The rest of the journey proved less eventful, but still as exhausting.  After the nine-hour drive from the beach, and the three hours waiting in the boarding area, we finally boarded the flight.  Boarding an international flight, however, with a one-year old and a two year-old is an effort of logistics.  Which things go in the overhead?  Do I need to keep some toys out?  What about diapers? Books? Since both of my daughters have a favorite “lovey”, I wanted to be sure the stuffed animals were both on hand, but didn’t get lost in the shuffle.

I finally get them settled, lovey’s in hand, a handful of toys and the flight takes off.  At this point, it’s after 9:00pm.  The kids haven’t eaten in over six hours, and they are beyond hungry.  Of course, dinner isn’t served for another 45 minutes after the flight takes off, so by 10:00pm they finally get some food.  However, by that time, they were both well past their normal bed time and utterly exhausted from the day.  I managed to get some food in their bellies before I try to put them down for the night.

Sitting in the bulkhead row means that we have the carpeted wall in front of us.  I decided that probably the greatest chance these kids had to get some sleep is if I put them on the floor between the seats and the bulkhead.  I knew the seats would never lean back far enough for them to be able to really sleep.  I grabbed a few blankets and tucked them next to each other in a space about 18 inches wide by four feet.  I thought I’d come up with a clever way of maximizing their sleep opportunity.  And then the captain decided to turn the fasten seat-belt sign back on.  Quicker than you can say, “Please take your seats,” a flight attendant was scolding me for having them on the floor.  She advised me that I was to immediately remove them from the floor and put them in their seat, with their seat belt on.

I looked at her icily and started to explain, “Ma’am, I really have no problem in picking up the girls, but can’t we just leave them there for now?  These little girls have had a horrendous day, and they are desperate for some sleep.”

She looked at me with daggers and said, “No.  Remove them from the floor immediately.”

Feeling a little like the world was spinning around me, as I was furious and despondent, I picked up the kids.  I was angered at her cold-hearted response and at my wits-end because I knew by moving them, I’d wake them.  As the stewardess walked away, I very slowly started to re-arrange everything so that I could pick up the girls.  Moving at a snail’s pace, I eventually picked up my eldest, and laid her across the two seats next to me.  My newly adopted theory is that she might get some sleep if she could stretch out.  Meanwhile, I then, ever—so-slowly picked up the baby and put her across my body.  What I tried to do with her is to use my body as a pillow.  I also stretched myself out, arching my back so that I was as “straight” as possible.  I figured with her on top of me, I could offer her more of a bed-like feeling than a squinched-up seat.  Zoe was a light sleeper and I knew if I couldn’t provide her with a warm and cozy sleep space, she’d up crying in a nanosecond.

After a very long thirty minutes, those damns fasten seatbelt signs went off, and I re-situated the girls back on the floor, pronto.  Ten minutes later, in an absurd twist of evilness, the sign went back on.  Never in my life was I so upset at the sound of a muted bong.  I slowly lifted my eyes up to the illuminated sign, and just closed my eyes.  I couldn’t fathom what was going to come next.  I had JUST gotten the girls re-settled, and this was going to kill them and me.  I buried my face in my hands and waited.  I knew the flight attendant from hell would practically race down the aisle to torture me with her bad looks and waggling pointing finger.

As if on queue, she was there, standing over me, tapping me on the shoulder.  Tap, tap, tap.  My instincts yelled at me to grab her skinny fingers, pull her down, and strangle her.  And, yet, I simply meekly turned and looked at her.  I attempted my plea again, knowing full well it wouldn’t work, but I had no other arrows in my quiver.  She merely gave me a blank look and walked away.

This time, though, I didn’t move.  I sat there and watched her walk away.  I twisted myself around to see what she would do.  I figured worst case; she would come back a few minutes later and yell at me again.  It was a price I was willing to pay.  I sat and tried to watch without being seen. I peeked through the seats to keep track of her.  I hunkered down and waited.  About five minutes later, this smiling face peered around the corner.  Another flight attendant came to check on us.  She caught me off-guard, because when I looked at her, I must have looked incredibly tired and sad.  She smiled at me.  She smiled at the girls. She winked at me, and walked away.

Quietly I cried to myself at the utter joy of knowing that I didn’t have to move the girls after all.  I slumped back in my nearly-upright seat to close my eyes and wait for the landing.  After a long night of dealing with the fasten seat belt whims of the captain, we finally landed and the next phase of my journey began.  Ireland.

Nicole Drapeau Gillen, Copyright 2016 All Rights Reserved