Parenting Guru: Flying Solo

Every time someone mentions they are going to Orlando with their young kids, I cringe. Not because I have anything against Disneyworld. No, I shudder at the "O" word because it evokes one of my most stressful parenting travel memories. It's now been so long that I can laugh about it, but at the time, I remember feeling like an inept parent in a very public way.

It was prior to September 11, 2001, so airport travel was a lot less stressful. My twin boys were toddlers and, since my in-laws live out of state, they were already veteran travelers. We had the travel arrangements down to a science. On-board snacks, check. Airplane friendly activities, check. Extra change of clothing in case of spills. Check. Even at the age of 3, they marched through the airport proudly, trailing their pint-size Thomas the Tank Engine rolling backpacks behind them.

This trip was going to be slightly different, though. Due to my husband's work schedule, I was going to be traveling alone with them. Not a big deal, I thought. I'll just be sure to have someone drop me off at the Boston airport and the boys' grandparents were happy to meet us at the gate in Miami. It was a bit of a production, what with the extra stuff one needs when traveling with youngsters. But I pride myself on my organization, and I was going to successfully navigate this trip, come hell or high water.

We arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare. The line for security was manageable (Remember, this was pre- 9/11.) We found seats at Logan airport Gate 21 with no problem. The boys stood fascinated at the oversized windows as planes landed and took-off with regularity. So far, so good. I decided to do the pre-boarding so that we could be seated ahead of the rest of the passengers. While they all boarded, I belted the kids in, took out some single-serving yogurts and settled in as they people-watched. I silently patted myself on the back for how smoothly things were gong. There has been no mishaps and we were on our way.

The flight attendant walked up and down the aisle and smiled at us: the picture of calm, experienced travelers. She picked up the receiver to make the final announcement about our flight. "Welcome to Flight 634 to Orlando" she said. "We will be departing shortly."

"ORLANDO????" I shouted in a panicked voice. My head shot up like a cannonball. We were supposed to be going to MIAMI. Families looked over at me with concern, then bemusement. It was at this point that I noticed that the plane had an unusual number of families on it, many wearing t-shirts and hats bearing the likes of Goofy and Mickey. I hit the red call button over my seat and the flight attendant came over. "We're on the wrong flight," I said. I showed her my ticket which noted we were departing from Gate 21A to Miami. She shook her head and said, "You boarded at the wrong gate: this is Gate 21B." "Can you call the other plane and tell them we're right here?" I begged. "I can try," she said unconvincingly.

Needless to say, every set of passengers' eyes were on us as we were hustled off the airplane. We had grabbed our carry-on luggage and dashed the 30 feet to Gate 21B, but I could see that the plane was backing out of the gate. I was told the next American Airlines plane didn't leave for 5 more hours. That's when I unraveled. My poor boys, confused already by all the commotion, couldn't understand what was going on. Their calm, composed cheerful mother-traveler had disintegrated into a puddle of tears. Our relaxed little yogurt meal had been yanked from them abruptly and they'd gotten off the plane, half-expecting to be in Florida. Now we were back where we started. After all that planning and forethought, the trip was turning into a disaster.

Thankfully, a more helpful flight attendant took pity on us. She managed to book us on a competitor's flight that left in an hour. She ordered us a cart and driver to take us to the other wing of the airport. We were rushed through security and arrived at our new gate promptly. The boys thought it was incredibly cool to get the VIP treatment. When the on-board flight attendant announced, "This is Flight #1822 to Miami," my son turned to me and asked "Are you sure THIS is the right plane, Mommy?" I managed a weak smile and nodded before responding with my favorite mantra, "Even Mommies make mistakes."

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Boston Irish is actually Maureen O'Brien, a Shine Parenting Guru, mom of twins, and the founder of www.destinationparenting.com. Her musings can also be found on Galtime.com. She is passionate about all things parenting.