4 am, one and a half hours before we actually have to leave the house: one year old wakes up inconsolable, will not sit on the couch with Dad, will not lay down on the bed with Mom. Call it a night’s sleep (barely) and get him (and everyone) up.
6 am, with Joe and the boys waiting at the terminal: I take the wrong turn out of the airport to get to my friend’s where I am leaving the car, and get stuck in Honolulu rush hour traffic.
645 am at the airport: come in to find the boys haven’t moved in the security line AT ALL. All other people in the line waiting for our flight as well. All unsure if we will make the flight.
7am: the boys figure out pretty quickly that the line is going nowhere.
750 am: board flight to Seattle with 10 minutes to spare before takeoff. It’s the small victories.
11 am, almost four hours into this flight and every trans-Pacific flight I’ve ever taken: “I’ve made a huge mistake.”
1110 am: count how many trans-Pacific flights you’ve made. Eleven, if you count the East China Sea, nine if you don’t, seven of those with kids. Wonder why I haven’t learned my lesson yet.
1215 pm: invoke blessings on the person who invented toy cars.
1 pm: limit the juice intake for all parties. Despair on every end.
2pm, Seattle airport, thirty five minutes to catch flight located in another terminal: run through airport, toddler nearly falls down escalator, become last people to board flight, then sit on tarmac for forty minutes and have them announce the flight will be an hour longer due to weather.
340 pm, taking off: three year old gags for ten minutes into the small puke bag located handily in the seat pouch in front of us. Reflect with Joe about the three other times he’s puked on a plane, how he really has only gotten sick like that six or seven times total, and finally put together the pieces that our child probably gets bad motion sickness. Consider you may not get a Parent of the Year Award if it took you that long to do the math.
4pm and bored out of my mind: figure out the time change. It is now 9pm. Watch sunset for what feels like forever.
903 pm: only three minutes has passed since I checked last.
910 pm: one year old starts burning up with a bad fever.
10 pm: one year old exhausted and getting more listless, but breaks out of it enough to puke precisely on the seat belt. Applaud his aim, keep checking clock every three minutes.
1145 pm: land in the rain, half an hour late.
1150 pm: there is no excitement quite a like a little boy’s excitement at finally being able to move around again.
Oh my….I officially never want to fly with my kids lik!
Stephanie, I think that’s a good life choice!!
I could feel your agony. It’s a lot, no matter how much planning you do. I have an only child, so we manage for the most part, but once I traveled beside a mom who had a baby in a car seat and a toddler who threw up early on in the flight. I helped as much as I could but I’m sure she was READY to get off that plane. She was going to visit her mom, so the calvary was on its way!
Literally the only thing that helped was knowing there were grandparents on the other end! So nice of you to help the other woman though! People have helped me before and it’s been a lifesaver.
Welcome to the continental USA! 🙂