Friday, August 1, 2014

Going to America

When I found out we would be going to Montana in June, I set out right away looking for activities for the girls on the plane. I had visions  delusions of never even switching on the TV screen. And in truth I had more than enough activities to make this a reality, but alas its lure was far too strong and my will far too weak at the hands of two busy busy busy busy babies. Had it been just Lily and I, or had Rosy slept more than one hour on the 10-hour flight, or had she even actually just stayed sitting down for any mentionable length of time, I am sure I would have reigned victorious, but as it turned out, I felt victorious just preventing the imminent OJ spillage, lasagna dumpage, and keeping the cookie crumbs mostly swept off the seats onto the floor. Friends, it.was.brutal. Just as brutal as you had imagined, more brutal than I had imagined, but for different reasons. In fact, a day or so after the flights I was perplexed as to why I felt so sore until I realized that my body had not relaxed in thirty hours. I was in perma-clench position with Rosy alone, just waiting for her to propel herself forward onto the floor, grab the lady's hair in front of her...again, grab her rigid plastic cup full of juice and clench her steel-trap fist (while screeching her malcontent). The slow-motion tape rolled in my head of crackage, spillage, rooting around the hard-to-get-at backpack for a change of clothes, which were none too warm, considering the relentlessly-blowing air conditioning. Curious, by the way, in a room full of people sitting stationary for ten hours at a time. Yes, those girls had me over a barrel and they knew it. One good screech and I was putty in their hands. All things considered, the journey there went faaaairly smoothly. I was exhausted, but still mostly in one piece. On the way home, though...the girls revolted. Lily wasn't about to listen to me for all the world. She went where she pleased, and with whom (read: whichever 3-5-year-old girl was nearest her). She went behind airport desks and fiddled with passport scanners. She jumped velvet ropes. She refused to come when called. Rosy grabbed a big old bag of some kid's pistachios and dumped it all over the seat, leaving me fumbling to, with bare hands mind you, scoop them back up and put them back (sort of) into the bag while the whole family shot daggers into me. That last metaphor was most likely all in my mind. And at one point I must have looked like a crazy person, yelling at Lily not to go down the jetway without me, flailing Rosy by one bicep, simultaneously collapsing our uncooperative stroller with one hand, while the airport guard stood over me with arms folded. (It must be said, though, that on six flights, he was the only person I encountered that actually acted unhelpfully. Most people were very quick to offer help, and many people helped us tremendously). So. The low point came (or maybe the high point?) five hours into our second (nightmare of a) flight, when both girls finally fell asleep. And I sat there in the dark and just cried. I cry even now just writing that because I can describe it in no other way than to say that I felt like I had been beaten up. To have people around you heave a collective groan at their bad luck, getting seated near your kids, is not easy to take in the first place. But then to have your kids more-than fulfill their negative assumptions was even less so, feeling sorry for them (the girls) in their exhaustion, feeling sorry for yourself in your own exhaustion, and just feeling totally helpless in it all. Then came my sweet little Swiss angel. The flight attendant who came to me and said the words that carried me through the rest of the journey home, ''It wasn't easy for you,'' she said. And just those five little words of recognition that someone noticed meant the whole world to me. Then she offered me free champagne, haha. I asked for black tea with milk and she brought me chocolate too! That gave me the strength to hold it together until we reached Vienna, where I was able to break down a little when I hugged Tomáš.
Of course I say all these things with the recognition of how lucky we were just to be able to travel to the US in the first place. I don't mean to sound like a whiny baby. In many ways the girls were incredibly good and God sent us helpers at EVERY turn when we needed them. Rosy got a free seat on three of six flights, including both long ones, which was unexpected and amazing. And besides, now I have ''flying alone with two kids'' under my belt, which is, you know, nice.
So, here are some of the activities I made for the girls:


A quiet book


That's supposed to be a bubble.



Open-eyed felt faces are creepy no matter what you do. So, closed eyes it was.


Thought this would be way too easy for Lily...then I couldn't do it so I had to number the pieces. 


This also proved to be too hard for me. 



Washi tape dolls (after the girls got ahold of them). 
Mix-n-match magnetic faces
crumpled by little hands




 A post on our actual time in Montana still to come...

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