I Think Parents Traveling with Children Should Get Complimentary Alcohol on Airplanes

Sigh.

I'm tired. I'm stressed. I'm on edge.

Can you guess what I'm doing today?

Flying. With toddlers.

My mind is flooded with images of luggage falling all over the place, the kids screaming and wiggling to get out of their strollers, angry looks from annoyed strangers, and TSA who want to basically molest me in their effort to keep our skies safer.

Will I make it through today?

To top it off, I have been dealing with some weird body temperature issues this past week. I have been so freaking hot for no reason. It doesn't matter where we are, or what I'm doing. It just comes and goes without warning, and it immediately causes me to break out into a sweat. 

I hate being hot. HATE IT. 

I don't look good when I'm hot. I get shiny and puffy, and it makes me really cranky. So now I keep wondering if I am going to have a hot flash at the airport, while carting around luggage and children, and I will be dripping with sweat and snapping at the slightest things, all because my internal barometer is reading 9500 freaking degrees.

Because of all these issues, I have been going into our bedroom every five minutes to announce to Richard that I have a new "battle plan" for tomorrow. God love him, he is one patient man. He listens quietly and nods his head yes, even though he has heard my detailed strategy a million times already, and every time I go over it again I can see his stress level rising. He's scared too. But he's being the strong one. 

I don't know what's wrong with me, but I just can't shut up. I hear myself talking, and in my head I'm like, KELLYN STOP TALKING YOU SOUND LIKE A CRAZY PERSON. But I can't. I just can't stop. 

*       *       *       *       *

Oh, and baby? I was thinking maybe I could drive to the airport tomorrow. I know I am going to be on edge and stressed to begin with, and sometimes when I am stressed I have a tendency to get stressed out even more by your driving, so I think this would be a way for us to avoid an unnecessary conflict.

What? You think I'm a bad driver?

No, no no. You're missing the point. Just say you'll let me drive.

*       *       *       *       *

He even watched the boys today so I could run to Old Navy. I was on a mission to find a "flying outfit". I would prefer to wear my new favorite Seven jeans, (that I bought at 40% off OMG!), but the thing that makes them so cute - the fact that they are adorned with gemstones - is exactly why I cannot wear them. They would set off every alarm, bell and whistle that airport security has in place. 

Next thing you know I would be taken to some back room, stripped from the waist down as the TSA ran my jeans through an X-Ray machine, and interrogated me about that trip I took to Mexico five years ago, and Richard would be on the other side of the door, with two hungry, screaming, poopy toddlers, yelling at me about why in God's name did I wear bedazzled pants to the airport?!

So as you can imagine, I was hoping to avoid all that. 

I went in search of some stretchy, comfy pants with no buttons, metal, zippers, nothing. I eventually found some yoga-type pants, and while not particularly cute, they will do the job. 

So this is where we're at. T-minus 20 hours until our plane leaves the ground that I so enjoy having my feet firmly planted on. But I am already too stressed about traveling with kids as it is, that I'm not even going to allow myself to start worrying about the plane crashing. I just can't. This week has already caused  me more than enough gray hairs, I'm sure.

Bottom line? Traveling with little kids SUCKS. There's no way around it. Richard was all, "Let's just drive to Illinois".

HA.

I told him he better hop off the crazy train because that would never be happening. 

A twenty-plus hour car ride, through the snow, and over several mountain passes with a one and two year old? No thanks. 

I guess I will settle for outrageous baggage fees, let a TSA employee get to second-base with me, and then spend three hours in a compact fuselage, squeezed so close to the stranger next to me that our elbows and knees keep awkwardly rubbing together.

I don't mean to sound like a Scrooge. I was stressed last year too, and once we got to Illinois we all had the best trip with Richard's extended family in a beautiful white Christmas. I am looking forward to another fun and memorable year. 

But this whole traveling process? Has turned me into a raving lunatic.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Worst Flight Ever

The wings were iced over. 

The ground crew kept deicing them, but within a couples minutes they were iced over again. We were nearly 45 minutes late taking off because of this continual deicing process. 

My worst flight ever.

It was December 2003, in Billings, Montana. My brother and I were on board a Horizon flight, all packed and set to go home for the Christmas holiday, except that it was five degrees outside, snowing, getting dark, and those freaking wings wouldn't stop icing over.

My brother Tim is a commercial pilot, (I know, cool huh? Sorry girls, he's married). But in the winter of 2003, he was still going to school for aeronautical science. He had been flying for several years at that point though, so I liked flying with him. Whenever I would get nervous about a bit of turbulence, or a strange sound, I would just look at him, and if he appeared relaxed and unconcerned, then I knew there wasn't any reason to be worried. 

The fact that we were delayed getting off the ground due to bad weather and ice didn't seem to bother Tim, so I tried to not let it bother me. I was so thankful when we finally took off and got above the clouds. I figured we were good to go for the next hour and a half to Seattle. It was a small plane, and Tim and I were seated in the very front row. The flight attendant was preparing to start the beverage service. He stood only a couple feet away from us, getting his cart ready.

All of the sudden, we heard a pop and then an alarm started screeching. Loud. Piercing. Terrifying. The flight attendant's face froze and he ran - RAN - to his seat at the back of the plane. He had abandoned us! I looked at Tim - my last resort - for comfort. He looked at me, serious as I'd ever seen him, and said, "Tighten your seatbelt. It can't hurt."

OMG! OMG! OMG! We're all going to crash and die!

That alarm went on for what seemed like an eternity, although it was probably less than two minutes. No joke, folks, it sounded like the roof of the plane was going to rip off, sucking us all out into the frigid air with it. My heart was racing and I was saying as many prayers as I could. 

Finally the captain came on and gave some explanation, that, honestly, I didn't even hear because I was still too frightened. In the end though, we landed safely in Seattle. But that was my worst flight ever.

When you have kids, the things that used to scare you about going on airplanes kind of shifts. As I mentioned a couple weeks ago, I still worry about the plane crashing. But when I travel with my kids, my thoughts are usually occupied with worrying about whether or not they will behave on the flight, and hoping that they don't make a terrible scene.

I've had some pretty interesting flights since becoming a mom. In fact, it started before Jacob was even born. 

Richard was taking me to Virginia to see where his parents live. We were on a red-eye flight. I was about 10 weeks pregnant with Jacob, and while I hadn't dealt with any real morning sickness, I had bouts with nausea every now and then.

Everything was going fine, to begin with. Richard was sitting at the window, I was in the middle, and a man, who I did not know, was in the aisle seat. About an hour into the flight, I started feeling notsogood. I was afraid to tell Richard, because I didn't want him to freak out, so I tried to convince my stomach to chill, and to understand that it was seriously not a convenient time.

It didn't work. 

Richard looked over at me at one point, and said, "You look kind of pale. Are you feeling okay?" 

Right then, my nausea kicked into overdrive. I knew we had a problem! I shook my head no, afraid to open my mouth to speak. Richard started searching desperately in the seat back pockets for barf bags, and OF COURSE, we were the only two seats on the entire plane that didn't have them. 

Uh oh. 

Vomit was coming up my throat, I slapped my hand over my mouth, in an attempt to keep it down. Richard looked terrified, thinking I was about to puke all over him. I knew I couldn't wait for him to ask someone if we could borrow their barf bag, so I literally jumped over the stranger next to me, and raced like 13 rows up to the front bathroom. I just barely made it. I didn't even have a chance to shut the door behind me before I was throwing up.

So that was a bad flight.

Then we had a nice break for awhile. Jacob was a really easy baby. Before he was six months old he flew to Hawaii, California and Virginia, and he did great on all those flights. After that we didn't do any flying for awhile. 

Last December we flew to Illinois to spend Christmas with Richard's parents and extended family. At that point, Jacob was 20 months old, and Ryan was 9 months. I had Jacob in my lap, and Richard had Ryan in his. Because of airplane rules we weren't allowed to sit in the same row, so Richard and Ryan were seated about three rows behind us. I knew Richard was nervous, since that was his first time flying with both the kids.

Not even five minutes into the flight, Ryan barfed all over Richard's shirt. Since I was so far ahead of them, and in a window seat, there was nothing I could do to help, so he sat there for the next three hours with a whimpering Ryan, and dried puke on his sweater.

Jacob didn't throw up on me, but I think I might have preferred that. He spent the entire three hours screaming and kicking at me and thrashing his arms. It was exhausting to say the least, and only slightly embarrassing.

The minute we landed in Chicago and the four of us were reunited, Richard looked me straight in the eye and said, "We're not having any. more. kids. And we're never flying with them again!"

That was our last trip with them. It's been almost nine months, and today we are heading to California to visit my mom's family. I keep telling myself that it's not even a three hour flight, and that this will be Jacob's first time in his car seat on the plane. He normally loves being in his car seat, so I am keeping my fingers crossed that we don't wind up being that family that the rest of our fellow passengers shoot dirty looks at, and then recant to their family and friends for years afterward of their "Worst flight ever".

Please tell me about your worst flight ever, so that hopefully, whatever ends up happening today, won't be as bad as the stories you share. 

And if they aren't worse than today's flight, then I guess I will just have to update this post on my worst flight ever.

Eat. Pray. Murder.

Hey, ya'll! I have arrived in Tennessee, and am officially done with Day One of classes. Things are going great, I have to say. The only thing bringing me down, (aside from having serious separation anxiety from my babies), is the fact that my body clock is all out of whack. Ohhh, how I long for the days of youth when jet lag did not affect me. Sigh.

However, while my body screams for blessed sleep, my brain will not comply, so I decided to give you all a quick update on my adventures out here.

EAT

My trip got off to a pleasant start. Big thanks to my Dad's work for flying him out to Virginia pretty much every week this summer! Because of those trips, he racked up quite a few miles on Continental that he didn't think he would get around to using - and he was kind of enough to give them to me! And, even better, he had enough to book me in a First Class seat! Yes. A. MAZ. ING. The only thing I could think about though, was how nice it would be to have First Class seats when traveling with my children - oh, the leg room! And the arm room! So much space! I hardly knew what to do with myself. So I celebrated with a complimentary margarita, obviously.

We landed in Houston for a short layover. It was approximately dinner time, so I headed to the food court to find something to eat. As I mentioned a few days ago, I have a fear of airplane bathrooms. I avoid them at all costs. Seriously. Whenever I travel I usually arrive at my destination positively dehydrated, because I won't drink an ounce of a beverage out of fear that I will need to use the lavatory. So I go to the food court, planning on finding something that will fill me up, but won't be too rich, in order to avoid any unwanted tummy/bathroom issues on my next flight, (you all know what I'm talking about here). These were my food options:

Donuts
Ice Cream
BBQ Sandwiches
Something huge and greasy that looked like a pulled pork sandwich
McDonald's

I must be in the south!

Thankfully, one of the restaurants had a plain green salad with a plain chicken breast. While not exciting, I did not have to contend with any unpleasant bodily issues on the following flight, which was good because...

PRAY

I did not have First Class on the second flight, because there was no First Class section. I was on one of the smallest planes I have ever ridden on. As soon as I stepped onto the plane, I felt my heart start racing. Small enclosed space...recirculated air...nighttime flying...thunderstorms in the forecast for this evening...It was all too much! As soon as I got strapped into my seat I just started praying. And praying. And praying some more. And when, just seconds after take-off, we made a sharp right turn, and the plane was shaking, and I just knew we were going to plummet to the ground, I prayed some more. Thankfully, I was so exhausted from the day at that point, that I pretty much passed out for the remainder of the flight.

MURDER

The Killer Nashville Murder Mystery Writer's Conference started today. I can't believe it's only been one day, I feel like I have learned so much already. I took classes on how to write engaging and purposeful dialogue, how to pace a novel, and how to become a best-selling author. Since it is a murder mystery conference though, I sprinkled in some 'for-fun' classes, such as how cop TV shows are terribly inaccurate, as well as a fascinating class about a cold-case murder that remains unsolved.

Throughout the day, I had the pleasure of making new friends, talking with people who, like me, hope to be published one day, as well as talking with a few who already have been published - and had some great advice to offer.

I know that I will come home from this conference feeling inspired, in fact, I have already begun working on a new novel idea, and even have another one floating around in my head. I am so glad that I ended up coming out here, it has all been worth it.

Flying

I never used to be afraid of flying. I loved to travel, and I had a list of all the cities in the U.S. that I wanted to visit. I got an Alaska Airlines credit card about four years ago, so that I could rack up miles and then take short weekend trips to places I wanted to see. That was the plan, anyway.

And then I had kids.

Nowadays, my fear of flying only seems to get worse. Prior to having children, I always felt that, should my plane go down, then it must just be my time to go. I have so much more to lose now, though. And the thing that really bothers me, is not so much the fact that I will be dead, (although I do fear not being able to watch my children grow up), but the thought that my children won't have any tangible memories of me. While I'm sure family members would try to keep me alive for them in a sense, I would never be more real than people they read about in books; and I fear that they would never know how much I love them, if I am not here to tell them myself. These are the terrifying thoughts that cross my mind the entire time I am on a flight.

Luckily for me, the majority of the time that I do fly someplace now, I have my children with me. Traveling with children is a pretty big production, and attempting to keep them occupied and prevent them from going into total meltdown-toddler-drama-rama while in-flight is a great distraction for me. I am usually so busy trying to stay one step ahead of their short attention spans, that I don't have a chance to think about that fact that I am floating 39,000 feet above the earth's surface. The few times I have flown without them though, have been when I am going to visit Richard, and once I am with him, the trip seems worth it, even though I am white-knuckled for the whole flight.

In one week I am leaving for Nashville to attend a writer's conference. I am so excited for the opportunity to meet published writers, network with agents and editors, and learn more about writing and getting published. This is sure to be a positive experience for me. Add to that the fact that I have always wanted to visit Nashville, so I am very much looking forward to going into the city and seeing the sights.

As far as my flights are concerned though, I. Am. Terrified.

I am so afraid that as my fear builds over the next week, that by the time I board the plane, I will become that crazy chick who cries the whole way to Nashville, and all the strangers on my flight will be Facebooking and Tweeting about the emotional wreck they had to sit next to.

I was telling my mom about my new-found fear of flying, and she said the same thing happened to her once she had kids, but she went on to say that you just have to live your life and do the things that you love, despite any fears you may have. Since she's got almost thirty years more experience at this than I do, I asked her, hopefully, if it ever gets better.

Her response? No.

Awesome.

But I keep telling myself that writing is my passion, and aside from being with my husband and kids, it is the one thing that I love, have always loved, and want to pursue in this life. So, if there were ever a reason for me to get on a plane and face my fear, this is it. Sigh.

Does anyone have suggestions on how to get through a flight without weeping uncontrollably, or reaching for the air-sickness bag and/or multiple vodka sodas?