The $300 Nap

Those of you who read my last post are no doubt wondering if I ever made it home to North Carolina or if I chose, instead, to raise Lily in California until she is old enough to watch DVD’s of The Backyardigans with her brother for six or seven hours at a stretch.  Or perhaps you figured I just left her behind with plans to pick her up when she has reached Backyardigans age.

I’m happy to report that I did bring her with me to the airport and this time the stars aligned.

US Airways saw fit to leave us in the seats we had purchased — Jake, Lily, and I in a row together, Mike right across the aisle with the computer and DVD’s at the ready.  (Or maybe they were merely stymied in their efforts to give away one of our seats by the fact that this time we managed to print out our boarding passes the night before.)  We drove to the airport early enough to avoid Lily falling asleep in the car — a potential disaster that caused much anxiety, I’ll admit — and the flight was late enough that she was guaranteed to nap for a good portion of it.  Best of all, we had time for Jake and I to grab a last Pinkberry, Mike to have a beer and watch the World Cup, and Lily to gorge herself on barbequed chicken whose high fructose corn syrup, antibiotic, and artificial hormone levels I chose to ignore if it would keep her happy.

And so, half an hour or so after we took off, just as I was beginning to panic that perhaps Lily was not going to nap after all, she nodded off in front of the John Deere hidden flaps book I bought for her at Barnes & Noble in the hope that it would be a useful tool in avoiding another meltdown.  If you are scratching your head wondering why on earth I would purchase a book about John Deere farm equipment, let me point out how hard it is to find any book with the hidden flaps that so amuse fifteen-month-olds and three-and-a-half-year-olds alike.

As I eased Lily into the empty middle seat we had purchased for her, settled her head in my lap, and — ah — read a book, I deemed this nap well worth the $300 the extra ticket had set us back.  This may sound like a lot of money to spend for the pleasure of two hours reading on an airplane, but only if you have never traveled with a small child.

Lily awoke about halfway through the flight, but did not seem to recall how much she hated airplanes a week before.  Instead, she amused herself by watching the videos playing on the computer in front of Jake, saying, “Night, night” to the doll her grandparents bought her, accompanying me to the bathroom for two diaper changes, and, as is Lily’s wont, eating a lot.

In fact, I was pretty certain airplane travel with two small kids is a snap, Lily’s past outburst an aberration, when we began landing and Mike put away the computer.

Jake did not approve of this turn of events.  In fact, he expressed his disapproval by unbuckling his seatbelt as the buildings of Charlotte raced up to meet us.

Now, I can understand how he was feeling.  It’s one thing to watch your mother hold your baby sister in her lap and kiss her head a lot because there is no way I can hold Lily in my lap without kissing her head a lot when you are gorging yourself on Backyardigans DVD’s.  But take away the computer and the gross unfairness of being the older child able to sit safely in your own seat during landing really hits home.  The only logical solution when you are three-and-a-half years old is to sit in your father’s lap.

Although I probably understood all this as it was happening, what I understood more was that my child was unbuckling his seatbelt while the plane was landing.  This understanding can lead a parent to say things she might later regret.  Things like, “If you don’t put your seatbelt back on right now I will spank your bottom!”  Things she suspects the man across the aisle believes and disapproves of mightily.

But scream it I did.  Mike and I physically held Jake down.  We tightened his seatbelt so much that Jake not only couldn’t wriggle out of it but probably couldn’t breathe very well either.  We yelled and hissed and let up only when the plane landed — with Jake still seatbeltless.

As we taxied to the gate, I expressed my disapproval in a deep voice and ominous warnings.  “I’m very disappointed in you,” I said so many times I left no doubt in the minds of the passengers around us and hopefully Jake as well.  “This is the worst thing you’ve every done,” I intoned.  It probably was, but in retrospect it seems rather cruel to rub it in.

And because Mike and I were both so angry, Jake continued to be obstreperous.  He kicked me from his seat.  He held up an aisle full of people when it was time to walk off and had to be carried under the arms by Mike, screaming the whole way. “He’s had it,” said the flight attendants kindly.

So have we, I thought.

Jake continued to cry and pout and misbehave all the way to baggage claim.  And I continued to feel angry.  So much so that every time he showed a little spark of getting over it I reminded him of how disappointed we were, of how badly he had behaved.

So, really, could you blame him for saying,”I’m angry at you, Mommy,” and hitting me ever so gently?

Maybe I didn’t blame him, but I sure was annoyed at being hit, however wimpily, and I moved to a different seat in the baggage claim area, setting off a peal of hysteria.

This is when the thought of how alone and distressed my child was feeling finally penetrated how angry I was feeling.

I moved next to Jake and gave him the hug I knew he had desperately wanted all along.  I spoke to him the way a patient mother does, about why I moved away from him and how he doesn’t like it when his friends hit him and how scared his father and I were for his safety when he took off his seatbelt.

We talked about apologies and loving each other and how really he is a wonderful person and he apologized to his father and promised to listen better and solemnly agreed that he should never ever remove his seatbelt himself.

Of course, as soon as he was so sweet and wrung out and I knew that he was only being his age, I wondered how I could have acted so angry and mean.  I recalled the face of the man across the aisle, studiously looking ahead though surely judging me.  I judged myself.  I wished I could be one of those parents who is always patient and can wisely defuse every situation with wisdom and the right words.  You know, one of those parents who doesn’t exist.

Which is when I began to understand something important about parenthood.  I spend a lot of time practicing yoga to learn how to approach tense situations with calm.  To express love above anger.  To be able to breathe rather than yell.

And these are important things to be able to do.  Except, when you’re a parent there are times when you should not be a yogi.

It was, I feel quite certain, appropriate to yell at Jake for taking off his seatbelt.  It was absolutely right to tell him I was disappointed, to not let it slide away with his first sunny smile, to make him feel entirely, thoroughly wretched and sad.  Because what he did was dangerous.  And I want him to remember the consequences of his dangerous actions.  For a long, long time.

To be a parent is to express anger when your child does something that angers you.  To express pride when he does something that makes you proud.  To express love all the time — in your anger as well as your pride.

Because, really, my anger came out of the deepest, truest kind of parental love.  The kind that wants to keep a child safe even if it means being distinctly un-yoga-like.

Just Breathe

Because you’re not going to take any deep, calming breaths when you are angry with your child, I offer here a pranayama breathing exercise to practice after the anger subsides and the love wells up deep and strong.

Two-Way Heart Breathing Pranayama Instructions