We were packing for vacation and, as always, I made a bag of toys and games for the kids so that during any down time, flight-delays, or rainy days, they would have entertainment that didn’t rely on a small, portable screen. My “travel toys” have changed over the years. Whereas it used to be small cars, polly pockets, mini-Barbies, and coloring books, I now can pack games: Scrabble Slam, Uno, Old Maid, Bananagrams. This is fun and engaging for all of us, even the adults.
But what I neglected to think about was my 10-month-old baby. This happens quite often, especially at the supermarket, where I fill up the cart with things my husband and I like and things the kids like, and somehow skip the baby aisle, even the though the baby is usually strapped to my chest. (He is not a fan of shopping carts. Gotta work on that one.) Then, when I get home, I realize the error of my ways and am forced to actually make baby food, because that seems easier than going back to the store. This creates the fallacy that I am a “really good mother” because I make my own baby food, but I assure you, I am not, because sometimes I don’t use organic produce. And not everything is infused with kale. It’s either that, or he starves.
And so, mid-packing, I realized the baby would most definitely not enjoy Uno cards. He would probably love Bananagrams, but I would not love fishing the tiny tiles out of his mouth. He was also not quite at the age to play with toy cars or to do anything with a marker other than lick it. A quick scan of the playroom led me to the corner in which his toys were contained in a large Tupperware: bulky rattles and shake-y things, animals with squiggly arms and bouncy legs, groggers that weren’t just for Purim, fake remote controls and phones. Each item would keep him busy for a total of one minute, and would waste precious space in my carry-on bag. I did the math: not worth it.
I needed something that was both entertaining and boasted a nearly invisible mass. Years ago, I flew with my eldest as a baby, and a balloon kept her busy the entire time. But there were no balloons floating around the house, and as our departure time drew nearer, I grabbed a few disposable latex gloves from under the sink and figured these might double as an engaging inflatable activity. I also remembered to pack him some Cheerios and food. I know—best mom ever.
For the entirety of the flight, the rubber gloves remained in my bag. The baby was quite happy to chew on the headset the steward handed out, and I think he was rather disappointed when they collected these at the end of the flight. He had grown so attached. He also kept busy by poking his finger into the air conditioning vent, gnawing on the already scuffed armrest, opening and shutting the tray table, spraying Cheerios on three rows of people, and crying because there was no crib for him to take a nap. We were probably that family, the one you glare at on your flight and wonder why they thought it was a good idea to ever leave their home? Needless to say, we won’t be on any flights to Israel in the near future, so don’t curb your traveling plans because of us.
The vacation was wonderful, but the baby was happy to be home, to have his crib, his non-organic, home-blended foods, and his cheery, colorful toys. But most of all, he was relieved to see his best friend waiting for him on the floor of his room: his elephant-cool-mist-humidifier. He squealed with delight when I put him on the floor near his long-nosed friend (who was turned off), and reached over to give it/him/her a big hug. It might make a good travel toy, next time.
Sarah Abenaim is a freelance writer living with her husband and four children in Teaneck. She is working on her first book. More of her essays can be found at www.writersblackout.wordpress.com.
By Sarah Abenaim
