Da Plane

We’re in Blackfoot, Idaho visiting Shannon’s family. If you don’t know where Blackfoot is, it’s between Idaho Falls and Pocatello. If you don’t know where Idaho Falls and Pocatello are, they’re within a few hours of Boise. If you don’t know where Boise is, it’s by California. If you don’t know where California is, you live in Bhutan and I don’t know why you’re reading my blog. Knock it off.

Our airplane ride took us from Dulles airport in Washington, D.C. to Salt Lake City. Including layovers, the trip was about 8 hours long. We left Dulles at 2:30 pm Mountain Time and arrived at 10:15 pm. I had originally planned evening flights because I hypothesized it would be nighttime so the kids would sleep. Well, it WAS nighttime (I was right on that, at least) but the kids didn’t sleep. Halen was pretty good, but fairly squirmy. On the trip back home, I’m going to drain 6 or 7 Red Bulls before take off so I can keep up with him.

Savannah loved the airplane. As the plane out of Dulles picked up speed for take-off, she clutched my arm tightly and risked quick, scared glances out the window. When we lifted off, I told her we were up in the air. “Really?” she said, pushing her little face up against the oval window portal. Then she settled back confidently, stuck her little chin in the air, and declared in her best big-girl voice: “And I’m not even scared.”

When we got to the hotel in Salt Lake at midnight, we all fell asleep pretty quickly. But Halen, whose circadian rhythm had suffered mightily from the long travel hours, woke up at 3:00 am… and 4 and 5 and 5:30 and 6 and 6:45 and 7:00 and 7:30. Finally I sat up against the backboard of the bed, laid him across my lap, and cradled his head in the crook of my arm. He slept until 9:30 that way. It was excruciatingly boring, not being able to move or make a sound for fear he’d awake again and be an absolute beast for the rest of the day. To his credit, he was a real trooper on the 3-hour drive to Blackfoot and had a great time, as did Savannah, playing with all his cousins.

My dad is also in town to see his grandkids, go skiing, and satisfy his curiosity about rural living. He claims he’s always wanted to settle down and be farmer, till the land, commune with the cattle, and wear coveralls and plaid. He’s out feeding cows with Ron as we speak, probably realizing that being a farmer when it’s 5 degrees outside is pretty rough. I already knew that. That’s why I’m in a heated house, pecking away at a computer, getting fat.