How to have a good flight

To say that I am exhausted would be a vast understatement. But exhaustion seems to be normal, right now, just as feeling as though I've been scrambled and put on toast seems to be normal. And we did get home last night at 2:00 in the morning, 5:00 in the morning Detroit time.
However, not to brag or anything, but the kids were angels, ANGELS, on our flights home. I mean, they were quiet, they slept, they sat and entertained themselves, they read the Sky Mall magazines and the safety manuals dutifully. The seventeen-year-old behind Chinua was a lot louder than my kids were, that is, until my husband turned around and asked, "Excuse me, are you going to be THAT LOUD FOR THE ENTIRE TRIP? Because I think you could bring it down a few decibels." And then I died, because it was not at all Canadian of my husband, to do that. But he justified it by saying that everyone on the flight would be happier as a result. And they were. And they broke into song.

I was actually feeling a little bit of concern for YaYa, wondering whether I should be worried about her, as she sat next to me and amused herself for about an hour by eating one side of an apple off and creating a perfectly flat surface. She chiseled away tenderly with her little tiny teeth, humming to herself the whole time. Then she ate the skin away and made little faces, with eyes, and noses, and mouths. And then she named them. It reminded me of when she was at my Grandma's house and she ate the skins off of the grapes while murmuring softly over them, "There you are, little baby..."

But then, as she held her apple in her hand, as the flight attendant finished announcing our landing in Minnesota, she shrieked, "Mommydaddymommydaddymommydaddy! She said we're in MINI APPLES!" And I thought, okay, now I'll die of love.

Yup. The kids were great. Chinua and I, now. Well, I think we did pretty well, and it was all because of pheromones. We were doing that thing, you know, when we start bickering at each other and picking fights and sighing, and then we talk in fierce whispers for awhile about which one of us is being meaner. But the whole time I was thinking, "I don't want to do this right now, this makes for bad memories, I have had enough traveling bickering to last a lifetime, no more..." So, when my Superstar Husband came up and hugged me, I did what I knew would cure me for the rest of the night- I smelled his face. And then I sighed for a long time. And he smelled the top of my head. And he slumped and leaned his head on mine, and said in the sappiest voice, "I love you." Pheromones. I'm telling you.

Maybe it sounds silly that I love the smell of my husband's face, but I DO. Especially around his jaw. Try it, the next time you're bickering. Now, the people around us may have wondered about us, a little, but I think they usually do anyways, so the fact that we were sniffing at each other probably didn't faze anyone too much.