Across the Atlantic



Last week I held my baby in my arms all the way across the Atlantic. To my delight (and that of our fellow passengers), she slept for most of the flight. Violet’s siblings were also remarkably well behaved, and many travelers complimented them.

Idea of the day: bucket carry-on--you never know when baby'll need a bath.
But those were the travelers who probably failed to overhear Halen loudly declare, “I’m glad I’m not bald!” as we were settling into our seats. Smiling at his perennial randomness, I commented, “Me too!” And then I bit my tongue when I realized that in the seat in front of us, a bald passenger was stowing his bags. It was he, I realized too late, who must have been the inspiration for Halen’s observation. Shoot.


We passed through a lot of turbulence on our longest flight. I thought the baby was enjoying the rocking, but I was wrong. Just as we were preparing to land, she threw up all over herself and me, despite my efforts to catch the vomit in a blanket (my apologies to any United flight attendants out there!). Although I had an extra change of baby clothes handy, I was not so prepared with my own clothing, and so I wore baby's vomit all the way to Saudi Arabia. 

We deplaned into a wall of sauna-like air in Jeddah. The children followed us like ducks, and Abu Halen and I followed security guards like ducks as we traversed the airport from one desk to another until somebody finally realized what to do with our passports. Eventually, however, we emerged back into the hot night, and our little crew of welcomers packed us into vans. Easy peasy.