May 2017

On the twins’ birthday - remembering back six years ago...

I've always inherently known that airplane travel with three-year olds would be challenging. Last summer the twins and I visited relatives in Healy, Alaska. My return flight solidified this fact upon my psyche forever.

Our red-eye flight from Anchorage to Portland was to leave at 1:00 am. We were dropped off at the airport at 11:00 pm by Dad. Other travelers pointed at the funny obstacle we made walking through the airport. I had an expedition-sized backpack on my back containing all three of our clothes, a front backpack with carry-on items, the twins on leashes attached together with a carabiner to my right belt loop and my left hand carried two car seats held together with one of Brad's river cam straps. We made it to the security checkpoint, but the TSA staff would not let me go through the scanner. They made all of us remove jackets, packs and shoes. The twin's packs were to go through the scanner, too, leaving two tired twins unchained. Luckily, the TSA guard closest to Braeden grabbed him just as he started to make a run for it. Then, with much difficulty, we all had to get dressed and hooked together again.

The twins held my hand as we walked to our gate. They were given chips to occupy them for the one-hour wait until we could board the plane. The flight was supposed to leave at 12:55 am. The twins kept busy looking through the big glass windows watching the luggage cars drive around and the fuel tanks fill up airplanes. Alaska's midnight sun lit up the terminal which was cause for uncertain bedtimes. The twins natural clocks were all off whack. Finally, 1:00 am approached, but we had not boarded yet. The flight attendant announced that the pilot's seat was broken and needed to be replaced - another 30 minute wait. The twins began to lose it. I was doing everything I could to keep them occupied. Another announcement: The pilot's seat is unable to be fixed, so we are told to move gates. I gather up all our stuff and the twins by their leashes and we walked together for 10 minutes to the other gate. The twins were so tired, crying and wanting to be off leash. We sat down and I try rocking a sobbing, exhausted Kaia while Braeden is crawling under seats and kicking things in frustration. The sniveling of the twins has turned into a kind of delirium. I felt helpless. I tried to help them get comfortable, but their crying now is accompanied with hysterical kicking and thrashing in frequent bursts, the kind where calm, rational reasoning is ineffectual. Other passengers tried not to stare. Some expressed understanding and empathy. Other kids were whimpering and whining, but my kids, by far, put on the best show.

Finally, around 2:45 am we board the plane. No one helped me install the car seats into the chairs. The twins are arching their backs, in an frenzied effort to resist being buckled into their car seats. Now, the crying is mostly coming from Kaia. She continued to cry for over two hours of our four-hour long flight. Braeden could not fall asleep because the woman in the window seat in front of us refused to close her window shade. Daylight shines in on Braeden. He kicks her seat and for the first time I don't stop him. An hour before we land in Portland Braeden finally passes out.

Forty-five minutes later I am forced to wake up Braden as we begin to land. He was one exhausted tyrant. His kicking and screaming expression of exhaustion is only rivaled by the writhing mad, red-faced tantrum of Kaia at my feet. I side step over her flailing body and unclip the car seats, stack them together, sling on my backpack and clean up our seats which looked like Cookie Monster had hastily eaten three packages of Oreos.

With the leash, I clipped a whimpering Kaia to my pants belt loop and strategized on how to grab Braeden. The cabin was mostly empty now and the flight attendants waited impatiently behind us in the aisle which our rowdy scene blocked. Eventually, the closest flight attendant asked if I needed help carrying anything to which I replied, "That would be great. If not, I don't think we're leaving this plane." I gave her the two car seats and grunted my arms through my backpack. I moved Kaia in front of me, nudging her along with my knee. I hoisted the thrashing, screaming three year-old boy over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I turned my head to the side to avoid his attempts to bite and kick me. As we shuffled down the aisle I could hear poor tired Kaia's crying, softer now, like a sympathy cry for Braeden's superior effort. As we neared the end of the jetway, I glimpsed a huge crowd of people patiently waiting in a long line to board their flight. In horror, I realized I would have to walk the gauntlet of eyes with this wild spectacle in full view. I took a deep breath and stared straight ahead as Braeden clawed at my head and back bended against my shoulder. Halfway down the line people started to clap. The applause spread throughout the crowd in the terminal gate. One person yelled, "You go, mom!" Another offered to carry our car seats through the rest of the airport to the baggage claim. I was humbled and so glad to be home in friendly Portland again. We called Brad who arrived in the truck shortly to find us huddled together on the curb outside.

"How was it?" he asked.

"Pure torture," I replied and summarized our ordeal to him.

"Glad it wasn't me," he laughed.

The twins fell asleep on the drive home and slept for 12 hours. And so did I.

-Written by Kristen & Bradley Martin