This week, as the reality and panic that Thanksgiving is officially measurable in hours away, all the well-meaning and authoratatively-written "insider" articles and posts start popping up in an attempt to quell the fears and franticness of flying on the busiest travel day of the year. I'm a sucker for these tips -- as a parent who has hauled my kid, a carseat, a diaper bag, a breast pump, a purse and tickets clutched in a fisthold down the unbearably narrow aisles of many airplanes on many cross-country trips during the holiday season -- and I will search them for a bit of new information like millions of other travelers in search of ways to informatively beat the effed up airline system. Mostly, though, I just laugh. Why?
Because I am thoroughly convinced that no post, no article, no matter what travel agent reality show you watch or what that one bossy playgroup mommy tells you, flying with kids, especially during the holiday rush, will always suck. And by always, I mean that the gods will look on you benevolently for memorizing your mother-in-laws OCD recycling rules and for all the times your sister in law has barfed up the green bean casserole you labored over, and they will actually bestow upon you an uneventful flight. Hell, they might even give you a good one. BUT BEWARE! You will convince yourself it is because you researched the plane's seat map online or your goldfish-crusted kid is irresistably cute even to crabby gate agents. Let me be clear: It isn't.
It is to lure you into feeling confident, like you've got it down with the personal DVD player with enough Elmo and Wonder Pets to keep your kid entertained in a confined, recycled air flow space with peanuts he can't eat and soda you wouldn't dare let him drink and the permeating glares of people who chose the sweet, sane luxury of flying alone to procreating. It is to make you nod to yourself and think, "Yeahhhh, flying to see my folks on Christmas Eve wouldn't be so bad after all. We're experts at traveling with kids now." As soon as you have those stupid, stupid thoughts (and don't shame yourself, we've all had them), the frequent flier customer service representatives are alerted to meet you at the gate when the plane lands. (Well, after the plane circles the airport for two hours, then lands and sits at the gate for another 45 minutes while your bladder is about to explode and your kid's puke is drying up all over the adorable pilgrim outfit grandma sent for him to wear).
So how to survive? Mike recommends taking photos of the people seated around you as your wife totes in the screaming toddler and the realization of what a long-ass flight it is going to be sinks in. Kelly suggests claiming a tendency toward violent vomitting or incontinence to snag an aisle seat (bahhhh, you pre-check-in online seat reservations) and should that fail, instuct your kid to spray nearby passengers with enough Pirate's Booty spit that they beg you to take their bulkhead aisle seat. Then, I say, chalk it up. Sure, it's going to be hell. Not as much hell as eating dinner with forced-friendly family, but good preparation for sitting in the insanity , total irritation and comments about your terrible parenting skills nonetheless.
