Arriving in Dulles with Porter

Home again, home again, jiggedy jig...

Mistakenly, I though the return trip would be easier. It's an overnight flight, so the kids would sleep, right? Wrong. Though they are both exhausted, they are too keyed up to actually sleep. And since everyone else on the flight is sleeping there is no one to help me when Maggie has another blow out diaper. I drag a now, barefoot Max to the airplane bathroom, trying not to think about what he is probably stepping in, as I lock all three of us in the cramped space. While I strip Maggie of her clothes, and wash off the poop that has traveled up her back, Max entertains himself by pulling the toilet paper off the roll and throwing it into the sink.

When we finally clear up our mess and try to awkwardly exit the bathroom through the accordion door, Max takes off running again. Luckily this time, he runs to the back of the plane, and the one grandmother on the plane wakes up and tries to grab him. When she misses, I unceremoniously dump Maggie in her lap and take off after Max, before he can make it around the back of the plane and up the aisle on the other side into first class again. Once I safely buckle him back into his seat belt which is no match for a two year old escape artist, I make him a

nest with his pillow and blanket, and out of pure exhaustion he finally passes out. I retrieve Maggie from the grandmother across the aisle, and nurse her back to sleep. For the remaining two hours of the flight, I watch the documentary This Is It about Michael Jackson.

When we finally land in Munich, a very nice flight attendant helps me bundle the kids up and exit the plane. Of course no one had bothered to unlock the elevator, so I had to back the stroller up three escalators with Maggie dangling out of the Ergo, a diaper bag hanging over one shoulder, Max's pillow in the bottom of the stroller, and the bag of toys in the other hand.

When we got to the baggage claim, I practically begged the security agent to let me deliver the children to their father on the other side before I picked up my baggage, but he instead in his best pissed off voice told me that it was absolutely impossible, because I was in a secure area. So, another father took pity on me, and sent his teenage daughter back with me to retrieve my five suitcases. It turned out that because the plane had arrived half an hour early, Paul wasn't there yet anyways, so the very tired kids and I waited patiently for Paul to show up twenty minutes later. And after a very harrowing drive home with an insane taxi driver, we finally arrived home and I promptly passed out.

A One Way Ticket to Crazy

The kids and I just returned from a seven week visit to the States. Long visits like this were a promise we made to our parents to try to assuage our guilt about moving to Germany. Paul's German contract promised him six weeks of vacation along with a slew of holidays. A long trip back home would give us more quality time with our families than the occasional weekend visit.

The only way Paul agreed to letting the kids and I go that long was if I was willing to split the difference. So Paul came three weeks in the middle, meaning that I did both flights alone with the kids. I had flown alone with Max once before, and while it was not easy, it was not impossible. When I agreed to doing it with two children, I must have had a momentary lapse of sanity. But what was done, was done, and since we purchased the economy non-refundable, non-changeable tickets, there was no backing out.

Thank God they were direct flights, so I did not have to make a connecting flight by myself. Just like any other day when I am managing the kids by myself, the key to success is organization. So, first I tried to minimize the amount of luggage I was taking with me, which ended up being a car seat and four suitcases, two of which were filled with Christmas presents and other things for friends and family. On the way back, we left the car seat behind, because as it turns out it was only approved for use in the United States anyway, but we picked up a fifth suitcase because the obscene amount of Christmas presents we received for the kids.

Carrying on the flight, I brought only the bare essentials: one diaper bag, one bag of toys, winter coats and trappings for all three of us, as well as necessary restraining devices like the Ergo and the stroller.

The last time Paul and I flew back from the States, we fed Max so much to drink that by the time we reached security his diaper had leaked, and we had no spare set of clothes in our carry on. We ended up running around the airport to try and find him some clothes, and ended up purchasing a tourist sweatshirt four sizes to big, and stuffing him in his sleep sack for the flight.

This time I was careful to monitor both kids liquid intake, check their diapers regularly and bring extra clothes in the diaper bag, just in case. And, it's a good thing considering Maggie had a blow out mid-flight. Getting through security and walking to our connecting flight went fairly well. Max only ran away from me when we were waiting to board the plane.

Another mother looked on sympathetically, and pointing to her teenage son saying, "He use to run away from me all the time." If there is one thing I have learned about trans-Atlantic flights is to depend on the kindness of strangers. I immediately befriended this mother and her children. She had been there before me, and no one can relate to me like another mother. Besides that, her eleven old daughter loves children and babies and could not wait to play with my kids. There were also a slew of other grandmothers on the flight that quickly offered to help me by holding the baby while I rushed to the cramped bathroom to change Max's diaper. I also quickly enlisted the help of a college kid who was sitting next to me to keep an eye on Max when I needed to change Max's diaper.

Max was great for the most part. Yes there was some whining, crying and general disobedience, but it wasn't anything out of the ordinary, or anything I couldn't handle. The only time things got hairy was when Max peeled off, running gleefully up the aisle through business class and straight into first class. I didn't think it was the right thing to yell at him and wake up all the passengers in business and first class, so I followed along as quietly and quickly as I could with Maggie dangling from one arm, using the other arm to try and grab a weaving and dodging Max. It wasn't until we reached the glut of first class flight attendants, that someone intervened, "Ma'am, Ma'am, you can't be up here." As apologetically as I could manage in my somewhat exasperated state, "I know, I'm sorry, he got away from me." The very nice flight attendant grabbed Max's hand and cho-cho trained him back to our seat.

It was on this journey to and back from first class that I noticed that there was a kids movie on one of the channels. When I got Max back into his seat, I tried to find the movie, and when I realized that the channel wasn't working for either my seat or Max's seat, I called for the flight attendant. I should have realized from past experience this call button is completely useless. Either the flight attendants pay absolutely no attention to it, or they just assume that Max is playing with one of the buttons.

So I finally flag down one of the flight attendants, and she tells me that they can't do anything about it until they reset the movies for the next run. The next run comes, and nothing has changed, so I flagged down another attendant. This one tells me, that she can't do anything until they reset the movies for the third run. This time, the desperation starts to creep into my voice, "But I already told one of the other flight attendants this was a problem, it is the only movie appropriate for him."

So, she tells me she will see what she can do, and she comes back to me five minutes later apologizing, saying that she is going to try and reset the movie to another channel for the third run, but she can't do anything until then, because it would disrupt the rest of the passengers movies, and there aren't and other free seats in the airplane. As a conciliation she gives me a postcard of appreciation for my understanding. Great, meantime what am I supposed to do? I know, I'll let Max play with the post card, I'm sure it will entertain him for all of three seconds.

At this point the eleven year old girl comes up and offers to play with the kids in the aisle, and I have a moment of calm. Finally we land, and I know it is only an hour or two before we get through immigration, baggage claim and customs. Max is a champ, the eleven year old girl entertains him while I hunt down a United Airlines porter in the mess of what is Dulles international baggage claim. The porter helps me with my luggage, and gets us through customs quickly to the waiting and very expectant hugs and kisses of grandparents.

Weeks later that postcard of appreciation for my understanding resurfaces, and I visit the United website to claim whatever the voucher is for. Oh fabulous, it is for 10% off any international flight originating in the United States. Too bad, I live in Germany.

And then there were six

No, I'm not pregnant with twins. I'm talking about the sixth stroller that has been added to our ever growing collection of strollers. Sadly, the double stroller that I was so proud of turned into a piece of junk. The metal was cheap; the front axle kept bending causing the front wheel pop off at inopportune times like when running to catch the bus.

Thankfully the first time, Paul was with me, and he picked up the front end, and the two of us managed to make the bus. Our planned trip to Starnberg was cancelled, but we did manage to re-attach the wheel long enough to get to the city park. All I had to do was push down slightly on the back handle so that most of the weight was on the back two wheels, not a long term solution by any means. When we were in the park, we bent the axel back by wedging it against the concrete enforcements of a park bench.

If we could manually bend the axel back into place, it probably wouldn't take much to bend it again, and it did. The next time the axel bent, I recognized the tell tale wobbliness, and I managed to get home before the wheel popped off. Since then I've refused to take the stroller out for anything more than a walk around the block. Since Max can handle a walk around the block, the stroller has been collecting dust in our bike room.

I've been using the single stroller to get back and forth to Max's Spielgruppe, and this has caused both Max and I to end up in tears multiple times. So, we've purchased a new double stroller, the Phil & Ted's Sport with double's kit, one of the strollers I "reviewed" last time, but wasn't overly thrilled with. I'm still not happy about the expense, or the fact that the front wheel doesn't lock, or that it isn't super maneuverable, but at least I can be sure that the front wheel won't fall off mid-transit.

By now, Paul and I have spent enough money trying not to buy an expensive stroller that we could have purchased two Bugaboos. So, here is my word of advice to all new parents who are looking for a stroller. Invest in a good stroller. Invest in a stroller that is going to be worth something on the second-hand market. A friend of mine sold her Bugaboo and used the money from the sale to purchase her double stroller when her second child was born.

ETA: Just wanted to let everyone know that someone commented and told me that you can lock the front wheel. There is a little knob underneath you can twist to do it. It's not been much fun to kneel down in the snow to lock it before getting on the bus though, so I generally don't. So far my only complaint about the stroller is that the brake only locks one wheel, which isn't so great on the bus. I put my foot behind the wheel when we are on the bus. This might be unique to my Phil & Ted's, as my friend who has the Vibe doesn't have the same problem.

Learning

Parenting has a steep learning curve. That is what a father of three told me a couple weeks ago at a dinner party. In the twenty-nine months I’ve been a parent, I would say these words of wisdom ring true. I am learning how to be parents; I am not perfect. While I have ideas of the kind of parent I want to be, it is my children that are teaching me how to be a mom. Already I have had to grow, adapt and change.

Max is about to start his pre-kindergarten playgroup in one month, and it absolutely kills me to have to send him away at two-and-a-half years. I never thought I would be sending my baby to school when he was still just a baby. Much less sending him to a school where he did not speak the language and the teachers did not speak his language.

This has been a very humbling experience for me. As much as we have tried to prepare him, we can barely scratch the surface with simple vocabulary like Schmetterling (butterfly) and Auto. I had hoped that maybe by osmosis he was picking up some of the language when I took him out to playgrounds and shopping where he is surrounded by German, but it has become pretty obvious that he has not picked much up. When a mother at the pool asked for her child’s toy back, Max just stared at her completely baffled. When an older boy approached Max and said “Hallo Kliene (Hello little-one,)” Max said “Hi boy!” and the child looked back at Max baffled. Or when my friend spoke to him exclusively in German she said that she got the distinct impression that Max didn’t like her so much anymore. I suspect that this will be much like the interactions between Max and his classmates and teachers at the playgroup.

I can only imagine how confused Max will be, and how hard it will be for me to send him back into that confusion day after day. At the same time I know that this is the best time for Max to overcome the language barrier. As hard as it is on me to send Max to school next month, I keep reminding myself that this is what is best for him in the long run. And I hope that I am right.