Terror of the Skies

Ruby and I are back from Texas and back into the craziness that always comes along with going out of town for any amount of time.  Since the Matt, Finn and Gus were also out of town on a boys' camping trip, it seems like everything in our house is turned upside down.  I did a mathematical calculation when Finn was little and we travelled a lot more, that no matter the length of your actual trip, when you travel with kids, you need a week to get ready and then another week when you get home to settle back in.  Therefore, one should never travel with children for less than two weeks, or else you are spending more time "working" on the trip than actually taking it.  However, two week trips being expensive and difficult to work out, it seems like two days in Texas is the best we can do.

I think I can now say that it was worth going, since we did have a good time and got to see lots of people, but I have to say that when I arrived in Houston Hobby airport, I was deeply, seriously traumatized.  To say that the flight was the worst I have ever been on doesn't even do it justice, and the only silver lining was that at least I was landing in Texas, where I could get a decent margarita within 20 feet of deplaning.  So here's what happened.  Basically, little angelic Ruby turned into a horrible demon-child on the airplane. We had to fly from Charlotte to Dallas on a regular plane, then from Dallas to Houston on a plane clearly designed for midgets - no disrespect intended.  On the first flight, Ruby seemed pretty anxious, but I was able to calm her down with snacks and toys for a while.  After the snacks ran out about 45 minutes into the flight, all hell broke loose.  The child threw a tantrum that put other tantrums to shame.  She was screaming, kicking, arching her back to get away from me, hitting her head against things and generally being the worst-behaved child ever.  This went on for close to an hour, and nothing I did would calm her down.  At one point, I just put her down on the ground at the back of the plane and let her carry on, since she clearly wanted nothing to do with me.  I just really wanted to open the back door and jump out.  Finally, I guess she wore herself out and decided I was good enough to hold her again, and she took it down a notch, but she did not totally calm down until we got off the plane in Dallas.  I only wish I knew what was going through everyone's mind on that plane.  Some people were looking at us with sympathy, others with horror, and others with concern, but everyone was looking.

In the Dallas airport, I felt things were beginning to look up for us.  We strolled through the airport, got a much-needed latte, and changed Ruby's diaper.  We boarded the next flight for Houston, and I comforted myself with the thought that, no matter how bad it was, it would be over in an hour.  I have always found that to be a useful mantra on an airplane with children, very zen ... this too shall pass.  Anyway, all was well, Ruby was making cute faces at fellow passengers and they were exclaiming over how sweet and adorable she was.  I sort of mumbled that she was cute, but she could be a little crazy on airplanes, but I didn't want to turn them against me before we even took off.  The first bad omen was that the horrible Ogre-woman seated in front of me who turned around and asked if I would please stop kicking her seat because it was so annoying.  Obviously, I was not kicking her seatback, but Ruby was, and she would not stop.  And then the plane started moving.  Not taking off, not actually flying, just backing out of the gate.  Once more, Ruby began screaming at the absolute top of her lungs, crying and thrashing about furiously.  The Ogre turned around once again to suggest (or rather, yell over top of Ruby's screaming) that probably her ears were hurting and I should give her as pacifier.  When people suggest something like that to a parent who is holding a screaming baby, what are they thinking?  Do they think that you have not thought of every possible way to make it stop?  "Pacifier?  Never heard of one.  What magic device are you talking about?"  Anyway, mercifully Ruby completely passed out in a sort of narcoleptic episode about fifteen minutes into the flight, and I was able to recover a little of my composure, if not my dignity.  The man seated next to me never once looked at me the whole flight.  He just sat there with his noise-canceling earphones.  Not that I blame him, it was awkward.  As a final hurrah, Ruby woke up when the captain announced that we would be landing in twelve minutes, and those were the longest twelve minutes of my life.  Actually, when you could the taxiing and waiting to deplane, it was more like a half hour of more yelling and kicking.  And once again, I could feel the waves of annoyance and anger from every single passenger on the tiny plane.  As we deplaned, several kind people asked me if I was alright, even though I clearly was not by that point.  Other, however, were not so kind.  The man walking behind me up the ramp stage-whispered "Jesus F*** Christ, my ears hurt."  Thanks for that, anonymous jerk.

As I mentioned, I was able to recover physically from the nightmare rather quickly with large amounts of lime juice and tequila, guacamole and chips.  Mentally, on the other hand, I think I'm still a little shaken.  In those hours trapped on the airplane and forced to deal with this situation, I really had some low moments.  I found myself feeling angry with Ruby, and so frustrated that we can't communicate better yet.  And it's such an odd dynamic on a plane where you are forced to be so physically close to people you don't know and will never see again, but you're all in it together, sharing something, for the duration of the flight.  I had moments of wanting to make an announcement to the plane to explain that I had only had Ruby for two month, that I have flown with my other two children successfully many times, that I was not abusing her or stealing her from her actual parents.  And then I was irrationally mad at all of those people for just sitting there, yet I felt terrible that my child was causing everyone so much annoyance.  And I also felt judged, and then angry at myself for even caring what a plane full of strangers thinks about me and my parenting skills.

Of course, the whole weekend I kept replaying it and trying to figure out where our train went off the rails, to use a transportation metaphor.  Was it anxiety, physical pain, just a normal temper tantrum, or something else?  Hearing the story, Matt thought maybe she had some connection with the flight from Ethiopia, and that was upsetting to her in some way.  Maybe I was stressed out over traveling alone with her, and she picked up on that.  I really have no idea, and on the flight home, she was a complete dream.  I had made a preemptive apology to people seated around me, and then she played, she walked the aisles, she slept, she smiled at everyone.  I will say that on the way home I had a whole bag of rice crackers, and she kept one in her hand at all times.  My wise friend Tara has suggested that maybe Ruby's compulsion with food is just her way of handling anxiety over everything that is in upheaval in her life, and that makes total sense.  The poor kid has not really had any constant in her life, so no wonder she wants something to hold onto in case things get a little rocky.

Anyway, that's how it went down.  The rest of the weekend was great - a flurry of visits and eating and fun.  Ruby was adorable, and no one really believed me about the flight, but I have the bite marks to prove it.