Wednesday, August 17, 2005

Why I'm Mad at Barbara Walters this Morning (Again)

Today I bought plane tickets to go see Hubby and the new house over Labor Day Weekend. I bought three tickets. I got a ticket for me and a ticket for Gabe and a ticket for Quin. Ribh will sit in my lap.

And now I am trying to figure out how this will actually work.

I will check Ribh's car seat, since she will be attached to me. I will check one big bag with all of our stuff for six days. The kids can each carry a back pack that holds their personal gear. I will have my diaper bag, my purse, the camera bag, and the baby.

Quin will need to travel in her toddler car seat, so she will have to be seated by the window (FAA regulation). Quin will need to be occupied with a plethora of small babies, her Dora doll, a sippy cup, and several small bags of snacks. A noise-making book would help keep her busy, but won't enthuse others, so I think I'll skip it.

Gabe is big enough to travel without his booster, so I can separate him from his sister and let him sit on the aisle but then he will be prone to getting out of his seat and wanting to wonder about the aircraft. Ever since some misguided soul let him sit in the cockpit on a flight over a year ago, he thinks he is now fully qualified to operate a 747. A book will not occupy him enough and just give him a pointy missile with which he can torment those near to him. I wish we had a Game Boy right about now.

I will sit in the middle, trying to nurse Peevers back to sleep after the wretched flight staff force me to extract her inevitably sleeping form from the sling. They do this at the beginning of every flight because the FAA in their infinite wisdom has decreed that a baby is at greater risk in case of an emergency if strapped to her mother (who may double over and squish said child) than as a projectile bouncing around the aircraft! Let's think this through for the FAA blowhards: If there were an emergency or crash, I would much rather my child got squished a bit and then was neatly attached to me so if I was conscious I could just exit the aircraft with two free hands rather than search the burning craft for my projectile baby. I could maybe use those two free hands to locate and direct my other two children who had been kept perfectly safe by their tiny canvas seatbelt strap across the waist. (Insert sarcasm.) Thanks FAA! You are so wise. You have thought of everything, once again.

So, Peevers, as usual, will be awakened abruptly right before the flight takes off as I remove her from her cozy slumber against my body. So I will then get to settle/nurse her back down (here's the part about that idiot, Barbara Walters!) while keeping the other two happy and hopefully quiet as well. Oh dear GOD!

I just thought of something else: How am I gonna get all my stuff INTO the airport? Can I train Gabe as a sherpa in the next two weeks?

Seriously people, you might want to avoid all flight in and out of the Atlanta airport over Labor Day weekend, because God help me, I am going to make this happen somehow. Beware!

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Just call the flight attendant a "Silly Chicken" and keep Pibhers in you sling ;)