Who Needs a Sitter in the Sky?
by Julie Davidson
I was reading recently about a nanny service that parents can hire to travel with them to help out on a flight. Admittedly, my first thought was, C’mon. Who really needs a sitter in the sky? It can’t be that hard to handle your own kids on a plane.
Oh how soon we forget. I flew with Miles and Max when they were four and five years old. Charles had to work, so I took the boys by myself. I dressed the boys in the same shirt, shorts, and shoes in case one of them got separated I could easily detail what they had on. I stuffed my purse with books, juice boxes, and animal crackers. At that time, I naively thought that being super organized would solve most of life’s problems, so flying with the boys would be simple. If only.
The fun started the moment we checked in. Somehow in booking at the last minute our seats were not together. Luckily the ticket agent did her magic, and she was able to arrange that we were in the same row. Until then I had been thinking of what I could say on the plane’s loudspeaker to get people to move so we could sit together.
“Sorry, my son’s motion sickness will settle down in an hour. Oh, and sorry the other kid won’t stop talking and bouncing up and down. The flight will be over in three hours.”
Getting through security wasn’t so great either. The boys were very upset that their brand new sneakers had to be taken off. Worse yet was they had to be separated from their overstuffed mini suitcases.
I can’t say the plane ride was much easier. Once we finally got to our row (after banging into the sides of several seats with those not-so-easy-to-maneuver suitcases) I tried to relax a little bit.
Maxon was looking out the window and yelling, “Mommy, we’re gonna crash!” I can only imagine how much discomfort that brought to nervous fliers within earshot.
Miles kept leaving his seat and going to the bathroom. Actually, I don’t think he even had to use it as much as he enjoyed the fact that he could go in there and lock the door. Each time he went in, a line of fellow passengers would form, and I would stand there knocking on the door demanding, “Get out of the bathroom. Other people need to get in there!”
I think because of the boys’ ages and that fact that they had fresh haircuts with cute matching outfits, the other passengers were forgiving. But back to my question of who needs a sitter in the sky, I sheepishly raise my hand. I’m thinking I might not be the only one.