That's how big it is.
Texas. It's like a whole other country.
We're only going to a tiny portion of it this weekend, to visit my aunt and uncle who are celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary in the Dallas area. Although it might feel like we're traveling to another planet. We may take the kid to the grassy knoll. Depending on how he handles his first plane trip later this afternoon, we might leave him there. Deposit him next to the school book depository and make a quick getaway.
I'm kidding. Sort of. Preparing for this trip has left me exhausted—physically, mentally, emotionally. My red blood cells ache. My platelets want to cry. I'm all used up. And we haven't even headed for the airport.
What do we do with a 19-month-old who has to sit on our laps for two hours while his ears painfully snap, crackle, pop like Rice Krispies? We will be the plague of the plane. Forget about box-cutter-wielding terrorists. We're the family that strikes fear into the hearts of air travelers everywhere. The whining toddler—he needs an air marshall escort.
I've packed trinkets and munchies, books and crayons, toys and stickers, a laptop computer with Baby Einstein DVDs. That should last us...until we board the plane. What if he freaks out at the noise? What if he kicks the seat in front of us? What if he cries? And cries? And cries?
I used to be those people—the ones who shoot dirty looks at parents and kids with the sticky fingers and tear-stained faces and high-decibeled vocal cords. The ones who pray, not that their plane will arrive safely at their destination, but rather that they be blessed with a seat far, far away from Demonchild.
I had two pieces of advice from friends that I'm clinging to at the moment. We'll let you know how it goes.
1. Benadryl: it's a good thing.
and
2. Take heart. You'll never see these people on the plane ever again.
Texas. It's like a whole other country.
We're only going to a tiny portion of it this weekend, to visit my aunt and uncle who are celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary in the Dallas area. Although it might feel like we're traveling to another planet. We may take the kid to the grassy knoll. Depending on how he handles his first plane trip later this afternoon, we might leave him there. Deposit him next to the school book depository and make a quick getaway.
I'm kidding. Sort of. Preparing for this trip has left me exhausted—physically, mentally, emotionally. My red blood cells ache. My platelets want to cry. I'm all used up. And we haven't even headed for the airport.
What do we do with a 19-month-old who has to sit on our laps for two hours while his ears painfully snap, crackle, pop like Rice Krispies? We will be the plague of the plane. Forget about box-cutter-wielding terrorists. We're the family that strikes fear into the hearts of air travelers everywhere. The whining toddler—he needs an air marshall escort.
I've packed trinkets and munchies, books and crayons, toys and stickers, a laptop computer with Baby Einstein DVDs. That should last us...until we board the plane. What if he freaks out at the noise? What if he kicks the seat in front of us? What if he cries? And cries? And cries?
I used to be those people—the ones who shoot dirty looks at parents and kids with the sticky fingers and tear-stained faces and high-decibeled vocal cords. The ones who pray, not that their plane will arrive safely at their destination, but rather that they be blessed with a seat far, far away from Demonchild.
I had two pieces of advice from friends that I'm clinging to at the moment. We'll let you know how it goes.
1. Benadryl: it's a good thing.
and
2. Take heart. You'll never see these people on the plane ever again.
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