I arrived back in New York around 1 am this morning after the most turbulent landing I have ever experienced. Earlier in the afternoon, I sat in the 78 degree heat in San Diego, watching the Weather Channel. I was absent-mindedly fiddling with a glass of ice water, alternately sipping it and resting it against the slight sunburn on my chest, the result of a beautiful afternoon walking around the San Diego Zoo without any sunscreen.

The forecast for San Diego came up first: High of 78. Sunny. Perfect.

And then the forecast for the northeast: Heavy winds, up to 40 mph, moving toward New York from the midwest. The high for Tuesday, with wind chill, -5 degrees.

It’s good to be home. Hum.

Back Story:

Growing up, whenever there was a crying child in church or a screaming child at the deli, my father would turn to us and say half-jokingly, “Ohhh shut that kid UP!” I say half-jokingly because I do believe that while my father would really prefer silence over anything, he was smart enough to realize the futility of such a wish. I would think that after raising four children, he would wisely understand that a loud, inconsolable child is a loud, inconsolable child and that all parents must eventually reach a point of surrender.

It’s easy to think that my children will be different. Or that I will be better than other parents. I like to think that I will avoid going out in public with my child until they are at least, I don’t know, 13 years old. In this way, I can avoid any tantrums, meltdowns or screams of I WANT CANDY. (Instead, it will be I WANT A CAR.) But I think the acceptance of a realistic attitude is better, knowing that should you decide to have children, at some point in your life, embarrassing power struggles with your child are inevitable. And they will happen in the public eye. Your child WILL throw all the plates off the restaurant table or throw HIMSELF red-faced down in the middle of the grocery aisle and scream and you would be wise to avoid cajoling and soothing and bribery and just admit mortified defeat.

Front Story:

As the twins and their mother and I boarded the flight home to New York, we were seated in front of a crotchety woman with stringy silver hair who took one look at the twins and audibly uttered, “OHHHHHH, Jeeeeeeeesus CHRIST.” And a few minutes later, as we were settling into our seats, a lovely drawn out, “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.”

I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. What was the cause of such rancor? Perhaps she had Tourrette’s? Perhaps she just realized that someone stole her wallet? I know how she feels after all! It could happen! But the real reason behind her outrageous expletives was the fact that she was not a “kid person” and would probably rather sit next to a terrorist than two year old twin boys.

It seems to me that people are divided into groups when it comes to kids or in particular, when dealing with loud, inconsolable kids. First off are the people with sympathy, who give you an understanding nod or cluck of their tongue. These people are saying “It sucks. I feel for you.” Then there are the people that are somewhat disgruntled and cast a dirty look your way or just sigh heavily. And then there is a group of one: this bitter old woman sitting behind us, wearing black velvet pants, who actually told Owen to “sit down” and “shut the fuck up”. Um. He’s two and a half? And while I don’t think he understands the intensity behind that statement, YOU do and so maybe YOU should shut the fuck up. I don’t know. Just a thought.

As you can tell, I got a little angry. I didn’t want to confront the woman because it was a lost cause from the beginning. I would never win. Also, airport security confiscates my steak knife EVERY SINGLE TIME I travel so I was completely unarmed. Where is the fun in a confrontation if you can’t cut the person? I ask you!

Now, listen, I can understand not being a “kid” person or just not liking kids. Well. Actually, no, I can’t because my family is baby CRAZY and I nanny twins and I have 45 first cousins and all that so, yeah. Hm. I’ll rephrase. I can understand being irritated by kids–children screaming or kicking the back of your seat or punching you in the eye while showing you their “muscles”. (It happened once. It hurt.) I understand this, I do. But the fact is that everyone, everywhere was once a child. And I guarantee that very few were well-behaved all.the.time. Some understanding would be nice on everyone’s part, no?

Apparently not.. For the first hour of our flight, the woman muttered rude things under her breath, almost daring me to turn around and smack her in the face. What frustrated me the most was that the boys were being SO great! Barely a whine in sight. River was making Play-Doh unicorns or watching “Oswald” on the portable DVD player while Owen sweetly placed flower stickers on a piece of paper and named all his favorite colors. When I laughed at something they did, a voice jeered from behind me, dripping with sarcasm, “Oh, yeah, go ahead and laugh, that is just HILAAAAAARIOUS.”

After we were cruising at 32,000 feet, the comments began to die down as her Royal Ascerbic-ness found comfort in her blue iPod mini and her dog magazine. Yes. She flipped through a magazine about DOGS. And I must admit, it felt so good to watch her gingerly run a finger over a glossy page full of cocker spaniels. I don’t even feel sorry for the thought that crossed my mind which was, “Wow. You are a, hmmm, what do they call it? Oh right. A LOSER.”

I settled myself down for the rest of the ride. I counted to ten as she mumbled how disgraceful we were to travel with kids. I breathed deep and slow as she spewed forth curses that tumbled awkwardly out of her wrinkled dog-loving mouth. I tried to remember that it always helps to feel compassion. She wasn’t so much an anti-kid person as she was an anti-life-in-general person. Life had turned sour for her long ago: she was old, she was moderately ugly, she needed a new wardrobe and some leave-in conditioner and oh, yes, a new personality. Surely, I could summon up some compassion for her, somewhere, couldn’t I?

Well. No. I couldn’t. Because I was SEETHING and also because who tells a two year old to shut the fuck up!?!?!??!!?!? WHO?!

Due to the 40 mph winds, the descent into Newark was absolutely unbearable. Flying comes in on Laura’s Top Greatest Fears Of All Time at an impressive #3, so you can imagine how much I LOVED it when the plane bucked and dipped and then flat out swayed side to side like one of those awful pirate ship rides at a gawdy amusement park. I thought we were going to die. And apparently, so did Old Saddlebags behind me. In fact, she exhibited Scared-To-Death-On-A-Plane Behavior that was eerily similar to mine–she shut her eyes tight and clutched the armrests for dear life. The only difference between our tactics was that I was muttering the rosary and she was muttering, “Oh FUCK this is BAD BAD BAD.”

We did land safely and by that point, the boys had been sleeping soundly for a few hours. When the lights came on and people began to move about the cabin, they started to wake up and whimper a little bit, completely disoriented. I felt the same way since the turbulence on the plane created an awful bout of nausea in the pit of my stomach, something that rarely ever happens to me.

And you know? I was glad for it.

I was glad because as the boys woke up and started to cry, I knew I had some ammunition should the old lady mutter a SINGLE inappropriate comment to them. I didn’t have my steak knife with me that night but I did have the satisfaction of knowing that should she open her mouth, I would turn to her and open MY mouth and promptly throw up airplane food all over her.

What?

Is that out of line?