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The pain, the agony of traveling with kids

It was a first this Thanksgiving.

We gave up our tradition of Thanksgiving at home and packed our bags, hopped on a plane and left for a week.

Traveling with kids is… well it’s always interesting.

Pilot: “We are getting ready to descend, the seat belt light has been illuminated we will soon be landing in (insert city name on any of our four flights there and back).”

Little AB screaming: “AHHH! EMERGENCY LANDING!!”


Or how about explaining to the innocent man sitting in the aisle seat why he might want to trade me the aisle for the window given my family sitting across the aisle.

It didn’t make much sense to him until lift off when my daughter started screaming “MOMMY!”

Then she needed her juice.

Then she needed her pacifier.

And my husband wanted the latte we brought on board that was still in my hands.

And then my daughter threw her apple juice over her right shoulder.

I was sorry. Really I was.


I asked my son what his favorite part of the trip was -- it wasn’t the trip to the Denver Aquarium to see the tigers. (Yes, there are tigers at this aquarium.)

It was “the parts at the airport.”


There is more, I have just successfully blocked most of it from my brain after being home for nearly 24 hours.