Neat Week

Number of dead birds. Four. Three inside, and one on the front door step. Two in one morning. The girls found the carcasses when they came downstairs on Saturday morning, and bravely manhandled them into plastic bags. The plastic bags sat in the bath until I saw them, and gave the Big Ones the kudos they so very much deserved. Also found a dead lizard under the mat in the lounge. The cats are looking for a new home.

Number of “Where Mum?” Double digits. Mish will stop what she’s doing, look into the near distance and become suddenly aware that Someone Significant hasn’t been seen in a while. We remind her about the airplane and Mum will be back later. She agrees wholeheartedly and then gets back to whatever it was that she was doing. Today, while waiting in a queue at church, she had the conversation all to herself. “Where-mum-gone-in-airplane-come-back-later. Yeah.”

Number of carpet stains. Too many! The grub mat seems to be The Thing to Be Missed. Actually, what happens is the child sits on said mat, whilst the food / drink / random staining agent sits on carpet. I can only think that the grub mat is more comfortable than the carpet, but isn’t good for placing a plate on...

Percentage of tasks accomplished. Oh, less than 50%. In don’t think I even got an E. Who cares. This week has taught me a lot about relating, about putting the task list to one side and doing whatever comes next. And as the week has progressed, I found more grace and capacity to do stuff, borne out of relationship with my daughters. I need to catch hold of this lesson, and let in create change in me.

Number of love treats for the Big Girls, from mum. Six each. One for each day mum’s been away. And they’ve wriggled and giggled with delight at the thought of the daily treat. Kenzie has a neat story about one of hers. I chose the biggest ones for Saturday, and popped them on the bed before we went out for the morning. Kenzie saw some new type of playdough in ToyWorld. Really wanted to get it. Decided against it. Came home, opened her treat (a mini set of playdough), and sat gobsmacked that her Mummy knows her so well...

Amount of tears shed on the first day. Gosh. A lot. We all had our leaks. Squeals of delight on the last day. Just as many as tears on the first. Neat feeling, being excited.

Number of nights slept on the floor in the walk-in wardrobe. Two each. We played coconut crack to decide who got the floor on the first night, and then rotated. Maddy’s very pleased that she gets to have the floor on the last night. That’s significant to our spirited one.

Baskets of laundry – five, and counting. And we’re still nowhere close to making a dent in the mountain. We wash more clothes in a week that most families on the planet actually own. That’s a gluttonous thought, right there.

Number of odd socks amongst those five baskets – 32. Thirty-two socks without a mate. That’s mind-blowingly stupid.

Fights mediated. Lost count. The inherent tension of the week, with the Big Ones acutely aware that their Mainstay isn’t here, has amplified the spikes in sisterly love and hate. One minute they are best friends, the only ones in the world who get what each other is going through, and the next they are at each other’s throat, not able to process what each other is going through.

Cuddles given. Heaps and heaps. Heart food. Mishie drops everything and runs in for a cuddle. Kenzie stops on the way past. Maddy asks for one, without using the words “can I have a cuddle”.

Number of times the first aid kit came out. Just one. K cut her foot on the washing machine, slipping on a damp floor in the laundry. Why was the floor damp? Cleaning up blood from dead bird fest...

Number of fluffies for Mish. Four. Or five. I can’t remember. She’s so sweet about it, and is a genuine connoisseur. The best of the week, Cafe Lounge in Freedom Furniture. Very cute presentation. I do wonder what we are creating in her. She’ll live in Ponsonby one day, no doubt.

Number of attempts at Mishie’s water spout hair-do. One. And it worked, and it held all day. I’m particularly proud of this achievement!

Number of nights I forgot to brush Mishie’s teeth. None. My life’s not worth it!

Number of times I forgot to brush my teeth. Two. Disrupted routine, and not wanting to wake the girls when I come to bed. Those are my excuses.

Number of airplanes spotted by Eagle Eyes. Lots and lots. The Little One can spot a plane before the plane even knows it’s there. She’s human radar. I see the prophetic in this – she’s always looking Up.

Number of cool mornings spent at school. One, but man, it was cool. The kids had the Book Week Parade, and it was a very neat experience. Everyone – and I mean everyone – entered into the spirit o the day. The Kauri Team teachers all dressed as Dalmatians. The principal and deputy principal were resplendent as fairies. Complete with tutu’s. Every single child was in some sort of character. Kenzie was part of a cast – her friends and her paid homage to Peter Pan – and Kenzie’s role was a modern day Wendy. Oversize soft toy, pillow, slippers and jim-jams. Very cute. Maddy went as one of the most original parts; Cinders. Not Cinderella, but Cinders, i.e. the servant girl version before the ball. Maddy was very committed to the part – she refused to wash her feet all week, so that they would be suitably dirty come Friday. Classic. The other kids came in the predictable. About a half dozen Pippy Long Stockings. Multiple Pirates. Disturbingly, several Grim Reapers. Fairies a-plenty. Princesses prancing. A couple of Indiana Jones. Very sweet morning, which ended with me and Mish joining in Jump Jam. Don’t stress, we were very circumspect, at the back and out of sight. Well out of sight of Those Who Would Be Embarrassed!

The male version of SAHM is, I guess, SAHD. That’s like sad with emphasis. But it’s been anything but sad – my week has been awesome. I’ve found a new way of relating to my daughters, a new appreciation for what Love gives to our Unit, and a peaceful grace and perspective that I’m looking forward to walking in. As much as this week has been a Significant Part of the journey that Love is on with God, looking back with eyes to see, it’s also been a pivotal week in my journey too.

Roles Reversed

Love jumped in a taxi this afternoon, and it carried her up the driveway towards a week of Amazing Encounter. Tonga beckoned, the unknown called, and Love began her response.

Between the both of us, the fact that our roles have been turned on their heads isn't lost. Usually it's me that packs a bag, trying to figure out what to take and what to leave behind, what will be used and what would be gratuitous. Usually, it's me that has to answer questions from the girls as to why I have to go, that makes the assurances that the time will pass quickly.

This, however, is a trip with a significant difference. My work trips have a reason. This trip for Amy has Purpose.

Mishie woke this afternoon with gurgles and giggles, as she normally does. When I opened the door she was playing on the floor, telling me that whatever she was doing, it was "like Mike-hall". While I was checking her nappy - no-poohs-just-wees - she asked "where Mummy?" I reminded her about the airplane. Her blue eyes looked into the half-distance, little synapses processing. Then she said, quietly, "yeah, airplane". And I bit my lip a little.

"Everything reminds me of mum". The wheels fell off Maddy's wagon not long after she got home. We knew that would happen. I was waiting for it. It happened on the trampoline. She was very sweet about it, but Kenzie and Mishie being on the tramp with us didn't help. Her eyes leaked, her mouth descended in her trademark way. She crumpled in my arms, then went stiff. Then crumpled again. Couple of other times she said it again, once in the lounge, surrounded by Mum-stuff, and again in the car, listening to a song on Rhema. (yes, I found Rhema on the big car's radio!). She's fragile, but she'll make it okay.

Kenzie is quieter about her missing. When she got home we shared a hug. I asked her if she was okay, she told me kinda. I squeezed her tighter. She's wanted to be close. No words, just proximity. I get that.

We did hedgehogs for dinner. When got in from getting K from drama (I'll pay the bill in the morning...), we went straight to the fridge, dolupted mash onto plates, and each of the girls went about creating their hogs. Then they systematically demolished them all over the grub mat. Licked clean plates. Literally.

I'm clicking away at this on the couch. It's 10.42pm. Mish went to sleep at eight. The big girls closer to nine, after we digested their new pop-up book - Edwardian weddings were never so interesting. They're asleep in our bed upstairs. I'm on the floor tonight. We played crack-the-coconut to see who got the floor first. Apparently, from the reactions of One and Two, I won. My prize is the mattress in the walk-in. Then we rotate, so that we get two nights each sleeping on either the floor, daddy's side and mummy's side.

The separation is very close to the surface, but after a few hours we're doing okay! So far, so good.

Thursday Morning

It’s an earlier than normal start today, in Singapore. It’s just gone 7.30am, and I’m up, dressed, breakfasted, awake (in that order), and have made my way to Raffles Place to start the day. I actually had good sleep last night. This is what it’s like to be refreshed in the morning!

So I’m here, in the heart of the business district, watching commerce stir and come together for day ahead. I’m at Starbucks in Change Alley, grande latte in hand, bashing out a quick post before the morning of meetings and discussions and e-mail and-and-and begins.

I love this time of day in Singapore. The air is muggy, but it’s not blisteringly hot. In fact, just at the moment large rain drops are falling, intermittently. Local reach for their hand bags and laptop bags and bring out their collapsible umbrellas. One guy in a very trendy black suit, tie and incredibly shiny hair-and-shoes ruined the yuppy image by unfurling a bright green floral number. I think it must have been his girlfriends.

Starbucks is the kick start for the expat community working around raffles place. There’s a steady stream of them. I recognise the one that’s just walked in from yesterday. Same order – no drink, just a ready-to-go cereal. Yes, I’m living the expat life. I’ve started each morning here this week with a fix from the Global Coffee Magnate. With my sleeps patterns, I’ve needed it.

The trickle of office worker is quickly building to a flood. With each passing minute, more and more folks make their way into the alley, up the escalators and onward to their stations where no doubt they’ll each make a Significant Difference. Singaporeans, in work mode, hold themselves with such purpose. I’m always so impressed by that. Well dressed, bright eyed, efficient walking, head-up. It’s a far cry from the Worker Trudge at Wellington station, for example.

It’s just started raining heavily – the promise of a few heavy drops has been fulfilled. The breeze has cooled, instantly. The white noise competes with more fervour with Starbucks Jazz. Workers are now running across Raffles Place.

It’s Formula One week in Singapore. Practice starts tomorrow night. Yesterday the streets being used for the race were closed off, meaning that traffic was bedlam. The trip from the hotel to the airport is going to be slow tonight, I think. The excitement levels on the island are really beginning to build. Singapore, in usual fashion, has embraced the concept of hosting an F1 race in such a coordinated way. The shops all have discounts and promotions related to the event. The Straits Times has pages of coverage dedicated to all thing race related. Where the drivers have been, what they’ve been doing, where the parties are, when the events start. The flip side too, how retailers in the race village area have to shut up shop for the weekend, the traffic disruption.

It’s hard not to run into the event. Some of the support crews are staying at the hotel. While out for dinner at Chijmes, a sponsors event was being held, and the BMW drivers were in attendance. In Bugis Junction, one of the race cars for the Porsche GT race has been holding centre court. Orchard has been F1 heaven. Later today, apparently, the Ferrari team is doing a drive past. Vrooom Vrooom. The little boy in me is very excited. And in case you’re wondering, yes, I am a little sad that I’m not going to be around for the weekend. But I’m still really chuffed that I’ve got to experience this week. The race will be on TV, and I’ll be watching. So that’ll be cool, too.

Time to head upstairs and join those Making a Difference. Half a day today. Hopefully a slow afternoon. A little tempted to head back to the hotel via Orchard. Vroom.

People Watching

It's a Public Holiday in Singapore. I'm not sure what the significance of the day is, but all the same it's a holiday in the Lion City. I arrived at about six this morning, and have spent the day really just whiling time. It's been fun, lonely, a little frustrating, tiring and a bit of a breath.

I've shopped. I've walked. I've slept and swum. I've worked. I've ironed my shirts for the week. I've called home four times. I've blogged. I've watched TV. I started reading a new book. Yes, Love, it's a good one. I took an hour and half to eat breakfast. I took an hour to eat a greek salad for dinner. I had both meals in the Olive Tree, kept company at breakfast by a copy of CNN Traveller, and at dinner, Newsweek was my dining companion.

And all throughout the day, I've watched people. At dinner, a young mum and her little daughter went back and forth between their table and the buffet. About eight times. The daughter was about two, a little chinese dot with a Strawberry Shortcake backpack. She tottered along behind mum, flirting with the other diners, and charming the space.

An elderly lady sat down with some dessert from the buffet. Very elegantly presented, she sat down, downed her trifle (a single one, in a glass), said thank you to the waiting staff and moved on.

At the pool, a family lounged on the daybeds. Mum, dad and a four year old. Two elederly couples sat together, but never said a word to each other.

The old man at the crossing of Victoria Street, from BHG to Bugis Street Markets, holding out packets of tissues. He had on a large green bangle.

Bugis Junction always gives me the sense of cosmopolitan buzz. Having the hotel as part of the complex adds to this, but the mix of shops and eateries is so electic. The clientele, fuelled in part by the hotel, is equally electic.

So here we all, some of us belong, some of us transient, some of us familiar with the place and some of drinking it for the first time. Some of can't wait to move on, some of us want to linger for longer.

It's the mix that makes it so very cool.

So now it's late. It's 9.24pm Singapore time. My body clock is on 1.24am. I've been up a long time, and I'm tired.

Good night.

A Two Year Old

I have this blessing. It’s called Fatherhood, and everyday I’m reminded how much of a blessing it is. It’s a gift so large and so intense that often I miss its presence, or can’t quite grasp the wholeness of it. Like the Taj Mahal, you only the fully appreciate its outstanding beauty and intricacy standing right beside it, reaching out and touching it. Marvelling at the inlaid detail on the marble. But at the same time, you miss the true majesty of the structure if you don’t stand back and get a proper perspective of it, of the layout of the campus, of the architectural wonder that it is.

The point is, like fatherhood, it’s very hard to experience the intricacy and the majesty of the Taj in the same moment. The best we can do is to have the head knowledge that each of the components exists. That in itself is hard, because as with everything that is locked in head-knowledge, our heads – our minds – can fail us.

Some days the blessing of Fatherhood is easier to access than others. My sweet Mishal turned two Friday last, and again I was reminded of the intricacy + majesty equation that Fatherhood is the sum product of. Without the appreciation of each measure in full, the outworking of fatherhood is incomplete.

We spent time together, the five of us, celebrating Mishie’s milestone. We started the day with the unwrapping of gifts, and as we finished the day on the beach and the sharing of a meal, I had a Taj Mahal moment. One moment I was close to Mishie, helping her around the playground, marvelling at her grown-upped-ness, at the intricacy of her smooth cheeks, her bow shaped smile and her bellicose laugh. The next moment she was standing on a bench on Mission Bay beach with her sisters, and I got to see her place in the majesty of God’s blessing for us.

Intricacy. Majesty. Beautiful.

An Angel Encounter

Saturday last I spent most of the morning clearing a couple of felled trees from the back yard. It was a task a little bigger than my imagination had formed itself around. It was wet, but muggy. The logs weren't sectioned well, and were heavier than they should have been.

After heavy and lugging, raking twigs from and clearing branches, I was fair knackered. I was sweating profusely. I was hot and more than a little bothered - the aim of clearing the logs was to be able to get to the lawn. It badly needed a mow, and my sense of centering has a lot to do with the length of my lawn. Having the lawn mowed was very important. I was not going to have the sun set on shaggy lawn.

As I was fighting with the twigs and branchlets that were entangled in overgrown grass, rendering my cheap plastic rake useless, I looked up. There was Mugsy, walking very carefully towards me. Hands outstretched, very carefully bringinging me a glass of ginger beer, complete with ice.

She had just been up to the Service Station on the corner, with Kenzie and Mishca, and her tooth-fairy earnings. She finally lost her stubborn front toof, and was rewarded with four dollars. She got herself a bottle of ginger beer. And she got me one too. Unprompted. Just a gift from her heart, using half of what was hers.

I was blessed to tears. We shared the glass, sitting on the lawn, sharing a most exquisite moment that I will remember for a long, long time.

As much as there are moments of frustration as a parent, it's little things like that, little brushes with little angels, that are pure gold.

This Is a Long Commute

It's 8.05pm in Singapore. I'm sitting in the lounge at the airport, in the business section where business-y types are clattering away on keyboards and having louder than appropriate conversations on cellphones. I'm waiting for flight SQ285 to board, in half an hour, so that I can start - wait, continue - the trip home.

I left the office three and a half hours ago. I get home in about twelve hours. fifteen hours, door to door. Traffic's bad, I guess.

The week has been a weird one, as these trips go. I've had a couple of splash dash trips like this - crammed agendas, red-eye flights, no time to stop and smell the durian. So in a way, it really does feel like a commute. It feels no different to popping into the office; only the pop is a very drawn out, expanded p-o-p.

Singapore, in a hurried trip, doesn't have the romance that I guess I've fallen for. No time to drink it in, all I get to see is the hotel, the MRT, the office, and the shops that I stumble across en route. Add to that feeling absolutely knackered, living on double espressos and Red Bulls to keep the eyes open and mind alert through the meetings, and you get a three day trip that hasn't been so enjoyable.

There have been some nuggets, though. Landing in Singapore on Monday morning, and driving into the city from the airport, along the ECP with the sun coming up was special. Seeing all the boats in the Straight, lights twinkling in front of a warming horizon. Watching the sun go down last night fron the 60th floor of the OUB, watching the sky darken and the city scape brighten. Walking past the fountain at Bugis Junction on a genuinely hot Wednesday afternoon, and watching the little ones squeal with delight as they splash themselves cool, and the passers-by taking snapshots of them with their handphones. Nice nuggets.

A nugget of a Thursday beckons though. Home at the end of my commute.

Pure Gold.

What, Ten Already?

My darling Kenzie Lou is ten. As clichéd as it may sound, I have no idea where the time has gone – I remember her birth as if it were just last week.

But at the same time, thinking back over the past ten years, Kenzie has already lived a very full life, and she’s been gracious enough to let us share it with her.

Love posted on her blog, and captured the essence if K so well. But more than what Love said about Kenzie, as I was reading the posting, I realized how much Kenzie simply takes my breath away. Not just because she’s genuinely beautiful. Not just because of the blessing that we have in her being part of our lives.

She shortens my breath because I see in her the embodiment of what Amy, God and I have between us. When Kenz was just being to move around on her own, and as she came into that very interactive stage of babyhood, Ames and I used to say that watching her was like watching your heart running around. Ten years on, my heart still squeezes a little when I see her. My spirit lifts a little when she smiles. And I know I’m home when she silently snuggles in for a back tickle.

Oh, and at times she so much like me in character that it’s scary.

K Lou, loving you is an adventure. You have helped, in ways you don’t yet know, shape me into the dad, husband and guy I am.

I love you Princess. Happy Birthday.

A Whole New Kind of Disconnect

My cellphone has died. I was sitting in a meeting room this afternoon, patiently listening to my colleagues describe in minute detail (that's what this week is about - minute mind-numbing detail), when I glanced down at my phone on the table in front of me. The screen had gone blank - it was white. The keypad wasn't responding. Eventually, the screen goes black, the led light goes red, as if in a last gasp effort to save itself. Then the whole thing becomes nothing more than a store display model. Useless.

All efforts to revive said phone have failed. Internet searches reveal that this a relatively common issue for this model. So that's nice. Internet searches also reveal potential fixes. Seven hours later, none of these fixes work. The phone is dead. Long live the phone. When it's replacement is sourced.

Not having the security of the contactability is absoutely dilapidating. The feeling of disconnect and vulnerability is very real. How did I ever survive growing up in Africa without a cellphone? It's a miracle that I made it to adulthood.

In all seriousness, not being able to text or phone Love, on a whim, is really disconcerting. These trips are palatable (sometimes only just) because I can connect anytime, and Love and the Girls can connect with me. Walking through markets, I can slip my phone out of my pocket a pop a question on size or colour or appropriateness. Walking past something that would tickle the girls interest, and being able to snap the moment onto a micro SD card.

Like this evening. I had dinner with Simon and Ping at Suntec, at a Chinese restaurant opposite the Fountain of Wealth. How cool would it have been to snap a shot of the colourful dance of water and include it in a blog. Imagine it - right here.

Dinner with Simon and Ping was great. They are an inspirational couple. So comfortable in who they are in themselves and in God. Simon taught me so much about being a man of faith in the world, in the workplace. That in fact the two aren't mutually exclusive, but the ooposite - they co-exist because they must.
Seeing them again reminded how far we - Love and I - have come since we first arrived here almost exactly three years ago. Brighted eyed and clueless. Knowing of God, but not really knowing God. We've come to the place where we know we'll never really arrive, but arriving isn't as important as staying the course and continuing the journey.

Love posted the most amazing post today. A depth, insight and revelation that was spine tingling. I read it, and re-read it, drinking the words. First gulping them, them slowing sipping them. Letting them linger, to truly taste them, before swallowing them and letting the fill me and enrich me.

Amy Joan, you have a wonderful gift that is being unwrapped. The Giver is sitting across the room, watching with marvel and excitement as you peel away layers of wrapping and become more and more aware of what it is He has given you.

You're not sure yet whether this gift is truly for you. You wonder if it's all a mistake, and when the right recepient will take it from you.

The gift has your name on it. It is yours. Truly, says the Giver.

Let Me Paint You a Picture

The air is thick with humidity. The sun is setting, and the light fades from natural sunshine through to a glow of city-light. It's warm. Warm enough, and humid enough, that as soon as you start walking, you bead in sweat.

The smell in the air is vegetative. Lush and thick. Sweet. As I leave the open air restuarant on the river bank, the streets are filling with pedestrian traffic. It's eight in the evening, and the professional quarter around Raffles Place is emptying. Young Professionals, suited and i-podded and busy-ing themselves on their handphones walk briskly through the square to converge on the MRT platforms. Escalators fill. The unspoken, automatic movement of those-who-stand on the left, and those-who-walk take the right.

The clunk of the gates through the MRT stations. More escaltor traffic. The silence of the platform, broken by the muffled whoosh of the train as it arrives behind the glass barrier. The very Singaporean clip-ness of the PA announcements. On the train, the effecient hum, punctuated by more PA voice-over announcing the arrivals at stations.

I get off at Bugis. Familiar territory, but I half thought about getting off at City Hall and walking around the equally familiar Raffles Plaza. Decide against it - more of Bugis will do. The clunk of the MRT gate as it opens for me and deducts another 70 cents of my ezi-card. More escalators, more automatic riding.

The basement of what was Seiyu. Smarter and more commercial now than it was before. Jolliebee. Bread Talk. Cedelle. Delifrance. The Coffee Bean. Cold Storage is still there, but the old food court has moved up to the second floor of Bugis Junction. I take the escalator up and walk into Seiyu/BHG through the TopShop entrance. Hand Bags, shoes, costume jewellery, watches and fragrances. Make a purchase, served by an eager young assistant, who moves quickly and snaps my purchase into a bag, hands it to me, along with the credit card and receipt, all in a well rehearsed action.

Into the sweet humid outside. Cross the square, past Starbucks and the fountain, and through into the glass, air conn'ed bubble of Bugis. Wander nonchantly through the carts of Random Stuff on the ground floor. Make my way up through the escalator maze to the Watsons on the third floor. Walk straight to the back of the store, right up to where I left off, pick up four boxes of kids Panadol and made my way to the counter.

Slowly wind my way back, down to the ground floor, and come back into the hotel through the doors from the mall. The bustle and busy-ness give way to muted civility. In the lounge, the piano tinkles a background tune. Guests chatter. Hostesses float. Memories flood.

The bingbong of the lift. The quiet of the hotel corridor, the softness of the carpet. The bridge over the mall, a last gasp of sweet humidity before a night of artificial cold.

Pause to take in the shutters and the blend of the old Peranakan shophouses and the sleek modern glass and steel of the mall.

The whoosh-click-click.

Love, I missed you tonight.

Seat 22A

Seat 22A on SQ286, bound for Singapore. Two, no three, movies down and still three hours and forty minutes to go. The trip is weirdly same-same-but-different. The feelings and emotions are surreal; automatic and disengaged all at the same time. Excited and empty. Guilt. Maybe some relief to have headspace time. More guilt just for that. Such emotional conflict. Mr Freud would have a field day.

Being in Auckland, and having had the experiences that we have in the past five months in Auckland no doubt contributes to the emotional stir-fry. We have grown and have expanded as a family, and as individuals. There is so much depth to what has happened in us that it truly warrants a posting of its own. Which is really a cop-out on my part. What I’m really saying is that I don’t want to dig that well just now.

There is a physical difference in this trip. Not having to do the Wellington to Auckland thing is s-o-o-o nice. I appreciate only now what an absolute pain in the arse that was. (As an aside, MS spell-check redlines arse. Must be the English spelling.). The getting in the taxi in Northcote, and getting to the airport a half hour later was very civilized. I left Love and Mishie at 11.00am, after a coffee and some QT. Had we still been in Waikanae, I would have left the girls three and a half hours earlier than that, and have had to fill that three and a half hours with a car trip, an airport lounge, a domestic hop and a transfer between terminals. Today; kiss, taxi, there. Reason 432 why Auckland rocks.

I think my bladder shrinks when I fly.

If I drink a fluid ounce worth, twenty minutes later I need to go pee. It can make a movie a very punctuated experience. Thank goodness for the pause function on KrisWorld.

There is lady flying with her son in the seat across the aisle from me. (Aside number two - doesn’t the word aisle have the most non-intuitive spelling in the English language? I mean, really.) So the son is about two. And has zero social skills. From the moment the doors closed and the plane started moving, the boy cried.

Not a boo-hoo-hoo kind of cry.

More I-will-burst-your-ear-drums-before-I-am-finished.

Loud. Unrelenting. For One hour. Sixty minutes. By minute twelve we had only just taken off. By minute twenty-two, we were airborne, and my gentle nature and father-heart are being seriously confronted. My feelings for the woman are somewhere between pure frustration and sympathy. Flying with kids is hard. They should give medal to parents who even contemplate it. But if you do contemplate it – give it some thought! Get a strategy better than having the sprog scream on your lap. Get some help. Get something. Valium for me is a start. Anything! So by minute twenty-seven the hostess finally comes round with the headphones. I damaged the re-useable packaging trying to get the things out. I nearly bend prongs trying to get the things plugged in. Turn the volume up. Loud. Must. Drown. Out. Persistent. Wailing.

The little darling is now sitting in the aisle (great word that), using the retractable remote control for the entertainment system as a throw thing. Cute. Mummy is asleep. Little darling has been running up and down the eye-ill (trying spelling options for that word). The aircrew, usually quite accommodating with little-ones, have kept a wide berth. Smart people.

Of course, my toddler would not behave like this. One, she’s a girl. Girls are inherently good. I have three and am an expert. Girls are gooder than boys, fact. Two, travelling parent would not be sleeping whilst toddler plays Cabin Wars. If said toddler did venture into the i-ll (aisle is hard to spell differently!), she would only do so under supervision, and with express purpose.

Brat.

There are now three hours and five minutes to go now. Must be time for another movie.

Oh, and I need a pee.