Sam to Chicago

Sam and I flew to Chicago last week to visit Sam's grandparents (Danny's parents). My friend Tamara came with us. This was Sam's debut into the stratosphere. A 15-month-old confined to a space the size of a dining room chair at 37,000 feet for 2 hours should not be legal. Additionally, the flight was packed!

Once settled, Sam decided to... JUMP. No, I had not bought him a $300 seat. So, our laps served as his trampoline as he bounced like a Mexican jumping bean on crack cocaine. To complicate things, Mr. Horrible Grouchy Man shared our row!!! Sam threw toys and bottles at him, as well he deserved. Tamara, who sat next to the Grouch, said "sorry" about 1000 times as she retrieved the said toys and bottles delicately from around his legs, lap and feet. Mr. Horrible stared stonily ahead. He refused to assist in retrieving the items from amongst his own appendages. Sam bellowed. I hyperventilated. Then I thought, "%*#*@ idiot!" Two hours later as we barrelled down the runway in Chicago to a stop... Sam slumped into a deep sleep. The late afternoon sunlight fell through the little window across his peaceful baby face.

The day of our return, I wore Sam out so he would not jump. I'm smart like that. BUT, he missed his nap. As time passed he grew over-tired and over-stimulated. For the last 5 minutes of the flight, he screamed at the top of his lungs. You know... high pitched, brain cell boiling, can't-stand-it-for-one-more-microsecond sort of scream. I calmly explained to everyone in the cabin that this was Tamara's out-of-control child. Tamara cooed. Sam whacked the seats around him with all his might. My insides cramped into the size of a raisin. Our ears popped. The plane landed.

That night, Sam slept for 14 hours.

And we lived happily ever after at home in Charlotte. :-)