Minds of Men Fashioned a Crate of Thunder

The flight to Florida was one of my personal pre-vacation stressors. And, it was all about The Boy.   My easy-going, charming, enthusiastic, curious Urchin Boy was suddenly none of those things and decidedly NOT keen to go to Disneyworld once he realized that we'd be flying there. In fact, he lobbied intensely throughout November and December to persuade us either to a) let him stay with Grandma Jane instead (until we explained that that also required air-travel), or b) delay the trip until Daughter #1 was in college (maybe hoping that if we put it off we'd forget and not go?  I never quite figured out why that option appealed to him.). 

 

In response, we cajoled, and comforted, and attempted to engage his enthusiasm with comparisons to riding in a race car. All to no avail. His lobbying program didn't cease until I stated firmly that, as we'd already paid for the tickets, his attendance was compulsory and he WOULD have a fantastic time. I then declared the discussion officially over. To my great surprise, I didn't hear another word about it. Gosh, if only that tactic worked in all situations.

The day of the flight dawned and I was prepared. I had it all, my entire arsenal of proven Dailey melt-down preventers. I had snacks and tech and LEGOs to distract him; gum to chew to keep his ears clear; and enough ibuprofen to share with the rows around us to dispel the headaches I was certain we would cause. As it turned out, I'd needn't have bothered (although it could be said that if I hadn't prepared, we would have needed every last one of those items). Not only did he not melt down during the flights (there or back), he absolutely loved take-off and whooped with joy both times. In fact, he was so fascinated that he avidly followed the progress of the plane and its slightly alarming flight statistics (like altitude, speed and temperature) on a map-screen embedded in the seat-backs in front of us instead of watching one of his favorite movies. Not a shiver, not a whimper.  His only melt-down of the entire trip (and even then it was a short one) occurred in the security line for the flight home; and honestly, which of us hasn't felt like melting down while trapped in an interminable security line.

Actually, all of our children's behavior was exceptional in the airports. And, seriously, when do I ever get to use the word exceptional to describe my children's positive actions. Makes me all glow-y in remembrance.

They were, indeed, incredible. They were careful not to inadvertently bump into bystanders as we walked long concourses and waited at crowded gates. They read signs, pointed each other in the right direction and were aware of the relative positions of our various family members, staying both together and within reach of a parent. They carried their heavy bags with nary a whimper, and periodically swooped down to shoulder an exhausted sibling's bag entirely of their own volition. On the plane - they spoke in hushed tones ("Just like at church," I'd instructed them the night before), hushed tones even when whooping over takeoff and exclaiming over the landscape. For the six total hours of travel time from our front door to the lobby of the resort and then back again, they became "Stepford" children. I didn't know they had it in them. I was deliriously proud. It was refreshing to be able to let go of my nearly constant need to apologize for at least one of us to someone everywhere we go; and it marked the official start of my vacation. It was a good week.

 

And, yes, as the pictures indicate, LH unabashedly secured approval for us to board the flight early in the name of our children's sensory issues.  It was wonderful to get them settled and out of the way before the stampede.