We are THAT family.
Our children had to be forcibly ripped from the arms of their grandmas, aunt, uncle and cousins and the greatness of the Pacific Northwest to return to the unholy awfulness of the ninety six degree southern heat.
[Why do I live in a place where the air quality is routinely described as unsafe for anyone?]
The Rooster decided that the plane ride home was the precise time she should bring on the explosive diarrhea and zip through our limited on-board supply of her diapers and wipes.
She soiled her pants (and her father’s forearm) with her first effort.
Ask yourself, does the family of Joy carry extra kiddie pants onto an airplane?
That would be... No.
And as to the soiled forearm, K returned from the airplane bathroom, gave me a beaten down look and said,
“You try washing your forearm in that little dollhouse sink in there.”
Just after The Rooster fell asleep in K’s arms, The Mayor had an “incident” with a cup of orange juice resulting in the complete and total soaking of one pair of toddler shorts, one pair of toddler underpants and one airplane seat.
The Mayor began to shriek (and the shrieking woke his sister) that he needed his wet clothes removed.
[See afore mentioned note about our family policy of NOT packing extra toddler pants.]
Relieved of his wet clothes, The Mayor, wearing only a shirt, socks and tennis shoes waved his package in the air (waved it like he just didn’t care) and demanded that he sit in one of our laps since his airplane seat was wet.
He scrambled into K’s lap and displaced his sister who commenced to wailing, “I want Daddy!” at the top of her lungs.
I offered her my lap, but I might as well have suggested she sit atop a barbeque skewer.
I spread out an in-flight magazine on the wet seat and spent the remainder of the 100,000 hour flight with the Sky Mall spine in my butt crack.
The Mayor took a half-nude nap on K’s stink encrusted arm despite the fact that his sister continued to shriek.
Because a shocking shade of electric orange substance was clogging my sinuses it was all I could do to simply stare at The Rooster and hope the folks seated around us were using their in-flight ear phones for the satellite radio.
The Rooster yelled and yelled until I remembered that I had one hidden treasure to reveal.
Before our trip, I went to the dollar store and loaded up on kidtastic, plastic landfill items.
I broke out the Make Your Own Candy Necklace kit, strung a horse load of sugar on two plastic strings, slung them around my kids necks and let them eat as much as they wanted.
After that it was smooth sailing.
All they did for the remaining 6 bzillion hours of the flight was repeatedly kick the seat in front of them while simultaneously opening and closing the tray table.
Yeah, we’re that family. The one on your plane that you HATE.
Oh. The. Joys.
(You can see my Blogher photos here if you want.)
Monday, August 06, 2007
We are THAT family.