She nodded. I might have remembered to say thank you.

I should point out that at that point we had between us: double stroller with the two kids; backpack on my back; messenger-style diaper bag slung on my front; and a lightweight collapsible dolly rigged up to hold both car seats. I could have done it by myself, but having Mom made it SO MUCH EASIER.

I got the seats and the dolly on the belt first, followed by the two bags, having taken out the liquids. Shoes next (mine and Mom’s). Pacifiers were taken from the kids (much to their protests), and they were handed to Mom. Stroller collapsed and on the belt. No one thought it would fit, but I knew. I knew. I turned around and Mom was going through the detector with both kids. Then me. She hung out, holding them, waiting for the stroller to come through.

Kids in stroller, car seats tied back onto dolly, liquids inspected, and bags returned to my body. I think the whole thing took fifteen minutes total. Mom was a champ. She totally could see I was in a zone and let me do my thing. I had been stressing about it for months, and it was over.

“Great job, Abi! That was amazing!” And it was. But it made me too confident about the rest of the trip.

They changed our departing gate and since we didn’t hear any announcement we had barely enough time to get back on the train to get to the correct terminal to change diapers. Luckily, they allowed me to preboard and install the car seat and then come back for the kids. A quick good-bye to Mom, and we headed down the jetway to what I thought was going to be my biggest hurdle — keeping them from running off while I collapsed the stroller.

I started taking them out when one of the flight attendants said, “We would be happy to hold them for you! You’ll just have to bring them to us over here because we are not allowed to get off of the plane.” Interesting — I never heard of that, but I wasn’t about to question. I handed them off, and quickly collapsed the stroller, knowing that Henry wasn’t going to take to being handed to a complete stranger with any kind of grace. And I was right. While Miranda was playing with the collar of the woman holding her, Henry was bawling and reaching for me. I took him, and the attendant holding Miranda offered to walk her to our seats.

We were pretty far back, and after I got Henry fastened in his seat I turned around to get Miranda and… there was a different flight attendant holding  her. She saw my surprise and explained that she was the attendant for the back of the plane and she wasn’t about to let this cute baby go by her without holding her. Miranda had discovered a little button flashlight on the strap around her neck and wouldn’t let go. “Get yourself settled,” she told me. “I can hold her for a few more minutes. By the time I was ready, we had to pry Miranda away from her. She would have stayed with her the whole flight, if she could have.

You know how, when you are on a flight, you see the people walking by you and you give silent prayers that the ones who look dirty, or smelly, or both don’t sit next to you? I was praying for someone with patience… someone who wouldn’t mind a little noise. When our row-mate finally sat down, I immediately introduced myself and explained that though they are usually very good-natured, they are only fifteen-months old. “No problem,” Ken said. “I have two boys.” I sent up a silent thank you, while Miranda leaned over, stuck her face about one foot away from Ken’s, and said “hi.” He chuckled.

It was a long flight. I don’t care how long it actually was in minutes, … it was a LONG flight. I managed to keep both kids relatively happy for a good hour, during which I had to go change Henry’s very saggy diaper (Miranda, the Flirt, was content to sit in the car seat and bat her eyes at Ken), but then antsiness, boredom, and hunger started to set in. And Henry accidentally clocked Miranda on the head with a toy. And Miranda wouldn’t sit still. And they both were ripping up the in-flight magazines. And they both were whining. When we started our descent I was so happy. But then we were stuck on the tarmac for twenty minutes. Luckily, that meant a short conversation –over the din of two toddler fighting over the wipe container — with Ken, who offered to carry off the car seat for me (for which I was so so thankful — I had no clue how I was going to manage it). Ken held Miranda while I strapped on my bags and got Henry out of the car seat. And then there I was, standing in the aisle with two bags strapped to me, and two toddlers who were happily playing with my earrings and my hair. I’m sure I looked lovely. I wished I had had an extra hand to take a picture of the destruction left behind. Cheerios, puffs, graham cracker crumbs, ripped up magazines, crumpled safety cards, and numerous shredded baby wipes. I felt guilty for a second for not being able to clean it up, but I had no choice.

I got to the jetway and — thank you Alaska Airlines personnel! — the stroller was open and ready. I strapped them in in record time, tied up the car seats to the dolly, and headed out as fast as I could to baggage claim. When I saw Jack on the other side of security I almost started crying. Our bags were sitting on the now-still carousel, so we headed to the car.

It was a last minute decision to stop by Del taco on the way home, and it was a good thing we did. Henry and Miranda devoured half of a cheese quesadilla, and I vowed never to schedule a flight during dinner time again. Not while they are toddlers, at least.

Scratch that. I vow to never schedule a flight again AT ALL while they are toddlers.

Family? Y’all will just have to come to us for a little while.

Comments (1) / Perils of Parenthood

LAX to SEA, part one

July 7, 2010

A couple of weeks ago the five of us flew to Seattle for my cousin’s wedding. Since my mother and sister (and her family) live there, we decided to spend more than just the weekend.

Wait, back up, you say? The FIVE OF YOU? Are you daft, woman?

Um, well, we didn’t have a choice. My wonderful cousin and her wonderful fiance were getting hitched… and the little ones hadn’t ever visited Nana’s house.

Several months prior to the trip, after I booked the flights, I started planning things out in my head. That was my first mistake. I should have started planning BEFORE I booked the flights.

I’m not kidding.

See, only an IDIOT would book a 4:30pm flight from LAX to Seattle for a family with two toddlers who are used to eating dinner at 5pm.

And did I mention — to save money — we only bought four seats? And that I was to return, by myself, with the two toddlers on a 5pm flight?

Yeah, yeah, yeah… I AM daft.

Conversations with Logic Man about the trip would go like this:

Me: So I was thinking about what to do if they don’t allow us to bring milk in their sippy cups through security.

Him: What’s the big deal? So we buy milk on the other side.

Me: Whole milk, Jack? WHOLE MILK? BURGER KING DOES NOT HAVE WHOLE MILK!

Him: What’s the big deal if they get lowfat milk once?

Me: GAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

Him: Um…

Me: (muttering, and maybe twitching a little) This is the kind of thing that keeps me up at night.

When you travel with one child, as I used to do with Ethan often, you can be a little more go-with-the-flow. Just a little, mind you — there is still the dance of food and sleep and activities and diapers to choreograph, but it is vastly easier when you only have one car seat and a single stroller (and one kid!) to manage. I could stick Ethan in his car seat, rest the car seat on top of his stroller, and push him through the airport with barely nary a care.

But with a five-year old and twin fourteen-month olds? Heh. If you’re planning to travel like we did, make sure you have a drink waiting for you on the other side. Or a valium. Or both.

To be honest, the trip out wasn’t all THAT bad (besides the fact that I completely forgot to separate out the bag with all the liquids, including the sippy cups, so I had to be taken aside to have my backpack searched. They let the milk through, by the way). For one, Jack boarded with most of our stuff ahead of me and the three kids so he could get the car seat installed (the flight was overbooked, so there was no chance of us snagging an extra empty seat for a second car seat, so Jack gate-checked that seat), and I had Ethan hold his siblings’ hands at the end of the jetway while I was folding up the stroller.

Jack and Ethan had a window-middle seat set-up and I had the same across the aisle with a car seat. I started out with both the little ones, but had handed Miranda off to Jack before we took off so I could get myself settled, and she ended up staying with him for take-off. Remember me mentioning the whole dinner-time issue? I had tried — not very successfully — to feed Miranda and Henry something substantial at 3:30, having skipped their usual 3pm snack. In doing that, we barely made it on the plane before the pre-boarding period ended. In doing THAT, we weren’t able to change diapers before boarding. And they didn’t even eat much, as it was.

Whoops.

As soon as the seatbelt light was turned off, I took Henry –with his very saggy diaper– out of his seat and to a lavatory, not quite sure how I was going to handle a diaper change in there. I stood him up on the toilet, gritting my teeth for a standing diaper change and the unfortunate possibilities of getting a direct hit that went along with it. He started complaining with confusion, and then I saw the fold-down changing table behind him. Hallelujah! Big props to Alaska Airlines! Diaper changed, and back to our aisle to swap kids.

After her diaper change, Miranda stayed with me, and Henry with Jack. I do think I got the better part of the deal, because the toddler with me could always be put in a seat, and Jack had one on his lap, and the additional responsibility of keeping Ethan occupied. We made it through, thanks to copious graham crackers and fruit leathers, and Ethan announced (quite loudly) when we landed that he was so proud of the babies for not crying.

Seattle was worth it. For this family girl, it was wonderful to see my Mom smiling at her six grandchildren in the same place at once, even if they weren’t ever all still enough at once to get more than a snapshot! My cousin’s wedding was beautiful, my cousin even more so, and I must say, my kids looked freaking adorable. Henry and Miranda took charge of the dance floor — running around and making faces in a big mirror — at the beginning of the night, and later, when they were tucked into bed at Mom’s with a babysitter in the other room, Ethan had taken over for his siblings, boogeying it down in his Junior Usher black suit. The kid’s got moves! Yeah… Seattle was worth it. It was even worth the trip back.

I’ll tell you about THAT in Part Two…

Comments Off on LAX to SEA, part one / Perils of Parenthood

What’s more than what’s more than space

July 5, 2010

Ethan is at Camp Grandma and Grandpa’s in Idaho right now. He’s been there for a week and a half already, and he’s got just under two more weeks before he comes home. I miss him terribly, but having your five-year-old away from home for several weeks is not without its merits. I’m getting some things done that I haven’t had time for, like actually cleaning up my office instead of trying to artfully arrange piles of junk to go through at a later date. Not doing the afternoon school pick-up everyday affords me more time for work and household chores while I have Christine at the house, and I’m getting some quality one-on-one-but-mostly-one-on-two time with Miranda and Henry.

But I miss Ethan terribly. I miss his incredible brain, and his fierce hugs.

He is having a grand time — the kind of time that creates lasting memories — but I miss him. We get on Skype every few days and his little brother and sister go bonkers for seeing him, squealing and dancing and laughing at their big brother on the computer screen. When Ethan comes home, they are going to need sedatives.

Tonight, on the phone, Ethan interrupted our conversation about state versus federal government leadership (I am not kidding) to say:

Mommy? Daddy? You know what? I love you more than Space, and more than what’s more than Space, and more than what’s more than that…  I love you. No other person in my love chart can go past you.

Man, I miss that kid. I love him more than what more than what’s more than Space. I’m thrilled he’s having such fun. I can’t wait for him to tell me about it in person.

Comments (2) / The Mouths of Babes

FLASHBACK: Strange Kitty, Where Are you?

July 4, 2010

Every once in a while I look through my past writing and dust off something from the vault. This piece was originally written on July 4, 2008, a couple of weeks after one of our cats, Gustav, disappeared.

Uh… Happy Fourth of July, yeah yeah and all that. Let me tell you what happened last night.

Two thirty in the morning I awoke to plaintive meows. My first thought was “Uh-oh, this is it, Mozart is in distress. I’m going to lose another cat.” Then Jack said ten words I wasn’t expecting.

“Oh my god, there’s a strange cat in our house!”

I didn’t believe him. Surely that was Mozart in the throes of a diabetic death? My eyes tracked the figure of a cat in the dark of the bedroom.

Jack was insistent and got out of bed. The cat bolted downstairs.

Mozart and Gustav in their leaner years.

Mozart and Gustav in their leaner years.

I, incredulous, whispered, “Is it Gustav?” Knowing it wasn’t. That wasn’t a Gustav meow. I got out of bed and followed Jack.

“I don’t want it to get under the beds,” he was saying. He closed the door to Ethan’s room and I closed the master bedroom door behind me. We both looked down in the doorway of the middle bedroom at our large, lounging, unperturbed cat.

“Good job, Mozart.” Jack joked, prodding Mozart into the bedroom and shutting him in. He headed downstairs and to the bathroom (Two thirty in the morning and the man had a lot of water to drink last night. Cut him a break.)

From the almost-bottom of the stairs I quietly called, “Strange Kitty? Strange Kitty, where are you?” I saw a shape in the living room plop down and curl its body up and over, exposing its belly. At least I thought I did. It was dark.

Thinking Jack was going to save the day, I stayed on the stairs for a few moments, but when I realized that he was adjusting the cat door (which had been changed weeks ago to the Hotel California you-can-come-in-but-you-can-never-leave setting in case Gustav miraculously came home) so the cat could go out the way it came, I realized I was expected to participate.

I could hear the cat at this point, but could not see it. Standing on the cubbies by the front door I peered over into the living room. The cat peered back, meowed twice, and bolted toward the dining room. Mostly white. Marked face. Dark bushy tail. NOT Gustav.

“Come here, strange kitty!” I cooed, percussing my tongue the way that I do to call Mozart. I opened the front door.

“Abi!” Jack admonished from the other room, thinking I was still perched on the stairs. “What are you doing? Come downstairs!”

The cat had now wended its way around the kitchen and was in the playroom. I hopped down from the cubbies and locked the screen door in the open position. Hopping back up on the cubbies I called out again.

“Come here, strange kitty! Come here!”

It approached. Jack admonished (he was still fiddling with the cat door. What a handy guy).

“Come here, strange kitty,” I purred. “Come on, go on outside.” It meowed one last time and dashed out. I closed the door as Jack was admonishing me again.

I walked over to where he was crouched. “I let it outside, silly. I guess Gustav used to keep this very thing from happening.”

“Oh,” Jack said, looking up at me. “I thought you were still on the stairs.”

No duh.

After agreeing to set the cat door on the nothing-is-coming-in-or-going-out setting (and cleaning up the recycling, which had been knocked over before we came down), we headed upstairs.

“This is my exact nightmare,” I excitedly exclaimed.

“What is?” Jack let Mozart out. (”Way to be territorial, Cat,” he muttered.)

“A strange cat coming in the house!”

“What exactly is nightmare-ish about it?” Logic Man retorted, climbing into bed.

“Okay, well in my nightmare there were multiple cats.”

“Well then this wasn’t your EXACT nightmare, was it?” Gah! The Logic! I got in next to him.

“Okay, well, then… this is something akin to something I have dreamed.” Somehow that just didn’t have the right ring.

Jack teased in a sing-songy voice. “Strange kitty, where are you?”

What was I supposed to have said?

“I’m just glad it wasn’t a possum,” he muttered, drifting off to sleep.

Indeed.

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Communication cuteness

June 16, 2010

Henry and Miranda have been interacting more and more lately. Sometimes they will reach out to each other from their high chairs. Often they will fight over a toy.

Just now Henry handed Miranda a toy and Miranda signed “thank you.”

I think I might just pass out from the adorable-ness.

Comments (1) / The Mouths of Babes