Missing flights

It was the thing that just wasn't suppose to happen in our crazy traveling life. As I left security control on my way to the gate, about to board the plane back to Copenhagen after a 48 hour visit to see the new very-important-person in my life, I got a call from from the babysitter. "They didn't let Zoe board because we didn't have the UM papers printed", she said in a cheerful voice, and it took me all of three seconds to realize this was a tone chosen not to worry Zoe who was right next to her. "But we are good, we will figure something out". A cold chill ran down my spine as I went into physical robot mode walking straight to my gate at the far end were they were now boarding. In a clear couple of sentences, almost faster than I could think, I told her that she needed to get to Copenhagen that evening, No. Matter. What. Even if the babysitter had to take her herself. Her dad was on a plane to Japan, our only other friend who can really look after her overnight was already in Japan and I could not imagine not seeing Zoe tonight. Especially now. "Find a way", I finished and hung up, trying not to panic, as I texted my mom letting her know that she didn't have to pick her up at the arranged time. I would land just 20 minutes later, not enough to meet Zoe at the exit as required for unaccompanied minors. Just before entering my own plane I received a text from the babysitter informing me that they had been able to buy a new ticket for the next flight and Zoe had been allowed to fly UM. I guess suddenly they did have papers to fill in at the airport*. I turned off my phone knowing that Zoe would be arriving in Copenhagen 20 minutes after me and I would be able to greet her at the gate. And that I would be writing the harshest complaint letter to SAS in the morning demanding an apology for the stress and worry inflicted on my daughter, as well as a refund for the extra ticket.

*I know for sure that they are able to do this because she arrived with these papers once, after being dropped off by her dad, who apparently had forgotten the pre-printed papers.

Hell and back

On Wednesday two months of me being away from Zoe will finally come to an end and we will be reunited in Copenhagen airport as she steps off a plane from Stockholm as an unaccompanied minor (something she is a pro at by now). She will fling into my arms and I'll hug her so hard that she will have to tell me to stop. We are going to have the most amazing summer together, first going to my new job for a couple of meetings (she is super excited to see my new offices) and then going to the summerhouse with our family, including her two little baby cousins.

But until then I am flying back to New York from a conference where I was invited to give a keynote talk. Being a small conference it was very social and nice because it was an opportunity to catch up with old friends while also make new acquaintances and find potential collaborators. I even got to hang out with two friends from Stockholm who I hadn't seen for a couple of months. We exchanged gossip and general information, them telling me about Zoe, how she eats bacon for breakfast each time she visits them.

Last time I said goodnight to her, we counted the days. "Mommy, if we don't count today, how many days until I see you?", she asked and I showed her six fingers. Okay, she said. I kissed her goodnight through the video and told her I love her.

She, out of everybody, knows nothing of what I have been through the past 3-4 weeks and she will not know for another many years. But then she will because she is clever and she will figure things out. Some of my friends know a little, others know more, but none of them know it all. I share one or two things with each of them, but I will not bother anyone with all. Because that is too much. Just like you don't tell your mother about that one thing, because you know it would tear her apart that she couldn't protect you. I try to turn even the worst thing into something positive, like I'm actually seeing a therapist now. I think that's good for me. But even her, I have yet to tell the details of how my dreams are disintegrating in front of me again and again. And again.

It was the second morning at the a chic coffee shop with great service in Chicago where I finally found tears dripping down onto my phone. It was not something I had expected but the betrayal and the hurt I felt just over floated as I sipped my double latte. The incoming calls on my phone remained red and that was not going to change for the next while. "Remember, put the mask on yourself before helping others", my friend had reminded me on the phone the other evening, using the airplane analogy. This is something I frequently have to remind myself. I told her some of the stories but not even half the pain. She has enough pain herself I'm sure.

On the plane back to New York I thought about the most amazing part of this: I'm still standing. I'm standing right here. I gave a killer keynote, had senior people asking me to write funding proposals with them, had a guy flirt with me in a pretty non-equivocal manor. And if anyone can take all of this in one go, all four horrible things, it is me.

Paperwork to make it all work

Zoe has by now traveled by herself, with family members and with our friends. She says she likes flying with her mom the most, and I have to admit that I hate flying anywhere without her. But the life we live always takes us into situations where I need to send her with someone else or where we have to find creative ways of getting her from A to B. This leads to a lot of paperwork, paperwork that doesn't always go the way it was supposed to because, well, this is just not a common situation.

Last time Zoe flew by herself I was flying back to New York at the same time and we therefore didn't need the escort to the gate. The guy at the check-in counter got confused and kept an essential piece of paper instead of giving it to Zoe. I thanked myself for being foreseeable enough to make sure Zoe landed in Stockholm before I took off from Copenhagen: I got a desperate phone call from an SAS stewardess who was not allowed to hand over Zoe to anyone since she did not have the legal document to do so. I reassured her that it was fine to hand Zoe over to her father, but she proceeded to yell at me for not making sure the paperwork was in order. "I could lose my job", she said in Swedish and I felt terrible. But Zoe was reunited with her dad and I took off for New York, paperwork or no paperwork.

Last year when my two friends were bringing Zoe back to New York, I had a near heart attack when the immigration officer called me, telling me that the letter I had provided them with was worth absolutely nothing and that he had no intention of letting Zoe enter the country with them. We managed anyway and since then I make sure people have a notarized letter when flying anywhere with Zoe. Interestingly Zoe's dad tells me he never had any problems entering United Kingdom with her by himself, despite them not having the same type of passport (I presume he lets her enter on her Danish one, I know he hasn't claimed her British one yet even though she is entitled to one).

It is also sometimes just difficult to get the right kind of plane ticket. On Monday I'm flying to Stockholm to see her for a week but since she has been in Copenhagen this weekend to visit her grandparents and our other relatives (she adores her 2 year old cousin who is due to have a little sister soon) it made sense that I pick her up there instead of letting her fly back alone. I was on the phone for 20 minutes with a helpful but clueless SAS sales representative. "Since she is under 12 she is an unaccompanied minor and has to have an escort, that will be 300 Kr extra". "No, she does not need that since I'm on the same flight," I said and gave him my reference number. "But that flight is from New York", he proclaimed and I had to point out that I had a layover in Copenhagen where I intended to pick her up. He paused for a bit too long where I wondered if he was trying to figure out if this was real. "Oh, I see", he finally said, "that will be 250 Kr in service fee for ordering the ticket over the phone. "No, it will not; since she is under 12 years old, I cannot make this reservation online, so there should be no service fee". He finally agreed and I got her ticket. Now I can't wait to see her, and spend every single hour with her for five days. Hopefully without any issues of paperwork.

Fly party

I told my friend that I had probably never flown as much in one week as I did this past week. Last Monday I flew back to New York from Stockholm and Friday I flew to California to attend a party. This was of course not just any party but a dear friend's yearly highlight of a party that I have flown over/up to many times. This year there were at least five reasons for me to go (including but not limited to racking up miles, hanging out with a guy I really like and seeing other friends) and I even managed to mix a bit of business into the pleasure. One thing I have realized with work is that if you are there, people think of you. If you are not there, people don't think of you.

Zoe's first latte, February 2013

As much as I hate flying (I know it's contradictory but I really hate the actual being in the air), the trip was still fairly painless, my jetlag made it easy to get up at 3am in the morning to catch a 5am flight and the lounge provided me with food and drinks. I managed to work on the flight out (remaking the syllabus for the class I'm teaching this semester) and sleep on the way back (because sleep was not something I got much of those two days). I nostalgically walked through SFO thinking back to the many times I had traveled there with Zoe, it was as if the places in the airport had her imprints. That was the sushi place where we had dinner, that was the bathroom where I had changed her when she was a baby. That was the moving walkway where she lost her balance while pulling her too big suitcase and that was the Starbucks where she had drunk her first vanilla latte, literally taking it out of my hands. The memories were sweet perhaps also because I know it is only a bit more than a month until her and I will pass through that airport again, together.

One week in Stockholm

The plane got thoroughly de-iced as efficiently as they can only do in Stockholm, while the ten snow plows, neatly lined up in parallel with adequate breaking distance of each other, cleared the runway ahead of us. The smell of fuel and distilled alcohol seeped through to the cabin, making me cough. All of this orchestrated well enough for us to make it safely to the big Apple. My mind wandered back to earlier that morning as I woke up next to my sweet daughter sleeping with her leg on my belly. I had to wrap her in the duvet while hitting the shower at 5:45am before waking her up half an hour later. Zoe-bee, I called, it's time to wake up. She mumbled half-asleep and I took her up on my lap to get her to wake up quicker, stroking her hair. "Mor, I don't want you to..." was all she could say because she was so sleepy but also knew that this was our last morning after a wonderful week together. I kissed her cheeks and held her close while reminding myself just how many things we had managed. We had been at two museums, seeing five of our friends in different capacities and read a full chapter book over the five evenings. We had eaten breakfast together, she had drawn several drawings of the two of us and we had danced to music in a friend's apartment with actual floorspace. We had played in the snow and she had hit me with more snowballs than I could count. But now it was time for us to part again, this time for 6 weeks. I would be dropping her off as the first one in daycare, then haul my suitcase out to the airport and take off for New York. I had work to get back to and she had her dad to get back to. "Mor, can I not go with you?", she said, still half asleep while pulling her shirt over her head. She knew the answer, but I assured her that I wanted nothing more and that we could talk every night. She could call me and say goodnight if she wanted. I would call her and read her stories.

Zoe in the Nordiska Museum

Two things happened this week that I made a note of in terms of Zoe and her identity. The last night while having dinner we started talking about something that has always confused Zoe: Where are you from. So far she has simply dodged the question by answering "I don't know", which I thought was bad, but she tells me that she simply doesn't know, it's just a fact. But more recently, probably because in New York her and I are distinctly Danish (we have our own language), she started explicitly identifying as Danish. At dinner she was surprised to learn that one of the people were Swedish, perhaps because he has always spoken English to her and she is used to Swedes speaking Swedish and her just not engaging (see next paragraph). She volunteered with a "I'm Danish" and I acknowledgingly  said Yes, and what else? She looked at me puzzled. "Just Danish from my mom" she said and when I reminded her she was also British she just repeated it. "No, I'm just Danish from my mom". I didn't want to push it but I was surprised because I have always tried to emphasize all of her multicultural heritage, that she was born in the US and should be proud to be a US citizen, but that she is British from her dad and Danish from her mom.

The view from my bedroom

The second interesting thing, I realized in the Nordiska museum's play area where a few Swedish children started talking to her. According to her dad and from talking to the daycare my impression was that she spoke quite a bit of Swedish. They keep emphasizing this, but I was very surprised to see her being clueless when the kids talked to her. She went back to me and asked how to say particular sentences. I told her but when she returned to the children she had forgotten. She came back to me very frustrated and asked me to help out. I did for a bit but she was not able to really interact with them. It all reminded me of when my family and I (8 years old) went on summer holiday to Sweden and I tried to play with kids on the playground; I thought they were just trying to steal my little toys because I did not understand what they were saying. Fact is that Zoe still does not speak Swedish.

Eight hours and forty minutes after de-icing, I landed in Newark to a clear view of Manhattan and particularly my beloved Empire State Building. That night it lit up in Orange and Pink as to welcome me back. My mom texted me briefly saying that I was probably happy to be home. I am.

Happy Flybaby birthday

Happy birthday Zoe

Today is Zoe's 5th birthday. I made a little video for her last night, showing her that the Empire State Building was red in her honor and this morning I skyped with her as she opened the present I had sent back with her. She was excited but distracted by the present (a little suitcase set for her American Girl doll) and the dinner guests. She seemed happy.

I have been nicely distracted most of the day by work, first preparing teaching, then having the last lecture of the semester before planning a research study with a grad student. I didn't want to leave much time to think about it because she is so far away. But later this evening it dawned upon me what a milestone this is for my flybaby: She is now allowed to fly on her own. And she is excited about it. I bought tickets recently for her first solo-flight: A weekend trip down to Copenhagen to see her grandmother and the rest of our family. She will make the one hour flight on her own, with stewardesses taking her to and from the plane and looking after her. I know she will do just fine but I also know my baby very well. I can see why others would be hesitant.

Next up might be a trip back to New York for her. I cannot afford to go back to Sweden or Denmark any time soon (NY living is very expensive) so unless I find someone willing to take her back here, she will have to fly on her own. I got her ticket on miles, so there is not much flexibility. I imagine her with her little owl-suitcase and her doll sticking out, walking up the aisle looking for her seat. I imagine her crawling in by the window and holding her doll so the doll doesn't get scared when the plane takes off. I imagine her asking for milk and turning on her iPad with movies, watching the whole way.  I imagine her talking to the other passengers telling them that she is going to see her mom and that she is excited. She cuddles her doll again on the way down. And the stewardesses take her through immigration, and hand her over to me. And then I think that I really need to find someone who can take her back here so she doesn't have to fly that long way on her own. 

Turbulence

Flying high above the Atlantic, Frank Sinatra's New York, New York was the second song my 104-song play list decided to play. I took it as a sign that this is going to be good. New York is going to treat me alright.

I have always wanted to live in New York. Ever since I knew what it was, since I found out that Copenhagen was not the center of the universe (although I did grow up thinking that for a long long time), ever since my English teacher in 7th grade told me about her walking around in Harlem (which was not that clever in the 80s and that was the moral of the story, yet my interpretation was 'wow, I want to go there'), since I watched movies and TV series depicting a dirty rushed city with people from everywhere, ever since then I wanted to move there. When I finally went to New York in 2001 I instantly felt at home. The mix of friendliness and business suits me better than anywhere else; the atmosphere is a mix of American straightforward friendliness and European big city mind-your-own-business. My first visit was a tourist visit of ten days with my then boyfriend. The very last day we went up in the World Trade Center and had lunch. What a view. It was like being on an airplane. Eleven days after I got home I saw on TV one of the scariest thing in my life: two airplanes flying straight into the buildings. I was in utter shock along with the rest of the world for weeks. But I never doubted that I wanted to go back and live in New York.

In 2002 I moved to California. The problem with New York and me is that I chose the wrong research area. Instead of studying something that actually has a presence in New York, I chose something that no university in New York and surrounding areas has on it's course list, whatsoever. Instead I called California my home (on and off) for almost ten years. And California is great, particularly the Bay Area where I have numerous friends now and where I could see myself living again. But I still feel more at home in New York. So at every tiny opportunity I have passed by New York and I honestly can't remember the number of times I have visited but it is certainly closer to 15 than 10. I have friends here now too (one with a daughter Zoe's age) and two babysitters for Zoe. I know which area I want to live in (and I already got a good deal) and I know my way around. It is going to be easy for me to make myself at home here. I know I can make it here, because I can make it anywhere.

The flight was rather uneventful except for ten minutes of violent turbulence that in one instance made the plane fall freely for a split second resulting in screams from some passengers and folded hands praying from other passengers, like me. I gently reminded God that we have a deal. I'm Zoe's mom and she needs me. And I need her. We landed to an icy cold air but no snow and I stood in line only for 45 minutes to enter the US of A on my J1 visa. Welcome, the immigration officer said in a friendly but firm tone. Thank you, I smiled. Thank you.

Sometimes you can have it all

My yearly main conference proved to be a bit of a puzzle this year in terms of Zoe and I have had many 'models' in mind, most of them involving me either finding some expensive full day child care in Paris or flying up to Copenhagen, missing a full day. The problem is that I have a committee meeting attached to the conference making this an 8 night long event. As much as Zoe loves her grandmother, and vice versa, the fact that my mom doesn't have child care in Copenhagen made it not really an option to drop her off there for all 8 days. My head was spinning and I was on the phone with my mom a while back when I explained the situation. "I'll come to Paris to pick up Zoe", she said as a matter of fact and I realized that would be the best solution: I wouldn't miss out on many activities, Zoe would only have to be in Copenhagen for 4 days and I could pick her up on my way back to Stockholm. Now the puzzle looks like this: I leave for Paris Friday. Zoe and her dad leaves for Paris Sunday, Zoe stays with me in Paris for two days. Then I take her to the airport Tuesday where my mom has 3 hours in-between flights, and I send them back up to Copenhagen. Saturday I fly back to pick up Zoe and Sunday we fly back to Stockholm. This was the perfect solution, I thought. Now hopefully all flights will be on time. Sometimes you really can have it all. 

The price we pay

Yesterday I had to finalize our plane tickets to our next big upcoming trip: I have a conference to got to, Zoe's dad is also going and we therefore decided to bring her rather than trying to drop her off at Grandma's. The conference is in the US so I am also making it into a visiting trip where I go to see a colleague/friend for some quality research time (he has kids Zoe's age and a nanny who can look after all of them during the day) and then seeing an even dearer friend in-between for some relaxation and red wine while Zoe sleeps at night. The plane ticket turned out to be insanely expensive and this is even without the internal return flight over to my first colleague (which his university is generously paying because I will be giving a talk). The problem is that we live in a not-so-well-connected city with few direct flights to the US and I had a few constraints (which could have saved a few hundred dollars but not more than that): I am not taking a 6 am flight from Stockholm. The airport is far out of the city and we need an hour and a half to get there. Getting up at 3 am with a two year old is just not an option. Flying through Frankfurt is also not an option; I have only bad experiences from there, cancelled flights, late flights and the airport is the most unpleasant one I know. Munich okay, Frankfurt not. I am also not having a five hour layover when we land and our body clocks are 9pm. That is way beyond Zoe's bedtime and she would not be able to walk from one gate to the other without crying and screaming. In the end we got the magic tickets: A fairly late start from Stockholm, direct to the US and only one more leg to the destination. On the way back I convinced my friend, whom Zoe adores, to take the same flight. I might be traveling on my own with her, but there will be somebody else to take the edge off if things get out of hand.

So I paid $1500 for Zoe's ticket. I tried to do a comparison and basically I am paying the equivalent of two new iPhone 5s for Zoe's ticket. Okay, her dad and I are sharing, so I guess we are paying an iPhone 5 each. Kids are expensive, but traveling kids are extremely expensive. I keep thinking of the saying "travel is the only thing you buy that makes you richer". Not entirely sure of the sentiment but it reminds me that Zoe and I get richer on experiences at least.

Don't panic

Arriving back in Stockholm this past Friday, after a short flight from Copenhagen, I was reminded again of all the impossible situations I put myself in, traveling alone with Zoe but also just living the lifestyle I do. Situations where I almost panic, loose it and do something I know I should not do. This time I ended up in the arrival hall with three roller suitcases and an overtired toddler. And because Zoe had to use the bathroom the minute we got out of the plane and it was a major traveling day, there were no more luggage carts available. Apart from the big ones that the staff use to transport bags out to the plane and which Zoe so happily likes to play with. Asking the staff for luggage carts, I got the lovely Swedish answer: "nej dom är slut" [literally 'they have ended', more like 'there are no more'].

So there I was, two hands and three suitcases. Plus Zoe's little play suitcase which she had insisted on carrying herself onto the plane, after the check-in guy had refused to check it in (yep, she asked herself, the word 'check-in' is an integrated part of her vocabulary), but which now was "too heavy". After waiting to see if something would happen in terms of luggage carts I decided that we couldn't just wait aimlessly. I hauled two suitcases to a point, then asked Zoe to stay with them while going back for the last one. That worked until we got to the big sliding exit doors that people are not allowed back through. How would I be able to get out and back to pick up the last suitcase? I decided that there had to be nice people leaving the airport who had one hand free to pull my last suitcase. I asked the first people I saw but they ignored me. They just walked on. I heard them speak Danish to each other and I approached them in Danish. That's when I decided that people would be able to see how I needed help.

I started dragging the two suitcases together, one of them obviously flipping around and sliding over the floor rather than rolling. That way I very slowly got through the sliding doors without anyone even looking at me, out to a staring crowd with tags, looking for other people. I finally eyed two abandoned luggage carts ahead of me and asked Zoe to go get one. Unfortunately they were stuck together and my 2 and a half year old could not take them apart. I left all the luggage on the floor for a second and got the luggage cart. I was shaking at this point. Wondering what kind of things other people were thinking. "Why is she that stupid to travel with so much luggage on her own?" "Why didn't she just take a luggage cart?". I guided Zoe to the elevators down to the train and we barely made the next one with me dramatically throwing all the luggage into the train while instructing Zoe not to walk into the train unless with me. My biggest fear on these journeys is of course that we get separated, her on a train, me outside or vice versa. Luggage, I couldn't care less about. Except when we sat down and the train took off, Zoe looked at me and asked: "Zoe kuffert?" [Zoe's suitcase]. Shit. Her little suitcase was somewhere between the arrival hall and the train platform.

But the moral of the story is that we survived. We did fine and I did much better than I have done many other times, I didn't loose my cool at any point. And all these situations help me realize that it is doable. And I don't even try to pretend that I know what it is like to travel with more than one child or that I know better than any other parents. But these impossible situations are what helps me realize, in retrospective, that I don't so so badly. And yes, my new years goal is to be more calm and not panic. This was a good beginning.

China via Paris

I am in China on a tour of 6 universities with a mini-deligation of my colleagues. We are promoting and  nurturing research collaboration as well as exchange student agreements with these universities and I was selected to represent my sub-field. Or that is, I was available to go to China for 12 days because I negotiated myself out of teaching a course. At first I had crazy plans to bring Zoe but with flying each evening and sleeping in a new hotel each night, such rock-star life style is not fit for a two and a half year old. She was left in the capable hands of her dad and they seem to have a grand time playing in the Stockholm snow when she is not in daycare.

I had particularly been looking forward to my plane ride from Paris (where I was at a committee meeting) that would fly me on Lufthansa's new Airbus 380. If you do not know what I am talking don't bother, if you do, you have perhaps a vague idea of just how excited I was. But as plans go, well, they don't always go the way you plan. I was well on time for my Paris to Frankfurt flight when I entered Charles de Gaulle airport a couple of days ago, only to see the big fat red "cancelled" sign next to my small first flight. Already then, I knew I was not going on a 380 anyway. I was then instructed to line up by the service desk to get rerouted. Except the line already had about 50 people in it. So I waited. And waited. And waited some more. And asked the French woman who was on her way to Istanbul if she could look after my suitcase while I went to get a sandwich, came back and waited some more until I had waited, standing up for 5 hours. Finally, I reached the counter and the flustered, overtired (remember, she had been dealing with nasty passengers for over 5 hours) blond woman said "I can give you the direct Air China to Beijing in 2 hours. Last seat". I counted my luck and didn't ask to get upgraded. 

So I flew the worst seat ever on my most despised airline ever, but I got to Beijing, only 4 hours later than I had planned. And the best part, the thing I kept thinking, for all those 5 hours was how lucky I was, not to have Zoe with me. That was indeed very lucky.

Flying to India

Zoe and I flew to India a couple of days ago. It was the first long haul flight I have taken with her in a year and it means she has reached 100.000 miles now (but let me get back to you on that after I have added things up). It was remarkably different to travel with a talking, walking, running toddler compared to the 18 month old stumbling, babbling toddler from last year. One major difference is that she is now able to sit and concentrate on watching cartoons or draw, or even play with her doll, by herself for about 20 minutes. Another difference is that she can walk most of the way herself on a layover, although having a one hour 15 minute layover in Munich was a bit stressful when she walked over to every single shop with any kind of cuddly bear or colorful bag hanging on display. "Se mor!"[look mommy] she said in that way only kids can, with wide-eyed amazement. In the end I had to simply let go of my fear of missing the plane (and unfortunately I have a bit of a history on that one...) and just be calm. What a nice bag, Zoe. Yes, that's pretty too. Come on, let's go, we are going to India to see your uncle and aunt. "Oh yeah", she would say, as she just realized that right now and follow me.

On the long haul Lufthansa Airbus 340-600 we got seats not too far away from the galley and the stairs down to the restrooms (yeah, I had never been on an airplane with restrooms downstairs, it had ups and downs, mostly downs when you have a not so stable stair walking toddler who loves going to the bathroom). This meant that after Zoe had snoozed for a couple of hours, letting me have my meal and watch TV comedies, she could get up and ask for more cashews from the flight attendant herself. Did I mention that this is a major advantage of having a bi/trilingual kid? She has no problem understanding English when we travel despite her living in Sweden and speaking Danish with me. "More cashews please", she said and after initial confusion and the flight attendant trying to give her apple juice, he got it. Throughout the rest of the flight she continued to ask for more and managed to eat 5 packs. And a small pack of ketchup instead of any of the delicious food that was on her special kids meal tray. As she exited the plane she waved at all the flight attendants: "bye bye airplane", to the smiles of most of them.

Exiting in Mumbai was a bit of a shock to me. Of course I knew that it would look different from what I'm used to in my little Western World bubble, but the smell, the warmth and people running around everywhere was still overwhelming. Zoe was still walking all the way through immigration but as we were waiting for our bag and car seat she got hyper, running around me in circles. I got slightly worried about her running too far away and getting lost in the crowd so I suggested she go in the baby carrier. Luckily she got excited: "Zoe little baby in carrier", she repeated and I managed to drag my two suitcases (a carry on roller bag and a slightly bigger checked in bag, along with the car seat) out towards our waiting hotel transport. Luggage trolleys were nowhere in sight so it took me a bit of effort and I was surprised that nobody offered to help me out. With a toddler on my back and two suitcases and a car seat. In the US I would have had three guys and one fellow mom asking me if they could help. We kept up the spirit and after a long walk faced the airport exit crowd. What a sight. Hundreds of people with signs, people with luggage standing waiting and people yelling everywhere. The warmth was mild but humid. After not seeing my sign anywhere a guy in uniform finally felt sorry for me and asked what company I was looking for. He swiftly found the driver of my ride and in three minutes we were on our way. Mumbai here we come. 

41 hours to get to Florida

This fall I have had a lot of travel, recently the US, more specifically Florida. I was attending a small conference where I was presenting a research paper and since I was not able to bring Zoe, I tried to make it as short as possible. Still, it was at a resort in south Florida in October so I did schedule a day at the pool, just before the conference started. Things didn't  turn out that way though.

I left a very early Saturday morning, leaving Zoe with my babysitter because Zoe's dad would not be back from his trip to the US for another 28 hours. She was a bit cranky that I woke her up at 7am but I didn’t have the heart to just leave her sleeping. She might not remember that I  had told her I was leaving the night before. She was to spend the full day with my babysitter and at night a close friend was coming over to spend the night with her, playing with her in the morning until her dad arrived early afternoon.

I left teary eyed in the morning, getting the Arlanda Express and feeling business woman like with my small black suitcase and Kate Spade leather carryon. I boarded the plane that was going to take me to Frankfurt, to my connecting US flight. When waiting for the plane to back out, we got the news that there was a technical error on the plane, the engine fire indicator was malfunctioning. If there is something you want to be indicated of, it is a potential fire in the engine. We deplaned and boarded another one, leaving one a half hour later, bringing me to Frankfurt the same minute as my US plane took off. I rushed to the service center in the hope that they would be able to reroute me via some other US destination and at least get me to the right side of the Atlantic that day. No luck. Due to the soon arriving tropical storm Sandy, many US flights had been cancelled, leaving the remaining fully booked. Even the attempt to route me via San Francisco was unfruitful. I was sent to an airport hotel, “right next to” the Frankfurt airport and provided with an itinerary for next day.

Internet and Latte at the brown airport hotel

The hotel was grim to say the least. Up until then I had kept my cool, realizing that there was absolutely nothing I could do to change the situation. My day at the pool was lost the minute they said ‘technical error’ on my first flight. But as I got to that godforsaken hotel, 20 minutes drive on the autobahn by a taxi driver who clearly enjoyed the no-speed limit to the fear of his passengers, I had had it. Not only did my 7am flight mean that I had to take a 5 am shuttle to the airport from the so-called airport hotel (“our shuttle leaves every hour on the hour”), the internet at the hotel was also limited to an hour in the bar, leaving my ability to at least use this ‘intermezzo’ for work rather difficult. But worse, I had left Zoe for this. I had left her with strangers for money when I could have stayed with her instead. Obviously this was a not really true, because I could not have left on a Sunday (tickets overseas not including Saturdays are deemed business tickets and cost the range of $3000-4000 instead of $1000, making it very unlikely my department would have paid for it) and I could not have predicted that my pool day turned into a brown german hotel day. I was probably much better off in terms of getting to the US here in Frankfurt than back in Stockholm under the circumstances. After shedding a few tears I went down to the bar and ordered a latte, which in Germany apparently is a bit of coffee with a liter of milk, and spent my one hour internet allowance surfing Facebook and random blogs.

Next morning the shuttle picked me and some other unfortunate Swedes up at 5 am and my journey to Florida went smoothly from then on. Zoe’s dad made it back to Stockholm before I left Europe, making me feel safe about leaving. I skyped with her one evening where she said that mommy should fly back to Stockholm and that “Zoe love Mommy”. I missed her but I’m getting better in leaving her for a couple of days. In the end I am returning before a week has passed from when I left her.

Runaway baby

It was supposed to be one of those easy trips, a single flight down to Copenhagen to start off our holiday. Zoe was in a happy mood and although I was a bit stressed about leaving for almost a month and making sure I had packed everything, we got out the door just fine. Zoe helped carry her own back pack and I rolled the two suitcases while instructing her to stay close. She did well all the way to the airport and after checking in we just had to wait in line to drop off one of the suitcases. Zoe was her chirpy little self but she must have detected a slight nervousness on my part when I saw the long snaking line going all the way back up to the other part of the terminal. I judged the waiting time to around 30 minutes. This is usually the time where I hope that other people will see the obvious: children between the age of 1 and 3 (4?) are not patient. They do not just stand there in line patiently and wait while their parents push the luggage cart forward. They jump around a bit and walk in and out the railings until they do really naughty things. But people don't see that we need to skip the line, in fact they mainly stare you down and wonder what you are doing in an airport with a toddler. Or at least it feels like that. The large amount of summer travelers were not an exception and the people behind me kept walking so closely to my cart that I couldn't get back in front to continue moving it forward. At one point I got so annoyed that I pushed the woman in my attempt to get to the cart handle. Did they think that if they squeezed up against me the line would move faster? We were two people away from the check-in desk when Zoe had enough. She looked at me with that cheeky smile that says 'Mommy, I'm going to be naughty and run away'. Before I could grab her, she started running, really fast, down alongside the queue. At first I thought she would come back and I yelled at her but I then realized she wasn't. I panicked because by now she was turning a corner. I ran after her and caught up with her about 150 meters down. Again, I was wondering why nobody had stopped her. I was embarrassed that I had the ill-behaved toddler and angry with Zoe. I grabbed her arm and carried her back, yelling at her. My cart was untouched and people had gone around it. Why would anybody push it forward with the queue while I tried to catch my runaway daughter? I mean, what in the world was I doing there anyway? How stupid could a woman be traveling alone with a kid? I got to the counter and threw my suitcase on the tape, got it tagged and left the cart right there. I was so mad at Zoe. When we got out of the crowd I sat her down and yelled at her, I shook her and pinched her little arms, I wanted to hit her. "Don't do that Zoe, don't ever run away from mommy!". She started crying when realizing how mad I was. I started crying myself. Who was I to shake her and scream at her? I sat down on the cold floor, in the middle of the busy airport and hugged her and tried to calm down. There I was, being the crazy mom who loses her temper with her child in public. But like before nobody paid any attention to us other than stare as they walked by.

We got on our plane and Zoe slept on my lap the whole way to Copenhagen.

How do I get to Berlin?

With Zoe being two, I have not flown by myself for two years apart from the occasional short trip (I can count them on one hand) and then of course the big conference trip two weeks ago. Today I flew down to Berlin for a 4-day research meeting and some differences in flying habits became apparent.


When traveling with Zoe:

1. I leave on time with a plan for how to get to the airport and who can help me. I have bought the airport train ticket online the day before.
2. I know exactly how long the flight(s) are and the duration of the the layovers. 
3. I know how to get things out of my bag quickly for security and I wear shoes I can take off without hands. 
4. I know what is in my bag. 
5. I have a window seat so Zoe can't get out. 
6. I turn off my phone before I board.
7. I know how to get from the airport, that being train or a taxi that I know has a car seat.

This is how I traveled today:

1. I left and realized as I boarded the subway train that it would have made more sense to take the "pendel" train because the platform is much closer to the airport train platform.
2. I knew when my flight left and what airline. I had no idea when I was arriving.
3. I had to drink half a bottle of water in front of the security guy to get my bottle through (I religiously recycle bottles because I am a firm believer in the ecological value of tap water). I had to rummage through my bag to actually find my computer.
4. I managed to sneak in toothpaste and lip gloss that I had left in my bag (this happens a lot though, I believe airport security is actively ignoring small liquidy items to save time and because we all know there is no actual danger in liquids like this)
5. I was surprised to find that I was actually in economy extra where I got a meal, wine and help with placing my carry-on suitcase. The travel agency had booked my ticket according to my inflexible time requests and I hadn't noticed before I boarded.
6. The stewardess (not the nice one) had to tell me to turn off my phone because I was still texting a friend while we taxied out to the runway.
7. Last, but not least, I had no idea of how I was getting from the airport to the hotel. All I had was the hotel name and a firm belief in public transportation. I found a friendly face at the pharmacy where I bought a pair of nail scissors (that I couldn't have flown with due to no checked in luggage) and he pointed me to a bus that took me straight to the Zoo, 200 meters away from my hotel. Only with a little help from my iPhone and my Danish sim card that gets me online everywhere in the world for no subscription fee.

Winter Wonderland

I woke up the morning of my flight to Copenhagen to one of the biggest weather surprises since moving to Stockholm: Snow. Snow covering everything. It is mid-April. Since it was a Saturday morning, very early (I had to leave the house by 7am) nothing had been cleared yet and walking with a toddler and a carry-on suitcase was a challenge to say the least. So much of a challenge that I had to give up on catching the train that would have provided be with a cheap, but slow journey to the airport and instead head for the Arlanda Express, a 260 Skr ($38) train ride to the airport. Zoe had no patience with the snow and kept wanting to be carried ("up, up") and I almost lost my cool before we even got to the station, a merely 5 minute walk away. When I finally got to the airport, with half an hour to spare, we cleared security flawlessly with Zoe going through the metal detector after me, and boarded just as easily. In the back of my head I knew something was wrong. I have flown from Scandinavian airports enough to know that snow means de-icing and that the airports' de-icing equipment is not always ready to rock and roll; in Copenhagen for example, they drive the planes over to the de-icing area, which always delays everything. I was right. As Zoe closed her little orange extension belt, the pilot came on and told us that since one of the de-icing trucks had broken down, we would be waiting one hour on the runway. Make that two hours. Two hours where Zoe sat patiently reading the magazine, the safety instructions, ate a pack of nuts, fed her dolls rice cakes and sat on my lap playing with the window pane. I was very impressed, only in the end did she start complaining but then we finally took off and she fell asleep leaning against me. She woke up well-rested after we touched down in Copenhagen and walked out herself waving "bye bye" to the flight attendants.

I have a brilliant flybaby but I am still worried about her traveling after she turns 2. She will have to sit in her own seat on take off and landing and so far I have not been able to convince her to do this when we have a free seat. I explain to her that she is a big girl and that she has to sit there but as soon as she gets a bit bored she wants to sit on my lap. I am seriously considering lying about her age since Scandinavian airline has yet to ask me to prove her age (opposite in the US where each airline I have traveled with were very adamant about seeing either a passport or birth certificate to make sure she was indeed under 2). But then again, she will not get miles for her flight. And that is the next big thing: getting her her own frequent flyer card.

Postcard from Helsinki

Mark had workshop to attend in Helsinki this past week and I decided to spend some air miles taking Zoe here to join him for a long weekend. We flew out on Thursday and are going back tonight, Sunday evening. We are staying at the GLO Hotel Art, a newly opened boutique hotel in a refurbished castle. It is a great hotel and it has amazing service such as their carefulness of looking afte Zoe's doll, which she had forgotten it at breakfast, greeting her with it as she entered the reception later in the day. And I love that their crib has cute mummin sheets and a real little baby duvet. All alongside the usual criteria for a good hotel: free wifi, nice toiletries and an amazing breakfast buffet. This morning Zoe got her first Kinder egg (probably because of easter), a well-known thing amongst Europeans, but a piece of candy is banned in the US. It is a chocolate egg with a little toy inside and watching Zoe open it with utter surprise was the best part of it all.

Helsinki is a rather rough looking city, I am surprised to see the pavements being in such bad shape (the wheels of the stroller got stuck several times) but the people are nice and friendly, although a bit quiet. On Friday, when it was just Zoe and me, we went to the national museum. It has a workshop area on the top floor where children can touch and play with everything. Zoe and I spent an hour and a half just roaming around, grinding coffee beans (to show the history of how coffee was roasted and ground at home), playing hide and seek around the wooden building structures (to show how houses were built in the old days) and playing with old office equipment (see picture). In the end I sat down in the replicate throne to relax and just let Zoe run around by herself. She had already befriended the staff so I knew she was safe. In fact I realized a major perk of her being bilingual, with English as one of the languages: When traveling she understands everything. People kept saying "well she probably doesn't understand what I say" and I happily corrected them and switched to English for the duration of the conversation.

The plane ride here was easy. We still need to work on the 'mommy goes first through the metal detector, then Zoe goes' and she was very upset when she wasn't allowed to get her shoes checked like her mom (Stockholm airport has a shoe tester for when people beep; they alternate body search with just a shoe search because 90 percent of the times the beeping item is the shoes). The only fail of the trip was that Zoe did not want to sit in the seat next to me, which happened to be free (and since we flew SAS they allowed me to choose if she sat there or on my lap). She started off there but as we taxied to the runway she got annoyed with her belt and kept unbuckling it, so I had to take her in the extension belt on my lap. I'm a bit worried about this because in one month she will have to sit in her own seat due to regulations. As I have written about before, I might lie about her age in the beginning.

Tonight when we fly back, Mark will be there to help and since he is gold (I, for some reason was 1000 miles short this year) we get to go to the lounge and I am quite excited about skipping the queue for checking in. Other than that it will be business as usual :-)

Toddler flying tricks

Because I don't want to end up like this family (who I feel utterly sorry for, the flight crew seemed in my opinion to have been the uncooperative ones. The sharp distinction between 23 months and 29 days and 24 months and 2 days means that you have to give a bit of leeway to the toddlers that are this age. If not the airline needs to make a rule that children between 2 and 3 cannot travel. It is that simple), I have several tricks that I use and occasionally forget to use when flying with Zoe. She is still a lap infant and due to airlines' wide interpretation of lap-riding rules I am prepared to be flexible. Generally, discount airlines tend to make guidelines into strict rules so for example even though there was an empty seat next to me on the flight back from Copenhagen, I was told that Zoe had to sit on my lap with the extension belt on take off and landing.  The ironic part of course being that if I had paid for that seat she would have had to sit in it. Regardless of her 22 months of age. Scandinavian Airlines always let me choose.


In an aim to be a bit structured, here are a few of my best tricks in absolutely no particular order:

1. I still don't ever bring a stroller. If I need one at my destination I check it in, covered in a thick stroller bag cover. Our Bugaboo Bee has been on 10+ flights and still works great and looks flawless. Most airports have some sort of baggage carts and if the cart doesn't have an infant seat I am able to place Zoe on the suitcase with her feet resting on my smaller bag. This is of course completely unsafe and cannot be recommended... Most of the times though she likes to walk and I make sure to have plenty of time before and between planes. I can still fit her on my back in the Beco (a soft structured baby carrier) but it is getting harder to get her up there because I need a chair for her to stand on to get up and with bulky coats it is hard to tighten. But she still loves it and it is convenient for small walks between train and plane. 
2. Over the winter I don't put neither snowsuit nor boots on her for the trip. She gets a bit cold on the 5 minute walk to the train station but this is nothing compared to having to take a bulky snowsuit off her and try to maneuver it into a suitcase along the way. She travels in a hooded sweater and her indoor shoes which are perfect for walking in an airport and easy to get on and off for security.
3. Before, I tried to travel around Zoe's bedtime so she would be alert and awake, especially if my flights were short. More recently I have embraced the trick and fly exactly when she usually takes a nap or goes to bed. Last time this worked like a charm; she might not take as long a nap as she would usually but it is so much easier to sit with a sleeping baby than a restless one who thinks that our neighbor's magazine is very interesting. 
4. The inflight security chart is always great reading material. It has the key ingredients in a good book according to Zoe: babies. There is always a couple of pictures of babies putting on life vests and we make up stories of why they are going on the slide and how they get the door open. Seriously, better than a book.
5. Bring 'nacks' (i.e. snacks). If forgotten, buy miniature Lindt chocolates that can be carefully unwrapped and eaten slowly. Okay, that box was 100 Skr (app $15) but it will last at least a couple of journeys. Yes, I am that kind of mom who gives my daughter quality chocolate for plane journeys. Obviously she gets only apples and dry wheet crackers at home.
6. Talk to her about the actual journey before and during the trip. We have a book called 'Going on a Plane' that describes the activities around flying and although it is not by any means great story telling, it does go over the key things. I know that she recognizes things by now and she is learning to queue up going into the plane. This journey she walked proudly onto the plane herself and turned into the (still open) cockpit to the obvious amusement of the crew. "Are you going in to say hi?" was the casual response and I was happy they seemed so relaxed about it. I let her walk down the aisle on the plane and she walked as long as I encouraged her. She crawled into our window seat herself and waited for me to take her onto my lap. She seems very comfortable with the whole process by now.
7. Pick a window seat. There is no way Zoe would sit in an aisle seat without trying to get out. The fact that there is a stranger, and often two, between her and "freedom", means she has no choice. The window also provides great entertainment on take off and landing. That said, I have a very hard time getting her to sit on my lap with the extension belt (a European standard) because she is leaning on my buckle, which is probably hurting. I usually turn my buckle to the side, effectively making my own seat belt useless but with the other option being a screaming, kicking toddler, that it the safest thing to do. Another thing that I am seriously thinking of doing is lying: The crew in the air has no idea if you have bought a seat (if there is an empty one next to you) or not unless the plane is completely full, so when Zoe is 2, and if she is having a bad day where she needs to sit on my lap, I'll lie and say she is still a lap infant. That would have saved the poor family.
8. Security. This is still my least favorite part of flying to use an understatement. Especially here in Scandinavia where people are as unhelpful as a flock of sheep being guided into the fold. The security officer told me twice last time that I could not have Zoe sitting on the edge of the table where he was checking out my stuff ("routine check") even thought that was my only option since in Scandinavia they make you take out your things yourself (here the rules are inverted: the security officers are not allowed to touch your things, you take them out yourself where obviously in the States you are not allowed to touch your stuff if is it being searched). He did make up for it by fetching me a hand luggage cart and I was happy. I was also happy that they are not strict about the individual passing through the metal detector. Sometimes Zoe does not want to wait and run after me, making us go through the arch the same time. Last time I beeped but they only searched me (I would probably have had a fit if they had searched Zoe anyway). I try to talk to Zoe about it and go down on my knees right before we go through the metal detector. "Now Zoe, mom is going through and you wait here. Then Zoe comes over to mommy, okay?" I still fear the day they hold her back because I beeped (which happened to a colleague and her 3 year old son to the horrow of the poor boy).

Our next trip is Helsinki in a couple of weeks. I am flying over alone with Zoe and Mark will fly back with us. He is attending a work meeting and I always wanted to see Finland's capital. The flight is about an hour so no big deal.

Here we go again

Friday morning, Zoe and I will be catching a plane down to Copenhagen to see my family and for me to see some friends. I am going to a theater play with some of my friends, so I thought this weekend might be as good as any to go down for a visit. Having flown 53 times with Zoe before I don't anticipate any difficulties or surprises, yet as I have described before, I like to prepare mentally and practically a couple of days before. One thing that has changed recently is that Zoe is very heavy for me to carry in a soft-structured carrier and that although she likes to walk for parts of the journey, I need to keep her close by at certain key points during the trip. For example when going from the train up into the terminal to check in, I can't let her walk, it would take too long, and there are no trolleys with child seats like there is airside in the terminal. Yet, I could think of only a few things worse than actually having to take her stroller with me, getting it collapsed for security and trying to negotiate a carry-on suitcase with pushing a screaming toddler (Zoe still hates her stroller). In addition I have a stroller in Copenhagen at my parents' apartment and my mom mostly picks us up in the airport, with it. So soft-structured carrier it is.

Of other challenges, one is how to manage an almost two year old in my seat. She is way too big to be a lap infant, but since it is only an hour flight and that she still qualifies, I am not going to buy the extra seat. Besides, occasionally the airline will have an empty seat that will magically be next to me. If not, I pity the person next to us who will get Zoe's feet in his/her lap for the majority of the flight.

Finally, there is the patience issue: With Zoe walking most of the way now, she has less patience to stand in line for security and boarding and it can sometimes be complicated to keep her occupied while keeping my spot. Last time she couldn't understand why I didn't just follow her around all queue into the airplane where we were clearly going, why I kept standing behind all those people that she gladly walked around. I honestly thought it was a bit silly too and secretly prayed that someone would just ask me to come up front, but those things don't happen in the real world. Instead I just kept telling Zoe to come back and wait with me, trying to seem like I had my eager toddler under control.

Wish me luck, I will report back after my weekend trip how toddler traveling is these days.

Crash and Burn

Last night, Zoe and I flew our 44th flight together coming back to London from a long weekend in Copenhagen. It was a short flight, an hour and a half and I was in such relaxed state beforehand that I forgot to put diapers in her changing kit (I flew hand luggage only so I had some in my roller suitcase) and I didn't think of dinner before we were inside the terminal around 5.30pm. It was one of those journeys that ended up being 'interesting' rather than bland or eventless.

The security guard asked me, for the first time ever in Copenhagen airport, to take Zoe out of my carrier with the logic reason that "If not, they couldn't search me properly if I beeped". It might just be me who is particularly clever and capable of reasoning that in the case I beeped, they could ask me to remove her, but no, that would be to hard to figure out. He then proceeded to ask me if she could walk through the metal detector herself. Zoe is 16 months and if you have ever experienced a 16 month old you would know that 1. they do not like to be far away from their parents, and 2. sometimes they love being away from their parents, so much that they run off in a different direction entirely. "She is not walking through herself", I answered through my teeth. On the other side a security officer offered to get me a hand luggage cart, which I politely declined but applauded him for the help.

I was in perfect time for my flight, not too early and no need to rush. Except when I looked at the screen the flight showed an hour and a half delay. Nice. With a tired toddler in an airport. After consulting with information it turned our that Copenhagen airport has a little known, large play area with toys and seats for adults. We stocked up on dinner (sandwiches) and headed over there. Zoe played with a French boy whom she followed around like a puppy but who didn't think much of her. One hour was easily killed.

Zoe was her usual little happy self when we got to the gate and I let her walk onto the plane herself for the first time. Walking on as the last people, she was charming all the other passengers, waving her little hand as she walked down the aisle to 28A. Little did they know that they were to see and hear much more from her.

She sat in her own seat as we took off, fully occupied by the little stuffed chicken that they crew had given her along side a book that she flicked through. I was the proud mother of a patient, cute, calm little girl as we started out flight towards Heathrow. After take-off I asked for a blanket and a pillow for her because by now it was quite past her bedtime and I could tell she was getting tired. She adorably pulled the blanket over herself and tried to make herself comfortable on the seats (we were given a full row to ourselves because the replacement plane was twice the size of the original one) but she wasn't really able to lie down long enough to drift off. She knew she was tired but she couldn't calm down. I nursed her a bit, trying to help her sleep but she gradually went into her overtired overdrive that I know only too well.

I finally let her go into the aisle where she quickly looked around and then took off towards the front. I ran after and took her hand, explaining that she had to hold mommy's hand. We then walked up to business class where a flight attendant and I exchanged looks, me expressing that I knew she wasn't allowed her and her expressing that she had to ask us to turn around. I was mostly worried about Zoe turning her attention to passengers who did not want her attention because she waved and pointed and said hi (Bah? Da? Gaga) to most of the people she passed. After a few trips up and down, the most childfriendly of the flight attendants came down and asked if Zoe wanted a ride. We looked up and the stewardess lifted her onto the now empty drinks cart. "Hold on to the side", she demanded and Zoe did as she was told. The flight attendants then proceeded to push the cart up and down the aisle to Zoe's clear joy and amazement. When they finally came back, Zoe was certainly not done but I had to take her and thank them. She was now not just overtired but also set on getting another ride so she started crying when I held her close and tried keeping her in her seat. I explained to her she had to stay there, I tried with snacks, I kissed her and I tried holding her loosely, knowing we were about to land. At one point the stewardess from business came down and asked if her ears were hurting. I almost snapped. "Her ears are not hurting, she if completely overtired". "Is there anything I can help with", she said but I declined and this was probably my mistake. As she left, I almost lost my temper and I squeezed my hysterically screaming toddler so hard that I know I should't and hissed at her. I wanted to hit her, I wanted to pinch her. I took a bottle with rice milk and stuffed it into her mouth. She spat it out, still arching her back. I took it and stuffed it in again, now holding it more firmly. After three tries, Zoe finally started sucking and before she had sucked the 3 ounces down, she was fast asleep in my arms. Now I was the only one crying.

So after 43 flights with her, 1/3 of them by myself, I still have lots to learn. One of them is that sleepy toddlers need a bit more help sleeping because crash and burn is UGLY. Another one is that stuffing a bottle (as much as I hate her still having it) in her mouth sometimes works (there was no way I could have stuffed a nipple in the same way, that requires two hands). And the last one is of course to accept help when you need it and not try to be such a supermom. This is the closest I have ever been to hurting her our of anger, because of the frustration of the situation, one that is public (I know for a fact that her 5 minute screaming woke up several sleeping passengers) and one where there a limited remedies (like a bed where you can put your hysterical baby while you cool off yourself). Let's hope I will remember this for her next 40 odd flights.