Flying with a baby or child





When it comes to booking a holiday, I am the sort of person who just clicks the 'Book Now', button and then worries about where it actually is and how to get there afterwards. It's also what I have been known to do with pretty much everything else in my life. Buying a house, buying a dog, a car, a trampoline and a two story playhouse in the garden. Just a few of the small surprises my darling husband has returned to over the years of our very much 'equal', marriage.

Unlike some rather organised Parents, who search within a certain flight duration, or only to family friendly resorts, I, see all in for under a grand and book it. Booked it, Packed it, F****d off! Its only later when I ask my husband where outer Mongolia actually is that I realise we have a 3 day flight!

From our eldest daughter being 7 months old we have holidayed abroad at some point in the year. One of our favourite destinations is flying to Dalaman in Turkey. We absolute love the Olu Deniz resort and its surrounding area and have travelled there many times over the years. We're going again this year, so I will be sure to add a blog review for that. We've flown to Kos, Greece and bitten the bullet flying two young children to Florida, long but definitely worth it.

With that in mind, I have decided to compile a list of our tried and tested Top Tips for travelling on a plane with children. Some worked well, some not so well but have a read and see if there's anything that might work for you.


Top Tips for flying with children 



Firstly, have no expectations. 🌞


We put a lot of pressure on ourselves to have the most perfect, silent, well behaved children on the Plane. It isn't going to happen. At some point one, or all, of your children will probably cry, have an argument, refuse the meal that looks like cat food or get 'told off', for asking for the loo for the 5th time. Children are children, be it on a plane, on a bus, in a car or rolling down the hill on a flippin bucket. Whether they care to remember it or not, every adult on that plane was a child at some point and therefore they will have 'been there'. There is, of course, an exception to this rule with the perfect citizens of society who sit there looking like they're sucking on a rotten lemon because you're child's iPad has just accidentally blared out the theme tune to Peppa Pig on full blast. Tough shit. If they wanted a luxury flight, sat in silence with only they're own dire company, they should have 1. Booked on a more reputable airline than Thomas Cook and 2. Dipped into their moth eaten wallets and paid for a seat in 1st class. Rant over.

Purchase the meals. 🌞


Yes. I know they are absolutely pants and whether you have roast beef or chicken tikka it all tastes the same, BUT, the whole process of receiving said meal provides you with about 30 minutes of child entertainment, which has to be worth it. The ones we've had on more recent trips have been reasonably nice too, breakfast is usually our favourite.

iPads/Tablets - Don't forget you're headphones! 🌞


Love them or hate them, they are definitely an asset to your journey with a small person. Its worth bearing in mind though, that there will be no Internet connection on the plane so all games, programs and films will need to be pre loaded onto the device. If you have Sky I highly recommend using the Sky kids or Sky go app which is free with your existing contract. If you don't have Sky, you can also pre download movies and TV shows on Netflix, Disney Life, Amazon Prime and many more. I know that Netflix have a 1 month free trial that you could sign up for and then cancel after the first month and it won't have cost you a penny. I have included a link below to some of the free subscriptions I have found currently on offer. 



Make a goody bag 🌞



I always make my children a goody bag of things they haven't seen before. Don't let them see it before the time you give it to them so even the type of bag they get is a total surprise. I start by purchasing a cheap bag, usually with a character on, or something that they're into at the time and fill it with goodies. Something to colour, new pens/pencils, stickers a book to read. A Poundland haul can usually do the trick and keep them occupied for a while. They can use their bag for their beach or pool stuff when you get to your destination too. Watch out for my upcoming you tube video with details of what's in my children's goody bags this year.

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Parents Evening .....


For four golden years Parents evening was a joyous occasion. I sat happily with my daughter's teacher and indulged in the praise bestowed upon my own marvelous creation. I arrived confident, with a spring in my step, knowing that I'd got one of the 'good' ones and an A* report was securely under my belt before it even began. I saw the annual soiree as a highlight on my social calendar of events. I  dressed for the occasion, wore make up that even included mascara, arranged a babysitter and thoroughly enjoyed the experience. It was like an awards ceremony for my very own parental achievements and obviously my skills swept the board. I was smug. I was biased. I was an idiot.

In 2015, my son started school. My perfect parent tiara began to slip a little and within a week, it had completely fallen off. By Christmas, it had been utterly destroyed. Collecting my son from school had become like a game of Russian roulette. Often, I was greeted by the dreaded words, "Can I just have a word?", or, "Can you come inside for five minutes?". I found myself no longer the keen parent hovering at the front like a Teletubbie on speed, but instead, I hid at the back, hoping that If I didn't make eye contact then they might, just might, leave me be. I mastered my exit like Dale Winton in an episode of Supermarket sweep. You snooze, you lose.
The very first time they called me over, my delightful blonde curly-haired, blue-eyed little boy had clobbered his peer over the head with a hammer. He denied completely that he'd done it and refused to speak to his teacher for the rest of the day, turning his cheek every time the poor woman spoke to him. I was totally mortified. He added to his repertoire quite rapidly after that. Intentionally flooding the boys toilets by shoving segments of satsuma down the plug holes in the sink, flooding the room with water and completing his masterpiece by fetching another young boy to 'swim' in it. 

I was crestfallen. Bewildered by the fact that from the very same quality gene pool and carefully tailored parental techniques we had failed him as his parents. There was a crucial flaw somewhere in his genetics, well there had to be. What else could explain it? I convinced myself it must be from his Dad's side of the family. It certainly wasn't from mine!

As I walked into Parents evening yesterday, I was dressed in my scruffy day clothes, complete with a trail of banana rubbed from my ankle to my knee where the baby had pulled herself up earlier this morning. I'm wearing a coat that my Mum gave me when I was pregnant, to fit around my ever growing bump. The bump is now a one year old baby, the coat still fits. Go figure. There's a huge rip under the armpit but its comfy and it has big pockets for all my important crap, snotty tissues, inedible chewing gum, my house keys and a random screwed up carrier bag that I've saved because, 'it's M&S'. I'm paying close attention to my feet, and the neatly laid parquet floor. My aim is survival. 
The teachers are displayed around the room at small tables with two plastic school chairs directly opposite. It feels like a scene from a prison visiting session where you really don't want to be there, but you have to be. Or an interview for benefits at the Job Centre. It reminds me of being at school myself and no one ever wanted to sit head-on to the teacher, God, no!
I silently hope that his teacher is busy, that someone else already has her undivided attention. I've been anxious for this interrogation...sorry, meeting, all day, so a moment or too to compose myself would be just lovely. As luck would have it, she's free, she's looking directly at us and she's smiling. Bugger.

Much to my amazement, the teacher quite likes him. I try hard to hide my surprise, sneaking a cheeky glance at her list of appointments in case she has us down for the wrong child. She hasn't. She praises his ability in Maths and Reading, describes him as quiet and well behaved, oh, and lazy, but I'll take that. For a moment I think she's well and truly off her rocker, maybe I look that bad in my attire that she thinks were a homeless family and she's just taking pity on us. She isn't. I look over at my husband slouched in the chair beside me rubbing his elbow. He's 34 and he's fallen down at work today and bashed it. He's decided now of all moments to start rubbing it and thoroughly inspecting it, nursing it more than he ever did any of our Newborn children. I'm hoping he'll say something, he doesn't. Just bloody great. 
As it turns out, the teacher is pleased with him, my Son that is, not my injured husband. He's achieving, mostly, with a little encouragement. She say's he's "Just a boy," and has no concerns. He's a good kid. My kid, is a good kid. 

I needed tonight. I needed to be reminded that my boy is NOT my daughter and that that's OK. I needed to be reminded to embrace him and his funny little ways. I needed confirmation from someone, anyone, that even though I feel way out of my depth and stretched beyond my limits, we're both still swimming, learning. I'd got myself stuck so easily in a rut that I'd smothered him with despair not stopping to absorb anything but his faults. I needed a gentle nudge to remind me that this boy is perfect just as he is.

I needed Parents evening.

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Sledging


From the moment you find out your pregnant, the majority of mothers will do absolutely everything to take care of that precious little life you're growing safely inside the comfort of you're cosy, warm womb. We spend stupid amounts of money on pregnancy vitamins, v-shape pillows, adjustable seat belts so we don't squash the bump and Schloer, don't get me started on that. Unless it's Christmas and on offer you need to re-mortgage or apply for a loan to purchase a bottle of that stuff, £3.99 in the local supermarket now that Christmas has passed. Seriously, if you're planning a baby, stock up on bottles of the stuff in December while its only a quid! We religiously take folic acid and stop lifting heavy loads. We won't even eat cheeses such as Brie or Camembert at the risk it may be laden with Listeria. From the moment of known conception we are programmed to assess the risks and hazards of harming our unborn child.

Once the babies here, It just gets worse. You're paranoia goes into over drive. Before the baby is even able to find its own feet you've got a baby gate at the top of the stairs, and bottom, and you've seriously asked your partner if you should put one half way up, you know, 'Just in case'. Safety is paramount and in true military style you are going to protect this child from danger. This child will not be harmed, not on my watch anyway.

As they grow older the cautiousness continues, watching them play from only a footstep behind. I often find myself shouting, 'Careful, don't fall', as though they're planning some almighty stunt move before my very eyes, crossing the living room floor can be tricky.

Ill be honest here, I don't have the most squeaky clean record of child safety myself but even I ensure they wear sensible footwear in bad weather or a helmet when they're on their bike.

So this leads me nicely to my point. Why then, given all the above, do we forget all inhibitions, throw caution to the wind and shove our children down a ridiculously steep hill, covered in ice or snow, on a flimsy piece of plastic, with a rope if you're lucky and the possibility of landing in a pile of dog turd at the bottom?

Yesterday, this is exactly what we did. We left the house, both me and the hubby, three kids in tow, two on the sledge and were both actively surveying the area for the steepest, slipperiest gradient we could find to shove our children down.


At the time, I thought nothing of it, but in hindsight if we took away the bit of measly snow that had settled, we'd just knowingly pushed our three children down a banking! Push you're child down a hill, whilst you stand at the top watching the accident unfold as they fly off the sledge, slice their arm on a discarded rusty can of Carling, slide through dog shit and run over their own smaller sibling who was sat at the front of the sledge to take the full on hit of the barbed wire at the bottom and call it sledging and that's absolutely fine. Luckily this didn't happen to us, but I'd say there was a pretty good chance it could have had I assessed the situation with my usual heightened sense of health and safety precautions. I mean, sledging doesn't even require a helmet, yet a scoot around the block on my sons Thomas the tank pre-school scooter requires a full on suit of armour. It's ludicrous.

As though that wasn't enough, it gets better. After willingly risking the lives of our children we decide that its a good idea to join them on the sledge. Without a second thought we clamber on board a 10 mm piece of plastic that we are far too big for, shove on as many kids as we can manage, baby at the front to take the blow should the worse happen and set off down a snow covered hill with absolutely no control of its direction and no means of stopping. My husbands yelling his 'sledgers top tips' from the bottom, advising me to put my feet in the sledge for better speed and balance. Put my feet in the sledge? I can barely fit my arse in it, never mind my bloody feet, and not forgetting a child too. Approximately 17 stone with a small child included, flying down a hill on a plastic concoction, probably 3 times too small for my size and it doesn't take rocket science to work out that it isn't going to end well.

So why do we do it? In a word, FUN. We sledge because its fun. It provides you're children with shrieks of delight as Mum flies off the sledge for yet another time. It teaches them to take a risk every so often, to let their hair down, to be a child. The reason I think we board a sledge so willingly ourselves is because it takes us back to our own childhood, our inner youth, and allows us momentarily to forget the pressures of day to day to life. For that moment you are completely on the same level as you're child, same aims, same goal, and you laugh. You laugh like no one is watching (hopefully they aren't) and you live in the moment. For that moment, you are connected and you taking that risk and ploughing down that banking on that piece of plastic means the absolute world to them.

So take that risk, live for today, live for the moment. GO SLEDGING!






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Welcome!



So, here it is. Five in the Hive. My brand spanking, sparkly, shiny new blog. I am Amy, Wife to my darling husband of 8 years, my very own Jonny Castle and Mum to my three little cherubs, Spud 10, Bash 6 and Tanks who has just turned 1.  

I begin with Spud, my first born, beautiful daughter, who may I add, acquired her nickname from a rather unfortunate passport photo when she was a baby. I know people describe themselves as a bit of a potato head but this poor child did albeit briefly, fully resemble a chubby round potato that would give Maris Piper a run for their money! Spud is my wingman, without whom, I would be lost. She is one of the most kind and caring human beings that I have ever met and I am proud to say that she is mine.

Bash. Bashing away whatever comes his way. What can I say? This boy has taught me so much in his six short years. Battling major illness and surgery from only a few weeks old, he's taught me to believe, to hope, to cherish and most importantly to fight. He is an incredibly talented, loving, little boy who could put most adults to shame in his ability to survive in what is increasingly becoming a 'tick box' world of averages, targets and eligible criteria. You'll often find him complete with a piece of technology in his hand and his headphones on, oblivious to the reality of the 'real' world. He is a credit to any parent, and that just happens to be me.

Last but certainly by no means least, Tanks. Nicknamed simply because it rhymes with Frank's. Our 'Betsy Clark'  baby girl who just seems to have crawled straight into her place in all of our lives. My mum often says, "Its as though someone just opened the door and popped her in!", and it really is. She brought us joy through difficult times and is the most content, happy-go-lucky little girl you could wish to meet. Being a third child she was born with confidence and the desire to be one step ahead of her game. She's quirky, cute, cuddly and the fabulous fifth piece that completes our puzzle. I'm so loving getting to know you. 

For 30 years now I have been winging my way through life inadvertently finding myself in an array of outrageous situations. Often described as, if I didn't have bad luck, I wouldn't have any luck at all or experiences that 'You just couldn't write it'. Well all that is about to change, as from today, I am going to write it. I am taking the bull by the horns and beginning my very own magical mystery tour of parenting highs and lows. 
Welcome aboard!

So, now that were getting to know each other, let me take off my rose tinted spectacles and have another look. I'm Amy, I'm 30, I feel about 50 plus the rest. I've been married 8 years and its bloody hard work! I am Mum to 3 completely different little people who each have the ability to lure me into a false sense of security of having 'cracked' this parenting malarkey, only to discover that it no longer works for the next child, or the next week for that matter. Modern society laughs in my face as my crafts are definitely not Pinterest worthy and I thought the filters on Instagram were merely what blocked inappropriate adult content! I can turn on an iPad, but my kids can turn it off quicker and cover up what they shouldn't be watching. Recently, I found myself naked on Snapchat, courtesy of my savvy 6 year old. Thanks go out here to my daughters school friend for spotting it and informing her Parents who kindly enlightened me to the fact my entire modesty was broadcast for all to see on social media. My school runs will never be the same.

So hear it is, my first 'Blog post'. Here's to heart warming, hilarious tales of Motherhood. Hold on tight, its going to be a bumpy ride.

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