Last year, we had absolutely terrible flights back and forth to the United States with the now 2.5 year-old. If you are new to the blog, let me flashback. She was 18 months old – old enough to be one of the newest members of the movers and shakers, a toddler with the newfound freedom of movement. But she was too young to understand that everyone had to sit with seatbelts fastened at the same time when that little red light said so. She was in a car seat, which gave her long legs the perfect distance to “lock” and push against the chair in front of her. It was awful. My one saving grace, the thing that got me through, was to repeatedly remind myself (every second of every minute if I had to) that it was a finite period of time. Time, thankfully, does not stand still. No matter how awful it was, the seconds would keep on ticking by until enough of them had passed that the experience would be over. I kept telling myself that eventually, the plane would land and we would be on the ground.
Today, though, time stood still. At one point, I glanced up at that map at the front of the plane that said “Local Time at Departure: 19:03”; “Time Remaining: 3 hours 52 minutes.” I think it said that for a good two hours. I was so relieved when I finally realized that it had stopped working. It made me think that it would be a good concept for a horror movie – to be on a plane where time just stops and it goes forever. It would certainly be one of my worst nightmares come true.
This year on our annual summer vacation to the U.S., our flights were much easier. For the most part. My favorite moment from our flight home, was when I turned to the toddler and asked her what she was excited to see at her house. She very seriously answered “my kitchen.” It was one of those little moments of insight where they express something that's important to them. And sure enough, when we walked in the door, she made a bee-line for her little pink sink and stove.
My least favorite moment was the taxi along the runway at Schipol, Amsterdam airport. She woke up just before landing. And it was the “shocked, I don’t understand where I am or what I’m doing here” sort of wake-up. She screamed. A lot. And about the time we started the taxi in along the runway – which by the way, takes a good 20 minutes in Amsterdam – she was in a full-fledged temper tantrum unlike any I’ve ever seen in any of my kids. Screaming, choking, and gagging (which sent fears of vomiting rushing through my mind). Her back was arched, she reacted violently to any sort of touch, forget the seat belt at that point (she had wriggled down and almost chocked herself with it in an effort to get to the floor) so I pulled her on my lap and restrained her as best I could. I was proud of myself for keeping calm, for not raising my voice, for tuning out every other person around me (even if most of the stares were sympathetic) and tried to just focus on doing whatever might help my distraught toddler. I also managed to successfully divert the clawing scratches and thumping kicks (not only for myself but on behalf of anyone else within range).
Thankfully, when that plane FINALLY reached the gate, and that all-important “ding” sounded to alert us that the “fasten seatbelt sign” had been turned off, she settled down and realized (between hiccups and shallow breaths) that her temporary nightmare was over.
Exhausted and relieved, we started to pack-up our many, many belongings. That was about the time that the guy behind me reached up to retrieve his carry-on from the overhead bin and then proceeded to drop it. On me. No worries, though, my head and back successfully broke its fall. I’m sure by the look on his face, that his thought process was along the lines of “Oh my God, of all the people this thing could have fallen on, it was the poor mother who has been restraining the crazy kid for the last 30 minutes.” Actually, though, I think he did me a favor. It was a really good release to have a valid reason to publicly shed a few tears.
I noticed this afternoon, that the top envelope on my junk mail stack was from our local grocery store. The envelope advertised that we could be the winners of a trip to New York City! I immediately threw it in the trash without opening it.
Addendum: It’s 6:59pm (18h59). The toddler just shouted down the stairs “Mamma? It bedtime now?” When do two-year olds ever ask that? It is now 7:40pm (19h40). Every single one of my kids crawled into bed on their own and is already snoring. I set each one of them up with a flashlight and a stack of books along with specific instructions: when you wake up in the middle of the night and can’t get back to sleep, use your flashlight to read until you get tired again. What do you suppose the over/under odds are on that actually working?
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