Why We Do What We Do

Sometimes being Charlie’s mother just makes everything simple.

For instance, since a quarter after noon on Tuesday when I walked out into the middle school hallway, Charlie leading the way, after a holiday party in his classroom (really just him and one other classmate and his mom and the four aides and Charlie’s teacher, as the other two boys had left early), I was focused on one thing and one thing only:

Getting the three of us— Jim, Charlie, and me—and our stuff (and most of all, Charlie’s favorite things and the presents for my family) onto a 7.15am airplane at Newark Liberty Airport bound for San Francisco.

While Jim worked on end-of-semester business in his office, Charlie and I did the usual things we do on a Tuesday afternoon, although it felt different as he’d only had a half-day at school. He snacked and lounged on his Charlie chair (now sagging permanently on the left side) and practiced cello. There was a fast-moving bout of what I’ll call holiday anxiety and our usual walk, though going up and down the familiar hill proved less soothing than usual. Charlie had some sushi for dinner and I packed and Jim came home and I didn’t give Charlie his usual melatonin.

We’ve flown to California for the holidays every year of Charlie’s life and what I’ve learned from these flights, and in particular from some moments when we really had to hold onto Charlie in the incredibly cramped quarters of one row of seats, is to make it as easy as possible for Charlie. No one seems to be in a good mood on an airplane these days as it is; as Charlie is not very interested in watching DVD movies or listening to music, the best way for him to pass the time on an airplane is, for now, asleep. So, for the past year or so, I’ve been choosing flights that depart either late at night or really, really early, and we keep Charlie really active or, for the really early flights, let him stay up late so by the time we get on the airplane, a long nap is in order.

Tuesday night, Charlie ended up not sleeping at all and neither did Jim or I—–we had to catch a 5.20am train to get to the airport and I had a worry, what if I oversleep? Charlie was eager to go and would have had his shoes on at 2am, as it was.

We left at a couple minutes to 5. It had rained and everything, the black car included, was covered with a sheet of ice. Jim dropped Charlie and me and our bags off at the train station, drove the car back to our place, and hurried back. Charlie stood all attention on the train platform and, until we got into the security line at the airport, insisted that Jim keep his hand on the pull-on handle of his suitcase: Back in June, Charlie and I went to California without Jim, and once Charlie saw that this was the case, nothing could comfort him, and he was only truly relieved when the four-day trip was over and Jim picked us up in the black car.

Wednesday morning we all plodded through the security line and, as Jim and I put shoes, coats, laptops, phones, bags—-we really didn’t have a lot of luggage, but somehow filled some ten plastic bings to go through the metal detector—Charlie’s holiday anxiety set in. “No, no,” was his response when we talked about getting on the airplane. Then came a “yes” and then “no”: Charlie perhaps trying to communicate a yes/no/I’m not sure/maybe I am/not kind of feeling. Jim and I kept quiet and just kind of went about the business of gathering all the bags (including Charlie’s blue and green backpacks) and boarding the plane and settling into seats A, B, and C in row 9. Charlie sat down first, taking the window seat.

It would be another hour and half plus before the plane left, as a flight attendant was ill and another had to replace her and then the plane had to be cleared to get in the line to get de-iced and then came the de-icing and then something else had to be sprayed on the wings. Jim and I dozed off; Charlie, knees curled under him, sat at attention, looking out the window at the cold wet scene below.

After the plane finally took off, Charlie nodded off. He woke after about 20 minutes—babies were crying behind and in front of him—and pulled his legs out from under him, and then he fell asleep, very soundly, until we were some 40 minutes away from our destination.

Watching Charlie hoist his beat-up green backpack over his shoulder and walk through the San Francisco airport, I thought, mission accomplished.

And now the holiday parties.

Wishing everyone much peace and light, and love and hope, from our family to yours!