Taking Flight

By Elizabeth Foss
Herald Columnist
(From the issue of 7/28/05)

I went to Chicago. This may not seem like a big deal; people go to Chicago every day, even several times a day from my "local" airport. But for me, it was a very big deal. I have seven children. And a dog. I’ve been pregnant or nursing or both for 17 years. I just don’t get out much. But my "baby" is nearly three and she wanted an American Girl doll. Only she wanted to go to American Girl Place to get it. She consulted with her sister and learned that the American Girl Place in Chicago is preferred to the one in New York. So, she began, in her dear way, to talk incessantly about Chicago (read: twist her father around her little finger). My husband frequently takes the children with them on business trips — they each go on at least a trip a year. Usually, we wait until they are at least four. This child, our baby, was only two and she was still nursing. Hence, the grand idea was born to take me with them. And then, it was only natural to include Kirsten’s big sister, seeing that she was a seasoned American Girl Place expert. My husband was thrilled. At last, I was going with him. This wasn’t going to feel like a "working trip" for him at all.

Carried along by their enthusiasm, I kept shoving aside my fear of flying, which, incidentally, predated 9/11 by several years — my whole lifetime, actually — in order to make provisions for those children left at home. And I learned I had a greater fear of leaving than I did of flying. They were going to four different locations. The little boys would be right across the street with their very best friends in a home they often prefer over mine. The 10-year-old would spend the time with his soccer coach. My dear friend Mel and her family welcomed my new teenager and the dog with whom he would not be parted. And my eldest would have three days alone with his grandparents. All set. A place for everybody and everybody in his place.

The week before we were to go, everybody got a wicked respiratory virus I have never before seen outside of February. Did I mention that we have four asthmatic children? Respiratory viruses require ‘round-the-clock vigilance and a thorough working knowledge of bronchodilators. How in the world could I leave? I wavered. I waffled. I called my pediatrician. We came up with drug strategies for everyone. She gave me all her personal phone numbers for the weekend and urged any of the caregivers to call her directly at any time. She told me to go. My sister-in-law brought me a travel sized nebulizer (a machine used to deliver those bronchodilators). My neighbor loaned me another. Now we had three. This might just work. Still, how could I leave? No one was in crisis anymore, but what if? My friend Julie called and pretty much pushed me out the door.

We took off. It was a glorious night flight. I can’t believe I just wrote that. A glorious flight? I hate to fly. It was a completely full plane. I was flying with a 2-year-old. Somehow, it was glorious. I looked out the window with Kirsten, but I really saw it though her eyes and not mine. She has never seen the horror of that September day in 2001; she’s never read about a plane crash. She just defied gravity and went aloft. I think she thought Peter Pan was piloting.

We began our first day in Chicago at the National Shrine of St. Therese. Nearly three years ago, my husband had somehow found himself there on the way to the airport. When he landed at home, he learned our daughter was to be delivered by emergency surgery. A devotion to St. Therese was born that along with Kirsten Therese that day. It was a joy for him to return to that place with his girls and to acquaint them with the Little Flower in a very tangible way. We left with precious pictures and a nice little stash from the gift store.

We stayed right on the Magnificent Mile and I found it … magnificent! We saw all of downtown Chicago by the waterfront and I found it lovely. Chicago is lovely? Who knew? We spent an hour or so at American Girl Place and acquired three new dolls Apparently, both those girls have my husband wrapped around their little fingers. After shopping, we returned to the hotel. I was feeling pretty confident — this traveling thing suited me just fine. And then a phone call. Nicholas had a fever and what medicine was okay to mix with the asthma medicine? Nicholas is my littlest boy; my heart literally ached. A million scenarios ran through my mind, none of them good. I think Mike was afraid I’d be on the next flight home. Instead, I kept reminding myself that the friend Nick was with had nursed her little boy through three years of chemotherapy. She could handle a fever. We went back to American Girl Place for dinner and we really enjoyed our little girls in an atmosphere far removed from the rough and tumble of our everyday lives.

Another phone call from home assured me that Nicholas was feeling better and sleeping soundly. We put the girls to sleep and looked forward to a peaceful Chicago night. Kirsten awakened at midnight screaming. She was inconsolable the rest of the night. An ear infection had settled in to stay. I nursed her; I rocked her; I paced with her, all the while conscious that my husband was going to have to work the next day and he was getting no sleep. With the light of day, I walked that Magnificent Mile with my baby and I found a drugstore that miraculously stocked the best remedy I know for ear infections. Ten minutes later, she was smiling. I was tired. Instead of all the shopping and sightseeing I had planned, I just carried Kirsten all over downtown Chicago, moving at a snail’s pace in the front of windows. We went back to American Girl Place yet again and I sat with my sleepy girl on one bench after another in that three-story building while Mary Beth, in all her glory, spent two magical 8-year-old hours soaking in every detail. I was tired; Kirsten wanted nothing but to be held. It was perfect. We finished up our day at Mass in a lovely Cathedral where the girls were happy to chat with the very kind pastor. I thanked God for His plan for that weekend. That night, we really did sleep well.

And the next day, we flew home. Back up in the air and back down again. Our eldest met us in the airport. We were home. We went. And we came back. It could be done. And I just did it.

Foss is a freelance writer from Northern Virginia.

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