I get nervous when we roll up to TSA screening. Nervous because I am worried what they will
do when they find the arsenal of weapons in the Commander’s Star Wars backpack
which he refuses to put in the check thru.
I am sweating, my ponytail has fallen to the side and my eye make up is
running. I look like I just finished an
Olivia Newton John workout circa 1985 and I look guilty of a crime. I wonder if
the outline of 3 water pistols and a lightsaber will set off alarms and if the
TSA agent will actually deem these items dangerous because the Commander will
go all Osama Bin Laden if they try and confiscate them and I may actually be
stuck in Disney forever. I sweat more at
this thought.
I begin to disrobe. “Your jacket and shoes, ma’am,” the TSA
agent motions for me to put them in the bin while TIT is now loose from the
restraints of his stroller and very interested in the conveyer belt which he
thinks is just another ride at Disney.
With one shoe off, TIT decides to make a break for it and tries to dart
through the metal detector while the person on the other end is getting the
wand waved over them. I try to grab him
but I can’t and I don’t want to piss these TSA people off because they have a lot
of power when you are trying to smuggle chocolate milk and super soakers on a
domestic flight. “My son,” I say
pointing to TIT who is now deciding which way to run while I am in
pursuit. “I need to grab him before he
boards a flight for Miami!” One of the TSA guards tries to detain TIT by
standing in front of him until I can get through the metal detector. TIT looks up at his challenger. Despite the hulking size of the TSA agent and
the unfamiliar face, TIT isn’t deterred.
He tries to shake him, spin left and bolt right, but he tumbles into the
guy’s knee and falls to the ground. “Hold
him,” I scream to the agent, almost hoping that this guy pins my 19 month old
on the ground because I really don’t think he gets the fact that this kid has
solid moves and will take off faster than most flights in this airport.
I get the special treatment because TIT’s actions and they
test each bottle of milk and each Pediasure for explosives. The TSA agent rummages through my bag with
gloved hands, inspecting every item in it as he removes each piece one by one. My carry on is cavernous, every pocket filled
strategically with items to “Shut them the fuck up” on the plane. I have goodies, snacks, milk and enough
changes of clothing that my kids can depart, arrive and travel in 3 totally
separate outfits. I have bribes, dollar
store gizmos, Xanax and Benadryl (for them).
This is Orlando so I am sure he’s seen worse. He gives me a “my thoughts
are with you, but I am so fucking glad I am not on your flight” look as his
rezips my tote and sends me on my way.
TIT is going through a daddy phase. I am grateful because it gives me a good
excuse to hand him off. “Oh wow Matt,
look how excited he is to see you,” I say as TIT screams Daddy over and over
again when Matt walks into a room. But
TIT doesn’t just reserve the bellowing of “Daddy” for just Matt, he is impartial
and any male to walk by, TIT will scream “Daddy”. So as we are getting comfortable in our seats
on the plane, TIT is hollering “Daddy” to every man to walk down the
aisle. And he isn’t just saying it, he
is screaming at the top of his lungs and now ending the word with a quizzical
question mark and pointing. “Daddy?” “Daddy?”
I try to laugh and say equally as loudly
as TIT, “Oh no, ha ha ha, Daddy is right there,” as I point to my husband and
assure all the men getting on the plane that TIT is not a product of a sperm
bank. I swear that he gets this and he
is just laughing his little balls off inside, because he starts doing it louder
and emphasizing the question mark and pointing with exaggerated excitement.
Matt for sure has the easier seat. We always split up, two and two, because we
all know how well man-on-man defense works.
He takes the Commander and pours him some Sprite in a cup and you would
think he just cured cancer by how proud he is at this accomplishment. The Commander is leisurely drinking his
Sprite and playing Angry Birds on his iPad when over here in my row, the TIT
has taken apart a Wendy’s hamburger and is throwing fries at the seat in front
of me. Matt looks over, smiles and turns
the page of his magazine. But I know
that the iPad has only 28% power and I know he is going to be fucked somewhere
over Georgia when that shit goes out. So
I smile back at him and hand TIT another fry, which he looks at, and screams “Daddy?”
It’s a short flight, only 2hours and 15 minutes and we are
already about 55 minutes into the flight.
Zac had given up on screaming Daddy somewhere over Georgia and the
Commander’s iPad is still working. Score
one for Matt because once the novelty of annoying people with his incessant “Daddy?” wore off, TIT just made it easy on
himself and went with the pirates torturing baboon noises.
“Ayyyyy ugh ayyyyy, RRRRRR!”
At a pitch ten times as loud as the engines roaring, “ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR,
EEEEEE AW EEEE AW EEEEEEE AWWW”
“Switch seats with me,” I say to Matt. “No way, why?” he
asks as his seatmate, the Commander reclines, arm behind his head and watches
at movie on the iPad. “Because it’s only fair. I have been sitting with TIT the
whole time. You got the easier kid. He’s driving me nuts.”
TIT understands the power of torture. He, even at this young and nubile age, has
mastered the art of humiliation and enjoys inflicting pain upon his
parents. In my efforts to shut him the
fuck up, I went to song before I attempted dance. I belted out the alphabet about 100 times. If
I lowered my voice below a dull roar, TIT would wail and I’d have to sing it
louder again. But then he grew tired of
the alphabet song and I was forced to a low point, to place I didn’t want to go
in public. I had nothing left but to reach for the one and only song to soothe
him as a baby.
“Put an A upon a slim gold bar take an E a Phi and that is
who we are. With our colors that are green and white, AE PHI will be our
guiding light…” I sang. I sang very loudly, loud enough that people two rows up
turned and looked back at me. I crooned and swayed and sang the entire sorority
rush soundtrack for him. TIT was now gleeful at my public humiliation.
Downright chipper, TIT is giggling with delight when the Commander’s iPad goes
dead.
I see it happen. The Commander looks forward and turns the
iPad over. He shakes it. Probably a fix-it move learned from his father. When he realizes that it’s dead, he gets a
panicked look, which most likely matched both his father’s and mine. “It’s
dead, Mommy. My iPad is dead.” I reach
for my bag and go to the “emergency compartment, but the Commander has
smartened and no way is some crappy dollar store toy going to soothe the
beast. “Do you want to play with some
Angry Bird cards?” I ask, reaching over my husband and handing him a pack of
unopened cards.
“No.” I see the tears start to well in the bottom of his
eyes. I have seconds, only a few before
the eruption into a full-fledge tantrum so I have to act quickly. I see the man in the row behind us buzz for
the stewardess and assume he is either going to ask for another drink or ask
for us to be thrown off the plane over Virginia. But then I realize the iPad
mini was in my bag and I reach for the last iDevice with any power. It only had 12% but I was hoping it would
last us until the final descent.
The TIT who had been silent for about 10 minutes got bored.
He has saved the energy he could have been using during that respite and come back
louder and stronger with these unearthly barking sounds. He alternates between laughter and hysterics
and casually glances over at me to decide which one is more torturous to
me. “Do something!!!” Matt says as he
takes another sip of his cocktail and reaches for an alternate
publication. “What the fuck would you
like me to do?” I say, curse word and all.
Because really, I had done song and even some dance. I had read some
horrible Brown Bear shit. I fed him fry after fry. I was out of tricks. I am unclear as to what brilliant plan my husband
wanted me to apply at 35,000 feet. But
then it dawns on me and I reach in the seat pocket and pull out the barf
bag. I take some crayons in my bag and
make a puppet and I am pretty sure I just won mother of the fucking year! I am
queen of the mile high mother’s club. I manage to silence TIT and my husband as
I act out a full puppet show for him with inked up barf bags.
The pilot comes over the loud speaker and announces we have
begun our initial descent and I breathe a sigh of relief. I know that in less than 15 minutes we will
be back on ground and I am 35 minutes away from being back in my own
apartment. The Commander, going on 4%
iPad juice is playing a game peacefully.
I feel the plane begin to inch its way down through the clouds. The
sights on the ground become clearer and I gaze out the window enjoying the
fleeting moments of quiet when I turn to hear TIT making some new noises. They were muffled at first, then he got
louder with some grunts and groans.
These were new noises and I wasn’t sure if he was trying out some new
sounds in the hopes of giving our seat neighbors a parting gift. Then I see his chest heave in and out, his
mouth opens and it’s like a scene from the Exorcist. A volcanic eruption of chocolate milk and French
fries come flying out with seismic force.
I had just used the barf bag for my puppet show, oh how irony loves to
bitch slap me and I am down to about 5 wipes in my Huggies container. I start to try and catch the next bout of
vomit with the US Airways magazine but it’s too late and I am covered in chunks
of chewed potato pieces. I reach in my
bag to grab the only thing I can find which is absorbent and I start to wipe us
both down with a diaper.
If our neighbors didn’t see the incident, they most definitely
smelled it. The vomit had mostly landed on TIT and me and I quickly filled my
barf puppets with what I was cleaning up off the floor. “When we land,” I say to Matt while wiping my
vomit covered neck off, “We run. We get off this plane quickly and with purpose.
Grab everything – bags, kids, car seat and just go.”
We all ride in silence until the flight lands, even TIT is
quiet. And for the last 10 minutes of
this miserable flight, despite the fact I smell like fraternity house and any
hint of Xanax has worn off, I find my rare slice of smelly quiet luxurious.
