So yesterday Blake and Nick flew to Sacramento -- alone. They did this last June, too, to go on their annual camping trip to Lake Tahoe with Grandma and Grandpa.Last year, they did fine. No real pre-flying jitters. But this year was different. As the day drew near, Nicky, 7, grew increasingly antsy about it, hinting about his fear of flying.
"What if the plane crashes?" he asked me the day before the flight.
Me: Gulp. Long pause.
Then my spiel about how flying is so much safer than driving, yada, yada, yada.
"But what if the plane starts to crash -- does it go back to the airport? Will someone be there to pick us up?"
I'm thinking fast and wishing SO hard for the magic words that will put his fears to rest.
"What will happen if it crashes?" he asks again, as I'm trying to muster up all the motherly wisdom I can. The pressure's on. This feels like one of those big questions that determines whether I pass the Mom test.
My mind races. I revert to old public relations techniques from years ago -- namely not answering the question directly, but providing an answer that reassures.
"Grandma and Grandpa are going to be at the airport in Sacramento to pick you up," I tell him. "Dad will be with you at the airport in Phoenix until the plane leaves. Blake will be sitting right beside you during the plane ride."
This didn't seem to appease him much; I could tell his original question was still dangling on his mind waiting for finality, like a 6-year-old with a wiggly tooth, ready to pop out at any moment.
I'm desperately wondering how to bring this to a close so my little boy's mind is at ease.
"Dad will buy you some candy at the airport for the plane ride."
His head spins toward me, his eyes are twinkling.
Bingo.
"Skittles?" he asks, as a smile consumes his face.
"Skittles it is."
1 comment:
Hi, just came from the mom blogs. I hope the boys had a good flight. When my girls use to fly to Florida to visit their grandparents. They were fine, I was the wreck. I wish someone would have goteen me some skittles.
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