You know that fairy tale version of the story where you single-handily travel across the country via plane with two small children and everything goes beautifully? The one where other passengers congratulate you on "what wonderful children you have" as they deboard the plane. You feel so proud of your little ones because they sat quietly, looking out the window the whole time you are in the air.
This recently happened to me.
Just kidding peeps.
Really, just kidding.
We headed to Missouri to visit my sister and her family. Because my husband was already traveling for work, the plan was for him to meet us there. My two girls and I left from Idaho Falls, which as you all know, requires arriving at the airport only one hour prior to departure. As I checked in, my sweet children played tag with non-participating TSA workers who didn’t realize they were part of a game because they were trying, you know, to work. I just pretended to be shocked at people who randomly let their children run around unsupervised.
When we boarded the plane, everything quickly went downhill. Every time I recount this story, my blood pressure starts to rise. Let's just say there was a ton of crying and screaming. And from the kids, too!
There was fighting. And tantrums. And a general throwing of items, including but not limited to crayons, suckers, tangerines, Toy Story figurines and anything else I tried to give them in a feeble attempt to buy some silence.
At one point, Cambri got her head stuck between the seats. The poor sleeping guy that lifted his arm to see a smiling child in his armpit, with her head completely jammed, jumped a mile out of his chair. When it takes two flight attendants and individually-wrapped butter servings to save your child, it makes for a long day.
The absolute highlight of the airplane trip was when Isabelle stuck her arm up through my sleeve and accused me of not wearing a bra.
Very loudly.
Just in case you were wondering, I was wearing one. Not that I planned on standing up to announce it or that anyone would have believed me.
Awkward moment peeps. Very awkward.
When it was time to head home, my husband, Chase, remembering my horrible experience traveling out, volunteered to do my a "favor" and let me have his first class seat.
Basically, he said he would sacrifice himself and fly coach with Isabelle as long as I took Cambri with me. Just so that you can all keep up, Chase volunteered to take 50% of our children (and trust me when I say he left me with the wild card) and do me a "favor." For the love, this isn't a favor. It's called PARENTING. I chose to throw him a bone and not call him out in the airport because it was obviously a lapse in judgment by an overall very good person. Chase loves me more than anything so I know he really didn't think things would go so bad so quickly.
I was in first class, which was SO nice. But call me crazy, I got the vibe that if you actually pay to ride in first class, you REALLY hate it when you have a young child screaming in your ear.
Since you really aren't supposed to bring your own beverages through security, you might be surprised to find out Cambri was equipped with a ¼ of a bottle of Bug Juice on our journey home. The TSA worker let the Bug Juice go through instead of making me throw it away because "no terrorist would dare put bottles of Bug Juice in a Coach purse, only a desperate mom."
The reason I bring it up is because as we sitting in first class, she spilled it on the patron sitting next to us. I have to tell you the man who took the orange shower was extremely gracious and I was humbled by his understanding. I suspected it was a very nice suit but it was confirmed when he said, "It's only Gucci." Needless to say I was very glad to get off the plane and run for the cover of my home.
Seriously next time you are in an airplane and you hear a desperate voice over the loudspeaker, letting you know she is in fact wearing a bra, we are probably on the same flight. Give yourself an early birthday present and sit far, very far, away from my children. Maybe I'll join you.