Nanny Sarah & Airport Terminals

Captain Logan: "Okay, uh, power on...chart the course...
easy on the flaps, hold her steady...I've totally got his mom!"
(Thank you Delta Captain) December 2010 

 

I have found myself these past few months in a weird state…. (Okay truthfully, I almost always find myself in a weird state; maybe I should rephrase that to say, “different state”). In August 2012, we moved to San Antonio, Texas, but I’ve continued to work in our old hometown of Jackson Hole, Wyoming. If you’ve been to Jackson, you might understand why I’ve kept my claws clenched like a mountain lions in my beloved Tetons as well as those people in Jackson whom I consider family -sorry for the puncture wounds-.  I’ve been commuting to work about every other weekend… ALONE. I usually fly out, bleary eyed, on an early morning flight, where often while waiting to board -yawning in some unyielding chair- I find myself watching these mothers flitting about, trying to keep their tired, grouchy, just woken up, tousled hair, pajama clad children from bothering other travelers. They walk the terminals haphazardly. They buy skittles for an obscene amount of money and try bribery, “Okay, if you stop screaming for 10 seconds, you can have twenty skittles. Okay….5 seconds…..”  They scold, they hold, they break out the IPod, the IPad. (They pick up the shattered screened devices from the ground) they offer gold fish crackers that the child throws in the air like tiny pieces of orange confetti. But often it would seem, no matter their tactics, the child (ripped from her bed at 3 am) understandably, cannot be consoled….so, dejected, these mothers, look around at the other travelers, shrug their shoulders and almost apologetically lock eyes with me, a fellow traveler. I have been on the receiving end of these pathetic, “please-don’t-judge-me-I’m-doing-the-best-I-can” looks, and always I’ve wondered- in the millisecond before I respond- how this mother views me: have I somehow become the “business traveler” stern and impatient, just waiting to scan a brief, annoyed by her bawling kid….?

 Of course, while bending to pick up a hurled sippy cup I often say, “It’s early. Don’t worry about it,” and in reference to the sippy cup that’s just bounced off my head, “It won’t leave a mark. Traveling with kids can be hard.”  Then this poor, mother (I want to say young mother, because most often she is) gives me the most trembling -as if she might burst into tears at my kindness- smile of gratitude, which always breaks my heart.

Logan told the Captain, "Well, this all looks pretty self explanatory to me!" 2010

 

 While boarding, I continue to think about perception; how other people perceive me, and how I in turn perceive other people. If my life has taught me anything it’s this: you never know what’s going on in someone else’s life, therefore you never know the driving force behind behavior, or the way someone parents, or responds, or doesn’t respond, or why when you look in their eyes it seems like they may be about to give up. Of course, the sterile environment of an airport terminal at 5 am doesn’t lend for the cozy heart to heart conversation I long for, but I’ve found myself wishing I could freeze time, and of course freeze that tired child in a comatose state so the mother could hear me tell her something like this:

 I have become an expert at avoiding eye contact, partly because in the past I didn’t want to feel judged for what I perceived to be parenting missteps, and additionally, I didn’t want to parent haphazardly, which usually happened when I would lock eyes with another person, and see what I perceived to be, disappointment in their reflection. I would avoid eye contact, and truthfully, even mirrors because I was disappointed that I never felt like I lived up to the standards of others, let alone, my own, (Olympic high bar high) standards.  

This innocent child didn't say "No" when he didn't want something, but "NEVER!!!"
Loggy Bear,  Yuma, Arizona 2004

 

 Years ago, I was contemplating buying a book, turning it over, I glanced at the author's bio, and part of it included a statement that went something like, “She happily writes five days a week, only taking breaks to bake organic bread, and practice phonics with her children.”  This sentence struck me as both depressing and guilt provoking. Not only was this woman apparently focused, but she was published, made nutritious food, and not to mention phonics, obviously her passion, didn't make her want to run screaming from her house. Then, because I’m a cynic, I wanted to ask about the wording, “only taking breaks to....,” I put the book back on the shelf, and while wandering the crowded isles in search of my boys, I started mumbling to myself, “What if she has to go to the bathroom? What if her best friend calls to give her the scoop on the fight that went down between the PTA president and the secretary last night in the school cafeteria? What if her child comes bawling to her with a bloody appendage? Does she simply respond, ‘Arthur, now is not a good time for mommy because she’s writing, unless, of course, you would like to discuss what phonics make up the word bloody. Just wrap your slice of organic bread around it hunny, and hop on downstairs, okay?  The wheat germ will soak up the blood.’”

 My husband Russ thinks I'm nuts that statements like these bother me. I said they bother me because who is that perfect? Show that woman to me! And it also bothers me because it somehow insinuates that I should also be that phonic practicing, organic bread baking time management guru. Russ said, “How does that statement possibly insinuate that you should be that person?” “Because,” I answered, throwing my hands up in the air, “the book was about having a balanced life….and I will never be balanced because I am not a phonics practicing, bread baking woman!”  “It bothers me,” I told Russ, “because I'm tired of perfection….it makes me feel like I never measure up.” If I had a book bio, it would read, “She struggles to write a complete sentence because her children are always interrupting her with request to jump off the roof onto the trampoline. She only takes breaks to break apart her boys who are trying to choke each other. For time off, she enjoys making chocolate cakes, and eating them, in their entirety, alone in her closet.”

"Oh!! Did you want me to come to you??? Are you gonna chase me??? I LOVE this game!
Ready......GO!" Loggy Bear and Spencer Lizard...being boys. San Diego, 2004 

 And then we are back to my character flaw of avoiding eye contact; I know now it’s a character flaw because while avoiding eye contact, I may have achieved my goal of missing some judgmental glances, but I also missed out on those people who offer their steely stares of hope like a tractor beam….people, who with their half smiles and raised eye brows seem to say. “I’m not perfect either.” I am one of those people. I love when people are vulnerable around me. I love being around somebody when their kid is throwing a complete fit. It validates me. I love when people look like death warned over when they drop off their kids at school, because then I just fit right in. The other day, everybody seemed to notice when I dropped off my kids in a denim skirt, with makeup applied and my hair brushed. Everyone noticed, because usually I am not wearing a bra, have on whatever I slept in, and am chasing after a child, with my awkward pony tail (among other things) bouncing, who forgot his backpack. I told, the crossing guard who asked, “Wow, what's the occasion?” that the reason I looked….like a human being, was because I had a meeting the night before that ran late, so when I got home and put my boys to bed, I’d laid with Logan to read a book and fallen asleep with him. I slept until Monday morning, where conveniently enough, all I had to do was roll out of the bunk bed, and was set to go, bra and all. I’d only brushed my hair because when I went to use the bathroom, I noticed there was an army soldier tangled in it, and the color totally didn’t' go with my shoes.

 And so what I want to tell to those mothers, ready to collapse in the terminal before they ever even get on the plane is that I am just another girl like them, another weary traveler trying to survive this journey, trying to make it all work, trying not to ruin my children, and end up with thousands in therapy bills, especially since I am currently still paying off thousands in CAT scan bills, and emergency room visits. (Did you miss my bio? “interrupted to ask if they could jump off the roof...”)  and I would hope when they locked eyes with mine they would see the tangible evidence of understanding staring back at them, a look I would offer any woman who struggles with phonics and organic bread (and truthfully, any women, even those who don’t seem to struggle at all).

 I have a great love for mothers, especially when I see their triumphant victory in ignore their pulsating desire to throw up their hands and give up, but don’t. I see you standing in grocery store checkout lines with crying kids, while the people around you are sighing and rolling their eyes, while the clerk is glaring at you while she v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y rings up your order. I've been there, except my kids were probably not just crying, but were also trying to ride the conveyer belt, and parachute off the end with a flung open non-biodegradable plastic grocery sack. My kids, I’m sure, had already taken my debit card out of my purse so they could pay, and subsequently lost it on Isle six next to the fruit loops.  And my three year old would have pushed so many buttons on the check out ATM pad that it had shut down the whole system, in the entire store, (and possibly nationwide). Yes, I am that woman. The one they had probably pointed out over the PA system, “The child of the mother on checkout five has caused our system to go off line. It will be an hour before its rebooted, and we are locking everyone inside the store to prevent theft. If you'd like to complain, please talk to the mother of the child on check out five. Yes, the one with the boy eating the stolen chocolate bar, and hitting his brother. Thank you for shopping at Target.” 

Too. Tired. To. Walk. (Good thing Logan's dad is beast size!) Jackson, Wyoming 2011

 

 I wish time would allow me to stand near you in your line, because then I could assure you that you were already worlds ahead of me because at least you knew where all your children were! And I would let you in on my little secret, which is: when I’m in moments of extreme duress, I act like I'm the babysitter, or young nanny starlit just waiting for my big break in film. If you’d seen me back then and leaned close, you could probably hear me whispering to my three year old, “Let's play a game!  How about you call me Nanny Sarah?” “Why should I call you Nanny Sarah mommy?” I'm sure he'd answer. But then when the clerk glared at me, I would lean in and whisper conspiratorially, “Sorry he’s so out of control, his mother works all the time…poor kid, he think I’m his mom” And then she’d nod sympathetically, double bag my milk and give my pseudo-child a lolly pop.

 I've been there. I am there. I’m there with so many other people who are cheering you on. Look across the store, I'm there even still, telling the boys, “We are not  buying a twelve pack of water guns, and put back the mouse traps. Remember what happened with your experiment with mouse traps last month? And no! Just because you didn't catch a trout at scout camp doesn't mean I'm buying trout now and sorry, but I don't care if Jordan's mom let's him drink Monster energy drinks all day long, I’m not buying one for you.”

 If I was there behind you I would say, “Don’t leave. Stay and talk.”  I would pat your back, and whisper consoling words like “I know just how you feel.” And please, don't panic when I'm paged over the PA system again, I know the routine, “Will the mother of a child wearing a superman t-shirt and covered in stolen chocolate please come to the customer service booth and pick up your son. He says you answer to the name Nanny Sarah.” “Don't worry,” I'd whisper, winking, “It isn't called Customer Service, for nothing, right? Let’s go to the snack bar for popcorn?”

 Don’t give up. I know now there is more kindness out there than meanness (even if some days it feels like the opposite is true) and you might just find an unexpected friend in a bleary eyed, business traveler like me. Lock eyes with a person who isn’t afraid to stare back and smile, and remember to treat others the way you would like to be treated: I love the Quaker Proverb, “Thee lift me, and I’ll lift thee and we’ll ascend together.”

Finally, I would slip you a hastily written note on my beverage napkin (because I know you’d never hear me over your child’s screaming) that reads,  “Once this flight is over, you will never see any of these people ever again. And know this my friend; I’ll be hoping that if you have a connecting flight, I’m seated right beside you.”  

 

Logan & Spencer: Living the first class dream! October 2010