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.
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.
1 comment:
Love it! What a little monster on the plane - sympathies. I love that you do this, this keeping me within the handspan of your words, letting me imagine and smile over your experiences.
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