Weeks earlier I sat in the fireroom scanning websites for tips on how to entertain my children, toddlers on the plane. Making list upon list, and I am not a list person, ideas to wrap toys like presents and offer one each hour of the flight, balloons to blow up while waiting in the airport, pencils, stories, personal dvd players. My husband, uninterested, watched tv, occassionally listening to me as I exclaimed. Why wasn't he more worried, or even interested on what could occur if we weren't prepared??? Well my female friends and mother's united, we all know the reason why,...if my one year old son started screaming, and hyperventilating from claustrophobic cabin fever, it was going to fall on Mama. If my three yr old little girl developed air sickness and threw up all over her seat and clothes, Mama would make it all nice again. Perhaps I was being unfair, that given the chance my man would leap into action and attend to all. Perhaps control is essential to my life and I must dominate where I can when I should let him do more.
I laugh when think that he watched an entire movie, then promptly took a valium and fell asleep. Albeit not a looonng sleep, but a sleep none the less.
I think maybe the flight was not so bad? It actually wasn't as horrific as expected. One becomes blase in a sense, uncaring to the other human beings crammed into a flying metal object hurtling itself across the sky. A survival instinct is established similar to when you are in labour, or any mind numbing experience - 'I will get through this, I will get through this.' And of course, you do. It ends. And you arrive.
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