We sat in the San Francisco Airport.
Well, I sat, as my kids jumped on every seat,and ran up and down every crevice of the gate area.
They were chasing each other, screaming, yelling and laughing.
Fortunately, they had befriended two other toddlers their age to run with, who were equally as loud, and equally as annoying.
Other airport patrons politely avoided all four of them.
There was a pretty blonde in a tailored grey suit, sitting with her lap top and pursed lips as she typed away thinking, will that mom control her children?
I knew she was thinking that.
She didn't have to say anything.
I had proof.
I have observed many a childless women.
I wanted to rip her lap top off of her perfectly ironed skirt lap, and say,
"LOOK BITCH, YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M DEALING WITH HERE. THERE ARE NO WORDS FOR THE MESS MY LIFE HAS BECOME TODAY- SO HAVE SOME FUCKING COMPASSION."
The fantasy felt so good as I sat there and acted it all out in my mind.
She got up and moved to a different spot.
The power of thought.
The mom of the other kids looked so much more serene and together than me. She smiled and laughed as if she was enjoying watching them be totally obnoxious.
I tried to pretend I loved my kids too.
Really, I wished I had purchased that benadryl I was on the fence about buying, since it was for sedation purposes only, (not hives).
"Let all the energy out... get all the wiggles out!!" she said like a happy pre-school teacher.
The perfect looking mom encouraged them with a patient, nurturing, enthusiastic voice.
Three things I felt not an ounce of in that moment.
I said nothing.
I Figured it was a safe bet to just fake a half smile because what I really wanted to do was,"Shut the fuck up and sit down, I've had it with you, and I don't know your kids lady, but so far, they're only making it worse."
I looked at my phone, pretending to read something important.
Hoping that some day, some day, I could read an article or comprehend the N.Y. times again.
My anxiety continued to increase as I anticipated the 5 hour flight ALONE.
I watched the other mom and continued to make the case that not only was she a better mom than me, she was an expert at flying with small children.
No, I did not know her name, it was the first time I had ever seen her.
Although, she did look familiar.
I think she fit the image of all the perfect moms I see that have never yelled at their kids, and pack snacks like raisins and organic rice cakes with gluten-free toppings.
I had lollipops and Starburst stashed in my bag, along with a video game and a bag of cheetos.
Oh, and my ATM card wasn't working, so when I went to buy some fruit for my kids I didn't have enough money.
Oh, and I had forgotten my lap top at my dad's house, so movies were also out of the question.
I knew I had to change my attitude and pray away the funk, or the flight was going to suck really bad.
Finally, it was time to board.
Or should I say, sit and wait for an hour in comfy airplane seats until take-off time.
We stumbled down the plane aisle with all of our carry-on crap.
Emma was close behind me crying and whining (yes, at the same time) because Jaxson was kicking her in the butt as she walked.
He was laughing.
There we were, a spectacle, again, as we boarded the smallest human space in the world: the airplane.
Our seats were all the way in the back of the plane.
So that made it more fun for Jaxson.
He had all the more time to kick Emma's ass while we made it to the seats.
Then we were stopped mid plane aisle, while people put their baggage in the over head bins.
Jaxson started pulling Emma's hair and I had to tell him to stop hurting his sister in that, "I am a good mom who can control her 3 year old son voice."
Emma was sobbing at this point, "my hair hurts....can you give him a time out?????"
A friendly man to my right with half a head of black hair chuckled and gave me a re-assuring look.
"Enjoy them now!" He said gleefully.
"My daughter is 23 and my son is 26, I miss those days."
I could barely respond accordingly.
What days do you miss sir?
The days when your're kids constantly beat each other's asses on airplanes?
Or, do you miss the days of being a stay at home mom, sir??????
Sorry sir, thanks for the sentiment but you can shove it, and shove it hard.
Again, a fantasy in my head that I played out, before I responded in real life.
All I could do was sadly chuckle,"I'm trying." I said.
Meanwhile, I dragged Jaxson by the arm as he reached for a clump of Emma's hair.
Finally, we made it to our seats.
I smelled poop.
It was a bad one, not the poopy diaper that stays in the immediate vicinity.
The poopy diaper that will turn a head and make a nose twitch.
It was a doozy.
I was doomed because I knew it wasn't the other kids in front of us.
It was my son.
Literally, 30 seconds passed while I was getting my poopy diaper changing plan organized in my mind.
I had many factors to consider: the postage stamp sized bathroom with no changing table, my stubborn son who fights diaper changes, and the other child I had to leave unattended while I wiped the butt and disposed of the stink bomb.
As I began reaching for my diaper bag, the stewardess walked by with a big smile and said,
"Smells like somebody needs a diaper change over here!!!"
I won't be writing the fantasy I played out in my head about my response to her.
I can say that a particular Delta stewardess may be die unexpectedly with a poopy diaper at her feet.
