This past weekend, Olivia flew on an airplane, something she'd been looking forward to for weeks. She would fly around our living room, arms out, flapping her wings, saying "I'm flying like a plane!"
I'm not the best flyer, and I was afraid that, once faced with a real airplane, she might be nervous, too. I gave her the window seat, while I took the aisle, managing books, snacks, juice and my nerves. As we rumbled down the runway, I swallowed my anxiety, reading to her from a beautifully illustrated children's version of "A Midsummer Night's Dream."
We shot into the air and I concentrated, silently willing the plane to stay in airborne, trying not to vomit or lose consciousness. Next to me, buckled in tight, Olivia still managed to bounce happily in her seat. "I want to fly, Mama! Let's fly!" she shouted.
I couldn't help but laugh."We are flying sweetie, see?" I pointed out the window at the receding earth below as the plane turned at a nauseating angle.
"Oh. OK," she said, pressing her little nose to the window. "This is pretty fun."
I guess we'll have to do this more often. Maybe I'll even learn to enjoy it.
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