Masochism

It's been a while since I last posted. There certainly isn't a plausible excuse other than the simple fact that I haven't been inspired to write much. It is, however, my youngest child's birthday tomorrow and so I have had the chance to reflect on parenting, on children, on masochism and other related topics. I'll share a few of my thoughts.

A few months ago we flew from our current residence back to Salt Lake City for a Christmas vacation. We were going to be gone for 2 weeks and the luggage for the 5 people in our family looked like we were smuggling half of our town to Utah. Most of our luggage was filled with food, technology, coloring books and sedatives; items we could use to keep the children entertained on the plane, and the latter to be used if the former didn't work.
I was proud of my two oldest children. They have learned that if they see Dad's forehead veins bulging sufficiently while I am looking at them then they have approximately 10 seconds before being escorted dangerously close to the afterlife. For the most part, however, they were pretty mellow about the entire experience.

My youngest, on the other hand, was every passenger's worst nightmare.

As parents, we are extremely aware of how our children's behavior effect other people. We must be masochists because we go to a church every week where the first meeting is intended to be reverently attended, and as a family we eat out rather frequently. During both of these activities we get stares that are hot enough to burn holes into our hair. Maybe deep inside we feel that self-punishment will bring some type of redemption in the future. If that is the case then our plane trip to Utah may have landed us into the highest spot of heaven.

The first challenge was strapping our car seat into the plane seat in a fashion that met FAA regulations. This is challenging when you have a car seat that seems to be 10 inches larger in every direction than the scant space available to a coach customer. Karen Carpenter would have a hard time fitting into coach, much less a car seat designed to cushion a child from potential death by impact. While my wife was trying to secure the car seat into position, my son was jumping on the seats, looking at the people behind him directly in the eyes, and pushing every button within reach...needless to say our little aisle looked like a discotec with the amount of times the light was switched on and off. Also, by the end of the flight there was no more carpet between our seat and the stewardess station because of the incessant button pushing. The first 40 times, I was impressed by the "Hi, may I help you" the uniformed ladies would offer. By the end of the flight it was, "Push the button again and I will smother you with the seat cushion that may also be used as a floatation device!"

Once strapped in, however, things were a little easier because he secured by a four point restraint. At least, we thought they were easier. Harnessing a bored child only transfers the motion of the legs and arms to incessant movement of the vocal chords. Hence, before the plane even moved on the tarmac, flight 459 to Salt Lake heard questions such as, "Mom, what's that?" "Mom, who farted?", "Mom, do you think we'll crash?", and "Mom, why does that man in front of me have spots on his bald head?"

It was then that My wife and I both realized that something happens to the time-space continuum when you are on a plane with a 3 year old for which you are responsible. Minutes seem like hours and a 4 hour plane ride sucks a decade of life from your health, sanity and well-being.

After being strapped in the car seat for about 10 minutes and after every strategy was attempted to be freed, my cunning son reverted to the only tactic that can get him out of his car seat. He turned to my wife, with an innocent look of discomfort and said, "Mom, I need to go potty."

My wife didn't see it as she pulled him out of the seat and down the aisle, but for a split second I saw a wicked smile and red eyes flash across my boy's face. He practically floated toward the joys that awaited in an airplane toilet.

After the 3rd toilet trip, and still no movement by the plane (or by my son), my wife looked to me with that expression that says, "If you don't do something, you won't wake up tomorrow morning." I've seen that look before and so I reacted quickly...I pretended not to see her and turned up the volume on my Ipod so that I had an alibi for not noticing when I got off the plane.

Thankfully, after an hour, the plane took off and we were bound for Salt Lake. And, like clockwork, as soon as there was movement and the noise of machinery, our youngest was out cold.

As for my wife, a devout Christian and one who strictly adheres to our faith's abstinence from alcohol and drugs, she ordered two mini-bottles of whiskey and used them to down a half-bottle of Nytol.

And they both slept happily ever after.