Lucky Mom

Aug. 5, 2008

England – Part 1

Ah…charming Southern England. A very picturesque place with rolling green fields, ‘mild’ weather and the delightful sound of the English accent being heard all around.

As I’m finally coming out of a jet-lagged, stupor whirlwind trip abroad, I’m finally able to get writing.

My husband and I took our 4.96 year old son Alec to Wachet last week to see his paternal Grandparents and for a couple of days of work in Brighton .

My mother came and stayed with now 22 month old Julia and though I wasn’t sure I could stomach leaving my babe for 8 days, I was slightly more than sure I couldn’t stomach taking her on such a long, convoluted journey.

She won’t remember – he he.

Anyway, you travelers know the drill, especially International.

You drive an hour or so to the airport, you wait a couple more hours (or several if you’re lucky enough to have a delay as we were), you fly several long hours, then you lay over a few more (while you bitch and whine silently swear you’ll never try and save a few bucks by having a 6 hour layover in Newark for Christ’s sake).

You then fly many more hours, take the train to the terminal and then travel an hour + on a terrifing, winding, tiny two-lane ‘path’ in your mini car large enough for 1.2 adults and possibly a child under age of 3 beautiful English country road, to eventually get to your ‘final’ destination.

All, which takes about 24 fu*king hours in total.

And if you’ve lost your travel mojo as I apparently have, you purchase your neck pillows and overpriced Bose headphones ready to hunker down for a cozy nights sleep on the RED EYE in order to ensure you will be completely rested when arriving at your destination that has a 6 hour time difference from your own.

Or, you don’t sleep a #*&! minute. Not one.

I forgot how hard it is to sleep in a 90 degree angle. With a child’s head on your lap. So you can’t move. Or go pee.

I’ve also discovered a fun new fact. I AM afraid to fly again. I was terribly afraid of flying when I was younger, so much so that I became a flight attendant in order to conquer said fear.


Then, I married a scaredy-cat flyer and became a parent. Suddenly my life isn’t only mine.

Instead of having a confident, accomplished flyer with me, I had a sloshed on multiple g&t’s husband who became absolutely useless.

I don’t think he said more than 5 words to me the entire 24 hours. He was so gripped in fear, he played his stupid hand-held game device, with headphones, the entire time, and only if I whacked tapped him hard enough on the arm, he’d sigh loudly, hit pause, take off his headphones and in a very breathy tone with accompanying mild frown, say “Whaaat?”.

So, I got sloshed too. Not my fault.

We arrived about 10:00am ready for our four days in Wachet prior to our 5 hour drive to Brighton, dead. Tired.

3 Comments Posted (Add Yours)


Wow! I can't wait for Part Deux! If only one didn't have to go through all the work of getting to one's destination (and home again), it would make the vacation so much more fun. Will we ever learn!


Oh no! The fear of flying is back. So Alec was the only "sane" one in the family on your trip? That is scary... :)

How did he do?


I hope you are not referring to my lovely Volvo which kept me employed for all those years and now pays my pension - mini-car indeed! It is a 'large' car over here in England.

I also await Part deux.

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