Contagious Diseases, Flying With Kids, and Other Ramblings

(Don't change the channel.  Yes, I changed the look of the blog.  The birds were starting to depress me.  I don't know why.)

Whew.  What a weekend.

I spent all of last week completely stressed out about a virus that was running rampant throughout my house.  Normally, I'm not one of those moms who worry so much about illnesses.  I don't douse my children in hand sanitizer, preferring instead to build up their little immune systems.  I would rather they not put anything into their mouths that is not supposed to be edible, but sometimes they do and who am I to judge?  And I don't quarantine them every time they come into contact with someone who has a cough (I used to do that when I was a mother of one, but no mother of three does that because she knows that if her child doesn't pick up that cough from the kid down the street, chances are they'll pick it up from McDonald's.  It's better to contract a virus from someone you know, don't you think?  Friendlier that way).

Anyway, I was stressed because we were scheduled to fly to Austin to celebrate my grandmother's 90th birthday.  And since she specifically said no presents, I was worried about giving her the gift that keeps on giving - some sort of respiratory infection - courtesy of my children.  Not only was I worried it would probably kill her, I felt sure it would make me the least popular grandchild.

It didn't occur to me until we were on our way to the airport that I had never done this before.  I have taken my kids on short overnight road trips, but I had never flown with all three children by myself.  As we all know, flying today isn't what it used to be and I had a slight panic attack as we entered the parking garage, thinking about getting all of the kids through security (yes, that was us in front of you in line, all three kids wailing and shoeless even though they didn't need to be, a fact that I didn't know until we approached the metal detector which always goes off, thanks to my bra manufacturer).  My son just about missed the train to get to Concourse C, something I thought was unintentional, but now I'm wondering if it was a foiled escape attempt.  And the fight for the window seat started early, with tears (from them) and threats (from me) that made me wish we were flying cargo which would make for one less argument.

But we made it on the plane (yes, that was us coughing behind you in row 22 and pulling the shade up and down because the person who had won the right to be in that seat was on a power trip and raising and lowering at will in order to piss off the less fortunate siblings) where, of course, the man in front of me strongly hinted that he wanted a scalp massage by reclining as far as he possibly could and then stretching his entire body so that the seat went back a couple of inches more.

(This is a side note, but why does that always happen to me?  I'm always the tallest woman on the plane and I noticed, when I looked around, that not one other person had reclined except the man in front of me.  The reclining of others brings out my inner bitch and forces me to knee the back of the seat just when I think you're starting to fall asleep and allow my tray table to fall and bounce several times during the flight.  I don't like the person I become when you recline.  And I'm sure you like it less.)

We finally made it to Austin and after getting off the plane, saw the smiling faces of my parents who had driven a few days earlier and picked us up at the airport.  We were there for less than 48 hours and tried our best to catch up with as many people as we could.  I loved hanging out with family members I never get to see and catching up with my grandmother, something I don't do as often as I should.

It's crazy to see how much we've all changed.  All of us cousins who were once wild teenagers are all settled and (yikes!) driving minivans.  Our attention was divided between the conversations we wanted to have with each other and trying to find various children who had wandered off to find reptiles to take home or mud to jump in.  And, to the surprise of my uncle, we bid each other goodnight both nights by 9:30 PM, and then stayed awake all night, not because of raucous partying...but because our children talk, snore, and sometimes beat us to a pulp in their sleep.

By the time we got home last night after our second flight in less than 48-hours (where I continually held the fact that it was Mother's Day over my kids' heads, hoping to guilt them into good behavior.  Yeah.  Didn't work), we were completely exhausted.  I put in a load of laundry that had already started to melt and mildew in my suitcase.  The kids took out the "fun stuff" in their backpacks and got ready for school the next day.  And in a blink the weekend was over.

But never forgotten.