Mama in New England: August 2014

I'll thank Grand-Joe and Mark for this one…

Sam has a habit right now of following me around from room to room, and if he's absorbed in something and I leave the room, he'll call or come running when he discovers I have left.

"Bethan-where are you?"

So now Vivian has caught on, and if I got into another room, I hear a little voice call, "Mama… whereareooo?" as two complete words.

So, the bathroom, putting away laundry, tidying up, wherever, I have an entourage.

I was outside with Sam yesterday, Vivian napping. Sam was in the sandbox, while I weeded.

"Mom?" he said without looking up, "you there?"

"Yes, still here," I told him with an exasperated sigh.

"You know," he said, getting out of the sandbox, "I have to check where you are to make sure there isn't any danger and you don't get in trouble."

"I'm a smart lady, Sam, I won't get in any danger. Anyway, what danger do you think I might get into?"

He came up stood directly in front of me and leaned in, whispering, "well, you never know when you might see a GIANT spider. He might come along and try to EAT YOU ALL UP." Arms outstretched in either direction. "You have to watch out for GIANT SPIDERS, mom. So, I have to check on you."

"Thanks, Sam. I'll keep an eye out for those."

He nodded seriously and went back to the sandbox.

Well we made it to the Caribbean and back, and had a lovely trip while we were there. I remember the first flight(s) we took with Sam, I was nervous, apprehensive about how he would do and paranoid that we would be "that family," with the screaming baby. However, he traveled well, we were okay, with the occasional hiccup. This trip with the two of them, I just figured would be what it was and it would all be dealt with. I was more concerned with Vivian ending up jumping in the pool at the house we were staying at then getting there and back on the planes.

The trip from Boston to Tortola, which is a British Virgin Island, requires (if you don't pay thousands of dollars to fly directly to St. Thomas), two planes and a ferry. Add taxis or cars on either end of that and you end up with a pretty full day of travel.

Going down was manageable. We were exhausted when we got there, Vivian had one ten minute tantrum on my lap on the plane and then ended up passing out for an hour and a half. They were both really good considering we started our day at 4:45 am and arrived at the house in Tortola about 5:00 pm. One reprimand from a fairly rude United Airlines flight attendant for switching seats so that we could sit together (really necessary?), but no other issues. Oh, except that apparently neither Chris nor I knew what airline we were flying, so at 5:30 am tried to check in at American Airlines. Oops. Oh, and we got on the wrong ferry for a few brief minutes, but that was quickly figured out. : 0

Coming back was an adventure. We were that family, with that baby.

We had a nice morning, woke up, finished packing, had a swim with the children, breakfast, and Chris's uncle drove us to the ferry terminal. We just missed the 10 am ferry, which was fine, because the 10:15 ferry went directly to St. Thomas, as oppose to stopping by St John. They loaded the ten am, and then within a minute told us we were about to miss our 10:15 ferry. We scrambled, gathered the bags, kids (who were both shoeless and refusing to put shoes on), and jumped up to go through some kind of security. As we made it through and they loaded our bags on the ferry, they started yelling that we hadn't paid a departure tariff. I had no idea what they were saying, as Chris went back, Sam tried to go with him (which you can't do through security), we could only pay in cash, then they yelled that we were going to miss our ferry, which I couldn't board because I couldn't carry the remaining bags and Vivian and then we were overcharged or the tariff. But we made the ferry.

We got through Customs in St. Thomas in a decent amount of time, half an hour or so, and then had a few hours before our flight at 2:30. So we decided to get lunch, the only place being upstairs at the ferry terminal. This was fine, bar food, but the kids could watch the boats and it was laid back, so we didn't have to worry too much about them being noisy or unruly. We ate, watched the boats and a sea plane, and then Vivian decided to run around (still shoeless), while I finished eating and Chris chased her. While I was trying to figure out the bill, I heard a woman calling, "little boy, little boy, get down!" and turned around to find Sam on top of a table peering over the deck railing to the ferry below. I grabbed him, and the bill, and paid at the bar, we changed Vivian's diaper and were off.

At restaurant in St. Thomas

2:30 is past Vivian's afternoon nap time, so I had predicted, on a full belly and a morning of traveling, she should fall asleep on the plane. That was not a realistic prediction. We weren't seated together and the passengers around us didn't seem eager to move (though I didn't ask them directly, just sort of hinted). So Vivian and I were tucked back in the corner window seat, in the back row, next to the bathrooms. Chris and Sam were a few rows ahead. We boarded at the end of the line so there was less waiting and containing them in the airplane seats. Vivian was charming and lovely and chatted with the passengers around us, watched as the plane took off, "whoa! Ohhh….! Whoa…." and then we got in the air, hit a cruising altitude and she was done. She started with a whimper and broke into a scream, then a temper tantrum of epic proportions. Arched back, red face, spittle flying, arms flailing, screaming, crying, the works. I thought she'd cry and fall asleep. But as she pulled at my hair and tried to climb over the seat in front of me and banged on the window, I realized she might still be winding up. I spotted my husband heading the back of the plane where he was trying to throw away his cup and ginger ale so that he could take her. I had missed drink service completely. He took her, she immediately stopped crying, and the passengers around us breathed a collective sigh of relief. I took out a magazine, read a few pages, then fell asleep. About 20 minutes later I awoke to the sound of a baby crying, more specifically, my baby crying. A few minutes later she was headed back my way, launching into another delightful round of battling me in the corner seat. I noticed at some point during this tantrum that there was a baby in the seat in front of me sleeping peacefully on his mother's lap. Angelic and still. I figured he had probably been drugged.

Vivian's next tantrum lasted another thirty minutes or so, with thankfully sweet and understanding passengers trying to soothe her, making faces at her, an elephant puppet appeared over the seat in front of us, my seat mate tried to stroke her leg, the stewardess offered to bring her milk or juice. All attempts failed and finally she passed out, but not before waking up angel baby in front of us (he probably needed to wake up anyway). I spent the next hour basically trying to not move, or really breath to loudly in case the child woke up. Angel baby played quietly with cute noises and words and little quiet toys. When I happened to peek, he was appeared to be around Vivi's age, and even donned a little straw hat. Which he kept on his head. At that point in time I had no idea where her shoes were, after she had kicked them off in tantrum number 1. Vivian obviously eventually did wake up, and clearly too early. She was bleary eyed and pretty angry to find herself on the same plane, in the same spot, and started to wail. And wail. Things began to fly. The understanding passengers were now avoiding eye contact and in general, and not looking our way. The child was inconsolable. As the pilot announced it was time to stay seated for landing, I jumped up, hoping walking her would soothe her. It did not. Now I was trying to contain her from jumping out of my arms and onto random passengers as I raced up the aisle toward Chris, Vivian still screaming.

"I don't know what to do," I told him.
"Want me to take her?" he asked. Yes. Hell yes. Please take her. But I knew if I handed her over and then she was crying for me I wouldn't be able to retrieve her.
"I guess not. What should I do?"
"Hope she stops?" he replied.
I swear Sam was also avoiding eye contact.

I headed back to our seat where a really nice mother asked if I wanted her aisle seat for the final portion of the journey. I gratefully sat down in it, rearranging three other passengers in the process. Vivian accepted this arrangement for about 4 minutes, then started up again. The woman who switched seats with me and her kids tried to entertain her. Vivian kind of half-heartedly cried, then started up again full scale. And the plane began to circle. Because when you have a screaming child who at this point you kind of want to sedate, you need to circle for an additional fifteen minutes before landing. We finally landed, but don't forget, we were in the last row of the plane. And despite the fact that Vivian was still hysterical, it's best that every.single.person stands in line in front of me and her (minus the last row of the plane who were helpfully packing up my stuff and kind of pushing us along) before we can get off. Angel baby's mom handed me a pacifier that Vivian had thrown and smiled sympathetically (condescendingly?). All in all, she had probably cried or screamed for 75% of the plane ride. I apologized profusely to the stewardesses on the way off, who were really sweet.

We raced to the next plane, which, after being in the back row of the first plane, we made by minutes, managing to grab the kids french fries en route. I didn't look at a single person on the way onto the plane, not wanting to see anyone from the last plane shooting us daggers. If I had been a passenger who had to ride with this kid twice, I would probably pay to take a later flight, or demand a refund. I kind of wanted to anyway, and I am her mom. I also seriously contemplated spending the night in Newark or renting a car, rather then getting on another plane with this child.

This time, as we were seated, I immediately asked the woman next to us to switch seats, which she did without hesitation, even sitting in the middle as oppose to her original aisle seat. We turned on a movie for Sam, and Vivian climbed up, peered over the back of our seats and made friends with the woman behind us, and was totally fine for the entire flight. Where was this magical woman on the last flight? Vivian was happy, sweet, and absolutely content. I think perhaps not being contained in tiny quarters, having both Chris and I there, and being able to climb around (and not land on a stranger), and have her own personal entertainment/admiring audience behind her helped. She even managed to unfold a table, and sit on it like it was her seat, much to her delight and the amusement of our fellow passengers. As we descended, I suddenly heard a commotion next to us and looked over to see Sam who looked fairly green, clap his hands over his mouth. Chris was pulling the iPad off Sam's lap and desperately searching through his seat back and Sam's for an air sickness bag. Which, just in case you are traveling any time soon, are not readily stocked in the back of everyone's seats. We managed to rifle up once between our three seats, which was quickly used, and then I started to ask people around us for another one, convinced he would vomit again. A flurry of airplane magazines, brochures, and air safety guides ensued, until someone a few seats in front of us passed one back. The woman who switched seats with us turned around, "at least no one was screaming," she said with a smile.
"Oh no," I replied, "we did that on the last flight."

Again, when you have a child who has just been sick and reeks of vomit, no one will move to let you off the plane. Even when I made loud comments about how he would probably throw up again. I'm not a pushy person typically, but really…

Looking very innocent and tired as we waited to for bags, but shortly after they were tearing around tripping people up.

Waiting at baggage claim the children were weary and kind of dazed. At least initially. Then their next wind kicked in. It was now 9:30 at night and they were completely overtired. Vivian got off her chair, kicked off her shoes and began to run. I grabbed her. Angel baby walked by in his stroller (they were on the second flight???!), still wearing his straw hat, still in good humor. His parents looked happy and unfrazzled, possibly even rested. (I was wearing one earring at this point and my shirt was not entirely buttoned).
"Look!" I exclaimed to them kind of deliriously, and pointed at Vivian, "not even one tear on the second flight!"
"Amazing!" the husband said (a little sarcastically I thought), "good job, mom!"
I tried not to glare. Vivian struggled out of my arms and immediately climbed onto the moving luggage carousel and began to shriek in delight, Sam roared with laughter. I pulled her off and got as far away from the luggage carousel as possible. At this point both children took off running at top speed, and when they reached Chris, Sam tackled Vivian so that she went flying. Right in front of Angel baby's parents, whose mom now seemed to be doing some kind of tranquil yoga-like stretch over the top of Angel baby's stroller.

But we made it. Luggage was collected and Grand-Joe drove us home. No flight delays, no more puking, everyone sleeping in their own beds. I think today was the first day we finally all felt back to normal and a little more rested.