And Then, She Peed on My Leg

You know those orange juice commercials that hilariously demonstrate a person’s catastrophic day that lays before them, and it ends with the person replying that they will be able to handle the pitfalls of the day because, “it’s a good thing they had their orange juice”?
Yeah, I had one of those days. There was no orange juice in sight.
Picture this: A day filled with traveling from Denver to Chicago via airplane to visit my family for the holidays. Me and two kids. How bad could it be, you ask?
You tell me. Picture this commercial…
Me: Okay, people, what’s on the agenda?
My Son: At 2:00 pm, I am going to have undetermined leg pains that will make getting through two large airports damn near impossible. Throughout the day in the airports, you will look like the most insensitive mom begging me to “Please, hurry up!” as I do my best Tiny Tim impression.
Airport Customer Service Agent: After you realize that there is no longer a skycap at the airport and you have to move four large pieces of luggage, two backpacks, your daughter in a stroller and Tiny Tim inside and through a very long line, I will not be able to find your children’s flight reservations, make you sweat for a good five minutes and make you almost miss your flight.
TSA Agent: The new stroller you bought for the trip will not collapse and we will have to take 10 minutes to ‘hand check’ your umbrella stroller, which will result in you directing your children like a traffic cop diverting traffic around an accident. The people around you will think you are crazy and this close to losing your shit.
My daughter: I will refuse to suck on a pacifier during take off, and drink 16 oz. of apple juice, so you will have nothing for me to drink during landing which will make you BEG a flight attendant for water (in which she graciously provided) during the descent. Oh, and I will then give all those liquids back to you in flight, by peeing on your leg.
Me: Awesome. At least I have my vodka and orange juice.
Okay, maybe my version of the commercial isn’t as ‘G-rated’ as the rest, but hell, neither am I. Case in point: at one point I was praying that small little bottles of vodka and/or wine would come pouring out of the overhead compartment of the plane.
Seriously, after this trip, this is the *only* way I want to see  orange juice served on a plane... laden with alcohol...
Seriously, after this trip, this is the *only* way I want to see orange juice served on a plane… laden with alcohol…
photo credit: ginsnob via photopin cc
No such luck, y’all…
This was originally published on To Black Belt and Beyond.
Jess is a rehabilitated higher education administrator, who has traded in her corporate office badge and lanyard for stay-at-home mommyhood and a karate gi. Jess also has a tendency to share way too much with anyone within earshot, so she created To Black Belt and Beyond to showcase her inappropriate humor, utter lack of physical coordination, the everyday not-so-blissful moments of parenting, and also to document her and her son's path to earning a black belt in tae kwon do. In essence, Jess is like the Karate Kid, but older. And fatter. And with kids. And uncoordinated. And, well, you get the point...

Holiday Horror

Ever traveled around the holidays? Not such a blessing.

Ever done it, flying standby, by yourself, with a toddler?

Um yeah. Welcome to the seventh circle of hell.

Picture this if you will ...

A holiday ... An insanely crowded airport ... People rushing around, various flight delays, pissed off passengers, pissed off ground crew... Add one tired, stressed out mommy who has been bumped off of two flights, and a toddler who has sailed past nap time and is fighting valiantly against full, atomic meltdown.

We get bumped off a third flight, but know we can make the next one in a few hours. Shoot. OK, we can do this ... We can survive lunch, naps, and the general madness of the airports.

So I throw the kidlet in the BOB, drop the back on that sucker and cover it with a blanket. I pace, dodging in and out of grumpy travelers, trying to avoid their bags and deadly glares as I bump into them with my monster stroller. I must have walked a mile in the damn airport, trying to get the kid down... Then silence.


Until they page someone over the PA system and I hear a whine coming from below, the rumbling sound of a volcano about to blow...and then the screams start.

These are not normal screams. These are the blood curdling screams of a toddler who has blown his nap and is f-ing DONE people. DONE. So he screams, and screams, and howls, and people are unabashedly staring in horror at me and the sounds coming from the BOB.

Women all over the airport start popping their birth control like tic tacs.

And it continues, until at one point I am inside the BOB with a thrashing toddler who is trying to extricate (read:hang) himself from the straps in the stroller as gate agents and hundreds of people watch on. I'm surprised no one called CPS on me from this sheer noise this child was producing.

Holy Hell.

The good news? We finally made it to spend a delightful holiday with my family and no one died in the process.


I hate the holidays.

Or at least traveling on them.

I'm never leaving my house again.

This originally appeared on It's Fitting.

About Ashley: Oh the difference a few years makes... Where once Ashley was a professional event planner and fundraiser in beautiful Southern CA, now she is a full-time SAHM in a gorgeous-in-it's-own-way, semi-rural cow town in Sonoma County. Three chickens, two kids and a struggling vegetable garden. Hey at least there's wine, right?