09 January, 2015

Furious flights, familial festivities.

Since we've procreated, we made a deal with our respective families that we'll alternate Christmases.  One year here in the UK, one year in Texas.  This year was a Texas year.  Yee haw.

Himself, being the savvy consumer that he is, searched around for the flights.  He found the best deal for the time we wanted to spend in the States and booked it for what was, to me, a staggering £2600.  Just out of curiosity, he checked a few weeks later.  The same flights were up to £4000.  A week or two before Christmas he checked again.

£7000.

For.  The.  Same.  Flights.

Because apparently the Reason for the Season is for the airlines to squeeze as much out of people wanting to spend the holidays with their families as they possibly can.  Gross.

Anyway, we piled into the cab on the morning of the 22nd to head to the airport.  Little did we know that the ride to Heathrow would be the last moments of peace we had before we hit the tarmac in Dallas.  I can't even tell you how bad that flight was.  Here are the highlights.  If Dude wasn't eating, he was screaming.  He doesn't do captivity, and the three square inches between me and the seat in front of us just wasn't fulfilling his need for room in which to rampage.  Madam was Bored.  It warrants the capital letter, believe me.  There was one (ONE) kid's movie on the in flight entertainment.  The crowning glory of Her was when she dumped a ginger ale all over herself.  Like, ALL over herself.  I had grabbed a dress out of the clean laundry as a last minute "forgot to pack this" deal and stuffed it into my carry-on, and Dude had on tights under his trousers, thus a new outfit was cobbled together.  About three hours into the hellflight, I vowed we'd never fly again.  We may not try again until Dude is fifteen or so.

Of course, the moment we entered The Mimi's domicile, he made a beeline for her (frankly amazing) Christmas tree, which for the next two weeks he single-mindedly attempted to destroy from the bottom up.  We're talking ornaments that have been used every Christmas since my mother was a child.  See below for visual confirmation of the amazingness.


If he wasn't hellbent on tree destruction, he was opening cabinets and drawers.  I'd say every single door and drawer in that house was tried at some point or another.

Madam spent the two weeks eating candy.  And nothing else.  Well, I think she ate a little cucumber, but that was about it.  Apparently the food in Texas looks weird.  We're attempting to detox her now, she ate roughly fifteen kilos of sushi last night and the prognosis is good.

We went to (wait for it)... Pawnee Bill's Wild West Show.  No joke.  It was amazing, both kids were totally enthralled by the horses, whips, guns, cowboys, trick riders, and general Texan-ness of the whole thing.  They were also fascinated by the cattle drive that preceded the show, there's something about a cow with three foot horns on its head that draws the eye of the toddler.




The trip was pretty good on the whole.  There were dance parties and adorable donuts...



Basketball games and vegetable puns...



Purple hair and carousel rides...




Toddler tattoos and recovered Army fashion...



Expensive jewellery and Santa sightings...



And last but certainly not least, a veritable feast for the eyes.  Yes, those horns are real.  Yes, they do light up.  Yes, there is a doberman peeking out of the window.  His name is Warlock.  For reals.


Anyway, we made it back in one piece, mostly.  The flight back was pretty turbulent, so although the bratlets slept, it wasn't the most peaceful slumber they ever had.  Their little body clocks are so confused that our first night back home saw us downstairs watching movies and eating pretzel goldfish from around half eleven until five in the morning, when we finally collapsed into bed again and slept until almost noon.  *lol*

Thus another holiday season plays itself out.  Happy New Year, all, here's to making it a great one.

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