When we first started talking about going back to Utah to visit, the conversation went something like this.
We really should. It's been nearly 2 years.
Okay, so we're going? Right?
It will be cheaper if we fly from Chicago instead of Cedar Rapids.
Fly? No, no. That's much too expensive. Let's drive.
Drive!? No, I'm not driving across Wyoming in the winter.
Winter? It will be March.
Like I said...I'm not driving across Wyoming in the winter.
Well, I'm not sure we can afford it.
But it's been 2 years!
I'll let you decide who is who. Anyways, this conversation went on for over a month. Until finally, it was decided, we would fly (from Chicago) and we would finally go back to Utah.
I feel obliged to mention that this was the first time I had flown with my children. From the moment we booked the tickets, I started having mini panic attacks. What if Monkey decided he didn't like flying. If that happened, there would be no fixing it. It would just be the longest 4 hours of our fellow passengers' lives. That is what I had been dreading. What I got instead was a moment of parental irony.
Bug, who had been so excited about the airplane, and doing his best (from second hand stories) to explain to Monkey what flying would be like, had his own mini panic attack the second the plane started backing away from the gate. All his 8-year-old coolness melted into one large hysteric as we taxied to the runway.
Let me off! Stop the plane! You can't make me fly again! Let's drive home (honey, our car is in Chicago.) Let's take the train home! Never again! Stop the plane!
In addition to this, he wailed that he was going to be sick. Despite the pediatric dose of Dramamine I had given him, he held the puke bag in front of his face the entire flight. He refused to look out the window.
Although I did my best to be completely calming and sympathetic, I think the giggles that I tried to hide by turning my head cast doubt on my sincerity. And in Bug's defense, we did take off during a storm, resulting in quite a bit of turbulence.
Monkey, on the other hand, was completely delighted. He Oh'd and Ah'd loudly as we sped down the runway, only to cheer loudly "We're flying!" once we took off. This time, the giggles weren't just my own, but came from surrounding rows.
Every time Bug whimpered that he was going to be throw up, Monkey just gave him a superior look and announced, "Well, I like flying."
Between books and movies on the laptop, we managed to distract Bug from his terror.
However, it didn't stop him from reiterating every few minutes that he was never getting back on a plane.
However, since we are now back in Iowa, and I did not have to drive across Wyoming in the winter, I reassure you that, yes, he did in fact, get back on a plane.