Aimee Horton

We’ve just come home from a week in Spain with the boys.  I’m pleased to report it went fairly well.  Slightly less sleep then one would like along with slightly less sun bathing opportunities.   Oh and please replace “slightly” with “a lot”.

I learnt a lot this holiday, some of which I’ll share with you in various blog posts – some of which I’ll spare you.  One thing I learnt though is how much crap you put up with/say when you’re on a plane, and you’re stuck there for just over two hours.

This was a relatively easy flight, our last flight with both boys was to the canaries and was four hours.  However, Fatso was a piece of cake then, he drank, snuggled and slept.  Oh except for the odd projectile vomit incident.  The Beast on the other hand had just potty trained and was scared of the toilet.  As per a previous blog it was quite stressful but he ended up weeing in the sink.  He has a memory like an elephant that child, and the first thing he asked (in a loud and high pitched voice) when we sat down on the plane was “Mummay, can I go and wee in the sink again?”.  Of course everybody looked.  I had no retaliation and said “maybe later darling”.

After making it through check in and into departures – please be suitably impressed that I packed a family of four including formula and nappies in ONE SUITCASE and kept it DEAD ON THE LIMIT, this has never happened before, when I was packing a suitcase for just MYSELF I’d usually end up having to redistribute into my hand luggage – we have breakfast and make it into the scrabble at the gate with 3 carry on bags (having a 3 year old does have it’s uses, his hand luggage had toys for him and the fat one) and the push chair.  I MAY have also smuggled on an additional carry on by strapping it to the pushchair – but to be honest in my opinion it is PART of the pushchair, if the pushchair can fold and clip shut with the bag on it’s part of it. That was my argument anyway, and if not, we’d find a way.

Yet again, we had to rely on the general public to make it safely onto the plane, the staff didn’t clock the pushchair and then clock the fact we were having to go down 30 steps to the runway.  Once on the plane they slightly redeemed themselves by offering to carry Larry and finding us 3 seats together.  I think the poor air hostess regretted this decision as she visibly buckled at his weight.

ANYWAY.  I digress.

Once on the plane you’re trapped.  The people in the area surrounding your chosen seats are looking panicked.  It’s a full flight, there are no other seats and are both eyeing up the lively toddler who has just informed us that he hasn’t done a pooh today, and that man (woman) has got a very high up skirt on, along with the baby who is shouting angrily at a bag he can sense contains snacks for the journey.

For both flights we had amunition planned to entertain the kids.  These consisted of:

– Snacks (lots of them)

– An MP4 player stuffed full of Cbeebies and films

– More snacks (for Larry)

– Colouring and Stickers

– Rattles and Teethers

– Books

I don’t know about you, but neither of my children sleep when something is going on. When we went to Spain when Theo was 18 months old we left the house at 3.30am – he didn’t sleep until 7pm that night.  Larry is apparently/annoyingly just the same.  Therefore when we were swapping and changing the children I discussed the following things with the boys:

– How clouds aren’t scary

– How the plane won’t land in the sea

– Why we’re in a plane

– Why Nan and Grandad won’t be at the seaside when we get there

– Why Larry can’t steal the sandwich from the lady across the aisle he’s staring out

– That the holiday house didn’t belong to us

– Why mummy has a spot on her cheek

– Agreeing that yes, the air hostess probably doesn’t have a willy just a bottom

– Why Larry can’t pull the hair of the man in front of us (I stupidly let him stand on my knee for a while and spent a while apologising profusely)

– Why mummy’s belly is squidgy (thanks dude – really going for it today)

and finally

– no, we aren’t going to school next.

So you see – I talked utter crap.  My brain was fuzzy, my hair hurt from being pulled and I was starting to realise I was being mocked by the toddler who whenever I gave a generic answer he said “uh huhh that’s nice” back at me.  I felt a mess, I had watched my tan (what there was of it) drain off as soon as I got on the plane.

Then…at the end…something unexpected happened.  The woman in front of me (with the guy who was involved in the hair pulling and I heard snort when I was singing “what the wigga what the wigga what the wigga wigga fat boy fat” to Larry) turned round and gave me a 2 minute speech about what a wonderful family I have, gorgeous boys, and they are very lucky to have such a kind good mummy and that she was so impressed with my lack of raised voice and calmness (Matt was sniggering into his t.shirt at this point as he’d heard some rather raised voices and frankly unrepeatable comments to Lawrence when he woke up at 9pm just as I’d served up my lovely BBQ dinner and was dipping bread into olive oil).

It goes to show, a compliment goes a long way when you’re doubting your skills and are counting the seconds until you hear the cork go POP. Even if the lady was either deaf or from a mental institute. 

Next post.  Ladies Boobs on the beach.