Fly me to the Moon

Vacationing with children, I’ve always said, is not the correct phrase. It’s hazardous cargo shipping.

I was reminded of this when I read recently about a mom who was kicked off a Southwest flight with her unhappy toddler. Seriously. The pilot actually turned the plane around and went back to the gate to kick them off. Talk about a temper tantrum.

The only good part of that story is now she can actually tell the kid that if he isn’t quiet that Southwest Airlines will kick him off the plane – and he’ll believe her.

It reminded me of the time Mireya complained about her ears popping on the plane and swore she’d never fly again. I swore she’d never fly again too.

We’ve all been there. A friend described sitting in the plane with her son when the classic melt down began (fortunately they were airborne and the airline was forced to not throw its own temper tantrum). Tired of traveling and responding to a bit of a sugar rush, he began to crash, ugly.

And refused to sit down as the plane was preparing to land.

Now, at home we all have the tools to deal with this. You can place your child some place secure, walk a safe distance away, and allow the meltdown to run its course. Most importantly, there are no witnesses should you decide to have your own, quiet meltdown with a large bowl of chocolate ice cream and headphones.

On a plane, you are trapped. Along with 200 close, personal friends, who are also trapped and ready to kill you lest you ever consider traveling with your little bundle of raw emotional rage ever again. Not to mention there is very little you can bribe your child with on an airplane. Face it, those little plastic airline wings get you nowhere these days.

My friend ended up apologizing and most of the passengers averted their eyes as they ran for the exits once the plane landed.

We recently returned from a flight and I was struck that I now have children who are of traveling age. We can now go places and I can assure other passengers that they can sit next to us without fear of torture - other than a story about how we used to have 17 mice because we couldn’t figure out which one was a boy mouse.

Which beats the heck out of toddlers with sugar crashes any day.

Next post - useful travel tips from a mom that flies way too much.