The day finally arrived for my much anticipated trip. Despite the struggle to maneuver through the airport and a packed security line, I attempted to relax as I sat back in the plush airline seat, trying not to breathe in the recycled air. Finally, I was on my way. The plane shifted into a moving position and my eyes focused on the safety card that I was holding. Just as I found my nearest exit row, I heard a loud piercing cry coming from a child. I was overwhelmed with dread for what the remainder of the flight would bring. For I was not just a passenger on the plane, I was the parent of the crying child.
Okay, so maybe I left out many stressful details of my journey from the car to the gate. Like, how I had to check two large pieces of luggage as I kept an eye on my three young boys and our six carry-ons while my husband parked the car. (I definitely got the short end of the stick on that deal.) Or how we came to depend too much on communication through our cell phones and we didn’t make a plan of where to find each other in the airport. This resulted in my taking all three boys through security along with our six carry-on bags. Removing and replacing four pairs of shoes was time-consuming enough. People were avoiding my line. I was in over my head and the other travelers knew it. I had to fight back tears as security removed my three mini juices boxes from the clear plastic bag and said, “You can’t take these.” Once seeing the juice, my two year old began to repeatedly ask me for the drink. Realizing that his pleading wasn’t working, he began to wail, “JUICE! JUICE!” His words echoed through the high ceilings and bounced off the moving luggage belts, reminding the other two boys that they were thirsty too. The security personnel informed me that if they wanted to drink the juice, we would have to leave and come back through security again. Yeah, we’re not doing that. I would rather poke the straws in my eye. That man had no idea what my next 30 minutes would be like as I tried to proceed forward with my three sulking (one screaming) and very thirsty children.
I waited for my husband at security, not knowing that he was at the gate. The time that I waited seemed like 30 hours instead of 30 minutes. I started to panic as the clock became dangerously close to boarding time. My arms were tired from dragging the bags, sweat was dripping down my back and all this time I was pointing out airplanes and creating guessing games to distract my kids. I was so thankful that they could not hear the swearing that was going on inside of my head. Finally realizing that we were waiting for him, my husband started to sprint down the long and crowded walkway. He ran the entire floor before finding us and stopped for just seconds to catch his breath before we raced to the gate.
It is bad enough to load eight carry-on bags and three children on a plane but it is worse when you see the looks on the faces of the people that are already sitting down. I dread their shifty eyes and the look of “Not next to me please!” I only wish that those types of people could try to remember that traveling is hard for little kids and as parents, we are doing the best that we can to keep them happy and quiet. If you could refrain from asking anyone within hearing distance if they would like to switch seats, that would be nice too. Maybe try to offer a smile, you are, after all, flying the friendly skies.