Flying Not-So-Friendly Skies

On Friday I will embark on a scary journey... I'm leaving on a plane bound for Indiana with Jackson. By myself.

I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to being with my family. But I'm also facing the trip with fear and trepidation.

Before Jackson was born, I was one of those people who despised babies on planes. I'm still not crazy about the idea, but since we live 1,600 miles from family, flying is really the only option.

When I traveled in the past, I would scan the passengers before boarding the plane, and hope that none of them were babies or small children. When a parent boarded the plane with a baby, I audibly groaned. *Ugghhh*  And then I started praying that they weren't seated near me....

Let's face it. Babies and planes often don't mix. Many babies cry under the best of circumstances, let alone when they're in an unfamiliar, uncomfortable environment like an airplane. If I had to guess what hell would be like, I would guess it's something similar to being stuck 30,000 feet in the air, jammed into a large metal tube with a baby screaming bloody murder. There's no place to go. You're captive, unable  to escape the constant barrage of ear-splitting screams.

Several years ago I got stuck on a plane next to a grandmother who was traveling with 3 small children. Of all the seats on the plane, they had to sit next to me. When I bought my ticket, I specifically selected an aisle seat because they're more comfortable. As we approached the take-off, I started getting excited because the seats around me were empty. Then, just as we were about to taxi away from the gate, they boarded. I pretended to read my book, hoping they would pass me by.... 

No such luck. Sure enough, the brood started settling into the seats beside me. The two small boys sat across the aisle from me. Grandma carried a 2-year-old girl who was approximately the size of teenage-Miley-Cryus. "Miley" was way too big to be considered a "lap child".  If Miley met the 2-year-old age limit, I weighed 99 pounds. Miley needed her own seat.

I realized (with horror) that Grandma and Miley would be sitting in the middle seat next to me.

While the flight attendant watched expectantly, I got up from my seat to allow Grandma and Miley to climb into the seat next to me. Grandma turned to me and said the dreaded words...  "Excuse me, Ma'am" (Uh oh! Here it comes...) "Would you mind sitting in the middle so I can have the aisle seat next to my grandchildren?"

And so the internal battle ensued. I wanted to say, "Yes, I do mind! I specifically selected an aisle seat so I wouldn't be jammed between you and Smokey-Smokerson over there!"

But I knew that wasn't the right response. I tried (unsuccessfully) to silence my mother's words sounding in my mind, reminding me to "Be nice". So I sighed and gave in to my feelings of obligation.  "Well..." I responded, "I would rather not sit in the middle...."  I asked the flight attendant if there was another aisle seat. (Of course there wasn't.)  So I very reluctantly relinquished my aisle seat to Grandma and Miley. Along with my coveted seat, I relinquished any hope of of a peaceful flight.

The 3-hour flight from Chicago to Boise was a blur of being kicked by toddler feet, showered in graham cracker crumbs, and serenaded by a chorus of chaos as Grandma leaned over the aisle to fuss over the other 2 children, who obviously had no intention of being quiet or still during the flight. The only redeeming factor was that the flight attendant convinced the kids to turn off the sound on their portable video game player. That flight was an absolute nightmare. I almost asked the airline for my money back.

That Chicago-to-Boise flight was the catalyst behind my brilliant idea to establish adult-only flights. Passengers should be able to choose flights that are only for adults. The airline could even charge extra for adult-only flights, like a convenience fee. Back in the day, I would have gladly paid the extra cost for a peaceful flight.

Some would say it's sweet vengeance that now, I'm that mom, facing a flight with my 7-month-old son. And I'm scared to death of people like me who don't want babies on the plane. I don't blame them! I'm afraid Jackson will fuss, cry, or wiggle and make other passengers miserable. It's a daunting prospect.

I wish passengers had the option to choose adult-only flights. That way I could travel with Jackson knowing that the other "family friendly" passengers would forgive me if he leaves his angel wings in Idaho.

Home Ec. Flunkie

Hello, my name is Melinda. And I am a Home Ec. flunkie.
 
I took the required Home Economics course in junior high just like everyone else, and I made the obligatory fabric tote bag. I think I may have even earned an "A" in the course. But as far as owning the secret of amazing cookies or how to use a sewing machine. . . Well, I can bake a mean batch of pre-packaged cookies. And when I'm feeling really adventurous, I can even sew a button on a shirt. That's about the extent of my home-making expertise.

My Mom, my Aunt Candie, and and my grandmother are all domestic goddesses. They're known for their famous cinnamon rolls and their unmatched hospitality. I'm good at some things, but cooking, cleaning and decorating definitely aren't on the short list. (I think this secretly pains my mother.) 

To her credit, my Mom taught me how to cook.  She also taught me to do all the household chores, like cleaning the bathtub and toilet (I hated it!) and scrubbing the kitchen floor. I often helped out at home by getting dinner started while my Mom was at work. But I never enjoyed any of those tasks. In fact, at the ripe old age of 34, I pretty much despise all things domestic, including laundry, cleaning the house, and any variation of baking and cooking. I guess you could call me domestically challenged. Blame it on The Lists my Mom left for my sister and me.

I hated the dreaded L-I-S-T. That four-letter word made me want to shout other (forbidden) four-letter words. My sister and I would arrive home after a hard day at school, and there it was: The List... laying on the table like a coiled snake ready to strike. The List spelled our doom. 

We wanted free time. We wanted the afternoon to live foot-loose-and-fancy-free. But The List had an alternate agenda. . . like a steel, jail-cell door slamming closed on our teenage freedom. The List required me to do dreaded chores such as wipe my brother's pee off the toilet and pull nasty body hair out of the tub drain. 

To this day, I despise pee on the toilet and hair in the tub. That's why John and I have separate bathrooms.

Now before you judge me as an ungrateful, overgrown teenager, please allow me to clarify. Now that I'm all "grown up" and stuff, I understand why my Mom made The List. She needed my help to get things done. It's nearly impossible to juggle the needs of a large household unless all the members of the "family unit" (as Mom called it) shoulder some weight.

It took 20 years for me to get it. Now I'm looking forward to the day when Jack gets old enough for me to leave him a L-I-S-T. . .  I sure could use the help.

Bottle Boy

Check him out holding his own bottle (and smiling from behind it)! What a big boy.

Photo credit: Albre Davis

This Is How He Rolls

Albre (Jackson's daytime caregiver) took Jackson out for his first wagon ride today. 

(Thanks for the photo, Albre!)

I have to admit I felt a slight twinge of sadness when I realized I missed Jackson's first wagon ride. That started me thinking about all Jackson's "first's" that I miss when I'm at work. But I stopped myself....  I don't want to dwell on the negative.

Last week I vented some frustration about others' expectations of me. And it's true that I find it challenging to juggle full-time work and motherhood. But the fact is, I have to work. Our financial situation prevents us from living on one income. It is what it is, so I need to just suck it up and deal.

I don't want to be one of those people who spends all her time belly-aching about the hardships of finances and parenthood. I can't stand that. We make choices in life, and we have to deal with the consequences. With great responsibility comes many blessings.

I'm thankful Jackson could enjoy the sunshine today in the care of a trusted friend. Meanwhile, while he rolls in the wagon, I will roll up my sleeves and get to work... with a genuine smile on my face and a grateful heart. God is good. I am blessed.

Hope Doesn't Float

I recently blogged about the ongoing identity crisis I've struggled with since becoming a mom. Misery loves company (or so I've heard), so I decided to search the blogosphere for moms who share my experience. I didn't have to search long. I discovered blog after blog written by moms in the same boat: tossing about in the sea of strollers and diapers, riding the waves of postpartum depression, and doing their best to stay afloat in the sea of uncertainty that is the working mom juggle. 

Apparently this new-to-motherhood identity crisis is common. Whew, what a relief! I guess I feel a little comforted by the fact that I'm not the only new-mom-nut-case out there. It's okay for me to be a little coo-coo-for-cocoa-puffs because lots of new moms are. On the other hand, it's a little scary. (Lock your doors, folks. We're everywhere.) *smile*

As the captain of the S.M.S. Mommy, I've done my best to keep things ship-shape, despite facing the seemingly insurmountable icebergs of sleep deprivation, illness and the guilt that comes from being a working mom. I've done my best to be a good, focused employee when I'm at work and a loving, patient mother when I'm home with Jackson.

So that's why it's frustrating to encounter an unexpected threat looming on the horizon: other people's expectations. I discovered last week that unfortunately not everyone appreciates my exhaustive efforts at juggling everything. Apparently my best efforts haven't been good enough. 

As I read on the blogosphere, I discovered many new moms who face the same challenges I do. Numerous mom blogs lament about the impossible mission--pleasing everyone. Somebody always wants more.

I have always struggled to accept my limitations. I hate limitations. I wish I could just go non-stop, do everything that is expected of me, and do it all 100-percent. But motherhood has introduced me to new limitations. That frustrates me, but it's my new reality. I thought my own expectations were impossible to meet, but now I'm faced with even more pressure to perform.

While I've done my best to steer the ship S.M.S. Mommy through uncharted territory, an unknown threat lurked beneath the waters. As I struggled to stay afloat these past seven months, I hoped for understanding. But apparently hope doesn't float.

Some days I feel like a failure, but I really do try to focus on the positive, and cut myself some slack for having made it this far with the ship still afloat. The challenges of motherhood are too numerous to categorize.... just the breastfeeding alone has been one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life. Motherhood has been a labor of love that I've managed to continue through pure determination, will power and good ole' fashioned grit. There is always room for growth, but for the most part I think I've done a darn good job of steering the ship these past seven months.

Life is full of naysayers. Some threats are visible. Others are hidden, lurking below the murky water. One thing is for sure, I can't control the naysayers. But I can control how I respond to them, and I refuse to allow their perception to become my reality.

Games We Play

As Jackson grows, he enjoys "playing" with us even more. It's so fun to watch his sense of humor developing. When he thinks something is funny, he giggles and laughs with his whole body! Here is a video of him playing one of his favorite games, "The Claw," with John.



One of Jackson's other favorite games is when we toss a blanket in the air and let it fall on his face. We originally did this to play peek-a-boo, but he seems to like the blanket falling on his face better than when we pull it off.


Jackson's ability to express his excitement and discontentment has certainly expanded. He is doing a lot more babbling, and often repeats some variation of his favorite word, "Da Da" (to the excitement of his Daddy). I still can't get him to say Mama. We don't know for sure what he's thinking, but he is definitely trying to communicate. 

When Jackson is not happy about something, he lets us know with a series of grunts, whines and screeches. He is opinionated! (I wonder where he gets that?) I can tell we're going to have our hands full when he starts talking. And I have a feeling we're going to be dealing with some temper tantrums. Start praying for us now.   :o)

Ten Commandments of Poo

I read a blog recently by a mom who wrote about rules for baby poop, and I felt inspired to write my own.

Ten Commandments of Poo

1. Thou shalt save the biggest poo for when Daddy is away.
2. Thou shalt "christen" new outfits with poo whenever possible. (Take that, expensive Baby Gap jeans!)
3. Thou shalt maximize the effects of thy poo (Up the back, in the hair, down the legs, onto the ground, etc.).
4. Thou shalt hold thy poo as long as possible, and then let loose right when Mom is headed out the door.
5. Thou shalt be generous with thy poo, especially when wipes are not easily accessible. (Don't spare it, share it!)
6. Thou shalt make pooping an Olympic event by giving it all you got. (*Gruuuunt*)
7. Thou shalt break the sound barrier by pooping loudly at inopportune times. (*Squirrrt*)
8. Thou shalt poop proudly (smile!), preferably immediately following a bath.
9. Thou shalt stick hands/feet in poo and use it like finger paint to smear on any available surface. (The world is your canvas.)
10. Thou shalt poop on any outfit that can only be removed by pulling it over your head. (Pass the scissors, please.)