There is a first time for everything. Yes. There. Is.
If you read my previous article: Flying with children is my super power - I'm sorry but I have to take it back. I'm clueless, have no iota of control of the situation, and my patience disintegrated shortly after take off.
It's our ninth time on an airplane together. It's also our last. I thought I had this down, and that flying with the miniatures was a doddle. It was; until today. Since before take off the children have been right little
It started at security. Come on kids! We've done this enough times to know the drill. You put your blanket and your baby in the trays, walk through then get them back on the other side. Easy.
The trays were moving through the scanner super slowly, so Jamie had a shit fit waiting for his blanket while Mini Madam (she's earned that title now), and I were being frisked. Seriously, we were wearing that little and the skimpiest shoes that it was obvious we carried nothing hidden on our person, but we got frisked anyway.
As it wasn't busy, the staff did help watch Mini Man while he melted into a puddle on the floor, so I'll give them that, but maybe in future I will put a label on him. One that warns to only approach if carrying a disgustingly grey gory piece of fabric moonlighting under the name of "blanket".
So while security wasn't that slow, it was the first thing to mess with my cool. Next up: finding somewhere to sit and wait for our gate. You can really tell which men of the world are total jerks when you're in an airport. They're the ones that spread their bodies out over three seats lying down, while woman and children are hunting for somewhere to sit down. Women and children first? Yeah right.
It's also pretty easy to tell which men don't have children themselves. You can't tell this initially by the fact they have none with them - maybe they travel for work. You can tell when a guy goes in his bag, and then offers your two children half a packet of quality street each. Without asking you first.
Seriously dude? Chocolate? Right before a flight? Giving children any form of refined sugar before they have to sit still for eight hours is blatantly asking for trouble, and if you hadn't just shown them the shiny pretty colours I'd like you a lot more.
So jump to now. We are two hours away from landing (I wrote this on the plane at 10:20am Chicago time), and The Miniatures have been absolute horrors.
There has been a game of musical chairs, where we all ended up in a different seat, as well as Mini Madam asking incessantly for her coloring book - which once received she used for all of three flipping minutes.
Mini Man decided to torment the fuck out of the girl sitting in front of him. This is actually quite funny, though, because we are sat right behind the seats with loads of leg room where the exit is. The girl was a "happy camper" to have so much space, but - judging by several of the dagger flavoured glances I've got during this flight - I don't think that the happy part exists anymore. Or the camper part, for that matter. Doesn't she know we're flying?
Miniman also chose to launch the pillows in all directions, and with a lady flying with a newborn right behind us, I had to put my stern hat on to get him to behave. I envy her so much right now. Not because I'm broody, but that age is so easy! She - however - is probably looking up a date in her diary to have her tubes tied. Especially after watching this display...
Neither child liked their food, but then again this is American Airlines , and hell - I don't like the food. It did annoy me that the steward was a bit stern with Mini Madam for not even trying her food. It was chicken. In cold gravy. Were they expecting miracles? For the number of children on this flight, you'd think they would do children's meals like my favourite airline. Oh, Virgin Atlantic! How I miss you right now!
So Mini Man settled for a nap, and has just woken up. He lasted maybe an hour despite his sister trying valiantly to wake him up - probably to get him to team up against me some more. She is now asleep, so I have a reprieve from the constant "Mummy this, Mummy that," for the next hour and a half.
Hopefully nothing else can melt my patience. I don't think there's much left. Oh, there's security to look forward to!
So, in a revised statement I would like to say my advice for flying solo with children is: DON'T BLOODY DO IT!
There was more food drama. The bitchy stewardess came along with the grossest looking pizza ever and said: "ado your kids want pizza or not?" I declined the pizza, but they could have had the biscuits that were for afters. I swear you get no customer service with these stewards. I paid for a ticket, bitch!
It must be a day for it. The security line was long, but a kind officer spotted us and let us through early, as Emma was dancing a jog. There was a battle axe of colleague there too, though and she was like: "No! make them wait!" I'm so thankful the kind officer didn't listen to the mean one, and grateful to be home!
In other news: Mini Man robbed a flight blanket. He's got a habit of doing that...
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