Kids on a plane

Thank you, Mary.  You even managed to get my children to hold hands

It’s nice to know what it feels like to be at the receiving end of ‘the look’, especially as I dished it out willy nilly when I was a childless, carefree, parent judger.  But now I know the difficulties in restraining a thrashing child, with an unnatural strength of several titans, who really DOES NOT want to be restrained just because the plane is landing.  I was bitten for my efforts.  Had I been more rebellious, I would have kept the Mary Poppins DVD going under a blanket but I didn’t want Mary to be responsible for the plane exploding.  I mean, they say electrical items can mess with the radar systems, or something.  They were Duracell double A batteries in the DVD player.  I’ve heard they were responsible for the great plane crash of 1916.

I also received a look from a lone female passenger when my child decided that she didn’t want to use her legs anymore, preferring to lie down in the busy customs queue. Understandable.  I wanted to join her.  I also wanted to smack those little bare legs for pushing her brother over, smacking his head on the concrete floor and pulling out the, “I really need a wee *holding self looking desperate*” card whilst I tried to show authority by quietly snarling at her through gritted teeth.  Another incisal edge bites the dust.

It’s also comforting to know that there are people that genuinely care and aren’t afraid to speak up.  So my thanks goes out to the young, clearly childless, Japanese chap who told us in broken English that it was dangerous to leave our daughter lying on the floor. If only he knew how to get her leg bones solidified again, it would have been an exemplary example of citizenship.

Perhaps the highlight was the lady passenger’s look of horror when I let The Boy loose for a moment or two.  Probably because he lunged for the emergency door handle that she was sat next to and imagined her self and all the other inhabitants being sucked from the plane, all because I let my son fiddle with a door nob.  She confirmed this by saying, “perhaps it’s best,” when I led a stamping toddler away from the said handle and towards a man looking engrossed in a good book that The Boy also liked the look of.  Cue slightly crumpled page and more foot stamping.

All in all, though, the kids were excellent.  The Boy slept for most of both journeys after being sedated like Mr T with a large bottle of milk.  Yes, he still has a bottle at 18 months and I know he’ll have rotten, goofy teeth with an XXL waistline, but I’ll save that blog for another day.

It was worth it
It was worth it

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