Nov 24 2009
This morning Martin caught a flight to Florida with the kids. But when I tell people this, you’d think I’d just announced that Martin hurled himself off the barn roof. Or single-handedly hog-tied a rabid raccoon.
What?? He flew to Florida? Alone with the kids?
That’s the response I get. Astonishment, disbelief, even bitterness, as in, “he’s setting a bad example for other fathers by pulling a stunt like that.”
Of course if I were making this journey, I’d hear, “Hmm, that’s nice…. I need to get tickets for the new twilight movie…”
Because that’s the way that people think. Mother traveling with kids? Ho hum. Dad? Call the local news, get a camera crew out there!
I should point out that Martin volunteered for this crazy assignment and he was pretty flip about 2 1/2 hours of airborne confinement. Though I wondered if he harbored any regrets when I dumped him curbside at the airport this morning with 2 kids, 4 bags, and a stroller with flat tires.
But low and behold, he called in the afternoon to say that the trip went fine. The flight was a success without the need to throttle either child or consume copious amounts of alcohol.
Which reaffirms what I’ve known for a while: Martin manages the kids just fine (probably better than me, albeit in his junk food-fueled, ply-them-with-new-toys style).
Besides, there was a payoff for his troubles: sunny warm weather, a swimming pool and brief return to life in flip flops and shorts.