I am spending
the last few unscheduled days of our Vermont vacation in a state of dizzying
denial and angst about our return to Los Angeles. I am in a panic about the packed
schedule that awaits our return. I think the paranoia of our flying back has
caused a cerebral bleed. Bryan, my responsible hubby who’s returned to the
world of work and rigid deadlines, flies back here to spend July 4th
weekend with us and then escort all 5 of us safely home. He was tasked by our
7-year-old daughter to bring two of her barbies with him when he comes (1 Ken
doll and 1 Blond Barbie. I don’t want to dwell on the reasons for the
doll with a preferred hair color).
During one of our phone conversations, he says, “None of her
Barbies had clothes on. Should we be worried?” Like all of my children’s
slightly alarming behavior, I respond with the “self-soothing, but-secretly-worried”
response of “I’m sure it’s just a phase, Sweetie.” He goes on to talk about how
he won’t be bringing anything other than his carry-on backpack with him since
he has clothes here and it will mean he can travel back with an extra suitcase
of ours. I am only now half listening because somewhere in the normally
closed-off “pent-up crazy, she’s lost it” room of my brain, I have now connected
a stoic, solemn Bryan with two naked Barbies in his travel backpack. My
imagination fills in the pictures. Bryan at TSA pre-check delicately removing
the Barbies from his backpack so they can lie in a grey x-ray trey of their own
and responding to the incredulous look on the security guard’s face with this
strait-faced retort “they get claustrophobic in x-ray machines.” It gets worse.
I’ve now pictured him sitting on the plane and buckling the Barbies into the
seat next to him. When he’s approached by the person whose seat they’re taking,
he says “Let me check how Ken and Barbie feel about changing seats. “ Then, I
imagine him working through his in-flight emotional problems by using the dolls
for role-play.
Barbie: “Ken, sometimes we can’t always have the drink we
want. There’s no reason to take our anger out on the nice flight attendant”
Ken: “It’s not fair! You let me have a rum and coke with
cookies last time!”
Barbie: “Perhaps Ken, if you used your inside voice, I would
listen to a more reasonable request.”
This is actually a method parents are asked to use when
dealing with an irrationally explosive child. At this point, I imagine Bryan
luxuriating quietly in a remote seat of the plane or wearing a straight-jacket
in the security offices at LAX.
When Bryan finally breaks me from my reverie, I tell him
I’ve devised a payback plan for all those times we’ve been judged and found lacking
as parents traveling with 4 small kids. If only he had the same twisted sense
of humor my spiraling-back-to-reality brain has. I’d pay good money to see the
look on that security guard’s face.
