My children are complete angels. There I said it and have now quite probably jinxed myself for eternity (and beyond) but my two children, despite all evidence to the contrary, are two perfect angels.
We left on Monday afternoon for Paris where we spent the night before our long-haul flight to Houston, and we had no meltdowns. None, nada, nisba. We had no meltdowns despite the fact that they were tired, in a completely unfamiliar situation and we were stressed. Though we slept in the airport hotel, we still somehow managed to arrive at security check a bit late, we got in the wrong line, for the wrong gate, we had to retrace our steps, get to the right gate and then the husband realized he had left some pretty critical meds in the hotel fridge. We frantically called the hotel, apparently getting meds beyond passport control is harder that it would appear. But we needed those meds so he took off with a sympathetic Air France employee (rarer than one would think) to get his meds, I took off for security (again) with the kids and the nanny and enough hand luggage for a soccer team, oh, and a temperamental stroller that wouldn’t fold. All this happened fifteen minutes before the plane was supposed to take off (not board, take off). I’m not good under pressure.
And yet the kids? No meltdowns. I’m shocked. Also, now I know that they can be expected to deal serenely with quite a bit of stress, so I’m not taking any more random whining or tantrums at the supermarket.
Arriving in Houston after three and a half years has been a bit unsettling. Things have changed just enough for everything to look and feel familiar, but just slightly off somehow, kind of like I stepped into a parallel universe. Now I’m going to be freaking out about being in a parallel universe, by the way.
That’s it for now, as I’m dealing with jet-lag (my own and four other people’s). Also, my children are angels.