We just spent the last few days in St. Louis for a family wedding. It was gorgeous and I want to speak on some important revelations and also the amazing amount of carbs I was able to stuff into my hungry, vacation mode mouth but let me talk about the craziness of traveling with two children.
I had prepped for the 3.5 hour flight to St. Louis, our first plane ride as a family. I loaded Thomas the Train books and puzzles onto the iPad. I stuffed my purse with diapers, wipes and seventy packages of goldfish crackers which were promptly devoured before we even took off.
Nathan fell asleep right away while TJ spent the entire flight on my lap, babbling and laughing and eating most of the delicious $7 Mediterranean tapas pack: crackers, dried apricots, hummus, seasoned olives and raw almonds. The kid threw down some food challenge but kept seated as long as I was filling his mouth.
We were the last to leave the plane. Mike held TJ as the passengers filed past us toward the exit. And of course they remarked on what a cute baby! And what a great dad! No compliments for the mother who didn’t even leave her seat. No awards for me!
The trip back to Seattle was excruciating. It was four hours and both kids took turns using my body as a napkin. I didn’t have as many snacks and I didn’t want to buy a Mediterranean tapas snack pack again (I wouldn’t get to have that luxury for myself and I was tired of sharing) when I just shelled out that amount for in-flight wifi that seemed to be too slow for a five-year-old because his YouTube videos were not loading fast enough.
TJ slept during the flight, resting in my arms while his brother wriggled and kicked and wore down my iPhone and iPad batteries. He tested me and made stupid sounds that grated my ears, making me wish we were in the emergency exit row so I could flip the door open and jump out.
Nathan kept saying, “If you farted, you win,” which is frankly THE WORST GAME. I can think of other games I’d like to play like plucking my own eye out or anything else than hearing five year old announcing that he won again and again.
Then he talked about his trains and how they must miss him. To keep him from talking about less desirable topics, I told him that his trains did miss him. What are they saying, he asked, and I filled in the time with how they wanted to hear him laugh and sing and how they couldn’t wait to hear the sound of the door flinging open, signaling that the whole family was home.