I’ve never been crazy about flying, even as a kid. Sure, it was fun to look out the tiny airplane window and see the cool stuff on the ground far below, but it always seemed scary and unnatural to me. Humans can’t fly. But there we were, some thirty thousand feet up in the air, and I felt like at any moment we would plummet to the ground in a blaze of glory. I haven’t lost that feeling at all. I’m not sure if it’s “normal” or not to question one’s mortality and/or certainty of impending doom before their family vacation, but that’s how I spent part of my week during our recent trip to California.
Don’t get me wrong: traveling is great. It’s something we don’t get to do often enough, what with my husband’s busy work schedule, finances, and the fact that I have 3 kids. (What, you don’t like packing and riding in a crammed space with a bunch of tiny, loud humans?!) We had a relatively easy flight with no plane switching or layovers, but the downside was that we flew into one of the biggest airports in the country- LAX. Oh, how I loathe thee, Los Angeles International Airport. My only hope was that I’d see a Kardashian, or maybe my celeb-crush, Charlie Hunnam (Sons of Anarchy, anyone?) But alas, no celebrity sightings. Just a very, very crowded, chaotic airport, a very stressed out mama with 3 kids in tow, and a husband carrying far too many bags and car seats.
However, when it comes to me, there is no such thing as an easy flight. The first leg to L.A. was pretty uneventful, and we survived the take off, 2 1/2 hour flight, and landing like it was nothing. I remember thinking, “I got this.” The trip home, though? Different story. On the way to LAX we were hit with some rain and saw lightening in the distance, to which my grandfather told my son “It’s fine. Planes get hit by lightening all the time.” Really? Thanks Pops. Unfortunately, we flew right into and over that storm, and I’m not ashamed to admit that it had me in tears.
That’s right. We hit some very minor turbulence that lasted for what seemed like forever (I think it was maybe 20 minutes). It just went on and on and on, and no one else on the plane seemed alarmed. Yet there I was, crying. Yep. While my 2 oldest kids were smiling and having the time of their lives, looking out the window with glee, I was sitting across the aisle nursing Harper (who was exhausted and immediately passed out) quietly sobbing into a baby blanket. Each and every bump left me gasping and wiping away tears as I quietly prayed and clutched my husband’s hand. Harper didn’t flinch while she slept soundly (still attached to the boob, mind you). I really thought I was going to die.
Finally, we made it through the storm. I survived. The plane didn’t lose power or careen into the ocean or a mountain like I feared. I know, I know…so dramatic. I can’t imagine actually running into really bad weather or having something catastrophic happen. I’m sure I’d just curl up into the fetal position and wait for death.