Let's Trade

My children are frequent fliers.

With Grandparents living in each corner of the US, they've logged more flight hours then most grown adults.

Nearly all of these trips are done without my Go With The Flow Husband.  Add that to us nearly always flying on passes and you get a drill sergeant mother from wake up to touch down on travel days.

I know the secrets to getting through security in under 10 minutes no matter how long the line.  I have our time allotments down to the minute, having us at the gate with enough time to not be stressed but not enough time to get fidgety before we board.

I have mastered the art of maneuvering the countries biggest airport while balancing a stroller, a carseat, 3 suitcases, 2 carry ons, and 2 small children without batting an eye.  I can play the role of frazzled mother, calm expert, or any mix of the two when we need sympathy from fellow passengers.

I get a huge thrill when we sit in the car of whoever is ending my travel mission and know that we made it.

I am a rock star traveling mother.

Yes, flying with kids has become second nature.

Wanna know what's not second nature?

Getting my children to sleep on our trips.

Seriously.  It's enough to make me trade in our passports for sleeping pills and call it a day.

These little people, who are normally in bed no later then 8PM are pulling all nighters.  Chit chatting, giggling, "I need a glass of water"ing well past midnight.

Then they have the gall to wake up before 6AM.

Not cool Pope Kids.  Not cool.

Wednesday night, after we walked the Mall of America for hours, I tucked my globe trotters in at 7.

They were exhausted.

I tiptoed out of the room and sat down to enjoy a late dinner and some wine with my Mom, confident they would be passed out within minutes.

Ten minutes later, the doorknob turned and out came Gabe.

"How did you get out of your crib?"

I scolded Josie and ignored her pleas that he had climbed out himself.  Gabriel is the laziest child on the planet with the shortest midget legs you've ever seen.  No way did he shimmy himself out without his big sister lending a hand.

Back in the bed, another round of kisses, and commands to go to sleep.

Ten minutes later, you guessed it.  Big Fat Baby, proudly toddling out of the room.

I put him in the crib and said, "show me how you got out."

And wouldn't you know it, the little booger hoisted his leg over the rail, balanced Mission Impossible Style, then slowly lowered his feet to the floor.

Great.  Now he can escape.

And escape he did.  Over.  And over.  And over.

So let's trade secrets.  I'll share my Get Through The Airport Looking Like A Pro manual and you tell me what the heck do I do to keep this child in his crib!

Bonus points for instructions on actually getting them to sleep.

It's a good thing he is so dang cute.