Kids And Their Toys

By Dena Harris

Last week I sat waiting to board a plane next to the mother of a toddler. The boy looked to be about two, with the chubby knees and blond curls of youth.

As our rows were called, the petite mother struggled to her feet, grappling with bags filled with diversions for the 90-minute plane ride--diaper bag, snack bag, juice bottles, stuffed animals, books, toys, puzzles, more snack bags, more juice bottles.

Poor woman, I think, buckling into my seat.

Sighing over her pitiable condition, I unzip my carry-on and nudge aside organic raisins coated in soy yogurt and my 16 oz. bottle of Evian water. I deliberate over my reading material. The New Yorkers? People? Newsweek?

I start on Newsweek but can't concentrate. Perhaps some music. I reach again into my bag, pull out my mini I-Pod and spend the next five inutes untangling the cord. Finally, I insert the earplugs and sit back to relax.

Wait. I don't like this song. Fast forward. Nope, not in the mood for this one either. Or this one. Zap-zap-zap. I listen to the fragments of twelve songs before deciding that it's not music I'm scraving. I must need mental stimulation.

I came prepared with pen, paper and laptop in case the urge to write the Great American Novel strikes between the pre-flight air sickness bag deomonstration and the arrival of the snack cart. I wrestle my laptop from the bag, administering a kick to the seat in front of me for choosing to be reclined during my creative time.

I start to type but my dry, chaffed hands distract me. Lotion. I must have lotion. I close the laptop and dig again in my bag but am sidetracked by the raisins. I munch on a few and wash them down with my water, then pull out my make-up bag. In addition to makeup and the sought-after lotion, the bag contains my glasses, contact lens case, rinsing solution, nail file, dental floss, and travel toothbrush. I carry the bag with me at all times in case of an in-flight make-up emergency where my makeup somehow melts off or I'm struck with a case of chronic halitosis.

I apply the lotion liberally to hands, arms and elbows. Now my fingers are too greasy to type so I stow the laptop. I unzip yet another compartment and pull out a deck of cards and crossword puzzle. Finishing my raisins and water, I check my watch and drum my fingers on the tray. Where's that drink cart, anyway?

Leaning into the aisle, I see the mother and child three rows ahead. The child is plahing with what looks to be a toy phone.

That reminds me. I pull out my BlackBerry and page through my schedule. Another check of the watch. Still twenty minutes until we land.

I again fire up my laptop while listeing to my I-Pod, glancing at my BlackBerry and Newsweek, reapplying my lipstick and wolfing down the mini-pretzels and soda that finally arrived.

Fifteen minutes until we land.

Sighing, I pack everything away and pull out my nail file. I give another kick to the seat in front of me that is still reclined even thought hte announcment came on that we have started our inital descent and all seats must be in the upright and locked position.

When we land, I pass the mother on my way out. She's packinig away what looks to be about 50 toys.

I give one last shake of my head as I march up the aisle with my bag.

Thank God that's not me. Kids and their toys.

This piece first appeared in the July/August 2005 issue of "U Magazine."