Rex, Rocky, Vivi, and Billy                                                                            

Fly Away With Me

Fly Away With Me

So we are headed to Austin, TX this week for my wonderful sister-in-law’s wedding.  It is sure to be beautiful and awesome and amazing and fun, but getting there is going to suck balls.  And that’s not a guess.  That’s a fact.  I know because we flew to Florida to visit my grandmother last month. 

Do you know what is more fun than a three hour plane ride with Rex and Rocky?  “Oh, Oh, Me—I know!  Having your membranes scraped at the gyno to induce labor when you are five days late.”  Correct!  What else?  “Ummm, hearing your dad talk about your parent’s sex life at dinner with your new boyfriend (now husband).”  Ding, ding, ding!  Correct, again!  You get it.  So before I brave the runway again on Wednesday, lemme take you on a little trip down last month's memory lane. 

I am a pretty organized, anal, person.  (I know--anal will never not be funny, I’m with you.) But, ever since I became a mom, getting out of the door feels like a total fire drill—usually complete with sirens, since Rex is at the stage now where he thinks that he is a rescue vehicle.  (He actually sees police cars on the road and says, “Look Mommy, it’s a police car, like me!”—I mean I am all for the “you can be whatever you want to be” speeches, but dude, you can’t be a police car.  I know, it sucks. I’ll break it to him later.)  So, waking the kids up at 5:30 before their internal alarm clocks is not fun.  It’s only about a half hour before they would wake anyway, so you think it would be harmless.  Wrong.  Two full meltdowns, one blow out shit, and thirteen bribes later, we are in the car. 

We arrive at the airport with seventeen thousand pieces of luggage, some car seats, and the double stroller.  We are wearing---get fucking ready for this—matching family t-shirts.  This is a yearly vacation for us and Matt has made them every year since we have had Rex.  Now I love a little fun, humor, and a customized T-shirt.  But I like it on my own time, made by my own creative juices.  And I like them not to be worn with the rest of my family while trying to maneuver through airport security as people try to figure out whether we are the newest contestants on The Amazing Race, or just a really uncool, overzealous family with too much free time and not enough friends.  The back of the shirts have our names on them and numbers one through four.  I have to fake a smile while secretly wanting to murder my husband each time someone chuckles and says to me “ha-ha-ha---shouldn’t Mom be #1?”.  Ohhh, tee-hee-hee---yes! #1 Mom! Matriarch! Yay!  Weird lame shirt, get me the fuck out of here!

We somehow make it through security unscathed and then have about a half hour before we board.  We set up shop at our gate, take out the ipad and some heathy organic cereal (see pic below), and sit by the window so Rex can watch the planes.  About ten minutes in he is done.  “Is it plane time yet?”---nope.  Rocky is being a trooper, as it is now close to his nap time.  He is fussy, but duh.   Tired, weird family shirt---I feel you, bro.  Other passengers seem to be looking at us as if to say “awww, those kids are kinda cute, but those muthafuckers better not be sitting next to me for the next three hours”.  Each time a nice passer-by tries to say hi to Rex he responds with a lovely “roarrrr”, or “No!”.  “Oh, sorry! He is usually really nice and friendly I don’t know what is happening right now, this is so strange, he must not feel well, just kidding he just sucks”---I say nothing.  Leave us alone, people, we are in survival mode.

Right before we get on the plane I realize I should take Rex to the bathroom.  I keep forgetting he is potty trained now and I need to be on top of this shit.  He doesn’t wanna make the trip to the bathroom so I have to bribe him with a high-speed chase.  So, there I am, in my #2 Mom shirt, sprinting down the middle of the airport hallway as my police car son chases me with his very loud sirens on.  Whatever.  We make it to the potty, go, and I bring him back to the gate.  Now I grab Rocky and head to the bathroom to change him.  When I get in there, I realize I should probably go too---so I head into a stall, holding Rocky, and sit down to pee.

Do you ever have those moments in motherhood where you think----What the whaaaa did I just do?!  For example, I remember once Rex was eating a graham cracker and put too much in his mouth, or maybe just decided he was over it, but all of a sudden spit the chewed up cracker into my hand.  Rather than, oh I don’t know, throwing it out (!)---I popped it into my own mouth and ate it.  I swallowed and then came back to reality and thought---what the mother fuck?! I just ate this kids’ pre-chewed crackers?!  Well, I had a similar moment in the airport bathroom.  So as I am peeing (whatever, I can say that right? I mean, we all pee.) I see that Rocky has a super runny nose.  Poor guy has been battling the snot cold for months now and we are over it.  So I grab some toilet paper and as his flails and screeches, I wipe his nose.  Now---this is the moment of truth.  Obviously, I now am supposed to throw this piece of snotted on toilet paper into the toilet.  Oh, no.  You guessed it.  I just peed, remember?  Yup.  I wipe my lady parts with Rocky’s snot paper.  Hi.  I fucking wiped Rocky’s boogers all over my vagina.  And now I’m blogging about it.  So, yeah.

We boarded and the flight was about 2 hours and 55 minutes too long.  I had used up every new sticker book, snack, and toy that I brought for Rex before we even took off.  Rocky somehow (bennedryl) slept for the first hour, but when he woke was ripe for the movin’.  Matt spent the majority of the flight walking up and down the aisles with him while he tried endlessly to leap out of Matt’s arms to grab seats, overhead compartments, and strangers’ hair.  I spent the entire flight entertaining Rex with a full food construction site on the pull down table, making emergency trips back and forth to the bathroom, and begging him not to kick the seat in front of him for the seventeenth thousand time.  He also decided to take his shoes and socks off, and then wanted them back on---and then repeated that game about thirteen times.  Oh, and he didn’t like the “popcorn chips” they offer on the flight.  Apparently he found that out after he already had a mouthful.  Nothing beats having chewed up chips spit all over your thighs at thirty thousand feet. 

Finally, we landed.  We got our luggage and hopped in the car with my grandmother for the hour long drive to her condo.  You can imagine how that went.  Oh yeah, and the flight home was no better.  But I will spare you those details. 

So here I am, ready to jump back aboard a plane way sooner than I want to.  Maybe this time I can take some things I learned from our last trip to make this one a little easier.  Although I think no matter how I play it, it’s going to be chaos.  I guess I just hope that while my sister-in-law is going to be all pretty, and bridey, and glowing---that I don’t show up fresh off a repeat performance of #snotvag2016.  But honestly, it’s not likely.

Isn't It Fun To Be Outside?

Isn't It Fun To Be Outside?

You Think You're So Cool 'Cause You Can Pee With Your Penis

You Think You're So Cool 'Cause You Can Pee With Your Penis