The Stitch

Airline travel laws clearly dictate that there are two types of people who fly the friendly skies, and I'm not referring to the difference between the luxurious leg room of first class and the elbow-in-yer-eyeball intimacy of coach.

No, I'm referring to people who fly with children vs. those who fly without. Yes, you rolling your eyes at me when you see my kids approach your section of the plane makes me love you more than burnt, milk-soaked McDonald's French fries. And I love you even more when you exhale heavily and comment to the folks seated next to you, "Oh, great, just what we needed. A couple of THOSE."

Now, I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you were talking about my enormous breasts, but on the off chance that you were referring to my kids, your behavior makes me want to tickle them until they're about ready to vomit from excessive laughter, get 'em all wound up and screaming for the entire length of the flight, just so you can justify your absurd behavior. Better yet, maybe I should plop a stink-loaded, huggies-clad kidlet in your lap upon take-off so you can really appreciate your fantastic, no-boogers-on-your-sleeve lifestyle.

Jerk.

We Pipers are the grungy ones you're glaring at as we board, and to help you better understand (and perhaps educate you into a life of tolerance) life from our perspective, I'm going to describe to you in graphic detail, what we do to keep YOU happy:

Arrive at airport two hours early because that's the law. Check the BIG luggage (three suitcases). Hand the kids their backpacks (Criminy, they are adorable with their little backpacks!) and head over to the security check in.

Prepare Elizabeth for what's going to happen. Explain that she needs to put her backpack on the conveyor belt. Be happy when she does it without a fuss. Explain to her that she has to take her shoes off and put them on the conveyor belt. Experience the first meltdown of the trip. Childypants doesn't agree with this shoe nonsense, and tells Mr. Security Man that SHE DOES NOT WANT TO TAKE HER SHOES OFF AND WAHHHHHHHHHHHHH THIS IS TERRIBLE AND I DO NOT LOVE YOU!

Peel shoes off Elizabeth and put them on the conveyor belt. Pick her up, flailing, kicking and screaming and walk through the metal-detecting archway and glare icily at Mr. Security Guard when he tells you that you can't walk through his metal-detecting archway carrying Elizabeth. Return to the metal-detecting archway, put kid on floor, who erupts in Plinian volcanic rage and watch (with a small amount of glee) as Mr. Security Guard freaks a little and tells you it's okay to carry her through his f*cking metal-detecting archway. Pick up kiddo. Walk through archway, cleared for takeoff.

Grab shoes and put them on four feet. One adult. One child. Check.

Realize that Adam and Brian are missing. Look back to see that Brian has been asked to open and empty all of the bags carrying electronic equipment while juggling a one-year old.

Call out to Adam who is starting to cry, "How are you doing, handsome boy?"

Mr. Security Guard woodchuck-pops his head above the scanning monitor and says, "Not bad, thanks for asking!"

Piper family clears security and realizes that once they are in the secured area, there are no restaurants. Kids have not eaten lunch. Realize the potential for catastrophe as a result of piss-poor planning and lack of obsessive behavior.

Ma Piper buys a giant yogurt parfait calls it toddler lunch. It'll do.

Spend 1.5 hours entertaining two kids. Four minutes before boarding, girl decides she has to pee.

Run to the bathroom, plop kid on the can only to have her say, "I need some privacy. Get out." Explain that you're not leaving her alone in a public restroom. Watch in horror as she lifts her legs off the seat to peek inside the potty to make sure there's still water in there, and sprays pee all over her Ariel Underoos.

Realize that your own pants are also covered with childypee. Pause to remember where the JUST IN CASE spare clothes are packed: Why they're in the checked luggage, of course. Come to fully understand the meaning of the word FAIL.

Put backpacks back on kids as the boarding begins. Fight with kids about carrying their backpacks. Carry both kids' backpacks and your own carry-on baggage on the plane. Realize you don't fit through the narrow path on the airplane while you are carrying three backpacks.

Explain to Elizabeth that you have one bag of cotton candy and if she can behave throughout the ENTIRE flight, she will get a small piece of cotton candy every five minutes.

Sit. Buckle. Wait for the first round of screaming to begin.

First round of screaming begins. Pull first-round toys from the backpacks: Race cars, etch-a-sketch.

Kids are entertained for .9 minutes.

Second-round toys are brought out: Polly Pockets and CHOMPY FISH. Kids are entertained for a solid ten minutes. Only one hour and 37 minutes left to go.

Cotton candy reward.

Point at clouds out the window. Experience meltdown number two: "I DON'T LIKE CLOUDS I AM AFRAID OF CLOUDS THOSE CLOUDS ARE SCARING ME MAKE THE CLOUDS GO AWAY!"

Houston, we have a problem.

Draw windows shades. Discover Adam is fascinated with opening and closing window shades. He no longer needs his backpack toys because he has windows that open and close.

Cotton candy reward for another five minutes of silence.

Pause to order two waters from the flight attendant. Eagerly peel back the tinfoil top on the water that now comes in a container similar to applesauce. Note the weirdness of it all. Childypants refuses water. "I DO NOT LIKE WATER I WANT APPLE JUICE." Adam refuses water. He wants Pa Piper to drizzle it on the pull-down tray and splash in it.

Hey, whatever keeps them happy.

Allow Adam to splash in water for the next half hour. He is delightfully amused. Consume Elizabeth's water because she has explained that she will get sick if she drinks water. As soon as water has been consumed, listen as Elizabeth asks, "Can I have some water?"

Wrap the container back in foil and trick child into thinking it's a brand new water. . . without any water. Do a happy little butt dance in your seat when you realize the trickery has worked.

Cotton candy reward for another five minutes of silence.

Beg the flight attendant to let us keep the empty water containers for just a bit longer. It's not trash, it's a toy. And this toy is apparently the greatest toy on Earth because she loves it more than she loves the Polly Pocket Princesses.

As the pilot announced our descent, I gave Brian a high-five, and Adam reached inside my left nostril with one of his sharp, needly babytalons and in one stroke, proceeded to shred all the delicate skin lining the inside of my nose. I bled profusely until we landed. Brian said, "You should have waited until we landed for that high-five."

No kidding.

Hand the kid the rest of the cotton candy and tell her, "Go for it."

Seven passengers from our flight, including little Miss Stinkeye, complimented us on our well-behaved children as we gathered up the backpacks and exited the plane. Brian and I just looked at one another wondering if they were referring to the same rabid wombats with whom we'd been wrestling/placating/bribing for the last four hours.

After we collapsed in a puddle of blood, pee, snot and drool-soaked cotton candy, Brian said to me, "You know, there's no such thing as KIDS who travel well. It all boils down to how well the parents entertain the kids. If you ignore them, they behave terribly. But if you spend the whole trip paying attention to them, anticipating their next move, and doing whatever needs to be done to keep them from annoying the hell out of everyone else, people will compliment you on how well behaved your kids are. Man, that was the hardest work I've ever done."

I nodded in complete agreement and then we died from exhaustion.

The End.