This will not be a tips and tricks to keep your children happy on a plane (or four) post. This will be a GLEEFUL, ridiculous post about how relieved (RELIEVED!) I was to make it through four (FOUR!) flights with both the babes. Honestly, I wasn't that worked up about flying at all until a child that looked to be about the same age as Nora projectile vomited on the first flight we were on and another right behind us screamed his head off. For a long time.
Thankfully, this was more the look of my children.
I'm not going to lie, even though I know (I KNOW!) it was sheer dumb luck, I had an insane moment of my parenting must CLEARLY be superior to every other parent who has ever flown on any flight ever in the whole existence of airplanes. (I know. My next travel-plans-with-children is now karmically cursed!)
Because that is the thing I have learned about parenting - you seriously just never know. Nate could have freaked out upon take off (instead he was quietly and adorably counting down to BLAST OFF). Nora Kate could have opted to not snuggle in (well, more like sprawl out across us all as she is still eligible to ride on my lap) and sleep on several flights and instead attempt to breakout and roam the plane. (Trust me, there was still quite a bit of squirming.) Karl could have set off that bomb in his shoe. (Sir, you can't say bomb on an airplane.) (That's not funny; I'm sorry.)
And then, just like that, we were there. Amazing. Two adults, two children, two suitcases, one carseat, one robot backpack and one (very large) purse, all ready for one week at the beach!