The flight to California involved kids throwing up, crying and peeing in their pants so bad it left a pool on the seat (I shudder to think what must have happened back when airline seats were made of cloth). And that was the good flight.
On the trip back, the baby wailed for the majority of the flight. Remember the song "Ballin' Outta Control"? Well, imagine it was called "Bawlin' Outta Control" and instead of riding in a Bentley with Nate Dogg, a 1-year-old screams in your ear for four straight hours.
On top of that, Alice threw a tantrum because she wanted to sit in a different seat, blocking the aisle during boarding. And the kids kept pleading to watch "Frozen." (I refused to pay $8.50 for a movie the family had already seen 17 times, so Alice treated the plane to her own rendition of "Let It Go." It's basically her repeating the words "let it go" indefinitely.)
Mostly I felt bad for the one non-family member who was sitting in our row. (We either need to have a larger family and take up the whole row or have a much smaller one.) That poor person didn't sign up for this. I know some parents have begun giving fellow passengers goody bags to smooth things over. We should probably start doing this, but our goody bags would have to contain some serious barbiturates.
After the flight, we took a cab home and were swiftly reintroduced to the New York state of mind. The driver spent the entire time straddling two lanes and then nearly collided with a garbage truck. That's when Lucy vomited all over her seat.
You never know what turn your life will take, but I always imagined Lucy would be at least 20 before throwing up in a New York taxi. In fairness, the driver was pretty cool about it. I guess it's harder to get mad at a baby for vomiting than a drunk club goer.
By the time we unloaded our luggage in front of our building, Lucy was feeling better and marching around in nothing but a diaper. At least she ended the journey in style.