04 July 2011

Britian's Newest Cheesehead

So I went to America and it was good.  I’m not really going to say much about America as I’m pretty sure 99.9% of my readers are either American or have at least been to America themselves.  Besides, it was a trip to Wisconsin to show off my son to all my family and friends. There’s very little to describe.  I will however give you the Total Flying with an Infant Experience and display a bunch of photographs of Henry with various members of my family as that is all I apparently took pictures of.   I know, right?  Three weeks absent from the blog and that’s what I’m giving you.   No wonder no one leaves me comments anymore.


STEP ONE: Pack one ginormous suitcase filled with all of your clothes, all of your infant’s clothes and any spare room you might have, fill up with chocolate and other assorted British delights.   Pack your carry on (which once held your PSP, games, gigantic headphones, and 3 books that you never read because the PSP is so awesome) with just enough diapers, formula, bibs and bib cloths to last you and your infant a half a day and wonder why there isn’t enough room for just a single book (not that you’ll need it).

STEP TWO: Arrive at the Manchester airport and check in.  You will be told your bag is overweight but they’ll let it slide.  You will ask for the bassinet that’s first come\first serve (the number one reason you have come to the airport 3 hours before your flight) only to be told that this particular airplane doesn’t have bassinets.  Ticket lady will tell you that she will try to get you an empty seat so you can take the car seat on the plane.  She will also confirm that it is absolutely OK to bring your honking ass stroller all the way to the gate and they will load it there.

STEP THREE: Say good-bye to your husband and panic.

STEP FOUR: Make it through security with barely a nerve intact.  There will be a point where you will be wearing one shoe, grasping your screaming infant, trying to tell the security person how to collapse the stroller more (which you have to use two hands for and you will be trying to demonstrate only using one hand and a screaming baby) and wondering why you suddenly don’t care that your precious laptop is just SITTING THERE waiting to be stolen if someone – please fucking god – someone doesn’t help you soon.  Security will also make you open half of the formula bottles you have which means that 2 of the bottles will go bad before you can use them.

STEP FIVE: Buy Duty Free.  Eat sandwich.  Get decaf coffee.  Feed and change infant.  Pray infant stays asleep.

STEP SIX: 15 minutes until boarding, confirm with agent that you do in fact have a spare seat next to you and it’s OK to bring on car seat.   You will be so grateful, you almost make out with agent.

STEP SEVEN: Get on plane and sit for 8 hours.  Infant will handle flight better than you do (if you are particularly afraid of flying) and will only cry when hungry (normal).  Infant will also give you strange look during landing when you are grabbing on to anything available, letting out a yelp if the plane does so much as a slight turn. 

STEP EIGHT: Safely on the ground in America, kiss infant repeatedly telling him that you are so happy that his little life didn’t get cut short by a fiery plane crash and if we do die in a fiery plane crash on the way back, at least he will have seen a cheese curd.

 Henry is extremely disappointed the in flight movie is "Country Strong"


STEP ONE:   Pack your ginormous suitcase with all of your clothes, all of your infant’s clothes and the 80 billion new baby outfits acquired from relatives and trips to Target and Old Navy.   Shove in a jumbo bag of Cheetos for husband and all the other Target swag gathered over the week.

STEP TWO: Arrive at Chicago O’Hare and check in.   Bag will be 8 pounds overweight and they will charge you $60.   There still won’t be any fucking bassinets.   Agent will say it’s unlikely there’s a spare seat next to you.  Oh, and by the way, you’re stroller will be 10 pounds over the suggested limit and you won’t be able to take it to the gate.  This means your infant will ride in his car seat on one of those baggage trolleys making you look like the most white trash mother ever.

STEP THREE:  Go outside and smoke 4 cigarettes in a row from pure stress.  Really nail in that white trash mother image.

STEP FOUR: Go through security.   Basically this will be a repeat from Manchester but Chicago has this awesome device that can check formula and food bottles for drugs, explosives and any illegal immigrant you might have hiding in one.  

STEP FIVE: Change infant in airport bathroom and see the largest cockroach known to man.   All women in said bathroom will scream like little girls…including yourself.

STEP SIX:  Board plane with car seat.  Once on plane realize that not only is there not a spare seat next to you, but the agent fucked up and sat you in the middle of two gigantic old men instead of the aisle seat as requested. 

STEP SEVEN:  Panic.  Begin crying.  Realize that there is no way that you will be able to handle sitting in between two fat old men with an infant for 8 hours.   Air hostess will try to help but your panic is so bad that you start moaning, “Let me off this plane, let me off this plane, I need to get off, I need to be off this plane.”

STEP EIGHT: Actually get off plane.

STEP NINE: Go to agent and ask if there’s any way to change the flight.  You will be told no.  Try to explain baby situation in between two fat dudes to agent through rivers of tears.  Agent said that the best you can do is try to convince one of the fat dudes to sit in the middle seat in the row opposite.  Realize this will never happen but know that you will have to get on that fucking plane and suck it up fuck up.

STEP TEN: As you are about to try to squeeze yourself and your infant in between the two old fat dudes (and almost knocking one of them out with the car seat you are still carrying), agent will run aboard the plane and let you know that two people didn’t show up for the flight and THANK YOU FUCKING JAYSUS there are two seat together to move you and your infant to.   She will also say sarcastically as she leaves, “You really need to buy an extra seat next time.”   Sarcastically say back, “Next time I’ll bring my husband.”  Plane passengers will chuckle.

STEP ELEVEN: You will realize that you’ve actually held the plane up with your dramatics.   Your infant will sense how unpopular you are and will scream for the first hour and a half just to help out.

STEP TWELVE: Infant falls asleep finally and you have a glass of wine on Xanax. 

I hope you have learned something from these editions – and not just that I can be a right pain in the ass if things aren’t going my way.

And now, the pictures:

Auntie Shannon and Uncle Adam

Morning exercises with Grandpa

Henry loves the ladies - mainly Auntie Maggie and Grandma

Two best friends and their babies

He really wanted to wear this home...

At Conejito's

Henry and the Milwaukee skyline

What happens when I leave my sister and brother to babysit.

I grew up in this house.  I was too chicken shit to knock on the door and ask for a tour.

Calm before the big ass storm.

My cousin and aunt drinking Baileys through a Twizzler licorice stick.

Ten days of heavy eating and drinking and my double chin is unavoidable.  Ach well, last day out sans baby hanging with Jeffity Jeff Jeff.

"I miss daddy!"

Being back in Wisconsin was great.  By day three I no longer needed a belt to hold up my pants.   I had Mexican food at least 4 times.  I went to Target no less than 5 times.  I drove…that’s it, just drove (I miss driving).  I marveled how cheap everything was yet I took awhile to get used to tipping again.  I wore shorts every single day.   I put half & half in my coffee.  I refused to touch any chocolate as I now know it’s inferior.   Two words: Ranch Dressing.  And the weirdest thing of all, I was practically elated to see a toilet bowl filled up half way.   I know, right?

 What?  He chose this outfit himself.  I swear.  And put up the background.  Really.  Just to wish you all a happy 4th.


  1. Sounds like coming to America was a much better experience. Flying out of Chicago always sucks ass. I had to giggle when I saw the picture of Henry exercising with your Dad and the cheesehead picture is awesome!

    Glad I got to see you and the treats you brought me are already gone. They were yummy! I will let you know how the Shepherd's Pie and Chicken go when I get around to making them.


  2. Flying out of Chicago was a nightmare. I didn't even mention the lack of lines in Manchester vs. waiting in line for 45 minutes in Chicago.

    Glad you like your English goodies. I was actually going to ask you about that.