How're y'all, eh?
We're transplants to the south, victims of corporate restructure and our own greed. We have been living in the US of A for nearly two years and the grandmas are getting antsy.
And so I found myself booking flights back home to the True North (Strong and Free) - sans Husband who begged off due to work conflicts.
They say flying is the safest form of transportation. It's easy, see: you get into this metal tube with metal flaps riveted to the sides, and then you jet yourself a zillion miles an hour 30,000 feet closer to outer space, all to save 30+ hours of driving cross-country.
That was my mantra: this is better than driving 30 hours, this is better than driving 30 hours...
Actually, I'm not a nervous flier. My problem was wrangling three kids on said metal tube of death, while surreptitiously profiling the other passengers.
Does that granny with her crotchet project hate screaming kids on a flight?
Will that pierced teenager be listening loudly to his iPod in the seat behind me?
Surely they won't seat me next to that portly gent? (Ok, so that wasn't very P.C. of me, but let's be honest - personal space is a big deal.)
This is better than driving 30 hours...
Oh yeah right. At least in my van the DVD player can pinch hit.
I must give my kids more credit. For the first leg of our journey, they behaved like perfect angels. I don't know if they were fascinated or stupefied by fear. Even in the airport during our stopover, they stayed close to me and were content.
At the gate, a very attractive man was smiling cheekily in my direction. Kye trotted over and gabbled at him. He winked at me.
I've been married for well over 10 years. It's a big deal, ok?
Once the plane was in the air, the performance started. Rascal ran up and down the aisle. Kye pestered Mr. Handsome. Tweenie began a running commentary to occupy herself and distract away her lingering nervousness.
"Okay, I can see cars. Little little cars. Ooh, there's a train. Okay, now we are going into the clouds. Okay, now we are in the clouds. Coming, coming, okaaaay, now we are on top of the clouds...." And so it continued.
This (amusing only to me) behavior continued for an hour or so, and then all three revved up for the finale. Kye began to howl. Rascal flopped around in his seat and made loud zooming and growling noises. Tweenie read loudly from her activity book.
In the end I apologized to the passengers seated nearby, and Mr. Handsome was over his little flirtation. I truly didn't care about any of it. I was back on solid ground and my children would have 2 weeks to recover before their encore presentation, bless their hearts.
Back to other eh-sayers who speak like they have hot porridge in their mouths. Back to farm fields bisected into neat postage-stamp squares. Back to comfort food and good-natured ribbing from my uncles. Back to passing off screaming kids to aunts and grandmas who coo at them and stuff their faces with homemade cookies.
Back home.
And so I found myself booking flights back home to the True North (Strong and Free) - sans Husband who begged off due to work conflicts.
They say flying is the safest form of transportation. It's easy, see: you get into this metal tube with metal flaps riveted to the sides, and then you jet yourself a zillion miles an hour 30,000 feet closer to outer space, all to save 30+ hours of driving cross-country.
That was my mantra: this is better than driving 30 hours, this is better than driving 30 hours...
Actually, I'm not a nervous flier. My problem was wrangling three kids on said metal tube of death, while surreptitiously profiling the other passengers.
Does that granny with her crotchet project hate screaming kids on a flight?
Will that pierced teenager be listening loudly to his iPod in the seat behind me?
Surely they won't seat me next to that portly gent? (Ok, so that wasn't very P.C. of me, but let's be honest - personal space is a big deal.)
This is better than driving 30 hours...
Oh yeah right. At least in my van the DVD player can pinch hit.
I must give my kids more credit. For the first leg of our journey, they behaved like perfect angels. I don't know if they were fascinated or stupefied by fear. Even in the airport during our stopover, they stayed close to me and were content.
At the gate, a very attractive man was smiling cheekily in my direction. Kye trotted over and gabbled at him. He winked at me.
I've been married for well over 10 years. It's a big deal, ok?
Once the plane was in the air, the performance started. Rascal ran up and down the aisle. Kye pestered Mr. Handsome. Tweenie began a running commentary to occupy herself and distract away her lingering nervousness.
"Okay, I can see cars. Little little cars. Ooh, there's a train. Okay, now we are going into the clouds. Okay, now we are in the clouds. Coming, coming, okaaaay, now we are on top of the clouds...." And so it continued.
This (amusing only to me) behavior continued for an hour or so, and then all three revved up for the finale. Kye began to howl. Rascal flopped around in his seat and made loud zooming and growling noises. Tweenie read loudly from her activity book.
In the end I apologized to the passengers seated nearby, and Mr. Handsome was over his little flirtation. I truly didn't care about any of it. I was back on solid ground and my children would have 2 weeks to recover before their encore presentation, bless their hearts.
Back to other eh-sayers who speak like they have hot porridge in their mouths. Back to farm fields bisected into neat postage-stamp squares. Back to comfort food and good-natured ribbing from my uncles. Back to passing off screaming kids to aunts and grandmas who coo at them and stuff their faces with homemade cookies.
Back home.
1 comment:
I love this post. Beautifully written. Kudos!
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